The Malice of Unnatural Death: (10 page)

‘Who made her so?’ Baldwin demanded sharply. ‘Is it not true that her husband left her for others?’

The Bishop stared at him for a long moment, and Baldwin wondered whether he had overstepped the bounds of his patience, but
then Stapledon closed his eyes and held them shut for a few minutes. At last he opened them, and now his tone was simply weary.

‘In
God’s name, Baldwin, I swear, I believe that the woman could be inimical to the security of the realm. I have myself argued
for the sequestration of her lands and the reduction of her household so that the threat is reduced, but I did not enjoy it. Nor the other measures taken. But whatever the reasons for her behaviour, they are not justified. The king is king, and master
of the whole kingdom, and whatever she feels about his actions, she should not be provoked.’

‘You think she has been?’

‘I know her. She is a woman of intelligence and spirit,’ the bishop answered. ‘And while the French challenge us at Guyenne,
she must remain here – safe.’

‘You see, though, Bishop, that we do not agree on the issues here,’ Baldwin said. ‘What useful purpose could I serve in parliament? Leave me here to remain as a contented rural knight, raising my family in peace and without the interruptions of national
affairs.’

‘I wish I could,’ the bishop replied. ‘But, Baldwin, I believe your intellect could help save the country from disaster. I
am being frank with you, old friend.’

‘It is neither to my taste nor to my interest,’ Baldwin said with conviction.

The bishop leaned forward and fixed Baldwin with a serious gaze before speaking both urgently and quietly, as though trying
to conceal his words from any who may be listening. ‘Think of your duty, then, Sir Baldwin … if you do not go, will it
not be only those who seek to flatter and promote the king who will be granted positions in the parliament?’

There was a soft knocking at the door, and Baldwin saw the bishop’s expression alter, just slightly. It was a fleeting
thing, a sudden sharpness in the eyes, as though this interruption was expected, but not anticipated quite so soon, and then
the bishop was calling to the visitor to enter.

‘Oh, Sheriff. It is good to see you,’ he said.

The tall, urbane figure who had just entered walked across the room and stood before the bishop, bending to kiss the episcopal
ring. Only then did he acknowledge Baldwin. ‘Sir Baldwin – it is good to see you again.’

‘And you, Sir Matthew. All must say it is always a pleasure to see you.’

Sir Matthew de Crowethorne smiled at that as he moved over the floor to a chair. Once seated, with a goblet of wine from the
bishop’s steward, he shot a look at the bishop as though questioning whether he should begin. He was clad in rich velvet,
a shimmering green with particoloured green and red hosen, and the cloak which he so carelessly tossed over a bench was trimmed
with warm squirrel fur. He was, like so many sheriffs, keen on ostentation, and glanced at Baldwin’s faded and worn red tunic
with amused contempt.

Bishop Walter did not see his look. ‘The good sheriff has many duties here in Exeter, Sir Baldwin, as you know. But just now
he is seeking to find the best knight to send to the next parliament. I have suggested to him that we need someone with some
intellect, a man of honour. I have, in short, suggested you.’

‘It is very kind of you, but I would be most reluctant to accept any such position.’

‘Even though it would be for the good of the shire? And the state?’ Sheriff Matthew pressed.

Baldwin opened his mouth to respond, but before he could there was a loud knocking at the door of the palace, and the sheriff
and the bishop were both quiet, listening
intently. For once, Baldwin felt relief at the interruption of that familiar voice.

‘
Didn’t you hear me, you cretinous little scrote? I asked if Sir Baldwin de Furnshill was here, man. Don’t hop from foot to
foot, damn your arse. Just fetch him here, or tell me where to find him.
Oh … and my compliments to your lord bishop, too.’

The morning in the city was less bright already. The sun was concealed behind clouds, and to add to the dimness, as soon as
dawn reached the town, people were already gathering their faggots of twigs and thrusting them onto their fires. In less than
a couple of hours after the sun’s light had first licked the tops of the cathedral’s towers, already there was a thick fume
rising from the city: the proof of civilisation anywhere.

It was a delightful sight and smell, Robinet thought to himself. Others might have different feelings, but to him as an experienced
traveller there was little better than the view through a group of trees which showed a rising plume of smoke. That held the
promise of warm, dry beds and rooms with a fire inside for the weary. It was like a place he had seen many years before –
at least fourteen – when he was in France. He had been sent by the king to visit Vienne, and he could well remember the feeling
of relief to see that after so many miles on unfamiliar roads in a strange, hot land, there was a set of gibbets with fly-blown
corpses hanging in chains. Those parcels of decaying flesh meant that at last there was a place nearby where law held sway. Outlaws were no more to be feared.

Exeter was different, though. He knew how dangerous a
city like this could be, and Robinet had no intention of being harmed. He needed to escape the place if he could. Walter would
be able to help him as soon as he had got his belongings back.

But if he did grab his things and run, he might never find out what had happened. James’s death might never be solved – a
dreadful thought. The two men had been estranged for so long, and now he was thinking of bolting only the morning after they
had sealed their renewed friendship. That was sad. No: worse than that: it was
sick
.

The swelling over his ear was slightly crusted with blood, but the pain was reducing, thanks to Christ. He was sure now that
someone had struck him down. He really should leave. Others were here to learn what had happened to the dead messenger. It
was a city, it had its coroners and keepers. He could scarcely do anything that they couldn’t.

Except he hated to leave the affair like this. James deserved a little loyalty. Was it James who had knocked him down? The
whole of the evening after they had left the tavern was a haze … there were some images, but all indistinct, unclear… no matter how he tried to concentrate, he couldn’t bring anything back. Someone had struck him at some point, someone
had helped him to the hay. And then James had been thrown into a rubbish heap, the foul stuff hauled over him to hide him. It was demeaning, disgraceful, to treat a man so.

Suddenly Robinet felt a flash of anger. His belly roiled, but his eyes narrowed and he began to think more quickly as he started
to walk.

Simon
had not been in a good mood the next morning when he had woken up. All too soon he had remembered the half-grin on de Courtenay’s
face as he delivered the final blow: bad enough that he should want Simon to follow a man who might well be consulting a
maleficus
– someone who might take offence at being followed even to the extent of having Simon murdered. And by supernatural powers,
not even the normal, everyday risks of a knife in an alley.

Anyone who knew Simon knew of his …
caution
when it came to matters of superstition. There were some, like Baldwin, who thought that his attitude bordered on the fringes
of credulousness – or worse. Simon didn’t care. So far as he was concerned, the idea of magic was nothing new, and he had
personally seen people who had used it to cure cattle of various diseases. They would incant a phrase or mumble some weird
words, and in the time it took the farmer to get back to his house, the animal would be cured. And there were evil spirits
who could be used to attack people who stood in the path of their human patrons. Simon had heard of plenty of examples of
that kind of evil: where people were harmed, or their libido destroyed, or their energy sapped, and all because of an evil-doer.

The
idea of chasing after someone of that kind was enough to make his flesh creep.

He rose and dressed slowly in the old guesthouse above the main gate, kicking Rob as he passed the lad snoring gently in the
corner of the room on a thin palliasse. Rob muttered a comment concerning Simon’s parentage, but today Simon was not of a
mood to listen, and instead strode downstairs to fetch himself some food to break his fast.

It was a cold day, with white and grey clouds hanging in the air as though plastered to the sky. Simon sniffed: there was
a metallic edge to the air, and he was unhappy with the thin, insubstantial sunlight that filtered through the clouds. Although
their edges gleamed silver, the sun kept herself behind them, and Simon had a horrible suspicion that this was to be the rule
for the day. At best they would be chilled by the icy breeze as they rode, and at worst they would be drenched in freezing
rain. It was not a prospect to thrill.

He found a warm loaf in the bakery, and sat on a bench nearby with a slab of cold sausage. An amiable monk made an offer of
warmed ale, which Simon accepted with alacrity, and when he was feeling a little more normal he went to seek Robert Busse.

A helpful monk pointed him in the direction of the cloister, and Simon soon found the man who sought to grasp the abbacy before
de Courtenay could. Busse nodded to Simon, and then led the way down a short corridor to a chamber.

Busse was a genial man, a little taller than the old abbot had been, but considerably shorter than the younger de Courtenay. He had pleasantly rounded features, twinkling blue eyes, a high brow and, when he spoke, a soft tenor voice. More than that,
though, Simon was aware of a
chuckle that was always nearby. He appeared to be on the brink of laughter all the while.

‘So you are the bailiff? Aha! Good. Just what I need to make sure that I get to Exeter in one piece.’

‘With the weather the way it is now, I doubt we’ll be there in less than a day and a half at least,’ Simon said grimly.

‘That soon? I had hoped for a pause at a tavern or two, Bailiff. Especially if this inclement weather continues. It’s too
chill for a body to sit a horse for too long – and woe betide the man who tries to sit out in this stuff.’

‘I cannot argue with that,’ Simon said.

Busse tilted his head and studied Simon. ‘Are you quite all right?’

‘Yes. I am fine.’

‘I know that this must be a rather sore and tedious task for you, Bailiff, but I will try to make it as pleasant as possible. You must have covered the journey many times in your term of office as a stannary bailiff.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Simon smiled without humour. ‘I’ve certainly made the journey many times.’

‘Well, it is a long way to go. Perhaps we should fetch our belongings and meet down in the court?’

Simon left him and strode ill-temperedly to the guest house again, where he found that Rob had disappeared. ‘God’s fist! The
little sodomite is going to hold us up,’ he muttered as he returned down the stairs with his pack in his hand, and gazed about
him. On a hunch, he paced across the cobbled yard to the stables, and peered inside.

‘Go on, another ha’penny.’

‘I’ll lay on.’

‘And me.’

‘I’ll pay later …’

‘No,
you don’t,’ Rob said, and then caught sight of his master in the doorway.

‘What is this?’ Simon demanded, entering the gloomy interior. There were four youths inside, three grooms, and, Simon saw
with a sharp pang of guilt, a novice too. ‘Rob, tell me you aren’t tempting these fellows into gambling?’

‘Gambling? Hardly that, Bailiff. No, it’s more a sort of trial, that’s all.’

The others were hurriedly gathering up coins and thrusting them into their purses. If any were discovered here gambling during Abbot Robert’s tenure, they’d have been given short shrift – or maybe not. The good abbot was no hypocrite, and he was a man
of contrasting interests himself. Perhaps if he had found the lads there, he would have pretended anger, and then insisted
that they joined him in a game too, so that he could fleece them and thereby give them a clear and unforgettable demonstration
of the evils of gambling.

‘What sort of trial?’

Rob shamefacedly held up a number of dice. ‘Just a game,’ he amended. ‘Hazard.’

‘Put the things away, Rob. And don’t let me see you trying to take money from others like that. In God’s name, taking cash
from a novice!’

‘It’s what we all do in Dartmouth to while away the time. If they aren’t so practised, it’s hardly my fault,’ Rob said heatedly.

‘Enough. You’ll have time to reflect on your actions later as we ride. You’re too late for breakfast now. You will just have
to make do.’

‘Oh, I’ve had my breakfast, master. And I’ve got some vittles for the journey, too. Enough for three meals.’

Simon
blinked. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Well, I played them for it. The novice was taking all this food from the kitchen to the servants somewhere, so I played him
at dice for it, and then the others wanted to join in too, so I took their money. It would have been daft not to.’

‘What of the horses?’

‘They’re already tethered to the rail by the gate. I had the grooms promise to do them before I’d play them at any games in
here.’

Simon took three paces back and peered across the yard. True enough, there were three horses, two riding beasts and one packhorse,
ready loaded, out near the gate. And as he stood staring, he caught sight of Busse standing and gazing up at the sun.

‘Oh. Right. Yes. Well, come on! We’re late,’ Simon said.

‘Coroner, it is good to see you again!’ Baldwin said, smiling broadly as Richard de Welles entered.

‘Keeper!’ de Welles boomed as he saw the knight. ‘Good to see you too. Ha!’ He glanced about the room, nodding to the sheriff.
‘This reminds me of a story about a young whore and a …’ He suddenly recalled whose room he was in and cast an apologetic
glance towards the bishop. ‘Ah, a good day to you, my Lord Bishop … Sir Matthew. But that’s not why I’m here. No, I was
going to ask you for your assistance, Keeper. I heard the sheriff was here, and the man at the castle said you would be here
with him.’