The Malice of Unnatural Death: (32 page)

The trouble was, Newt had spent so many years wishing to repay the debt. James had hurt him badly. But since the two had bumped
into each other in the High Street, Walter had seen a change come over his old friend. Suddenly Robinet had grown less colicky
and pinched. It was as though meeting James had brought back to his mind what sort of man he really was, and all that jealousy
and vengefulness had gone, to be replaced by an easiness in the companionship of an old friend. Newt had rediscovered such
a one, only to have him stolen away in a moment, for a reason he could not comprehend.

‘I’ve been to a couple of taverns and alehouses in the last day or so,’ he said. ‘There’s a lad I know, Art, who often knows
who could be involved in crimes like James’s murder.’

‘Whoever killed James wouldn’t be there bragging about killing a king’s messenger, would he?’

‘You’d
be surprised how thick some churls can be,’ Walter said with a slight grin. ‘I’ve known men do just that. And then they look
shocked when they realize you have slipped a knife into their chests for their boasting. I killed a man once who spent all
the evening in an alehouse regaling me with stories of how he planned to kill the king. He was going to sit near the roadside
and plead for alms like any beggar, and when the king was near enough, leap forward to stab him. As if the king wouldn’t have
enough men all about him to protect him from some adventurer like that! It was doing him a service, killing him quickly as I did. The cretin would have suffered for days at the hands of the king’s torturers else, and died a bad death as traitor
to the king. Aye, I did him a favour: a quick and easy death.’

‘Did you learn anything?’ Newt asked eagerly.

Walter gave an inward sigh. His mate wouldn’t listen sometimes. Perhaps Walter shouldn’t bother, but Newt ought to realise
that James’s death was not so bad. It was fairly quick: a cord about the neck, pulled tight in an instant, and suffocation
would have brought about a speedy end to his life. Better than many deaths Walter had seen in his life as an assassin.

He shrugged. ‘There was no one who admitted to seeing anyone kill him, no. But there are some hints that a man was in the
area at the same time as you two. A stranger to the city.’

‘Do you know who it was?’ Robinet demanded.

‘No, but some I’ve spoken to have said that he seems to be an oddity. Tall, scrawny, pale – does it sound like the one you
saw?’

Newt considered for a long while. He had only the vaguest of ideas of the man he’d seen – it had been such a
fleeting glimpse … and yet, if he were honest, the man he’d seen had appeared shorter, more thickset. Not at all like
a slim, tall fellow. ‘I suppose if he was seen by a very short man, he might appear tall?’

Walter laughed. ‘No! These men I spoke to were sensible enough. They know the difference between tall and short, believe me!’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Newt asked, stung by his amusement.

‘They are thieves. If they noticed this man, whoever he was, they’d have made sure of him. They don’t go about robbing a man
if he looks as if he’s going to thrash them. They can tell at a glance whether he’s too big or too strong.’

‘If he looked so weakly, why didn’t they attack him, then?’ Newt wanted to know.

‘Because he clearly had little or no money about him. If he had anything, they would have captured him.’

Newt stood. ‘Where is he, then?’

‘Hold hard! Before you decide to run off and attack him, what will you do?’

‘If he’s the man who killed James …’

‘That is the problem, Newt. The “if”. You don’t know it was him any more than the pope.’

‘The pope isn’t here in Exeter.’

‘Perhaps not, but just because a stranger is down here doesn’t mean he killed James.’

Newt sat down again, more heavily. ‘Then what should I do?’

‘Watch him. The men told me where he is staying, and if we go there and wait, no doubt we’ll see something if he was the one.’

‘And how will we be able to tell that?’ Newt scoffed.
‘Look to see whether he’s got plenty of blood all over him, or just wait and watch to see whether he’s likely to kill someone
else?’

Walter turned his full attention on him, and Newt was suddenly aware of him. Those firm eyes were unsettling at the best of
times, but just now Newt felt transfixed by that look – it was like being pierced by a lance and pinned to a wall.

‘Walter, I did not mean to say …’ He wasn’t sure what he meant, but he was quite sure that this man was too dangerous
to upset, and at the moment he felt sure that he had done just that. ‘Walter, I am sorry.’

Gradually the intensity of Walter’s stare declined, and he nodded. ‘That is how we’ll know,’ he said. ‘When I have studied
the man, I’ll be able to tell you whether he killed James or not. And when we know that, we’ll know what to do.’

Robinet agreed effusively. He believed his old comrade. No one would be able to endure that stare for very long. He had himself
felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, being watched like that.

But then, he knew that Walter was a professional killer.

Jen was in the bedroom, tidying and shaking out blankets and pillows, when it happened.

Afterwards there was only shock, utter, utter shock, that she could have behaved so, but at the time it was just natural.

She was there, in the bedroom, and she could see the side where Madam Alice slept, all neat, her slim body outlined in the
dips and curves of the mattress. The other side was where
he
slept. The impression was broader, with the indentations of a masculine frame, and Jen stood looking down on it for a long
while before she did it.

Bending, she put her nose to it, snuffing his strong, musky odour. She started at his pillow, and slowly, teasingly, drew
her face down the bed, tormenting herself with the protracted investigation.
That
was where his neck would have lain;
that
where his breast began;
there
would be his upper belly;
here
where his middle belly rested … and this,
this
was where his groin lay. She sniffed long and hard, and then merely smelling him wasn’t enough and she had to do more. Placing
her hands on the mattress reverentially, she allowed her face to touch the linen. She rested it there, feeling the thrill
of being there, where he lay naked each night, until the excitement was too much and she had to do
more. Rubbing her face in his scent made her quite light-headed, and she almost purred for sheer delight as she moved her
cheek up and along like a cat in catmint. It was marvellous.

She climbed onto the bed, her body naturally resting in the outline of her master, eyes closed, dreaming that he was there
under her, in her, and then there was a scream.

‘What are you doing there?’

Jen leaped from the bed, flustered, flushed, but not scared. ‘Mistress, I was cleaning in here.’

‘You were resting on my bed, you hussy!’ Lady Alice spat.

‘I haven’t finished,’ Jen said haughtily. This woman was soon to be giving up her place. She didn’t realise it yet, but her
husband had fallen hopelessly in love with Jen. Jen knew it. Perhaps Jen should have been more compassionate, but it was not
easy with a woman who was so foolish and didn’t give her husband the love he so richly deserved.

‘You
are
finished, wench! Fetch your belongings right now, and be gone! I will not have a lazy churl trying to sleep in my bed.’

‘It’s not yours, it’s the sheriff’s bed,’ Jen said.

Alice was silent a moment, but then the worst imaginable thing happened. She glanced from Jen to the bed with a small frown;
her mouth fell open as she took in Jen’s disrespectful demeanour, and then she laughed aloud, long and hard.

‘You don’t! Surely you don’t think that my husband could desire you, do you? He is a great man, a knight, sheriff and representative
of the king, and you think he could desire you, a scruffy little maidservant from the back of beyond? Child, you are more
stupid than I had thought!’

‘I’ll finish here, then,’ Jen said with determination.

‘No. You will go. Now.’ All humour had left Alice’s face. Instead there was a steely firmness. ‘You are not wanted here any
more.’

‘Your husband won’t have me leave him,’ Jen said.

‘Child, he won’t even notice you have gone,’ Alice said with conviction.

Jen had ignored that, and carried on with cleaning the bed, and after a few moments Alice had moved. For an instant, Jen thought
that Alice would attack her, and she prepared herself to resist and defend herself, but then she realised that Alice had left
the room.

It gave her a feeling of satisfaction to know that her mistress had given up the cause and fled the field. Victory here was
definitely Jen’s. She pulled the pillow from her master’s side of the bed and drew it to her nose, inhaling deeply. So that
was how his hair smelled: faintly acrid, but with a warmth under it, a little like a dog, she thought. Setting the pillow
down, she pummelled it fiercely to make it plump and comfortable. The other pillow received a cursory shake. There was no
point making Lady Alice’s side welcoming. She wasn’t welcome, and that was that. Perhaps she ought to spend more time on Lady Alice’s side, because the poor woman was soon to lose her husband, position, everything, but Jen couldn’t bring herself to
do it. The crabbed old bitch was as vicious as any harpy from an alehouse, and she didn’t deserve any more than she already
got. No, let her work on her bed herself if she wanted to. In time, perhaps she would be maidservant to Jen and Sir Matthew
… but Jen would rather have someone kindly and friendly as a maid. Perhaps she could have Sarra as her personal servant? That would be much more fun.

‘Hey, you, Jen! What are you doing here?’

It was the master’s steward. He stood in the doorway with an anxious frown on his face. Jen smiled at him. ‘Making the bed,
of course. What does it look like?’

‘I don’t care what it looks like, wench. You have to gather your things and go. I’ve already spoken to my lady Alice, and
she tells me you are to leave. Get your stuff, or it’ll all be burned.’

‘I don’t think Sir Matthew will be pleased to hear that you’ve done this,’ Jen warned. ‘You should be more careful who you
listen to.’

‘Sir Matthew? Child, I’ve just seen him. It was him ordered me to have you thrown out. Madam Alice had told him about you,
and he wants you to go right away. Come, child, there is nothing for you here.’

Jen gaped, and fought hard, but the tears assaulted her cheeks as the import of the man’s words struck home. ‘No!’ she said,
and then louder, ‘
No!
’

She ran from the room, almost knocking the steward over as she went, down the steep stairs to the ground, and thence into
the hall, where she found the sheriff talking with two other men. Hurtling to him, she threw herself at his feet.

‘Your wife, she’s told me to leave!’

‘Get off me, woman! Christ’s bones, what is the matter with you? Are you mad?’

‘She wants to separate us, Matthew!’

There were few things in the world that scared Sir Matthew. In his life he had entered the lists and won some bouts to go
with the many he had lost, but the memory of the buffeting never stopped him from trying again. He had faced the Scottish
schiltroms, the mad Welsh, even some of the flower of French chivalry, while serving his lord the king,
and he had never flinched. Not even at Bannockburn, when the arrows fell like rain and the men all shrieked as yard-long wands
penetrated their mail and leather and pierced them, men and knights together, squealing like hogs in their death throes. No,
he had not flinched, and his courage was a matter of pride to him.

But insanity was different. In war, a man could stand with his companions against any foe, safe in the knowledge that all
must fall together if so much as one ran. All remained rooted to the spot. Yet just now, he would have fled from the room. There was something so appallingly terrifying about madness.

‘Take her away from me and throw her outside.’

‘Matthew, my love, what do you mean?’

‘Sweet Christ, just get her out of here, will you?’ he bawled at his steward, and a man at arms leaped forward to help. The
two men gripped her arms and started to pull her towards the door, and yet, although the two were burly enough to control
most, she managed somehow to wrest herself away from them, and flung herself at the sheriff once more. He shifted his legs
away before she could grab them, but fast as he was, she caught hold of his rich tunic, and held it to her face, then to her
throat.

‘Please, my darling, don’t send me from your side! I only ever wished for all that was good and right for you. Throw over
the old harpy – you don’t truly love her. It’s always been me. I’ve seen it in your eyes. You love me best. You know that. You mustn’t send me off and let her win. Our love will …’

‘Christ’s pain, will you not take this mad bitch away? Must I kill her myself?’

‘Don’t speak like that, Matthew, my love, my sweeting … let
me just …’

He stood and sprang away from her. It was all the time the steward needed. He and the man at arms caught her arms again, and
this time they were not going to let her fly from their grasp. They hauled her off, through the hall’s doors and into the
yard. There she was pulled and thrown through the gateway into the city of Exeter itself.

‘If she tries to come back, you have my permission to kill the sow,’ the steward said to the gateman. ‘She’s mad. Completely
mad. If she comes back, run her through.’

But Jen had no intention of running back. She had seen the look in Matthew’s eyes, and she knew it was not love. Fear, yes;
incomprehension too. But not love. No reciprocal adoration such as she had so often thought she had seen there before. No,
there was only revulsion. A loathing bordering on utter hatred.

Her life was over.

In the hall Sir Matthew wiped at his brow with a sleeve and blew out a long, nervous breath. ‘My
God
! As I hope to achieve life eternal, I swear I have never been more worried by a woman than I was then. She was quite insane. Did you see her? Telling me I must throw over my own dear wife for her? Christ Jesus!’