The Malice of Unnatural Death: (40 page)

The dark was like a clammy blanket after the open air in the street, and as they walked inside Baldwin heard Simon bellowing
for a candle. Baldwin felt the cool lick up his cheeks as he trailed in after them, cursing as he felt his boot squelch in
the mess of dirt and blood at the doorway, and then he was feeling about for tinder and a flint. Soon he managed to strike
a glow, and blew it gently until he had fanned it into flame. Setting a candle to it, he lighted two more and placed them
on a shelf before, helping to clear a space on a table. Simon and Robinet lifted the door up, and carefully rolled Sarra’s
body onto the table before bowing their heads respectfully and moving away.

Baldwin was already cupping a hand about the first of the candles to snuff it when he heard the explosion of shock.

‘Christ’s cods!
Sweet Mother of Christ
,
NO!
’

And then Robinet fell to his knees beside the body on the
ground.

‘Walter! Walter, no!’

Jen was strangely cold. There was the noise of the people chasing her along the alleyway, and that made her heart thud like
a hammer in her breast, but that wasn’t it. In some way it felt as though she wasn’t here at all, as though she was relaxed
and unconcerned, floating high over all the people and the city, observing with the detachment of an angel as her body pounded
along the cobbles.

Sarra would understand. Given time, she’d understand. This wasn’t some silly infatuation like so many girls had every so often,
this was real love. Love that could scorch a couple when it ignited. Sarra couldn’t see that yet, but she would when Matthew
declared his love for her. Trying to tell her, Jen, that he didn’t care for her! Hah! She must have thought Jen was
blind
not to have seen it. His adoration was there in his eyes at every moment when he was in a room with her. There was no concealing
it. The only obstacle was his first wife, and she must leave him. She would go one way or another.

There was no guilt in Jen. Not now. Not ever. She was only fighting as any woman must to protect her love and her lover. Alice
was nothing. A mere encumbrance to him. Jen was his real soulmate. She would have him, too. And when Sarra saw how happy they
both were together, she would understand.

But there was this odd feeling in her. It was like a panic, as though she was anxious or something. But that was daft. She
was not worried about anything. Except escaping from these people. It was maddening that she must run from them as though
she was some common felon, when all she was
doing was trying to protect herself. That was it. She was protecting herself. Didn’t any woman have the right to defend her
man against other
whores
who might seek to take him away? Yes. And she would, too.

The alleyway ended in the second street, and she had the presence of mind to thrust the knife into her bodice. Looking down
as she started up towards Carfoix, she saw the redness on her hand and for a second her eyes opened with horror. She thought,
she really did, that she had cut herself – and then she almost laughed aloud at the silliness of it. Of course, it was only
the scratch she had given Sarra. She’d have to apologise for that later, but Sarra would understand. She was a kind girl, Sarra. It would be nothing once she saw how happy Matthew was with his Jen.

She hid her hand in a fold of her dress and ducked her head a little as she made her way on, pushing through the crowds like
any other native of the city. Yet there was a constant irritant. Behind her she would keep hearing the blowing of horns and
the shouts of the men in the hue and cry. Once she risked a quick glance over her shoulder, and saw a man glowering ferociously
at all the people in the street. He almost caught her eye, but she turned away and continued, her head lower still on her
shoulders.

Near the crossroads in the middle of the city, she heard more calls and shouts. At first she thought it was merely the hawkers
up there, but then she understood that someone had already made his way to the place, and there were three or four men standing
and peering at the approaching women with intent, serious expressions. She could not stop; she could not continue, and returning
was impossible. That man with the brutal glower might do her harm. For a moment she actually considered taking him into her
confidence and
telling him that it was all right, the sheriff had sanctioned her actions – but then she shook her head. She hadn’t been able
to tell him yet what she was trying to do to help him, hadn’t told him that she was going to remove his wife so that they
could be together for ever.

There was a stall to her side. It was a butcher’s from the shambles opposite, and she acted almost without conscious thought. A foot lashed out and the trestle holding up the table on which the wares were displayed collapsed. Amid the shrieks of rage
from within the shop, Jen hurried along the street to the opposite corner and darted over the main intersection, thence up
and along the High Street.

She had only the one thought: she must reach her lover before anyone else could get to him and lie about what had happened.

The man was inconsolable, and it was some while before Simon and Baldwin could persuade him to stand, leave the body on the
floor, and go with them up the stairs.

People outside had heard the unearthly shriek and wailing of despair as Robinet caught sight of his old companion, and they
stood blocking the way as the men left the undercroft. It took some curses and the threat of Baldwin’s sword before they were
given a free passage. In preference to the street, Baldwin crossed the way, grabbed Langatre’s arm and hissed urgently, ‘Up
to your rooms now, and bring the sheriff’s wife with you. Don’t argue, just
do
it!’

In a short while they were inside the room and Langatre was fussing about heating water over his brazier for some concoction
for the lady, while Baldwin secretly wished he had a good quarter-pint of burned wine instead. In his experience that colourless
distillation was a supreme cure
for almost all ills and panics.

‘This maid, my lady,’ he ventured at last, when Lady Alice was seated more or less comfortably on a chair, ‘is she a local
girl from the city?’

‘No … I think she came from north of here … Thorverton, perhaps, or Silverton. I had no reason to question her on
it. Master Langatre – could you permit me a little of your wine?’ With her hand she pointed to a small dresser. Langatre nodded
and opened a curtain. Behind it was a quartet of pewter goblets and a jug. He poured a measure and passed it to her.

‘Of course not.’ Baldwin smiled reassuringly, thinking that he knew the names of all his serfs, their parents and their offspring,
let alone which homestead they had sprung from. ‘Has she shown such violence before?’

‘Never. I would not have allowed her into my house if she had.’

‘You have no children, though. That at least is a mercy.’

‘A mercy?’ Lady Alice snapped.

‘I meant only that she could not have harmed a child, since there were none there,’ Baldwin said, but now he eyed her more
closely. A woman with no children would often be sharp on the subject, as he knew only too well. His own wife had been accused
of barrenness by her first husband, and he had made her life miserable, refusing to accept any blame for her inability to
conceive. Although he had reasons to dislike the sheriff and mistrust him, Baldwin was a rational and fair man. The fellow
was no bully to his own wife, he felt sure. No, any pressure this woman felt was more than likely self-inflicted.

And yet … many a man had unknowingly put his wife under strain. Women could attach significance to the least
matter, and then live in despair while refusing to explain what it was that made them upset.

‘My lady, what was it that made you consult this magician?’

‘I? What makes you …’

‘It is clear that you know each other, and you are familiar with his room here. You even knew where he might keep a jug of
wine, lady. I am sure that your reason for coming to such a place as this is honourable, and I suspect it must be a natural
woman’s concern. Am I right?’

She shot an accusing look at Langatre, as though she expected him to confess to betrayal, and then eyed Baldwin more haughtily.
‘What of it? I admit nothing, but yes, I know this man and his rooms.’

‘I ask again: why? You have to understand that at the moment there is a murderer, a most ruthless murderer, loose in the city. He has killed a king’s messenger, the man who lies in the undercroft below, and possibly another, not to mention striking
down this magician’s servant and trying to kill the magician himself. His throat still bears the mark.’

She could not help but look up at that. Langatre’s throat was visible above his tunic as she glanced at him, and she could
see the mark about his neck, a dark bruising that encircled it like a necklace. Except here there were bruises at the front
too, where his fingers had scrabbled for purchase on the cord. She met his look and let her eyes slide away. ‘I know nothing
of this.’

‘Really? The man who was living downstairs was a magician too, by repute. Did you know that? He left the tools and trinkets
of his trade, which makes me wonder what he was doing down there.’

‘I
know nothing of this.’

‘One thing was not found. Did you know who the first victim was in this miserable little charade? A mere carver of bones and
antlers.’

‘I know nothing of him,’ she exclaimed in astonishment. ‘Sir knight, I do not understand what you are trying to suggest! But I am a woman, and if you have an accusation to make, you should speak to my husband, and not badger me without his being here
to defend me. This is unseemly.’

‘No. Dead bodies are unseemly,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘The murder of innocents is unseemly. Questioning a woman who may be
able to help resolve some of these issues is not unseemly. It is sensible.’

‘Except I know nothing about any of this. I have enough other affairs to concern me, Keeper.’

‘Did your husband know you were consulting this fellow?’

Her face told him all he needed to know. This, then, was another complication, Baldwin told himself.

It
had taken him some effort, keeping up with the old bastard, but Rob was nothing if not persistent. A lad growing in a town
like Dartmouth could be rewarded for being persistent. Standing out of reach of a sailor and watching a ship could show a
lad when to slip up to the dock and casually slide a hand into a bale of goods to retrieve some little item of value. Yes. A lad with determination and grit could get far.

Today it had brought him right back to the bishop’s palace, though. No further. He’d seen Simon and Baldwin walking away with Robinet, but he reckoned his place was still following Busse. Simon had promised him a penny a day for performing that duty,
and that was worth a bit, that was. With any luck, he’d soon get a whole shilling if Busse kept on wandering about, because Rob was competent at merrills and other games of skill or chance. There were few lads of his age who were more capable of
palming a die when necessary.

There was no telling what the monk was doing in the bishop’s palace. It was plain enough even to Rob that the man had received
a severe shock when he hurried from the house where the body was discovered in the undercroft. Anyone would have thought he
had never seen a dead man before, the way he darted up the stairs after finding him with that man Langatre, and then stood
about like a whore in a church, gaping with a daft expression on his face as men eyed him up and wondered whether he was mad
or murderer.

Rob didn’t much care which he was. So far as he was concerned, the man was a source of money, and that was all. He hadn’t
got to know him on the way here, other than to be insulted by his reference to the ‘boy’, and that had not endeared him to Rob in any way.

There was a noise from a little shed near the gate to the bishop’s palace, and when Rob went and peered inside, he saw a group
of lads, all a little older than him, standing about an upturned barrel, playing some game or other. It made him grit his
teeth. He had two pennies already saved in his purse, and with them he felt sure he could fleece these fools and make his
fortune.

He turned and stared back at the palace, chewing at his lip. If he was any judge of a man, that monk was staying put in a
nice, safe, comfy palace with no risk of sudden death. He wouldn’t want to run out into the streets again, not alone, not
for a long time.

It decided him. He fitted an amiable, slightly foolish smile to his face and leaned round the doorway. Using his broadest
coastal dialect, he said, ‘I’m new here, only up for a couple of days – are you playing a game of some sort? It looks like
fun …’

Sir Matthew left the hall in a foul mood, and bellowed at his grooms to prepare his rounsey. He would ease his soul with a
sharp gallop down the road towards Bishop’s Clyst, then
on the road out towards Powderham and back. There was little enough business to keep him in the city today, and he could do
with the break. Sweet Mother of Christ, he deserved a little time away after the affair of the mad woman this morning. He
could still feel the hairs stand up on the back of his neck at the thought of her staring eyes. Jesu, but that had been terrifying. Better to stand in the way of a host of chivalry than remain in the same room as a woman like her.

When his horse was brought, he took it without comment, mounted, and rode away slowly. The bridge over the first defence,
the gap in the ramp before the gate, was falling into disrepair. He would have to have the under-sheriff look at it and have
the thing replaced.

It was the same with all the basic fabric of the castle. Only a few of the buildings actually had roofs. Most had lost them
over the years, and no one had bothered to replace them. In the same way, the towers were all so dilapidated that they were
gradually collapsing. There was nothing to be done with a place like this.