The Tainted Relic (28 page)

‘You found him here?’ he asked.

‘I’m Hob, from Bishop’s Clyst. I was up here to take down a tree for—’

‘Yes, I am sure,’ Baldwin interrupted quickly. ‘You were up here legitimately. And your hound found this man?’

‘He was there under the furze, and Gaston found him. I was fair sickened to see him.’

Baldwin crouched at the side of the body. There was no doubt about the death. His throat was opened almost to the spine, and the cartilage and vessels had contracted, making the wound gape still more. Jonathan coughed once before remembering his calling and murmuring a lengthy prayer.

‘Do you recognize him?’ Baldwin asked the woodman.

‘No. He’s a stranger to me.’

‘There is little enough to distinguish him,’ Simon said. ‘Brown jack, linen shirt, woollen hose…’

‘His description would be little help, too,’ Baldwin said. ‘He’s moderate height, brown eyes and hair…a little weakly of frame, perhaps. Ach! There’s nothing here to help us find his murderer. If he was local, this description would hardly find him.’

‘If he’s a traveller,’ Simon said, ‘he would have had a pack with him. There’s nothing here, so he was probably robbed.’

Baldwin nodded as he rose to his feet. ‘So all we know is that we have the body of a young man here, his throat cut. He could be a local man, could be a traveller. If he’s a traveller, his belongings have been stolen.’

‘And we know that the trio in the Blue Rache last night had a haul of money and a small box,’ Simon said.

‘So is it a fair assumption that this man was their benefactor? Perhaps,’ Baldwin mused. ‘Along with the man in the hospital.’

Simon had another thought. ‘Interesting that this man had his throat cut.’

‘How do you mean?’ Jonathan asked.

‘Just that this man had his throat expertly slit, while Will and the man in the hospital were both stabbed in the back.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘And a killer will often use the same method of murder. It’s what he grows accustomed to.’

‘You mean that there might be two murderers?’ Jonathan said with sudden alarm.

Baldwin smiled. ‘A man might kill in a number of ways. No, there’s nothing to prove that there is more than one murderer. In any case, a stab in the back is a common wound when the victim has been ambushed,’ he added, suddenly thoughtful.

Simon set his head to one side. ‘There is one other aspect to consider, Baldwin. We were told in the Rache that there was another man who was missing, weren’t we? Could this be Rob’s brother?’

‘Andrew?’ Baldwin glanced at the body again. ‘Andrew was missing last night, as you say, so yes, this could be him. But that means also, perhaps, that the man in the hospital could be him?’

Adam was irritable and nervy as he wandered about the market. The warm morning made him lethargic, but he found himself jumping at strange noises. The bulls were being baited to tenderize their meat before slaughter and butchery, but a shriek from playing children made him start with alarm. He wandered among the stalls, buying a pie and eating it voraciously, suddenly feeling starved. Once that was gone, there was little money left from the cash he had won yesterday, and he rattled the few coins in his palm dejectedly. He wanted some ale.

The Blue Rache was quiet when he entered, and he scowled about him as he crossed the floor. If the shits were angry just because he’d thumped one turd, they’d best look out. He might hit another today.

He beckoned the ale-wife, who glanced about her anxiously before licking her lips and going to him. ‘Yes?’

‘A jug. Come on!’

She turned the spigot on the barrel and held a jug under it.

When she passed it to him, he turned and glared at them all. There wasn’t one who could hold his gaze. All cowards! All weak and shitting themselves. They wouldn’t know how to set a good ambush or how to steal a prize from even the most feeble of travellers. No, it took a man like him, someone good with his fists, someone with some courage.

‘There was a set of king’s officers in here earlier,’ Elias said.

‘So what?’ Adam sneered.

‘Will’s dead. Apparently they’ve already got the idea you and him knew each other.’

Adam nodded, took a long pull of his ale, and set the jug down before whirling and catching Elias by the throat. He shoved the squeaking man backward in a rush, scattering drinkers and stools wildly until he reached the wall and thrust Elias hard against it. It was a thin wattle screen, and as he rammed Elias against it, the structure moved, the plaster cracking. ‘Who told them about us, Elias? It was you, wasn’t it? By the nails and the blood, you little…’

‘Not me, no!’ Elias managed. ‘It was that arse-licking sodomite Tad, not me!’

Adam pushed him once more, and this time the crackle was noticeable. The wall gave way at the ceiling and a fine plaster dust fell in Elias’s eyes. ‘You were always his friend, weren’t you?’

The wattles were pushed from their sockets in the beam overhead, and now large chunks of plaster were falling on Elias’s head. He had to blink to clear his eyes.

‘He was just someone to drink with, that’s all. I hardly know him!’ Elias said quickly.

Adam’s fingers felt like steel pincers, relentless. Elias knew that death must soon overtake him. His breath came with great difficulty; he could feel blood welling in his sinuses and between his eyes. It was impossible to swallow–and then he felt his head crash into the wall once last time, and this time it gave way. There was a roar, and now he was in the midst of a cloud; all was white and choking, and he was cut and scratched by lathes and wattles, suddenly finding that he was looking up from the floor.

The dust was suffocating. It rose thickly, like flour in a mill when the wheel was turning, and it stuck in his mouth and nostrils. Vaguely he could hear voices.

‘It wasn’t him,’ the ale-wife screeched. ‘Leave him, Adam.’

‘Why should I? He’s helped sell me to the King’s men.’

‘He didn’t; Elias said nothing.’

Elias managed to roll on to all fours, coughing and retching. Then Adam’s boot caught his belly with all the malice of his frustration. Elias was lifted into the air, and he crashed to the ground in the ruins of the wall, his lungs smothered by the lime plaster, struggling for breath.

Adam studied him with satisfaction for a moment. ‘Well, maid. Who did tell them?’

‘They came here asking questions, so they already knew Will had been here before they came.’

Adam chewed at his inner cheek. He saw Elias crawling away, and it was tempting to kick him again, but there were too many questions in his mind. ‘Who told them to come here?’

‘Perhaps someone saw who killed Will?’ She held his gaze. ‘You lived with him. Did he get home last night?’

‘I argued with him last night. You saw us. Over that box. I thought he’d chosen to go somewhere else for the night. Maybe stay with Rob or something. I didn’t think he was dead.’

For the first time he felt the loss of Will’s help. Never thought he’d ever think that; never thought he’d miss Will’s sharp mind. Adam was more used to learning what he wanted without subtlety.

‘Marge, if you know something, you tell me before I get angry.’

‘You wouldn’t hurt me,’ she said with certainty.

He moved to reach for her, but as he did she lifted her hand, and in it was gripped a fine-bladed dagger, wickedly sharp and pointed. She ran it over his knuckles, and he yelped as the razor-edge made itself felt. There was no pain as such, only a faint tearing sensation, and then a line of blood as his flesh was parted. He withdrew his hand, then prepared to launch himself at her, crazed with rage. She held her ground, and the knife danced before his eyes.

‘I don’t know what you want, Adam. Will’s dead, and the officers know you knew Will. You lived with him. Don’t take it out on us.’

His face was expressionless as he cupped his bleeding fist in his right hand. He didn’t know what to do–perhaps he should speak to Rob and see what he reckoned. That would be best. Yes. But he wanted to punch someone first.

She curled her lip. ‘Adam, Tad didn’t tell anyone about you. They asked questions, but when they left, Tad ran out the back. He escaped. You should too.’

‘What does that mean?’

Her irritation spilled over. He had ruined her wall, badly hurt Elias, and threatened her. What he did to Will outside her alehouse was none of her concern, but when his actions led to a Keeper taking an unhealthy interest in the Rache, she had good reason to be angry. ‘You want to know? You killed Will, didn’t you, so get out of the city while you can, because that Keeper, he’s got the eyes of a demon. He’ll find you and he’ll hang you. Leave the city while you can.’

Moll was late to rise that day.

The previous night had been largely sleepless, and the interruptions to her business had exhausted her. Then, of course, she’d been woken early by the men clustered about the body, and only returned to her bed after a bite of bread with some potage for her lunch. This time she had slept well, and the knocking at her door made her jerk awake with some alarm. The noise was terribly loud in the silence of her hall, and she sat up with apprehension, an emotion that only faded as she climbed from her bedding and pulled a shirt over her head.

Padding over the packed earth of the floor, she threw some sticks on to the embers of the fire. Punters preferred a warm room–and hopefully she’d be able to warm some leftover potage later, when the man had gone.

She had several clients who visited her in her home, usually the wealthier ones, of course, because only they deserved the advantages of her undivided attention in her own bed. Others could make do with a quick knee-trembler against an alley wall.

The fire looked all right, so when the knocking came again, she walked out to the front door and pulled it open. ‘Who is it? Oh! I thought…’

‘Didn’t expect me, eh, Moll?’

And Moll scarcely felt the club smash the side of her skull. The bones fractured as the cudgel’s weighted head slammed against them just above the ear, and although she could say nothing, so shocked was she to be attacked, her body refused to collapse. It took two more thunderous blows to force her to her knees, and then she crumpled.

She was long dead before the smashing blows ceased, and then there was little left of her face. Only a bloodied mess of hair and flesh.

Simon and Baldwin arrived back at Exeter just as the cathedral bells were singing out their invitation to the faithful at vespers. It was still daylight, but here in the alley between the hospital and the Dominicans’ priory, the sun was all but obscured by the houses on either side. This was a poorer area and few houses had jetties–not many had an upstairs chamber–but the lane was so narrow that it was ever twilight here.

The home to which they had been directed was a shabby place with little to endear it to Baldwin. As he looked at it, his nostrils discerned only the stench of excrement, the sour tang of urine. In the lane itself there were many deposits on the cobbled way, and Baldwin wondered when the scavengers would ever come down here. They’d clear the High Street, sure enough, but a downtrodden backwater like this would probably never see them from one month to the next, and while Simon pounded on the door, Baldwin found himself peering up and down the street, wondering what could tempt a man to live here. He could conceive of nothing worse; at the sight of it he longed to be back at his small manor of Furnshill up near Cadbury.

When the door opened, Simon immediately pushed it wide, and Baldwin followed him inside, Jonathan squeezing in behind him.

‘Is this where Adam and Will from Chard live?’ Simon demanded.

‘They live here, yes.’

The old man was almost petrified with fear. His attention was moving all the time, from Baldwin to Jonathan to Simon and back, and if Baldwin needed proof of the evil of the man who was using his rooms, the terror evident on the man’s face was enough to convince him. ‘Where is Adam now?’

‘I don’t know–he wouldn’t tell me where he was going, lord.’

The old man’s eyes were rheumy and pale, with red rims. He was crabbed and wizened, like a plant that has been deprived of the sun for too long. His fingers were red knuckled and claw-like. His wife was a little taller and better formed, and although her hair was silvery like his, it seemed to hold more vitality. She appeared overwhelmed by Baldwin and Simon’s entrance, and she kept throwing little glances at Jonathan, as if pleading that this man in clerical garb should protect them.

Baldwin was not in the mood for a lengthy discussion. ‘Where does he usually go at this hour?’

‘He sometimes wanders about the city–he never tells us where he’s likely to go. Why should he?’

‘How did you meet him?’ Simon asked more quietly.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but it was his wife who answered, her voice resigned. ‘He is my son.’

Rob was working on the horses, grooming two rounseys for the dean of the cathedral, when he saw the shadow in the doorway. He said nothing, for it was the responsibility of his master, the stable owner, to respond to customers.

‘Enjoying yourself, are you?’ Adam asked quietly.

‘Well enough,’ Rob said. He glanced at Adam, then looked away again quickly. Adam caught sight of the look and walked around the horses to Rob’s side. Rob shot him another look. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Seems like you think so,’ Adam said. ‘It’s strange to think that only last night we were all there arguing about the box.’

‘You’ve heard about Will?’

‘Oh, something’s happened to him?’

Rob’s hand stopped moving over the flank of the chestnut before him. After a moment he took the brush off the beast and started plucking spare hairs from it. ‘I found him, Adam. He was butchered, his belly was slit wide, and his bowels spread to the world.’

‘Why? Who could have hated him that much?’

Rob was silent.

Adam turned to him. ‘Why’re you so quiet?’

‘You were arguing with him about that box, and then you left shortly after him. Did you follow him, Adam?’

‘I had no need to. I was going home to my bed,’ Adam growled.