The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) (32 page)

Simon chuckled along with him, but didn’t respond when Coppe held out his bowl expectantly. Instead he flicked the coin contemplatively. ‘What about the other man, the dead saddler? Did you see him the day before they found his body?’

‘He was often about here. You know, men like him, they’ll
come in here to do a bit of business before Mass, won’t they? Actually, he was here with that man Udo, and they had a real shouting-match in the Close there. The foreigner threatened to kill him, in so many words.’

‘Why was that?’ Baldwin asked sharply. ‘We hadn’t heard this before.’

‘Something to do with the saddler’s daughter. Henry was saying something about the German not being allowed to marry her, I think.’

‘Aha!’ Simon said.

‘What then? Was there a fight?’ Baldwin frowned.

‘No. A vicar ran up and stopped them before they could do that,’ Coppe said regretfully. ‘Could have been fun, otherwise.’

Simon flicked the coin again, and it rattled in his bowl. ‘Keep your eyes open, and let us know if you see anything else.’

‘My pleasure. Sounds to me like easy money,’ Coppe grinned.

Baldwin looked at him, and then turned slowly. From here he could see the lean figure of Sir Peregrine crossing the Close with a vicar and the Annuellar behind him. He glanced at Baldwin without slowing his pace, and then made straight for the Charnel Chapel, disappearing behind the southern wall.

He had the look of a man who was involved in a busy and less than appealing task. Baldwin had not asked who the new Coroner of Exeter might be, and now he wondered with sinking heart whether this knight could be the replacement for the late Sir Roger de Gidleigh.

Glancing down at the beggar, who was happily fiddling with his coin, Baldwin shook his head. ‘Be careful that this isn’t the same as the easy money you were paid as a sailor,
Coppe, on that last journey that cost you your livelihood and your leg.’

‘Hardly likely!’

Baldwin nodded, but he found his eyes drawn back once more to that chapel. He felt a sick apprehension, and the worst of it was, he had no idea why.

William walked about the cloister at St Nicholas’s Priory with his staff always in his hand, peering into the darkest places in the long corridors, while his ears strained for the hiss and clatter of a fine-pointed arrow striking the stones. When you stood in line waiting for the clash of arms, the first you would know would be the noise of the arrows whistling and soughing through the air, but something only a warrior knew was that when the thing was aimed at
you
, you usually wouldn’t hear it until it hit. He knew that, all right. Jesus! He should do – he’d stood against the sodding things often enough.

It was why he was here, of course, because he’d wrecked his health fighting for the King and the latter was repaying the debt; but now William was prey to some worrying fears. If the King ever came to learn of his dishonest behaviour (even though this had occurred many years ago), that wouldn’t stop Edward from demanding his corrody back, let alone heaping any other insults or curses he could upon William’s head. And the King could heap an awful lot of shit on a man’s head before he removed it.

Perhaps past loyalty would count. At the end of the day, that was all William had. He had done his duty time and time again – in battles from Scotland all the way across Wales and back. He’d been there in the bogs and marshes at Bannockburn to see the King’s first setback, and he’d been a loyal supporter of
Edward even after the Lords Marcher had ringed London and forced the King to exile the Despensers. He had been in the King’s service when the latter himself took the offensive and headed northward, crushing the army of his cousin at Boroughbridge. Then there had been the fiasco of Tynemouth when he deserted his wife.

William had lost all faith in the King after that. As he sat in the boat, listening to the racking sobs of the Queen bemoaning her fate, her loveless marriage, and the death of one of her favourite ladies-in-waiting – a second died a little later – William had only one thought: this was the closest he had ever come to death. There would have been no escape, had he been caught there with the Bruce’s men surrounding the place.

The King had just left him there. Him –
William
! Dumped like unnecessary baggage to be rifled and casually discarded by Edward’s enemies. Sweet Mother of God, how could he do that to William? It left him with a very unpleasant taste in his mouth. And then the dizziness had started, and he knew it would soon be time to seek a quieter place to live.

He had been unhappy to leave his castle. Being in charge of a place like that, with so many squires and other men-at-arms under his control had been good. Far better than standing in a line of warriors, staring at a face only feet away, and swinging a sword.

That was battle. A man stood or fell by the power in his arms: his left holding up his shield and trying to avert blows from all directions; his right lunging with his sword, parrying, knocking aside when he could, prior to stabbing … and every so often the foe would fall, silently or shrieking, as his blood gushed like a fountain of bright crimson, drenching all those around him, or it might suddenly burst in a fine red shower. Then it was like the red mist which he had heard tell of so
many times: that helmet of rage and hatred which encased a man so that, like a berserker, he could fly at his enemies with the power of ten men, scattering all before him.

Yes. Some men spoke of the honour of fighting, but Will knew better. Fighting was only ever a case of getting a good blow in first. Fuck the arse who decided to fight ‘nicely’, he wouldn’t last long. No, it was better to slay all you could as quickly as you could, and stay with the other warriors behind the shield wall. Courage and honour had nothing to do with it. Will had stood in those lines at almost every battle the King had asked him to attend. Yet the bastard had left him there at Tynemouth to die, and it was only by a miracle that he’d escaped.

When he asked to be released from the King’s service, the man had hardly bothered to talk. He’d simply indicated that Will should, ‘Speak to our Steward of the Wardrobe.’

It had hurt. After all he’d done, to be dismissed like that! It was shameful.

Still, a man must shift as best he might. This Priory had accepted the King’s money, but that wouldn’t serve to help William, should news ever be bruited abroad that he had once lied to the King’s father in order to be noticed. Whatever Edward’s personal reaction, his sidekick Despenser wouldn’t be amused. Despenser would want the money back, and he had none of the King’s subtlety. He would come and take it back with a sword in his fist, and if the money wasn’t all there, he’d ask where it might be, with that quiet, silky voice of his, while his blade was slowly sinking into Will’s belly. He had no illusions: he’d seen the Despenser at work.

That was why it was vital that his part in killing the Chaunter was kept concealed.

He had hoped to enjoy a little more time with Mabilla. In
fact, when she asked him to meet her that day in the tavern, he had hoped that that might be the reason for her request. How foolish of him! She’d simply gone ranting on about that simpleton Henry, God rot his soul. Obviously, now he thought about it, if anyone
had
known of his desire for her, they might realise that William had an excellent motive to murder the man, and a trained warrior like him could well kill without compunction.

The only person who really knew still was Joel, though. Just as Joel knew other things about William … and hated him, too. It was the man’s own fault. He should have been quicker off the mark to tell the King about the South Gate being left open. Instead he let the opportunity slide, and William had grasped it. Of course he was jealous. And vengeful, too. He knew that the whole of Will’s career had been built upon that lie at the King’s court.

And then the corrodian had a most unsettling thought. It wasn’t only Joel who knew these things – Mabilla did, too, and she was capable of hiring a man to shoot him down.

William gave a deep sigh, then set his jaw. He’d never thought that being involved in the murder of Walter de Lecchelade could possibly come back to haunt him like this.

Udo Germeyne was very content this morning. Some little while ago he had invested in a part share of a ship’s cargo, and the proceeds from the sale had just come to him, exceeding by far his expectations. All his losses on the day he fell from his horse had been recouped, and he had also received a pleasing note from his fiancée which promised continued love and affection after their marriage. All in all, it was turning out to be a most satisfactory day.
Ja
!

The knock at his door made him beam. He was going to
be married to the loveliest woman in the city. That was cause for delight, and he would welcome any man who entered his dwelling and offer them wine to celebrate his good fortune.

His servant walked in with two stern-looking men. ‘Master Udo, this is the Keeper of the King’s Peace and his friend Bailiff Puttock. They want to ask you about Master Henry.’

Udo’s calm wobbled. ‘Oh? Ah. So, how may I help you, Masters?’

Simon spoke. ‘We should like to hear all you know about Master Henry Saddler, the man who was murdered in the churchyard.’

‘Yes, I knew Henry. I had dealings with him recently.’

‘You owe him for a saddle?’ Simon asked.

‘No.’ Udo’s face set firmly. ‘He tried to make me buy a saddle from him, but it was lousy workmanship, and it broke when I first tested it. After that, I would buy nothing from him.’

‘We had heard that his quality was excellent.’

‘So it was, normally. Mine, that was not.’

‘And you argued with him in the Close on the afternoon of the day he was murdered.’

Udo thrust out his lips. ‘Was it then? I cannot remember.’

‘It was a loud dispute, Master Udo,’ Baldwin said. He was sitting at one of the merchant’s stools, and had listened to their exchanges with interest. ‘Others heard you.’

‘Perhaps they were thinking of another man,’ Udo said. Then: ‘Come, let me offer you wine. I have so much to celebrate. It is sad to know that I have lost a father-in-law, but I am to gain a wife. That is cause to drink and make merry, is it not?’

‘Who are you to marry?’ Baldwin smiled.

‘Why, the saddler’s daughter.’

‘Which is why she didn’t want us to worry you about our suspicions,’ Simon noted.

‘What suspicions?’

‘Oh, that a man might threaten to ruin a widow for his own profit. That a man might sue her and take her house.’

Udo smiled openly. ‘Come, you suggest that? No, I have already told them that there is no possibility that I would sue them. It would be too cruel to sue a lady who has just lost her husband.’

‘A man might kill, though, if he learned that his dearest wish to marry the woman of his choice was to be thwarted by her father,’ Baldwin said.

‘Who says so?’ This time Udo’s smile was a little more strained.

The servant came in with a pair of jugs and set them before Baldwin and Simon with two pleasant pewter goblets. Baldwin picked his up and studied it. ‘These are pretty things. Must have cost you a lot of money.’

‘They were not cheap, but you see, I am wealthy,’ Udo said, waving a hand about him.

‘A wealthy man might be righteously angry when another tries to fleece him,’ Baldwin observed.

‘A wealthy man would simply crush a fellow like that,’ Udo said with perfect calmness.

‘Perhaps. Yet if he was to try to marry into the family, there would be no point in impoverishing the fellow. Another means of punishment might be sought.’

Udo said smugly, ‘Today I learned that a ship has entered Topsham Harbour with a large cargo, and a part of that is mine. I am worth so much money that I do not need to worry about such trivial matters.’

‘You didn’t know that the ship was about to come in when Henry died, though,’ Baldwin stated.

‘I have other sources of wealth,’ Udo said.

‘And no one with whom to share them,’ Baldwin said quietly. He studied the rich German before him. This Udo was similar to how Baldwin had been before he had found his Jeanne. Jeanne, the source of his pleasure, the mother of his child; Jeanne, the woman he had betrayed. The thought made his tone bitter. ‘You have been lonely for many years, looking at other men in the city and thinking: “Yes, they have wives and children, they have meaning to their lives. Yet I here have nothing. I am alone, with no one to mourn me when I die.” That is right, isn’t it?’

‘But I am to marry!’ Udo exclaimed. ‘That is my joy, and the reason why I am celebrating.’

‘It would have been terrible, then, if Henry Saddler had told you in the Cathedral Close that he would not have you as his son,’ Baldwin finished sarcastically.

Udo pulled a moue. ‘What? You think so? I would have persuaded him. Ach! How could he refuse me, one of the most prosperous men in the whole of this city? You tell me he would have maintained his rejection of me after he had had an opportunity to consider? No. I do not think so.’

‘Even though you threatened to kill him?’ Baldwin said.

‘It was nothing. I didn’t mean it.’

‘What did you do that night? Did you remain out there, near the Charnel Chapel, and wait until he came past, meaning to discuss his daughter with him, only to learn that he was steadfast? Did you kill him because he wouldn’t bow to your riches?’