The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) (52 page)

His job done, Simon took a leisurely journey homewards, refusing to accept the generous offer of a ship to carry him to Dartmouth. In preference, he hired a horse and took a long sweep through Dartmoor and thence down south towards the coast. It was a delightful journey, relaxing and soothing to his nerves, although he still missed his wife. He must soon arrange for her to join him. He couldn’t continue like this, with Meg living so far from him.

The first day back at his work was probably the most enjoyable he had spent there in the company of his clerk.

‘Andrew, I am afraid I shall have to lose your company. There is a new task for you in Exeter, a much more important one.’

Back in Exeter, Sara and Thomas exchanged their oaths at the door of St Olave’s, while Daniel watched sulkily and planned his escape into an apprenticeship.

At the same time Vincent was packing a small bag with some food and a cloak, and swinging it over his back. He walked down to the Western Gate, and there he met his father. The two of them set off, following the river southwards, walking as the sun set in the west, down to the little cave-like corner of the river, where they built a fire just as Wymond had done forty years before with another Vincent.

But this time, he was sure that he was not going to lose his son, and later, when Wymond sat back with his belly filled with meat and wine, he felt more content than he had for many a long year.

Baldwin rested at the inn while he waited for his wound to heal. Edgar remained with him, as though distrusting any others to look after his master, and Baldwin was as glad for his companionship as he was to have his wife with him still. Matters could only have been improved by the presence of his daughter Richalda. He missed her dreadfully. If he was forced to remain recuperating here much longer, perhaps he could arrange for her to be brought to Exeter to be with him and Jeanne?

Jeanne had flourished. While Baldwin was still sometimes tweaked by guilt at his betrayal of her while he was returning from pilgrimage, his guilt was oozing away under the influence of her careful attention. He was coming to appreciate her again, rather than seeing her as a reminder of his shame, and with that realisation came the renewal of his love for her. Perhaps not so complete and untainted as before, but no less warming to his soul for all that.

The Dean found him sitting on his bench there one morning while Jeanne was out at the market. ‘Sir Baldwin.’

‘Dean. Please, take a seat.’

‘Thank you. Yes – hmm – I shall, thank you.’ The Dean sighed as he sat, and rested his head against the inn’s wall. ‘That is better.’

‘You came all this way to rest against my wall?’ Baldwin asked with a grin.

‘I came to – ah – tell you of William. He has confessed to his deceit in telling the King of the gate being open, and now he admits that he himself opened the gate and left it wide.’

‘Did he explain why he wished to admit?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I think that he – ah – felt he might as well admit to all his crimes since he’s little to lose. Apparently he already has a letter of pardon from the – um – King in honour of his service over the years. Not that it’ll help him much, for the punishment is more cruel than we might think. The man has no money, the Prior of St Nicholas refuses to have him live there, and he will be forced to resort to begging.’

Baldwin shook his head slowly. ‘A hard way of life for a man of his age.’

‘Perhaps he has a friend who can help him. I do not know,’ the Dean said. ‘So long as he leaves Exeter soon and our lives can return to their even tenor. Oh – ah – yes, and there was the other thing: Matthew. He has confessed to trying to kill you. It was only the darkness, he said, that saved you, for otherwise he would have aimed true.’

‘Did he shoot from the Charnel Chapel?’

The Dean glanced at him, hearing his tone. ‘Yes. Why?’

Baldwin shook his head. There was no possibility that he would leave himself open to accusations of superstition by admitting to his strange feeling of fear at the sight of the chapel. ‘Nothing.’

‘It’s curious, though,’ the Dean said. ‘He did mention that he regretted standing on the chapel to fire. He felt quite sickly and
weak up there, as though the building itself was moving under him when he released his bowstring. I think he must have been drunk.’

Baldwin smiled and nodded, but in his mind he wondered. ‘The chapel was built because of one clandestine murder. Would it be so surprising if a man involved in that murder felt the earth move beneath him when on that same spot, he tried to kill again?’

‘Hah! You think he was weak in the head?’

Baldwin smiled, but as he closed his eyes, he had a notion that he would not feel so anxious at the sight of the Charnel Chapel again.

Still, he was determined that under no circumstances would his own body be buried here in Exeter. He would be buried in Cadbury or Crediton. He did not want his bones to rest in the chapel of bones. He wanted nothing to do with the place.

*
A History of the Diocese of Exeter by Rev. R.J.E. Boggis MA, BD (1922). See pp. 142–5.

*
Crown Pleas of the Devon Eyre of 1238 (Devon & Cornwall Record Society, 1985)

*
See
The Boy-Bishop’s Glovemaker