The Butcher of St Peter's: (Knights Templar 19) (27 page)

‘Expecting trouble?’ Simon asked lightly.

‘Today, speaking to this man Jordan, yes, I think I am,’ he answered, and told Edgar to remain with Jeanne.

He led the way from the inn, with a backward glance at his wife, who lifted a hand in farewell, and then he and Simon were
out in the daylight. Baldwin was glowering at the roadway as he walked, and Simon knew better than to interrupt his thoughts.

They stopped to collect Sir Peregrine on the way, and then the three of them walked down the road to Jordan’s house. Two men
were slouching about outside.

‘Any sign of him?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.

‘No, sir. Stayed here all night and no sign of him at all. If he
was down at the brothel over by the river, he’d not be able to get back inside the city anyway. He’d be locked out after dark.’

‘True enough,’ Baldwin said. He went to the door and knocked politely. ‘Is your master at home?’ he asked the bottler, who
shook his head.

‘So what now?’ Sir Peregrine asked as they stood at the bottom of the road eyeing the two sentries.

‘I would suggest that we ought to go to the friary and see what this man Guibert has to say. But first …’ Baldwin said,
and he paused. Walking back towards the watchmen, he beckoned a young boy and leaned down to speak to him, then passed a coin
to the watchman nearest him. ‘This man will give you that penny when you return and tell him the reply. Is that clear?’

‘Yes. Find Henry and ask him to meet you at the cathedral near the conduit.’

‘Go!’ Baldwin saw Simon watching and listening. He returned to Sir Peregrine and Simon and shrugged. ‘It is probably pointless,
but it may help.’

Friar John was already in the church when he heard the calls for the Prior, and soon he realized that a brother friar was
waiting for him to be finished. With a last obeisance, he stood, bowed, made the sign of the cross, and gradually left the
room, walking backwards respectfully.

‘What is it?’

‘John, the Prior has asked you to join him in the cloister. There are some men here to see him. They’re asking about the theft
of Sir William’s body.’

Friar John rubbed his hands together. He was looking forward to this.

‘Prior,’ he said as he entered the grassed space. This was one
of his favourite places, a clear, open area where he could meditate and study without interruption. It was important that
he and the other friars should be educated to the highest possible standard about the latest views on natural philosophy,
and this was the place to which he retired when he needed to consider new arguments for his preaching.

The men with the Prior were not religious. Two looked like knights, and one was a rather more disreputable-looking character,
with strong shoulders and a square face.

‘John, I would be grateful if you could tell these gentles about the late Sir William and how he came to be here.’

‘Sir William was always a keen son of Christ. He fought in the Holy Land to try to protect it from the infidels, and was wounded
out there. Returning, he took up the life of a knight in a small manor in Hatherleigh, and as he grew older, with no family,
he bequeathed his estates and monies to us here at the priory, and came to live with us as a confrater. He took his part in
our duties, shared our food such as it is, and spent his time in prayer. He was a most devout, good man. That was why, when
he was dying, he expressed a desire that he should be buried here in our church. And that his funeral should be conducted
here. The reason for that was simple – he always believed us Friars Preacher to be more holy than those who live over there.’
He pointed with his chin to the west where the canons had their houses.

‘He bequeathed his all to us, you see,’ Guibert said. There was a touch of triumphalism in his voice, and John could hardly
blame him for it. ‘He gave over everything to us, for the safe protection of his soul. And those terrible men in the cathedral’s
chapter sought to steal it all, and his body. And now they have held the funeral service for him.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed mildly. ‘And you owe the cathedral
its due. Would you make that money over to them?’

‘I see no reason why I should make any money over to them! They stole his body and his funerary ornaments. All the candles,
the cloths, everything was taken by the rowdy villains who came in here. One of my brethren was knocked down and injured.’

‘The Dean is most apologetic for the hurt done,’ Baldwin said. ‘He wishes that the affair might be settled. There is no point
in a lengthy argument as there was over Sir Henry all those years ago.’

‘They may think so, but we are not here to accommodate thieves and churls,’ Guibert thundered. ‘First let them bring back
the body and all the goods they stole, and make apology before the doors to our church; then we may consider whether we might
help them. I promise nothing.’

Sir Peregrine tried to mollify him. ‘To call them all thieves is more than a little strong, when describing the religious
men who live so close to you. They are as honourable, surely, as—’

‘Do not think to tell me that they are as honourable as my brethren here,’ Guibert interrupted boldly. He thrust out his chest.
‘We live in poverty, respecting no property whatever. We have nothing of our own, so that we might spend our time more effectively,
concentrating on God’s will.’

‘The chapter spends its time in prayer for the souls of the living and the dead,’ Sir Peregrine tried.

‘And hastens the deaths of others so that they might win the funerary goods!’

Baldwin looked up sharply. ‘That is a very serious allegation. Do you have proof?’

‘I was speaking metaphorically,’ Guibert said, unabashed. ‘If you wish me to be literal, you should consider the theft of
several pounds from a poor merchant only recently.’

Sir Peregrine had not heard of this. He looked at Baldwin, who, to his surprise, met the Prior’s outraged stare with a bland
expression.

‘So, Prior, you are shocked to hear of the robbery? Did not something similar happen here some years ago?’

‘That was one bad apple. It was plucked out and discarded.’

‘And several priors were censured, I believe?’ Baldwin said. He lifted his hand to stem the angry expostulation. ‘Do you know
a man called Jordan le Bolle?’

John nodded and glanced at his Prior. To his astonishment, Guibert essayed a frown and gave a firm shake of his head. ‘Who
is he?’

‘A man who owns a brothel near the city walls. I am not surprised you do not know of him – he would hardly be fit company
for a prior. He also owns a gambling house.’

‘What of it?’

‘I thought that a man such as yourself, always mingling with and preaching to the lowest fellows in the city, might have come
across him in your wanderings. That is all,’ Baldwin said.

‘No.’

‘He managed to take several pounds from that same merchant Gervase, you know. Gervase can’t have been so very “poor”, can
he? Not if he could lose pounds to Jordan le Bolle. He lost heavily in gambling at Jordan’s house, and then he was persuaded
to go to the chapter and swear that it was stolen from him while he stayed there. It would blacken the name of the cathedral,
that, would it not? And only an entirely unscrupulous man would ask a fellow to do that. Accuse the innocent in order to gain
advantage over them.’

‘As you say,’ Guibert said. His hand was on his pate now, and he appeared to stare into the distance.

John listened with rising horror. The man was known,
obviously, about the city, but he had no idea that Jordan was so evil a character. This was appalling.

‘But what interests me,’ Baldwin continued, ‘is what would have motivated this Jordan to demand such a course of action against
the cathedral. It seems peculiar to me. Except he had perhaps a reason. He was making money from the cathedral’s rebuilding.
We have heard that when each cargo was landed, if there was a valuable item, he would have it stolen and replaced with some
cheaper stuff. And then he would sell the more expensive item back to the chapter. Enterprising, that. But people were growing
suspicious of his actions. He wanted a distraction. Perhaps, he reasoned, if he were to create a theft at the cathedral, and
then let others know of it …?’

John could stand silent no longer. If the man was a thief, and entirely corrupt, John could not seek to conceal his presence
in this little priory. ‘I think perhaps you have forgotten the man, Prior – I saw you discussing some affair with him only
a few days ago. You were involved in a lengthy conversation.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. Jordan is a tall man, powerful, energetic. He was here, walking about the place in conversation with you. About the
time Sir William died,’ he added sharply.

Guibert looked at him then, and John felt the force of those watery old eyes, but he felt no guilt. Rather, he felt contempt,
because he understood Guibert at last. The man he had revered for his courage and integrity had shown himself to be dishonest.
He had tried to connive at the shaming of the canons for his own revenge. Perhaps he felt justified, but John thought that
although the chapter was too wealthy for the good of the canons, God needed His priests to work together to confound the Devil.
If Guibert was prepared to lie and
dissemble, he was not honourable. And that meant he was not suitable to be Prior.

No, John could not uphold the tale Guibert had concocted. Now he knew that the story of the theft was untrue, John would have
no further part in it. In fact, as he walked back to his cell, he felt he should not remain here while Guibert was Prior.
He would collect his bowl and his staff, and leave. Perhaps he could go further west, away from this city with its politics
and felonies. He could not remain here.

At least, he reasoned as he took his leave of Robert and walked from the gates for the last time, at least he had been an
agent for good. Guibert had lied, and at least John had been there to expose his untruth.

The watchmen outside Jordan le Bolle’s house had still seen no sign of the man, so Simon and Baldwin returned to the deanery
with the Coroner.

Sir Peregrine was content to sit and listen to the story Baldwin told the Dean. There was little in it he had been aware of,
and the telling made sense of other stories he had heard recently.

‘I can tell you much, I think, Dean. A lot of it is conjecture still, but most is based on what I have learned from people
who know what has been happening: the matters of Gervase the merchant and Sir William of Hatherleigh being two cases.

‘This man Jordan is a committed felon, Dean. He is keen to steal what he can. For some time, I believe, he has been taking
your cargoes and filching what he could. But people grew to realize what he was up to – especially Daniel, the sergeant. So
Daniel had to be destroyed. Perhaps Jordan tried first to simply bribe him, but whatever else he was, I do not believe the
sergeant was a felon, and taking money to close his eyes to an injustice would not have appealed to him. Not only that, but
I think he saw it as a matter of honour that he should capture this man because what he was doing was harming the cathedral
itself.

‘So Jordan decided to have him removed. However, he couldn’t simply dispose of one man alone and hope that it
would leave him clear to continue with his pilfering. He thought to himself that it would be best if he were to distract the
cathedral too. How to do that?

‘The man was nothing if not imaginative. Before ever he had arranged for Daniel’s death, he thought of setting up a dispute
between the chapter and the friars. He knew, just as all the population of Exeter knows, that the two houses were often at
daggers drawn. It should be easy to create a dispute between them. And so it happened.

‘The merchant, Gervase, appeared in the city. A fool with his money, he was easily parted from it over some ales and gambling.
Jordan could easily fix a series of games, at first to let Gervase win, and then, when he thought his luck was in, to fleece
him of the lot. Every game he lost, until he owed Jordan a fortune.

‘Jordan told him to rest at the cathedral for a day or so and make good use of the chapter’s hospitality, and then claim that
his money had been stolen there.’

‘The ungrateful … I shall have him arrested,’ the Dean muttered.

‘He has left the city already. I should permit him to go and count yourself fortunate that so few people think of such schemes!’
Baldwin said with a chuckle. ‘After all, he cost you nothing, and he has himself been robbed, if by another person.’

‘Why did Jordan do this?’

‘It permitted him to raise doubts in the minds of others. And he made use of the best means of telling people. He knew how
the friars had been shamed by the discovery that one of their brethren had stolen money; he decided to show them that the
cathedral had a thief too. The friars were delighted to think that they had a means of exacting revenge on the cathedral,
and went about the city telling all their
audiences that the cathedral was harbouring a felon. And then, when the cathedral went and took the body …’

‘That wasn’t his fault, I suppose?’ the Dean asked hopefully.

‘The Prior did say that he had mentioned the death of Sir William. It struck him how similar the situation was to the death
of Sir Henry Ralegh twenty years ago, and he, I think, hoped that a hothead might commit a similar offence. And so it came
to pass.’

‘Because the fool Peter was told to by Jordan?’

‘That is how I should read the tale.’

The Dean sat silently for a few moments. ‘This man has much to answer for.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘A great deal. And a few of those matters are the murders of Daniel and Mick, and the suicide of Anne.’

‘He is an incomparably evil man,’ the Dean said.

‘Perhaps so,’ Baldwin said. ‘We should know before long.’

Betsy opened the doors with a small yawn. She was getting too old for the game. Already the sun was well up and she hadn’t
done anything yet.

It was the way of life for girls like her, though. They’d sleep and doze through the day, unless someone came in with an urgent
itch for scratching, and then they’d set to work properly in the evening. Each man coming in in the evening had his woman
for the night. That was the rule, and each had to satisfy her client as often as he asked. Not always an easy task, it was
true, but the girls tended to do their best. Especially now.

Betsy had tried to keep her from their gaze, but several of them had gone in to look at Anne’s ravaged features after she
died. There was something compulsive about seeing how Jordan would punish any of them for the crime of wanting to take one
man for her own. Anne had been popular in the house, and the
idea that someone could destroy her so completely was appalling to many of the girls. Betsy had even seen old Mark, the man
who had been at the South Gate when Anne had left the city that last morning. He had come with a small gift, a bunch of flowers,
which he had set by her head.

No one was unaffected. Betsy could see it in their eyes. There was a new haunted look in the faces of the girls. The older
ones now realized that they truly couldn’t escape this place. Not while Jordan was there. Not while he wanted them. The younger
girls understood what they had become – nothing more than the property of a man who saw them in the same light as a herd of
cows. They had value to him, but every so often the less productive members could be culled for the good of the rest.

Betsy heard a low whimper, and at the sound she seemed to feel a cold hand clutch at her throat, tightening like a steel gauntlet.
She could sense icy waves floating down her spine, and she walked along the passageway slowly. The doorway was darker than
most of the rest, and she hesitated before leaning forward to listen. There was a steady, sad weeping from behind it now,
and her heart seemed to clench in her breast. She dared not enter. Not while he was still in there. Her hand lifted, her forefinger
crooked to knock, but then she licked her lips. A picture of Anne’s face appeared in her mind, and the finger uncurled as
she spun on her heel and stole away.

The shame burned her soul.

Baldwin and Simon took their leave of the Dean, and Sir Peregrine was somewhat surprised to see how they dawdled about leaving
the close.

‘Should we not hurry to the man’s house?’ he burst out at last when the slowness of their progress grew intolerable. ‘This
man is a murderer at least twice, and here we are, progressing more slowly than a nun crossing the threshold of a brothel!’

‘So you think,’ Simon said. ‘But there is no point hurrying to Jordan’s house just to wait there alongside the watchmen. If
we must wait, this is as good a place as any. Then if Jordan le Bolle arrives home, the watchmen will send to tell us, and
we can go to catch him together.’

‘And in the meantime,’ Baldwin said with a quickening interest, ‘we may just learn something from this man.’

Peregrine turned to see Henry walking towards them along the long pathway from the conduit.

He walked like a man in pain, his withered arm dangling at his side. His face was a mass of wrinkles, most of them caused
by squinting in pain, and Sir Peregrine felt some sympathy for the man as he saw how his gait was affected.

‘Henry, I am grateful to you for coming here,’ Baldwin said.

‘The boy said you had something to say that would ease my mind.’

‘It is this: we think that we may know who the murderer of Daniel was; whether that is true or not, I feel sure that your
friend was innocent of any crime.’

Sir Peregrine was about to protest when he caught sight of Baldwin’s eye on him. It seemed to him as though the knight was
asking him to trust his judgement. He shrugged. There was little enough else to be done. Sir Peregrine had nothing better
to advance for now. He had only two interests: the man Jordan, and later Juliana. Juliana! He was looking forward to seeing
her again. At least the Keeper had stopped accusing
her
!

However, it seemed to him that Baldwin’s comments were rather strong. If the man thought his comrade would be safe if he appeared
in public again, he was being far too hopeful. As far as Sir Peregrine was concerned, as soon as Est reappeared
he would be attached and gaoled until the Justices of Gaol Delivery could hear his case. And then, if Sir Peregrine had anything
to do with it, the man would be hanged quickly. Any man who routinely broke into other men’s houses to look at their children
deserved the rope. Still, if Sir Baldwin wanted to tease the man out into the open, it would make his arrest all the more
easy. Perhaps that was all the Keeper intended: to flush the man from his cover. The sooner the better, too. Sir Peregrine
wanted to put the whole affair behind him so that the poor woman Juliana could be permitted to put it all behind
her
.

‘Henry? Could you tell him?’ Baldwin asked.

Henry was in two minds as to what to say. He didn’t know where Est was any more, and the thought that he might be found now,
just when he might be thinking he was safe, was an abhorrent idea. Poor Est. Devastated after the death of his child and his
wife, he could never know any peace because of the actions of another man.

‘I don’t know where he is,’ he admitted. ‘He was up at a place he and I know, but he wasn’t there the last few times I went
to check. I’ll see if I can find him.’

‘You do that,’ Baldwin said, but not harshly. ‘He has been evilly served. It is time he received a little compensation.’

Mazeline glanced out through the window, and immediately saw the two men waiting, just as her bottler had said.

There was a wonderful lightness to her spirit this morning. She felt as though she was almost free of all her troubles. Even
Jane; Mazeline had asked her cousins to take the child overnight, and they had taken Jane to sleep with them. The men outside
must surely be there to arrest her husband, and although she was not sure what crimes he was guilty of, she was certain there
were enough felonies to see him hanged.

It was not the most loyal emotion for a wife to feel at the thought of her husband’s death, but just now uppermost in her
mind was only joy. She had no idea what the future might hold for her, especially since her man had made some powerful enemies
in the cathedral and in the city, and several might seek to demand money from her. She could lose her house and all inside
it, and yet she would remain alive, and free.

Freedom was a strange word. For years she had thought herself free enough; married to a wealthy man who was powerful and important,
she had thought herself extremely fortunate, but since the revelation yesterday when he told her he didn’t love her, had never
loved her, her mind had been in a turmoil. It was only as she slept that her brain and her heart were able to comprehend what
had happened to her. The man who had bullied her had not done so in order to improve her, he’d done it because he
liked
to see her suffer. He’d beaten her for his own pleasure, no other reason. He had never loved her.

So now she was rid of him. She had no love for him either. Although she did feel something bright and sweet in her relationship
with Reg.

If Jordan were to be arrested and executed, what would happen to Reg? Surely he was likely to be taken for the same crimes?
They were both engaged on the same plots and stratagems … she must warn him!

She stood, and was about to pull on a warm cotte when there was an odd noise. It was a wet crunching – a strange sound that
reminded her of a whole fresh, large cabbage being kicked: slightly damp, but crisp as well. She thought it came from the
rear of the house, towards the buttery, and she turned her head to the buttery’s doorway, but saw nothing. She opened her
mouth to call to the bottler, but no words came. Instead she found her heart filling with a terrible dread, and she started
to
walk backwards away from the door that led to the back of the house. Stumbling against a table, she recalled the two men outside
even as she remembered the small window in the buttery. A man entering clandestinely might clamber in there and take a short
cudgel to the dozing bottler’s head.

The window was near now. She could feel the draught against the nape of her neck, and she was about to turn her head to it,
when she saw him in the doorway.

‘Hello, bitch! Didn’t expect to see me again, did you?’

Ralph was seeing another patient when the messenger arrived, and he finished the consultation as swiftly as possible without
appearing to rush. He liked Betsy, but paying clients had to be treated with a little more respect than a simple turfing out.
They were the ones who kept him in business, after all. Without them he wouldn’t be able to help her.

When he had his small bag filled, he threw it over his back and hurried to the South Gate.

‘Back again, leech?’ the porter asked from his doorway.

‘Another one is unwell,’ he acknowledged.

‘So long as it’s not the evil bastard who cut up Anne. I liked her.’

‘Many did,’ Ralph agreed.

‘Yes. You tell me who did it to her, and I’ll get any number of men’ll see to him.’

Ralph thanked the man, but as he walked out towards the quay and the brothel he wondered whether anyone would ever pay for
that foul crime.

The door was wide, and as he entered he could hear the weeping and shrieking from the back. With an awful feeling of encroaching
doom, he stepped quietly along the passage and out to the back of the building. The noise was coming from inside
one of the little chambers, and he walked along the corridor towards a room whose door stood open. There were lights inside,
and their flames cast a lurid glow out into the walkway, where he could see three of the younger whores, their faces orange
and red in the flickering light. One turned to him as though in terror, but then her appalled gaze was dragged back to the
room.

As he reached it, Betsy came out. Her forearms were bare, and looked like those of a battlefield physician’s, covered in blood.
Her face was twisted with revulsion and self-loathing.