‘And the gates are closed now,’ Sir Peregrine commented. ‘We should set off after him instantly … but it may be better to wait until morning.’
‘Far better,’ Baldwin said. ‘But it would be worthwhile to send to all the gates to ask whether a man answering his description has actually left the city today. Could you arrange for that, Steward?’
‘Of course.’
‘In the meantime, perhaps we should go and take our rest,’ Baldwin said. ‘We shall be awake early.’
Sir Peregrine smiled coldly at that. ‘I shall walk to the inn with you, Sir Baldwin. I am sure that we have much to discuss.’
Baldwin demurred, pointing out that Sir Peregrine had already been forced to ride a great distance that day, and suggested that they should all go to Sir Peregrine’s inn. Accordingly they left his address with the steward for any messages from the gates, and then made their way to the Blue Boar, where Sir Peregrine was staying.
In the low parlour at the middle of the inn, Sir Peregrine sat and motioned politely for the others to do likewise. ‘We have had our disputes in the past, but I am sure we can help each other now.’
‘I am interested to know how the Lord de Courtenay could release you from his side. Surely he relies on your advice, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said disingenuously.
Sir Peregrine looked at him long and hard. ‘My Lord de Courtenay feels that other advisors could be more suitable for the present climate.’
‘Since the Despensers are now supreme?’
‘Precisely,’ Sir Peregrine said bitterly. ‘He feels that the Despensers are likely to be in power for some years, and he would prefer to keep his head on his shoulders for the time being, rather than risk having them parted by the executioner’s sword.’
‘I heard that Earl Thomas was hanged like a common felon,’ Baldwin noted.
‘A shocking punishment,’ Sir Peregrine nodded. He added drily, ‘And it led my Lord to decide that the advice of his most loyal advisor might be suspected as biasing him against the King, so that advisor must leave his household. I was told to go.’
‘Although you still owe him your fealty?’
‘Of course. That was to death. Still, I was forced to seek a new employment, and when I heard that this post was available, I thought that it must at least keep me occupied.’
Simon could understand that. A knight had many calls on his time, what with managing his lands, protecting his serfs and, most of all, seeking to serve his master. If his master did not want him at his side any more, that reduced his workload considerably. Since Sir Peregrine, he recalled, had no wife and had lost his only lover some years before, he was plainly at a loose end. Finding a job like that of Coroner would be a relief to a man with an active mind; as well as being lucrative to a fellow who was corrupt, he added to himself, glancing at the Coroner. Fortunately he was sure that Sir Peregrine was not that kind of man. The bannaret was honourable.
‘Does that mean you will no longer seek to persuade people to take a stand on one side or another?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I have no interest in doing so. In fact, I have been commanded not to do so by Lord de Courtenay,’ Sir Peregrine smiled.
‘In which case, let us discuss this strange series of murders,’ Baldwin said more happily. ‘Was there anything about Henry Saddler’s body which struck you?’
‘It was more a case of what didn’t strike me,’ Sir Peregrine said.
‘Oh? In what way?’
‘His hands weren’t bound, his head and face unmarked so far as I could see, and there was only the one blow. It showed that he trusted his attacker enough to turn his back on him, and that he was not captured and later killed, but simply taken, or jumped on, when he was unawares. That means it’s less likely a planned killing, more probably a spur of the moment attack.’
‘Perhaps. Unless someone sent a message — for example, inviting him to meet a third person in there, and only when he entered did he realise someone was already there — concealed behind the door, perhaps? — who leaped upon him as soon as it was shut?’
‘Possibly. This man Thomas could have been there on the scaffold, seen Henry enter the Close, followed after him until he entered the chapel, and then taken advantage of the situation and killed him.’
‘It seems like too much of a coincidence. Why should Henry have gone into the chapel in the first place?’
‘Thomas could have sent a message asking Henry to meet a man there. Perhaps he sent it in the name of William, since they knew each other.’
‘But why,’ Simon interrupted, ‘should he go to the chapel? Surely Henry would be unlikely to trust a man like William at the best of times, and entering a quiet charnel with a man you don’t trust would be folly.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘But it could have been a message in the name of someone whom Henry would have trusted. We can check later. As a hypothesis it works — Thomas invented a message, sent it, waited on his scaffold from where he could see all the entrances to the Close, and then, when Henry entered the Close, Thomas descended and either walked inside first, or hung about until Henry was inside. Then Thomas walked in, killed him and left again, went straight back to his ladder and got on with his work. The others there might not even have noticed his departure.’
‘What of the second killing?’ Sir Peregrine asked.
‘The case of the Friar, I confess, is strange. We think he died in the crypt,’ Baldwin said and explained his reasoning about the movement of the body.
‘That must mean that the body was moved to make it more conspicuous,’ Sir Peregrine said. ‘After all, it would be safer not to move the friar when he was dead. Why run the risk of being caught in the act unless there was good reason? And what was Thomas’s motive to kill Henry?’
‘I do not know. My suspicion is, like yours, founded solely on the man’s sudden disappearance. Why kill the friar? Perhaps because Nicholas saw him kill Henry. And as for Henry — I cannot tell why that should have happened, unless there was a longstanding feud between them.’
‘What of the mason Saul?’ Simon asked.
Baldwin shook his head. ‘I can only assume that he was another man who knew Thomas.’
‘You mean that Saul recognised him from the past and threatened to disclose his identity?’ Sir Peregrine demanded.
‘I suppose so,’ Baldwin said. ‘Thomas may have feared the disclosure of his part in the murder of the Chaunter.’ He frowned. ‘Although dropping a stone on Saul’s head would be an unorthodox method of murder.’
‘But effective,’ Sir Peregrine said.
‘More lucky than effective, if he meant to murder,’ Baldwin commented.
Simon was still considering the motive. ‘Why would this Thomas suddenly fear recognition? The mason Saul was not a local man — so how could he have recognised Thomas? And Henry Saddler was an accomplice of his, so why should Thomas kill him? As for the friar — well, I suppose he could have seemed a threat, but what if we were right and Nicholas was himself one of the assassins? We thought he might have been in on the plot, didn’t we? What could have made him so uniquely dangerous to Thomas? Also, surely the saddler himself, or the joiner, or even the corrodian, would have the same motivation? I do not understand why Thomas should have decided to enter this killing spree.’
‘We may not understand until we have him in our hands and can question him,’ Sir Peregrine said.
A short while later, Baldwin and Simon decided to leave. As Baldwin said, they would need their sleep that night, if they were to rise early to help a posse seek the missing mason.
As they walked along the road, Simon threw Baldwin a look. ‘Were you persuaded by his protestations?’
Baldwin smiled. ‘Am I so transparent, Simon?’
‘Only to one who knows you, Baldwin!’
They were only a few scant yards from their own inn when they heard the scampering of feet, and Baldwin’s hand went to his sword.
‘Easy, old friend, it’s only a lad,’ Simon said.
‘It is the sound of running steps; they always raise my hackles,’ Baldwin admitted. It was not only the noise and the reminder that even here in Exeter there were footpads, it was the dislocation he still felt — the feeling that he was farther apart from his wife than ever — and the curious menace he had sensed at the Charnel Chapel.
The boy hurried past them and went into their inn. There was a sudden calming of the noise of talking and laughter, and in it, they heard the boy calling for the Keeper of the King’s Peace.
Baldwin glanced at Simon, then pushed his way inside. ‘I am Sir Baldwin,’ he said. ‘I am the Keeper of the King’s Peace. What do you want, boy?’
‘It’s the man who killed my father — he’s tried to rob us, and we need someone to come and take him,’ Dan said, trying not to cry.
Udo had not enjoyed the talk with the Keeper of the King’s Peace and his companion. He was not used to such treatment from strangers, and the thought that the men could have been so suspicious of him was worrying. As an outsider, he knew full well the risks he took in remaining here in a foreign country. If there was to be guilt attached to any man, the population would rather pick a stranger than a local man.
He could ride that storm, he hoped, but what about the assertion that someone had heard Henry rejecting Udo’s offer of marriage? If that should get back to Julia, there could be only one course for her to take, which was to obey his last dying wish, surely? Udo must not let her learn of her father’s words.
So he had the two problems now: the matter of his own guilt being decided by his neighbours in preference to their selecting someone from among their own, and the fact that Julia might discover that her father had set his face against her marriage to Udo.
And the two men, the Keeper and his Bailiff, were the interfering cretins who had exposed him to these problems. He could grow to dislike them both.