But she was not thinking of that when she responded. No, she had the shock of a new idea in her mind, unless he was much mistaken: an idea that horrified her. He wondered what it might be.
It had always been intended to be a moderately quiet affair. There was little need for a ceremony full of pomp and nonsense. John had already seen that Guibert didn’t want that, and he was sure that Sir William would have preferred a solemn, calm funeral without any fuss. After all, he had been strongly swayed by John’s preaching, and the language John had used about the failings of modern life had influenced Sir William to the end.
Sir William had been a brave man when he was younger, of course. His youth had been spent as a pilgrim in the Holy Land, earning himself a reward in Heaven. Any man who exiled himself on pilgrimage would be renewed, but one who travelled to the land of Christ Himself and fought to protect it from the heathen would win a plenary indulgence. Provided that he had already confessed his sins, all would be forgiven, not only on earth, but in Purgatory as well. It was a promise made long ago by Pope Urban at Clermont. There was no guarantee of an automatic place in Heaven, of course. No, that was up to God’s divine grace, and no man could be entirely certain of it. But if a man had faith and behaved honourably, there was no reason to suspect that he might be refused.
Some, of course, thought that they could escape the trap and live well here on earth and still win a place. That was why preachers like John spent so much time explaining the truth. When a man died, it was not the end. The body which had housed a man’s soul was, when dead, merely the abode of the worms which fed on his decaying flesh. In fact John was rather proud of one line of preaching he had used effectively, which described how the fatter a man’s body was, the more flames would be needed to burn him in Hell. An eternity of pain awaited those who gluttonously fed themselves vastly more than they truly needed, while the starved and scrawny would suffer less.
Sir William had paid attention to that, certainly. From the weight of his coffin, there was little left of him but skin and bone. Poor old fellow. In truth John would miss him. He had grown quite fond of Sir William of Hatherleigh.
And now the body was under the hearse, the candles were lighted, and the wintry sun was lancing in through the windows, making the dust dance like tiny angels. It was the sort of day that any man would be proud to be buried on.
There was a shout from the doorway, and a gasp from the assembled friars. John felt a cold terror suddenly grip his soul, and he was too petrified to turn and face this imminent danger. It was all he could do to glance at Prior Guibert.
The old man stood facing the altar with a distant smile on his face as a ringing clatter of weapons began to batter at the chapel’s door. He was still for a long while, and then his hand rose and stroked his pate.
Baldwin and Sir Peregrine left the woman and stood in the street for a short time, arguing.
‘She is clearly highly distressed, Sir Baldwin. Your questioning was at best impertinent when the woman was so distraught.’
‘She was as collected as a queen. There was no obvious pain there, man,’ Baldwin snapped. ‘If you want to seek justice for her and her husband, you must allow me to question as I see fit.’
‘I will not have you upsetting the recently widowed for no purpose.’
‘“No purpose”? I wish to learn the truth!’
‘But not by upsetting this lady; I won’t see you do that.’
‘Then you are not fit to serve as Coroner! It is your duty to find any evidence that might point to the culprit so that the murderer can be captured, and the fines collected for this infringement of the King’s Peace. Your job, Coroner, is to record all relevant information.’
‘I do not need a Keeper to tell me my job.’
‘Perhaps you do. You are rather new to the position, are you not?’
‘You overstep yourself, Sir Baldwin!’ Sir Peregrine hissed, and there was genuine anger in his voice.
‘No, Sir Coroner, I do not think I do!’ Baldwin said, aware of Edgar at his side. Irritably he shook his head. ‘No, Edgar! I do not intend to fight with Sir Peregrine. Sir Coroner, this is ridiculous. The woman is widowed, yes. But she may hold information which is relevant to finding her husband’s murderer.’
‘You treated her like a suspect instead of a victim.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed firmly. ‘Because I believe that she is. However, my questions were designed to establish her innocence as well as the identity of her husband’s murderer.’
‘She was perfectly clear on that point, I believe. The man, the pederast her husband spoke of, has been creeping into houses all over the city. She and her husband have seen him often enough before.’
‘Yes, which was itself curious, don’t you think? He’s been seen so often, and yet her evidence implies that it’s only recently that she and her husband have grown so concerned that they have bothered to protect their children from him. Does that not strike you as strange?’
‘There is little that surprises me about the behaviour of people,’ Sir Peregrine said.
‘There are times when their actions deserve further study. I must see the widow Gwen and the children.’
‘You cannot mean to question them too? A nine-year-old and a lad half her age?’
Baldwin snapped, ‘No. But I’d be keen to speak to someone who knows the family, and surely the woman who offered a place to the children while their mother recovered would be such a one?’
Sir Peregrine nodded. He was distracted, and knew it. Looking at the rising anger on Sir Baldwin’s face, he had the grace to feel ashamed. Sir Baldwin was not a well man yet, and here he was being roused by Sir Peregrine himself. ‘I am not sure what is the matter with me today, Sir Baldwin. I apologise for any offence given. It was not intended. Do you think that this man Webber has any bearing on the matter? For my part I can conceive of no other who would have had a hand in the murder.’
‘I can conceive of several, Sir Peregrine,’ Baldwin said. ‘First, the pederast; then any relatives of the man — Ham, was it? — whom Daniel killed the other day. And, finally, there is always the wife. No! Do not bother to rush to her defence. If she has one, we shall find it. Be that as it may, it is often the wife who kills her husband, or the husband who kills the wife, when there is a dispute in a household. Often you need look no further. Still, there are some factors which lead me away from that conclusion …’
‘What are they?’
‘Well, all too often when there is a killing within the family, you’ll smell plenty of ale or wine on both parties. There was very little in the room with that body. I smelled little if any on Daniel, and from the look of her, his wife was not drunk either. Her eyes showed little sign of it, only tears, and I didn’t notice the reek of sour wine about her. No, there is nothing that shows definitely that they were drinking and had a fight. Even the timing. I understand that the screams were heard very early this morning?’
‘The watch hurried to the hue and cry during Matins.’
‘So some while before dawn, then,’ Baldwin noted. Matins was celebrated before Prime, which was the dawn service at the cathedral. The murder had taken place not long after the middle of the night. ‘Not the sort of time at which a man should be walking the streets.’
‘No. He should have been noticed for that if nothing else.’
‘First, then, let us see whether there is any sign of an actual break-in at Daniel’s house,’ Baldwin said, and set off across the street to the sergeant’s home once more. ‘And then I would like to meet his little girl again.’
‘That would be cruel, Sir Baldwin!’ Sir Peregrine protested. ‘At least allow her some hours to recover herself and take what comfort she can from her mother.’