And then — then they’d arrived at the hell that was Acre, the last Christian foothold in the Holy Land, and the mood of the warrior-pilgrims grew more thoughtful. Baldwin himself had not been scared at the sight. Not yet. He was still too foolish and inexperienced. So he stood at the forecastle of the ship and stared at the columns of foul black smoke rising from the devastated land and felt only pride that here he and the other English would show their mettle.
It was at Acre that Baldwin lost the foolishness of youth and became a man.
Looking at Paul, Baldwin saw himself again. In his mind’s eye he looked over the stinking, blackened corpses, their flesh desiccating in the awful heat, their fingers curling into claws, legs bending. Through the day, even when it was quiet, the sounds of creaking leather, the chinking of metal, could be heard as dead limbs tightened, pulling straps and mail into new postures. It was like listening to the armies of hell preparing to attack.
No, he would not have wanted to see this fellow put through the same appalling experience. And yet there was already a horror in his eyes. ‘Was this the first dead man you have seen?’ Baldwin asked him gently.
‘No, sir. I have seen my father. He was stabbed too. It was a long time ago, though.’
‘Yet a memory like that will remain with you.’
‘Yes,’ Paul said, and his eyes glanced away from Baldwin as the old pain was awakened. ‘I found him, you see. It was during the famine, seven years ago, and some men entered the house to steal any food they could find. My father was there, and he tried to stop them, but one held him and the others … well, they beat him with cudgels, and then they stabbed him and left him there. I was lucky they didn’t kill me too. So when I saw that man lying in the chapel, it made me remember, and I think I panicked a bit.’
‘It is not surprising. A grown man may be shocked to discover a corpse where he had expected none,’ Baldwin said understandingly. ‘What did you see from outside?’
Paul shrugged. ‘The door was a bit open.’
‘Not wide, then?’
‘No. Only an inch or two of gap.’
‘What time of day was this?’
‘Curfew. It was quite dark.’
‘If it was that late, how did you see that the door was ajar?’
‘I don’t know. I could see, though.’ Paul frowned.
‘No matter. So you walked to the door? What then?’
‘I walked up to it, yes, and I …’ Paul suddenly had a vivid recollection. ‘Yes! I remember, there was a faint glow from inside. It outlined the door itself, and I went to it wondering whether someone was in there holding a service — that was it!’
‘You pushed, then?’
‘Yes, but only gently. I wanted to see who was there. And as I pushed, I saw that there was a man on the floor …’
‘Did you notice whether there was a candle in front of you?’
‘I didn’t see one,’ Paul said with a glower of concentration. ‘No, I don’t think so. But there was something else … if a candle’s snuffed, or if it gets blown out by a door opening, there’s usually a smell of the smoke, yes? I don’t remember that at all. Although there might have been the smell of some tallow or something.’
‘Do you think that means that there could have been a candle alight, then?’ Baldwin pressed him.
The lad shrugged.
‘Very well. So you were standing in the doorway, and before you was the body. How was he lying?’
‘He was on his face. His boots were towards me. I could see the soles of them. They were all stained with mud and dirt.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘Face down, feet towards you. How were his legs? Were they straight, bent, together, apart? The same with his arms. And his head, how was that? Literally with his face down, or was it set to one side?’
‘I didn’t really look at his face that well. I was …’
‘I understand — but his legs, his arms?’
‘His legs were apart,’ Paul said, his eyes closed as he tried to remember. ‘And the left one was bent a bit, the right one straight. His feet were apart. His right arm was under him, I remember, but his left was beside his body, the palm up.’
Baldwin mused. The saddler could have marched in and been attacked by someone lying in wait, or someone could have been behind him and thrust the knife in his back as he crossed the threshold, perhaps clapping a hand over his mouth to smother his cries as he did so. Without having seen the body as soon as it was discovered, Baldwin would only be guessing based upon the boy’s testimony.
‘You ran and fetched the porter, I think?’
‘Yes. I’d been locking up with Janekyn beforehand, and I ran back to him. I knew he wouldn’t have finished there yet, and he’s a good man to have at your side when you’re a bit — um — worried.’
‘I can imagine,’ Baldwin said soothingly.
‘He came back with me, and we hurried inside. It was so dark, we could hardly see a thing, and …’
‘Yet you saw well enough before,’ Baldwin pointed out sharply.
‘Yes, but it was darker by then. Maybe it was the failing light.’
Or a man had been there with a candle when you first walked in, but he had left by the time you returned, Baldwin thought.
Joel gingerly touched the swelling on his jaw and grimaced. That was Will, right enough. The vicious devil had given him this blow just as he was about to leave Joel’s house, slamming his bloody staff into his face as a goodbye gift. Good God alive! Joel had thought he was going to die at that point. The man had swung his weapon like a poleaxe, and Joel hadn’t been able to move for some minutes, the pain was so intense. And then he found he had a mouth full of blood. One of his back teeth had chipped, because when he felt about there with his tongue, it caught on a piece like a razor up there. He had to go to his workshop and fetch a file to round it off a little so he didn’t cut his tongue while eating.
Bloody William. He never even gave Joel a chance to talk. Just in, bash, and out again. Bastard! He hadn’t changed much over the years.
Maud walked in just as he had set his file down, and she gazed at him with alarm. ‘What on earth have you done to yourself? You look awful, Joel.’
‘S’hank you, dear,’ he lisped. His bottom lip didn’t seem to want to work properly and he daren’t open his mouth too much in case it hurt.
‘What happened? Have you been robbed?’
Joel smiled lopsidedly. It was a constant fear of Maud’s, ever since a friend over in Baker’s Row was broken into some years ago. The thieves had entered over the wall to the yard, then got in by the rear door, ransacking the place, defecating on a chair, and generally ruining everything. And then, when the owners returned, they were attacked and beaten. The husband was so severely clubbed that he never fully regained the use of his right arm. They caught the villains and hanged them, but that didn’t help the poor fellows who had been so badly wounded.
‘No, maid. It’s not that.’
‘Then how did you do that?’ she demanded. She had approached him, and she stood before him, peering at his jaw. ‘Let me see … Keep still! If you jerk like that I’ll hurt you.’
‘Don’t be so damn silly, woman, you already bloody have!’
‘And none of that sort of language in my hall, Husband! Keep still, now, you’re worse than a baby!’
‘Woman, will you … Will you leave it!’
She ignored him, but started to roll up her sleeves and called to their maidservant. ‘Bring warm wine and water, some towels and a cup. Oh, and ask Vince to come in here to help me.’
‘Maid, I don’t need to have this done. I’ve got customers to speak to.’
‘Fat lot of good you’ll be,’ she said, peering with narrowed eyes at his wound, ‘with your face like this, and unable to pronounce the simplest words. Keep still!’
‘Woman, will you please …’
‘Oh, good. Vince, pass me a cloth soaked in the wine, would you? Now, Husband, who did this to you?’
‘I’ll not talk while you’re fooling around there, damn it. Ow!’
‘Don’t be so foolish. Now, who was it?’