‘It was kind of you,’ Sara said. ‘You didn’t have to.’
‘He’s a murderer!’ Dan said to Baldwin. ‘Take him away from here, we don’t want him or his money! You keep it, murderer!’ he spat.
‘Leave him, Danny,’ his mother said quietly. She was exhausted, and although she had tried to seek work, she had failed through the day. All she wanted was a chance to fall onto her bed and sleep. ‘Thomas was trying to help us. Sirs, he can’t have been robbing us, so can’t you let him loose? I won’t accuse him of anything.’
‘Mistress, we can’t,’ Simon said. ‘He was involved in a murder many years ago, and he may well be the killer of two more men who have died recently. Until he’s been questioned, we can’t let him go.’
‘If he was a murderer, he’d not have been so kind to me and Danny,’ she declared.
Baldwin set his mouth in a firm line. ‘I am sorry, but we do not know that. He must come and be questioned.’
‘Sara, forget me. I hope the money will help you. Just be happy and find someone else to protect you,’ Thomas said quietly. ‘Take me away, please.’
Simon had him by the shoulder, and he directed the man away from the rough home, along the lane and then down the sloping road towards Fore Street. He glanced over his shoulder once, and saw the widow still standing in front of her doorway, her hands on her son’s shoulders, gazing after the three men.
They soon reached the Cathedral, and Baldwin walked straight in through the gate.
‘You made good time, Sir Knight,’ Janekyn called. ‘I’ll be closing this gate soon. What have you there?’
‘This fellow was trying to run from the city,’ Baldwin said. ‘The Coroner will want to see him in the morning, so we need to have him securely held in the Bishop’s gaol. Who can open it for us?’
Janekyn eyed Thomas with some interest, and then led them to the part of the Cathedral where the gaol was, asking them to wait while he sent a novice to look after the gate for him, and then he disappeared to find the gaoler.
‘I didn’t do it, masters,’ Thomas said.
‘What?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I didn’t kill the Chaunter, and I haven’t killed anyone else. Henry was an old friend. I could never hurt him. And Nicholas … I gave him his wounds all those years ago, and I spoke to him to beg forgiveness. He did forgive me.’
‘He forgave you those dreadful scars?’ Simon said disbelievingly. ‘And then what? He bought you a barrel of fresh ale?’
‘No, only a quart of cider,’ Thomas said.
‘When?’
‘The very night he died,’ Thomas shrugged. ‘He forgave me and we went to the tavern on the right as you go up beyond Fissand Gate towards the High Street. We were there for some little while.’
‘Was there anyone there who could vouch for you?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I don’t know. There must have been people there who’d recognise a description of the friar, though. They may have noticed me too.’
‘We will check,’ Simon promised. ‘But for now, you’ll have to remain here. The Coroner will want to speak to you in the morning.’
‘He’ll see me hanged.’
Simon was struck by his attitude. ‘He may agree you’re innocent. How could you be so sure that he’ll want to have you hanged?’
‘I cannot hide my guilt, Master. I was there on the night the Chaunter was killed, as I said, and I fled the city afterwards. I felt guilty and ashamed of my crime. And then, later, I heard that the South Gate had been left wide open, and those responsible hanged. Well, it wasn’t fair or just, but it was a judgement of a sort. It was my father who was hanged. He died in my place.’
Simon gave a grunt of sympathy. ‘I see.’
‘I never thought to return here, not after hearing that. Especially now, though. I have learned who actually had my father killed. It was that devil, William. He told the King about the gate being left open and accused the city of complicity so he could worm his way into the King’s favour. It was because of him my father was hanged.’
‘Is that William the corrodian?’
‘Yes. I was with him and Henry on the night of the killing, and I wish I’d taken the opportunity to kill him. If I had, I’d not be here now.’
Baldwin and Simon led him towards the cells as the gaoler and Janekyn returned. They passed him over, and Thomas walked with them. As Baldwin and Simon stood waiting, they heard the rattle of keys, then the slam of a heavy door being closed.
‘So that is that,’ Simon breathed.
‘Yes,’ said Baldwin. Then he sighed. ‘Ach! Let us return to our inn and take our rest. We have little more to do tonight, and we don’t have to do anything in the morning. There’s no need to worry about haring off after Thomas now. Come, let me buy you some wine.’
‘That sounds good,’ Simon smiled.
They were outside the Charnel Chapel when Baldwin stopped and stared at it. ‘Evil is not a word I use often, Simon, but I have been aware of a feeling about that building ever since I first saw it. It was built as a reparation for the murder of the Chaunter, but it brought nothing for the Dean who constructed it. Now it stores the bones of the dead, and yet bears an atmosphere of pain and fear. Do you know, old friend, I fear it myself.’
‘And you used to accuse me of being superstitious!’ Simon laughed aloud.
They walked past the chapel, up towards the flickering light of the torch in the arch of the Fissand Gate. And it was there that he heard it.
It was a soft, whirring sound, a little like a bird’s wingbeat. For an instant, Simon wondered what it might be, and then he opened his mouth to shout while he threw himself to the ground. ‘Christ Jesus!’
Luckily Baldwin had heard it too, Simon saw. He lay full length beside Simon, and the Bailiff frowned as he gazed about the place. There was no sign of the arrow. Now, lying on the ground, he wasn’t even sure which direction it had come from. ‘Did you see the man?’ he asked softly. He might still be there, preparing to fire again. ‘Baldwin? We ought to get away from here, find some cover.’
‘Simon … Simon, help!’ Baldwin’s voice sounded strong enough, but there was a strange quality to it, as though he was a long way away and calling to Simon on a foggy day.
When he looked at his friend, Simon frowned. His mind didn’t register at first. All he could see was the knight’s suddenly pale face, the eyes grown huge, and then Simon saw the apparently frail stick, the fletchings quivering gently with the wounded man’s every rasping breath, and he had to bite back his scream. ‘Baldwin, hold on! It’ll be all right, Baldwin — just hold on!’
Simon leaped to his feet and ran to him. Baldwin gave him a twisted grin as Simon knelt by his side, staring about them for a sign of the assassin, but there was nothing, no movement, no scurrying shadow-figure. All was still as he leaned down to Baldwin; he felt the skin crawling on his back, as though his very flesh was anticipating the next arrow to strike, but then he was studying his friend, and had no time to worry about his own safety.
The arrow had entered his back high, not far from his spine, and now protruded from his breast about three inches below his collar-bone. Baldwin’s sword arm was all but immobilised, and Simon reckoned that his shoulder-blade was pinned by it. Still, as he helped his friend haltingly to his feet and pulled Baldwin’s left arm over his shoulder, he was glad to see that there was no bright blood dribbling from his mouth. The lungs must be safe, and so high as it was, Simon was sure that Baldwin’s heart was safe. He whispered encouragingly as he helped his old friend towards the nearest shelter, which was Janekyn’s lodge at the gate.
‘Janekyn? Jan! Come here now! Help me!’ he bellowed as he approached the door. Baldwin was whispering urgently in his ear, but he ignored his friend’s words. ‘You’ll soon be all right, Baldwin. You’ll be fine.’
It opened as he reached the light of the torch still flickering under the arch, and then Janekyn, his face filled with alarm, helped Simon carry Baldwin through the door to a stool near the brazier. There they sat the wounded knight, panting, and Simon could see at last the wicked arrow-head. It was a modern ‘pricker’, a square-sectioned bodkin of some four inches long, designed to penetrate chainmail armour. The sight of it made Simon’s heart stand still, but then he was ordering Janekyn to wrap his friend in a blanket and keep him warm, while he bolted for the Dean’s house.