There was little to learn from him. The prior’s story merely confirmed all that Simon and Baldwin had already heard, and Simon could discern nothing in it which rang false against all the other testimonies he had been given.
‘I am still fascinated by the idea of the man who arranged for treachery. Who could have planted the lie so closely to the Chaunter? If a man were to behave so dishonourably, wouldn’t he feel the guilt afterwards? Surely his crime would be obvious.’
‘There are some who feel no such compunction,’ Peter said. ‘Look at my corrodian, William. He is a man of great resolve and determination, but if he finds another in his way, he will destroy the man. You have heard of his denunciation of the Mayor?’
Simon could feel Thomas suddenly stiffen, and Simon glanced at him as he said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘The Mayor was hanged because the King learned that the South Gate had been left open for the assassins to depart the city after their deed. While we of the Cathedral Close went to our beds and hid, the others fled the city through that gate. The watch was not efficient, and there was no means to check on who was in the city that night and who was not, so all escaped. Well, since that gate was left open, the first two people whom the King ordered to be executed were, of course, the gatekeeper and the Mayor. The city was complicit in the act, the King declared, so the representative of the city must pay. It was William who told the King of the gate being left open, so it is he who bears the guilt of the Mayor’s death, yet you will see no shame in his eyes.’
‘Why did he do that?’ Thomas demanded.
‘Because he sought advancement,’ Peter said sarcastically. ‘If a couple of deaths would lead to his being taken into the King’s host, it was a trade worth his while. That was how he reasoned, and he was proved correct. He has lived to a good age in the King’s service and now he can expect a long retirement.’
‘All from a pair of executions so long ago,’ Thomas said bitterly.
‘I am sorry, Tom,’ Peter said more kindly. ‘I forgot the gatekeeper was your father.’
‘Where is William?’ Thomas said. ‘I want to see him.’
‘He left the Priory this morning quite early,’ Peter said. ‘I don’t know where he’s gone.’
William had, in fact, spent much of the morning in the Frauncey’s Inn over near the East Gate. When the sun rose, he went out from the Priory with a desire to find a good pint of wine and drink it as quickly as possible. In a city like Exeter, with over thirty inns and taverns, that was no difficult task, and he had eschewed the first three he had come across on the basis that he had been to all of them before only recently. Today he wanted anonymity.
It was clear enough that Peter was not going to help save them. Someone was out there with a grudge against William and probably Peter too, and he could probably harm William, but Peter didn’t seem to care, the bastard. He could rot in hell for all William cared now. The Prior just didn’t understand how worried William was that his corrody could be endangered by the stories of his behaviour during the assault on the Chaunter. It meant everything to William! If it was bruited abroad that he had been in on the attack, the King could remove his corrody and leave him destitute. Entirely without a penny. What could a man do when he was faced with that kind of stern reality? There was only one route — become an outlaw and steal what was needed for survival.
William reached that conclusion at the bottom of his first pint of wine, and he set out to empty a second jug with a sense of increasing gloom.
It was not because he had a moral objection to the idea of life as a felon. That was no concern to him. After all, he had behaved that way before often enough. No, it was that with his recurring dizziness and headaches, the idea of life out in the woods was less than appealing. It could well spell his death. And he was not the warrior he once had been. In the past he had been as quick as a striking viper … now he was still fast, but …
All men had to admit to themselves when they grew too old to defend themselves against younger men, and William knew full well that his time was come. If he were to offer himself in the ring for combat, he’d not be certain to win. He had done so in the past, when he was a noted fighter, and he’d seen off several good swordsmen and sword-and-dagger fighters for good purses. Only a few had died in the ring with him. There was no need to slaughter them all; the audience got the pleasure of the battle without the need for an actual death.
Yes, in his youth and middle years, organising a prize-fight had been a profitable business. If he gained a scar or two, so be it if the purse was good enough. But nowadays — well, it was a younger man’s game, that.
So with no prize, no corrody, the only life open to him was the harsh one of a felon, and that did not appeal to him. Living rough, always sleeping lightly in case the King’s posse arrived to poke a sword or pike at a man’s ribs, that was no way to live.
And then he had the idea flash in the back of his mind.
There was one other way to make a new life: find a wealthy woman who would marry him. Slowly his frowning concern left his face, ironed away by the brilliance of this new thought.
Mabilla would surely have him. She had wanted him. Oh, she’d said she hated him when they last met, because she blamed him for her old man’s death, but that was hardly his problem. And just now she could help him. She must see that. She had enough money, too. All he had to do was marry her and then he’d become master of her money. The corrody would be unimportant, and he could thumb his nose at the King if he chose to steal it back.
No sooner had he considered the benefits of this course, than he had finished off his jug of wine, and stood. His head was a little dizzy, but no matter. He shook himself and sauntered from the tavern, making his way across the city towards Smythen Street, and then walked down the hill towards Mabilla’s house. Reaching it, he banged on the door with his staff and stood back to wait. As soon as it opened he pushed his way inside and ignored the flapping maid who tried to keep him out. In the end he put an arm about her breast and shoved her ungently from his path.
‘Mabilla, my love! I need to talk to you!’ he called at the top of his voice as he left the screens and entered the hall, and then he stopped at the sight of the other man there. ‘Who are you?’
Mabilla rose to her feet, her face cold and angry. ‘You are not welcome here, William. What do you want here? I ask you to leave.’
‘I’m not going anywhere, woman. I came to talk to you. Where’s that little maid? Tell her to fetch me wine.’
‘You are going to leave, Will. You aren’t wanted here.’
‘Woman, that’s no way to speak to a future husband! I want to marry you.’
Mabilla’s face froze. She looked like a statue formed of steel. Her voice, when she spoke, was harsh and grating. ‘William, I would not marry you, were you the King of the lands. Now leave my hall.’
‘Mab, don’t be like that. You loved me before you married that foolish saddler. Come on. Give me a hug and say you’ll be mine.’
‘The lady asked you to leave,’ Udo said.
Will turned with frank surprise that the fellow should dare to thwart him. He had looked a vain, foolish sort of man, not one to test a warrior of Will’s mettle. ‘I piss on you. If you’re determined to have only one man here, you’d better go. Otherwise I’ll make you. Either that, or shut up.’
‘You have into this house of mourning broken, and now a riot you threaten?’ Udo said, his anger making his urbane English falter. ‘I would resist.’
William raised his staff threateningly. ‘Try to resist this, you piece of German shit! I’ll break your head if you get in my way!’
To his astonishment, the German didn’t flee, but instead drew a solid-looking broadsword.
It was all he could do not to laugh. Will changed his grip and held the pole as a quarterstaff, with a quarter of the wood between his hands, the metal-shod end outthrust towards Udo like a lance. He might be old, but he had a staff, and a man with a staff would always beat a fool with a short lump of steel in his hands.