Wymond gripped his bow more firmly and hastened after the man. He was certain now that this was his target. The clerk scurried along like a rat, his legs going all anyhow at speed, whereas Wymond could march steadily and cover a great distance with each stride.
At the point where the Bear Gate met the street, Matthew turned left, heading down towards the Southern Gate of the city; and now there were more people to block Wymond’s sight, but he was sure of Matthew’s direction, and didn’t hesitate. By continuing to the gate, Wymond knew that soon he would be out of the city itself and back in the open wildlands where he had slept last night. Once through the old gate, there were fewer people, since all were heading into the city from the suburbs to buy their food, just as he had done. He sighted his quarry ahead, taking the Magdalene road, and Wymond felt delight stirring in his breast. This would be an easy shot!
Thomas couldn’t wait while Simon and Peregrine split up their men, some to take William to the city’s gaol, others to go with them to find Matthew. Instead he hurried across the Cathedral Close to the Exchequer and burst in through the door. He met Stephen’s scandalised glare with an angry stare of his own.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ the Treasurer demanded, but Thomas merely snapped back, ‘Where is he? The Warden of the Fabric?’
‘Why, up on the scaffold, I believe. He likes to keep an eye on the men up there, especially since your clumsy killing of the mason. Why?’
‘Because your lovely clerk is a liar! He helped kill the Chaunter. He deceived everyone.’
Stephen closed his eyes a moment. Then, ‘You want him for that?’
‘Yes,’ Thomas said as he banged out. It was only later he wondered at the choice of words, almost as though Stephen had expected Matthew to be taken for something else. Still, just now he had no time to worry about the Treasurer’s odd manner. He ran to the scaffolding and shouted up to the gang at the top: ‘Where’s Matthew? Have you seen him?’
‘He was here a moment ago,’ the Master Mason answered. ‘He must have gone for a drink or something.’
Thomas chewed his lip. That did not sound right. The sun was nowhere near its full height in the sky; it was too early for Matthew to have gone for a drink. Perhaps a piss, but then he’d still be in view. No, he was gone somewhere else.
‘Anyway,’ the Master called, ‘what’re all those buggers doing over there? Matt was wondering — he said he knew the man in the middle. What’s going on?’
Thomas swore to himself, and as Simon and a small force joined him, he shouted, ‘He’s gone! You’ve missed him!’
Baldwin had at last fallen into a light sleep, and Jeanne was able to release his hand; she stood, stretching her back. Just recently she had started to develop a mild back strain every so often, and hurrying down here to Exeter this morning had not helped matters. She missed her daughter Richalda terribly. Richalda would be fine, she knew, playing with Edgar’s wife. Crissy and she always got on, the maid spoiling her daughter atrociously. Still, Jeanne hated to be away from Richalda for any time. Meanwhile, she was growing aware of an emptiness in her belly. She’d ridden here at such speed, there had been no time to pause for food. Looking at her husband, she reckoned that he wouldn’t miss her for a little while, were she to seek food.
‘Do you want something to eat?’ she whispered to Edgar.
He looked at her and shook his head silently. She knew him of old, and she was happy that he would stand here by the door with that small smile on his face, watching over his master. That smile of his had won the hearts of many women until his wife, Crissy, had snared him. It showed his humour and essentially flippant, amiable manner. People little realised that it could hide a ruthless single-mindedness. This servant was a trained warrior, and he would have no compunction about using his weapons to protect his master. None whatsoever.
Walking from the room, Jeanne stood in the Close feeling the sun on her face, warming her body and making the earth smell fresh. It added to the all-encompassing joy she held within her, knowing that Baldwin was so pleased to see her. Her heart felt a renewed love for her man, and although she was anxious that he might suffer complications from this arrow-wound, she was at least content in the knowledge that Baldwin had rediscovered his love for her. She didn’t understand his snapping at her over that maiden, and nor did she care. He had returned to her now.
She saw Janekyn and asked him, ‘Where may I find some food and wine?’
‘Don’t worry, Lady, I’ll get someone to bring you some,’ Janekyn said. He gazed across the Close and saw a pair of choristers playing a game of catch around a tree. Lifting his chin and inhaling until his chest looked like that of a pigeon, he suddenly bellowed at the top of his voice, ‘HAM AND ULRIC, COME HERE!’ Turning back to Jeanne, he bowed slightly. ‘Would a loaf of paindemaine and some wine with water be all right? I’ll see if they can find some cold meats too, if you want.’
‘That will be fine,’ Jeanne said. She caught sight of John Coppe sitting on the ground by the gate and gave him a smile.
‘Mistress, Godspeed,’ he said, a grin twisting his awful scar.
‘Godspeed, friend,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see you before when I arrived here. I should have given you some coin otherwise.’
Coppe watched as she reached for her purse, and he felt a warm regard for her as she brought out a whole penny. ‘Lady, I am very grateful. You are always generous to a poor beggar.’
‘I try,’ she said, but already her eyes were returning to Janekyn’s door. She felt guilty to be out here when Baldwin was inside, so unwell. A thought prompted her to turn to Janekyn. ‘Master porter, we have taken your room and bed. You must let me compensate you, too.’
‘No need,’ Janekyn said gruffly. ‘Your man was ill, and it’s enough payment to me to see him well again. No need for more.’
Jeanne’s hand wavered near her purse for a moment, but then she nodded. ‘I thank you, then. I-’
She caught sight of the expression in Jan’s eyes, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw Simon and Sir Peregrine marching back to them. Simon’s face was grim.
‘He’s fled. Probably saw us from up there on the scaffold and decided to bolt before we could catch him. We need horses!’
Matthew’s soul felt heavy with despair as he marched on down the road. Half a mile from the walls he passed over the Shitbrook bridge, glancing at the leper house that stood just over it, and then carried on, past the last houses and into the spare woodland and open fields that surrounded the city to the east and south.
Despair was the right word: it reflected his desolation, hopelessness, anguish, and desperation. All that he had ever done was gone. He had seen that as soon as the men started talking in their huddle, William in their midst. It was plain that they had spoken to him, and he was going to claim his rights as an Approver to protect himself. The King must listen to a man who had once been one of his own favoured servants, so there was nothing that Matthew could do to defend himself against Will’s allegations.
Not that he could, in all conscience. Matt could hardly deny that Will was telling the truth. Matt hadn’t had to lie about anything since that terrible night, and he wasn’t going to risk his immortal soul by committing perjury now. No, he had been involved in that murder as a non-active participant, merely telling one untruth — and that not under oath. He was an accessory, perhaps, but plainly not guilty of the actual murder. After all, he was struck down only a moment or so after the attack was launched.
Yet all his life, all his efforts, had been built on the foundation of his integrity and honour, because people thought that he was the sole survivor of the murderous attack on his master. The Chaunter had died — and now everyone would find out that, instead of being a heroic defender of his master, in fact his master was slain because of his action. From being the hero, he must become the villain. He would be hounded from the Cathedral, forced to undergo humiliating punishments, and finally sent away to a monastery to live the rest of his life in penance. Sweet Jesus! He couldn’t do that. The only reason he’d decided to join the Cathedral was because he had seen the easygoing life of the canons and reckoned that a civilised existence within the Bishop’s enclosure, with good food, ale, and the ability and freedom to wander about the city, must be a great deal better than life as a humble apprentice.