‘Who are you?’ Baldwin asked as they reached the watchman.
‘Thomas atte Moor, sir,’ the man responded, but not quickly, and when Baldwin glanced at him he saw that the fellow was chilledthrough. His teeth chattered slightly as he spoke, and he had to grip his staff tightly with his blue-grey hands.
‘How long have you been here, Thomas?’
‘I was sent here yesterday to guard this fellow. I thought someone would relieve me last night, but no one came by, so…’
The coroner glowered at him. ‘Is that our concern, man? Come, pull yourself together! Do you know who this man is?’
‘Yes, he was well known. He carved antlers and bone to make fine combs and other decorative pieces. His name was Norman Mucheton.’
The body was in a terrible state. Plainly he had been drunk when he came here, for there was a thick, acrid patch of vomitnearby. Baldwin could smell it even though it was frozen. He could see peas and carrot, and smell malt — a man who had drunkseveral ales and eaten a good meal, and then thrown up on his way home.
‘Where did he live?’ Baldwin asked, studying the man’s throat.
‘Down there, over west of the gate, quite near to Westgate Street.’
‘Does anyone know what he was doing up here?’ the coroner asked.
Baldwin peered closely at the body as Thomas spoke of someone who had been drinking with the man until the early hours, a friend who had left Norman near the lane to the bishop’s palace. Many others had seen them, and there was no suggestionof an evil word, let alone a fight.
‘He would have turned west from there to go home?’ de Welles confirmed.
‘Yes, sir. His friend went home — he lives a little way down South Gate Street. He thought Norman had gone home. It neveroccurred to him that Norman might have come down here. It’s the wrong direction.’
‘Well?’ The coroner sucked at his teeth as Baldwin leaned over the body and gazed down at a pool of blackened, icy blood.
‘As you can see for yourself, he’s had his throat cut, and cut so violently that his head has been all but severed. His purseis gone, so I assume it could have been a simple robbery.’
‘I’ve only ever witnessed wounds like that on men who were attacked by those who had grudges. It’s the sort of cut that aman who is serious about murder would inflict. No doubt about his intention, eh?’
Baldwin shook his head. He hunkered down again and studied the body carefully. ‘Did you know him yourself?’ he asked the watchman.
‘Quite well.’
‘Is there anything about him that strikes you as odd? Anything at all — his clothes, his flesh — anything?’
The guard drew down the corners of his mouth and stared at Baldwin a moment, then gazed down at Mucheton. ‘Well, there isone thing. All the years I’ve known him, he’s always had a pin in his cloak. A big one, you know, like a brooch. He said itwas his good luck pin. He made it when he was an apprentice.’
‘And it’s not here.’
‘No, sir.’
Rising, Baldwin stared down at the ground, at the pool of vomit, the man’s body, the blood, and once again he had that unpleasantfeeling that he was exposed here, and in danger.
John of Nottingham heard the men before he reached the front door. His shriek of agony as his shoulder was scorched had attractedthe attention of people outside. He looked about him coolly, then rushed up the stairs and found a small bed chamber. It wasadequate. He could hide here.
The chamber was tiny, much like his own grim room. That was a pathetic little cell, in reality. Probably only half the sizeof his last place in Coventry, but adequate for all that. Illumination came from a shaft in the ceiling, over near the road,and because there was a wide space before his building there was a fair amount of light entering. It was unnecessary for himto have candles down there until dusk came, and then he must shut up the space under the shaft as he lit them so that anyonewalking past wouldn’t notice him.
Damp walls; two rotten tables, their tops scrubbed and salted to clean them of the filth of the years; a single stool forhim; a low truckle bed in the corner, with a palliasse set atop; a box full of the essentials.
Men were rushing about downstairs now. He grimaced, listening. There was little for him to do. Instead he gingerly settledhimself on a stool and began to tease his clothing from his shoulder, wincing and drawing in his breath as he did so, shiveringwith the pain. Only fear of discovery could give him the strength to do so without a whimper and as he gazed at the terrible mess of his shoulder beneath his shirt, he closed his eyes.
The fierce heat of the shards of pottery had burned his robe and then the foul concoction within had soaked into the material,searing his flesh. It was red and weeping already. There would be a terrible soreness there, he knew. Without medications,he must simply endure it, though.
He must not sit here all day. He had to return to his own little chamber and get on with his project. There was much to bedone: the wax must be shaped and moulded, and then he would have to begin his period of fasting and prayer before taking thenecessary steps to ensure the success of this venture. It would be difficult, strenuous even, but he was sure that it wouldbe worth it. After all, his new patrons had offered the same money as that which he had been promised in Coventry — anothertwenty pounds to add to the deposit given by the men up there.
Grunting to himself, he rubbed his stomach. The fasting would begin today. There was no point in delaying matters. He hadto get on with the job. Especially now he had won the tools he needed so badly.
As soon as the noise below had abated, he would get out of this place and back to his own. There was much to be done.
Chapter Ten
Exeter Castle
The sheriff’s wife, Madam Alice, was a willowy blond woman, with the body of a girl hardly out of her teens. All who saw her wereimpressed by her gentle, soft demeanour, her excellent manners, her flawless pale complexion, the eyes of clear grey withlittle flecks of hazel, and her steadiness. There was a stillness about her as she listened to others, as she spoke to them- as she did anything — that was almost unworldly.
Women would mutter grimly about her, saying that there was something ‘not right’ about her. For a woman who was nearly intoher thirty-first year, such calmness and cool beauty, such an unmarred figure, seemed frankly wrong. She looked as though she had made use of spells to keep herself young.
Their husbands would agree with their wives. They would look at Madam Alice sternly, eyeing her perfect oval face with thelittle rounded chin, her soft, slightly pouting lips that somehow always contrived to look moist, and they would turn backto their own women with gestures of concern. But in their minds they had all undressed that youthful figure, they had weighedher heavy breasts in their hands and kissed her flat stomach.
Alice knew that she was the source of jealousy amongst the women of the city, and she knew that their menfolk desired her. It wasnothing to her. She was content with her man, and if none of the women wished for her friendship, that was no matter. Therewere plenty of others who enjoyed her company. The difference was, they were not the rather tatty women from this little provincialcity, but the wives of noblemen. She had even been introduced to Queen Isabella herself on two occasions. No, she had no interestin other men.
The castle was a hotbed of intrigue. She rather supposed it was like the household of the king himself, if a copy in miniature. There were other places which might have been the same size, with similar enormous expenditure in food and drink and cloth- the household of Sir Hugh Despenser sprang immediately to mind — but few could rival Exeter for the sheer enthusiasm ofher disputes. Arguments ran on between the city and the cathedral, between the cathedral and the friars, between the friarsand the monks, between the friars and the city … there was no aspect of city life which was not constantly running contraryto another.