‘You say that this pathetic little man who pretends to be able to make magic — that this little fellow might be involved inassassinating the king?’ Baldwin asked.
‘According to the king’s messenger, the dead man, the fellow responsible for this attempt to assassinate them was a man called John of Nottingham, who was living in Coventry at the time,’ the sheriff admitted. ‘But that does not mean others were notthemselves involved.’
‘You mean even a man so far away as here in Exeter?’ Baldwin said, and chuckled.
‘You find it amusing?’
‘I find the idea that you could think him guilty very amusing!’
‘Langatre had sold his services to many clients. He is known to conjure spirits to tell him the future, as well as summoningdemons to do his bidding.’
‘And yet an assassin could almost have his head off with a string?’
‘There is little to laugh about,’ the sheriff said. He took the parchment from Sir Richard’s hand. ‘This message was delivered,ordering me to arrest those who could have had a part in a magical attempt on the lives of the king and his favourite companions,and a short while later the messenger was found throttled. That, to me, seems a great coincidence. And in matters of the law, I don’t like coincidences, Sir Baldwin. Especially when they affect my lord the king.’
Chapter Sixteen
Exeter City
Walter drew a large jug from the barrel of strong ale at the rear of his buttery, and poured two pottery drinking horns full. Passingone to Robinet, he lifted his own and they clashed them, the ale inside splashing about and spattering the floor.
Drinking deeply, Walter eyed his old friend over the brim. ‘So, come, now. What is all this about? Who’d want to kill thatyoungster?’
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t known here in Exeter.’
‘He was hardly known anywhere, was he?’
‘This way, no. He tended to get the circuits north of London, rather than the longer ones westwards.’
Both men knew how the messengers tended to work. There were two groups: the nuncii regis and the cursores. The former were the men on horseback, the latter the men on foot. Both would cover the same distance in a day, about thirty-fivemiles, because a man with a horse would have to allow the beast a certain amount of rest, while a man on foot could keep goingall day.
‘Was he booted or horsed when you knew him?’
‘When he was under my wing, he was mostly on horseback. He didn’t start out like me.’
‘Those fellows have it too easy,’ Walter said, refilling their horns. After another toast, he glared at the floor thoughtfully.
‘It is strange for a messenger to be harmed in any way whatever. You know that.’
‘Aye, I do. I’ve only heard of one being molested, and that was by the Scots, I think.’
‘Few would dare cause such offence to the king himself.’
‘Yet someone did.’
Newt nodded, and leaned his elbows on his thighs. ‘What is odd is that when I woke up this morning, I was in a small stable,and my knife was beslobbered with dried blood.’
‘He bled?’
‘I heard he was strangled, but later stabbed as though to make sure. And someone had cut off a finger or two.’
Walter scowled. ‘This grows more and more unpleasant.’ Yes, confusing. The messenger was a pathetic little fellow — he’d seenhim with Newt on that first day, when he walked straight into Newt. Walter wasn’t impressed by the fact that he stood up to Newt. That could well have been terror rather than courage. Walter had seen it before, with men who were startled. When theyreacted, they could sometimes behave as though bold as a knight in a tournament, when in truth they were simply acting.
Newt shook his head. ‘There’s something about this. He didn’t deserve it. He screwed me, I know, but he didn’t deserve tobe throttled and left out there.’
‘No one does, Newt. No one ever does,’ Walter said, and his eyes were black wells of memory as he spoke.
It was very late when they returned to the Suttonsysyn, and the innkeeper was not welcoming, but the coroner made full useof his size and anger, and soon they had a table in a quiet corner with a jug of the inn’s best ale and two large cups, whilea servant was sent to see what food was still available.
‘What do you think?’ Baldwin said as soon as they were alone.
‘Me? That prickle has something on his mind. This is nothing to do with the poor sod found dead, or I’m not from Welles. Ballocksto that! No, the blasted idiot thinks that he can gain advantage with the king if he holds that poor dolt, and if the goodsheriff sees profit in it, he’ll do it. I know him of old.’
‘So do I, and I hate to think that I might one day be at his mercy,’ Baldwin said. ‘If there has truly been an attempt onthe king’s life, and that of his … friend, then you may be assured that our little necromancer here will be sent to theking.’
‘I would not reckon his chances, were he to be sent before the Despenser, not if it’s true that the Despenser thought hislife had been endangered by a magician,’ Sir Richard said.
‘I think not,’ Baldwin said, with a sense of inner relief. It was always a fearsome thing to talk openly to another aboutthe king and his favourite. The rumour was that the King and Despenser were lovers, but that could well have been nonsense. However, the power and authority of Despenser was something that could not be forgotten. He had a long arm, and an infiniteability for hatred, so Baldwin had heard. Merely discussing him was hazardous, for if another overheard their conversation,and they were derogatory about him, he could be expected to seek them out. And Despenser did not seek mere punishment: hesought to destroy his enemies and take all their treasure for his own, impoverishing the families for ever.
‘Of course, it is none of our business,’ the coroner muttered. ‘We were asked to help investigate the murder of a king’s messenger.’
‘Why were you here?’ Baldwin asked. Coroner Richard was not usually in Exeter. He hailed from Lifton.
‘The Sheriff asked me here for a case before the Justices of Gaol Delivery, and when the body was found I was asked to comeand view it. I suppose it was known that I was a coroner for the king’s estate, so it was fitting that I should hold inqueston a king’s messenger.’
‘So it was known that he was a nuncius regis before you had even come to view him?’
‘No … at least, no one told me. I realised he was a messenger when I saw him — no one warned me that he was.’
‘Whereas I happened to be here in the town, so the bishop thought to engage me to help him,’ Baldwin mused. ‘It is peculiarthat he should seek to ask me to aid you.’
‘Means the man thought the theft of this roll could be embarrassing either to the Church or to him personally.’
‘What could be so embarrassing, I wonder?’
‘Be careful that your wonderings don’t catch you out!’ Coroner Richard laughed drily. ‘You know what they say: if you wishfor something too much, you might just win it … and live to regret it! This thing must be something of great importanceto the bishop, whether it involves national or Church matters. Either way, if you learn what is in the roll, you will surelycome to regret the fact!’
‘We must find the roll. That is the charge laid upon us.’
‘Aye. But if we want to learn what has happened to that, we have to find the murderer of the messenger. The man who killedand mutilated him must know about the thing.’
‘I wonder. I wonder.’ Baldwin sat with his chin cupped in the palm of his hand as he stared at the dying embers of the fire.
‘I should think that the fellow was most likely unfortunate, that he ran into some desperate footpad, and was killed.’
Baldwin slowly raised his eyes and stared at him. ‘You believe that? This messenger was caught by a stranger who knew nothingabout him, was held, had his finger cut off, and was then throttled while he scrabbled, even with his mutilated hand, to savehimself? And then, when the murderer had concealed his body and rested, he went to that necromancer’s house and killed hisservant in an attempt to kill Langatre too?’