The coroner whistled low. ‘That could cost the sheriff dearly.’
Simon yawned. ‘His ballocks would be off, wouldn’t they?’
‘I do not like to speculate about matters like this when the man himself has no opportunity to defend himself,’ Baldwin said.‘I should like to know what has led the bishop to leap to this conclusion. There must be some reason for it.’
‘I have not noticed many bishops who need good reason to jump to conclusions,’ the coroner said sourly.
Baldwin smiled, but only fleetingly. He soon reverted to his frowning contemplation, which he maintained as Simon and Coroner Richard ordered food for them all. Before long steaming plates filled with pies and boiled pigeons appeared before them, alongwith a loaf of heavy bread. The sight and smells persuaded Baldwin to turn his attention to the table, and he slapped Rob’shand away from the food quickly, making him wait until the coroner had filled his own plate. Then he motioned to Rob to continue, watching the lad while hesipped at a strong wine.
When they had eaten their fill, and even the coroner declared himself satisfied, Baldwin returned to the matter. Simon hadoften thought that his friend was rather like a dog which would return to worry at a bone until all was gone.
‘I cannot help but believe that a man so determined to attack the king and others would not have run far. But why? If the fellow is determined to commit murder by means of a demon or some other form of wizardry, surely he could be anywhere. What would be the point of proximity? If I were an assassin, and I wished to kill a man, would I not do so from a distance?’
‘He’s mad. That’s the thing. Like this girl killed the sheriff’s servant. Same thing. Quite potty. She even returned to thesheriff’s hall for some reason.’
‘Why?’ Simon asked.
‘I don’t know!’ the coroner declared testily. ‘You’d have to be insane to comprehend her motives. Same with this sorcerer.’
‘From what you said, the maid was in love with the sheriff.’
‘No accounting for tastes.’
Baldwin gave a faint grin. ‘True. But the fact is, she thought she would be receiving a generous welcome from her lover, fromthe sound of things. In reality, she petrified the poor fellow. There can be little similarity between her and this John from Nottingham.’
‘Unless there is something unique about the murderer, of course,’ Simon considered. ‘Perhaps it is simply that he hates the bishop and wants to be there when the bishop is struck down?’
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. He stifled a yawn. ‘But after a lack of sleep last night, and all the exertions of searching forthe fellow today, I think I must to my bed. I shall see you in the morning.’
It was later, as Simon entered the room to go to his own bed, that his words returned to Baldwin. Something about the ideaof a demented assassin being in a specific place to witness the effectiveness of his murderous sorcery that stuck in Baldwin’smind. Yet even that could not prevent him from slipping into unconsciousness before Simon had even begun to snore.
Chapter Forty-Two
Exeter Gaol
Jen woke to a thin, grey light that scarcely managed to illuminate the far wall of the cell.
It was freezing down here. She tried to hunch herself into her clothing to conserve some heat, but it did little good. Notthat it would matter. She was going to die down here, no matter what happened.
There was a part of her that wanted, oh, so desperately wanted, to think that this was all a clever scheme on the part ofher Matthew to lull his wife into a sense of false security, so that he could remove her, and then install Jen as his lover. Perhaps it was only a plan whereby he would remove her from the public’s gaze, and put her in a small cottage of her own nearthe castle, so he could visit her each morning, and his wife know nothing more of it? There were women who lived like that,and although she didn’t think it was completely honourable …
No! She had to stop that line of thought! He didn’t love her. It had been in his eyes yesterday when he had told his men tobind her. It was not love in his eyes, it was not even feigned indifference; it was hatred … disgust — terror, perhaps- but not love. The sight of her repelled him.
‘Sweet Mother, holy Mother Mary, save me!’ she whispered. It was like having two lives: one in which she and her lover plotted to remove the sole obstacle to their happiness, a second in which sheherself was the evil impediment to his joy, and the two lives constantly in dispute with each other inside her head. She didn’tknow which was telling her the truth at any moment. Just now it felt as though the story that she herself was at fault, thatthe sheriff had never desired her, let alone planned to leave his wife for her, was the more truthful, but in a moment sheknew that the other side of her would return and scornfully remind her of the look in his eyes when they had passed in thescreens corridor, or that time when he had met her at the top of the stairs and they had flirted … Which was true?
The door opened without warning, and she fled to the wall at the farthest side of the room. It was only a man-at-arms witha bowl of food, though, and he set it down near the door, as far from her as possible, before swiftly turning and leavingagain.
It wasn’t only the sheriff. All his men were terrified of her too.
Sunday, Feast of St Catherine9
Exeter City
John was already awake. He was bitterly cold, wrapped up in his clothes and with his blanket over him, but today would seethe culmination of his efforts, with good fortune.
Others would have sat in the background and avoided any danger. That was not his way. It was important that he learned what happened. A man who kept away from the results of his work would never truly reach the highest level of knowledge. No. Far better that he should go and perform the operation while he could see the victim. Learn what he could from the work. Witness the result.
Robert le Mareschal had understood that. That was why he had agreed to go and view the last agonies of de Sowe. It wasn’tperfect, though. The man had largely undergone his suffering out of sight of Robert and John. Better by far that the experimentshould be nearer to hand, so that he could see what happened stage by stage.
The light was grey and dull. A good day to die, he reflected as he rolled over, trying to stop his teeth chattering, and lethimself down from his attic with a small bump. In his hand he held the one figure. The others would lie up in the roofspacehe had left. Later he would come and fetch them, when he was sure that he understood the impact of his magic. Outside, hestood a moment wrapping the waxen figure in a fold of his cloak.
Did he say a good day to die? No: it was a good day to kill. Especially that misbegotten son of a whore, Walter Stapledon.
‘So you slept a bit better, eh?’
Baldwin lurched to wakefulness, his eyes widening in shock as he heard Simon’s voice. There was a chuckle as the bailiff walkedround the room pulling on his shirt and hosen. ‘If you want some breakfast before visiting the cathedral, you’d best hurry.’
‘I’ll be ready in a moment,’ Baldwin said, rubbing a hand over his face. He felt rough and unrested, for all that he had sleptlong beyond dawn. He needed more sensible exercise, that was it. Less of this sitting in smoky taverns where the highest aspiration to hygiene was the annual replacement of therushes on the floor; more riding his horse and practising with his sword. That was what he needed.
Not much chance of it here, though. Certainly not today. He had to get to the cathedral church to avoid insulting the bishop,and with his intention to refuse to accept the bishop’s offer to become a member of the parliament, insulting him in any otherway was beyond contemplation.