[Roger the Chapman 04] - The Holy Innocents (20 page)

Yet again, for the past quarter-hour, or for however long my climb had taken me, I had forgotten my terror, but now, as before, it came flooding back. I picked up my abandoned candlestick, blundered downstairs and felt with trembling fingers for the bunch of keys beneath my mattress. They were still there and I gave a groan of relief Somewhere at the back of my mind had lurked an unacknowledged fear that they might have been stolen from me by my ghostly visitor.

I sat down in the armchair and closed my eyes, my mind whirling with a hundred thoughts, none of which made any sense in my present distressed condition. I had heard a child's voice, to that I was ready to swear, but both Mary and Andrew Skelton were dead. So who could it have been, if not the unhappy shade of one of them?

After a while, I forced myself to my feet, relit my candle, took the keys and walked the length of the passageway to the door at the far end, which I unlocked and unbolted before stepping out into the courtyard. All was silent and everything just as I had left it; the broken planks scattered across the flagstones, the gallery in two parts, sagging towards the, middle, the doors at either end fast shut, the windows blank and sightless. My cudgel lay where I had dropped it when I began my climb, close to the counting-house wall, and my fingers fastened round it with a sense of the utmost relief. It felt thick and solid in my palm, an old, familiar friend and protector on whom I could rely in times of trouble. I knew its every knot and imperfection, felt the comforting weight of its rounded end. I swung it gently to and fro for several moments, first in one hand, then in the other, making sure that I had done no harm to wrists or shoulders. Satisfied, I went back indoors, turning the key in the lock and lowering the bar.

My next task was to return upstairs and fasten the bedchamber door securely. For good measure, I dragged one of the clothes chests across it, as close to the jambs as possible.

Yet, even as I did so, I realized the futility of my action, for if the presence in the house that night were inhuman, no barriers could gainsay its access. If, on the other hand, the voice belonged to flesh and blood, there was no way in which the intruder could reach the door across the broken gallery.

I found that I was shivering again. My limbs felt heavy and extremely cold. I went downstairs and sat for a second time in the armchair, unable to bring myself to lie on the mattress.

I needed to be alert, to have all my wits about me in case...

In case of what? What could I do against the spirits of the grave? My teeth were chattering, and at last I was forced to wrap myself in the blankets, even though they hampered ray movements. I left my arms free, however, and propped my cudgel against the chair, within easy reach.

I must not sleep, that was the thought uppermost in my mind as I tried to stop my eyes from closing. For, in spite of my terror, my lids constantly drooped and my senses swam.

And, of course, in the end, there was no way I could prevent myself from losing consciousness...

When I at last awoke, the early morning sunlight was creeping through the shutters, harbinger of another fine, warm day.

Painfully, I got to my feet, tenderly stretching each part of my body, feeling along each limb with cautious fingers, examining my bruises. The latter were plentiful, some already turning an angry purple, others were still a sickly yellow. But there was little else wrong with me, apart from the general feeling of having been soundly beaten. I went into the yard and stripped, holding my head beneath the pump and allowing the cold, clear water to trickle through my hair and down across my neck and shoulders Then I hauled up water from the well, ignoring the effort it cost me, and emptied bucket after bucket over my aching body. Water has great healing properties and, after a while, I began to feel better. I rubbed myself dry with the piece of rough linen I always carried in my pack for such a purpose, dressed again and was almost ready to face the prospect, when I had shaved, of breakfast at the castle ale-house.

Before that, however, I had things to do, the first being to inspect more closely the broken strut where the boards of the gallery had given way. There was no doubt, after a closer examination, that the planks were rotten and had shattered beneath my weight and heavy-footed pounding, but the rest of the walkway was in no better condition. Why, then, had it collapsed at that particular spot? I picked my way through the fallen timber and looked carefully at the strut which had supported it. The top was cut cleanly through, no jagged splinters protruding as there should have been had the structure been torn apart by accident. Someone had taken a sharp knife or cleaver to it, weakening the whole fabric of the gallery. Someone, too, had lured me on to walk across it.

But why? Such a short fall could not possible have killed me. It could, however, have injured me, and that quite seriously. Even at the time, I had considered myself lucky to escape as lightly as I did. I might well have broken an arm, a leg, a shoulder, or twisted my ankle more severely, and been laid up in the Priory's infirmary for weeks, By which time, my interest in the disappearance of Mary and Andrew Skelton would have waned - or so, at least, my attacker would happily have imagined. But who was my attacker? Who wished so strongly for the matter to be forgotten? Who found my interest a threat to his peace of mind? Above all, who would have another set of keys to let himself in and out of the house at will? There was only one answer. Eudo Colet.

I went across to the kitchen door, unlocked it, mounted the ladder to the servants' quarters and opened the shutters.

Here, where the dust lay thick on the floorboards, there should have been evidence of only one set of footprints; my own from the day before yesterday. Now, however, the dust had been scuffed into lines and whorls, evidence of some attempt at obliteration. I passed into the storeroom and again let in the morning sun. The same scuff marks were everywhere apparent. This was not the work of a spirit. A human foot had made this effort to wipe out all trace of its owner's presence. And who, in the dark, would be aware of the dust on the floor, except someone who knew how long the house had stood unoccupied? Yet again, the name of Eudo Colet came to mind.

I tried the door which opened on to the gallery, but it remained fast shut until I unlocked it with my key. It swung easily and soundlessly inwards, and when I stooped and touched the hinges, my fingers were smeared with a thick, black grease. Most certainly, my nocturnal visitor had been no denizen of the after world, but made of flesh and blood, like me. Yet it had been a child's voice singing, I would swear to that; a child's voice, thin and high and pure. I began both to shiver and to sweat. There was something deeply evil here, and as yet I did not know what it was. I still was no nearer to the truth.

Chapter Thirteen

Half an hour later, I stepped outside the front door, and almost at once became aware of a general sense of expectancy and fear. At the comer of High Street, where it curves downhill towards East Gate, a group of people were engaged in earnest conversation, and it was plain that this was no idle morning gossip. Opposite, an upper casement of a house had been flung wide open and its mistress, her hair not yet dressed and braided, leaned out, calling to a man on horseback, who had reined in his mount below. A second horseman, in the livery of the Mayor, entered through the West Gate behind me and clattered over the cobbles as though his life depended on it.

One of my neighbours emerged from the dwelling next to Master Colet's and shouted across to his friends, 'What's to do? Our man, Jack, has just returned from the bakery and is full of some tale of murder, but who's been killed, or where, be doesn't know.'

The horseman slewed around in his saddle.

'It seems the outlaws were out and about last night and slaughter done. It's reported that Mayor Broughton has sent to Exeter for the Sheriff to come in person, and it's expected that when he does, he'll raise another posse to try to smoke out these fiends for good and all. Accompany me as far as the Mayor's parlour and we'll hear what His Worship himself has to say.'

The lady added from her eyrie, 'I heard they struck twice, in two separate spots well removed from one another, which, if true, is something new and means that they may have joined forces with a second robber band.' She shook her head sadly, the unbound hair, still dark in places but liberally streaked with grey, swinging mournfully about her face. 'What lawless times we live in! What my dear mother would have made of it all I dare not think. The saints be praised, she's safe in her grave these fifteen years.'

The two men murmured sympathetically and prepared to move on, greeting several other acquaintances who had, meantime, appeared at doors and windows, attracted by the sound of urgent voices. Before he could join the horseman on the opposite side of the street, however, I seized my neighbour's arm.

'Sir,' I said, releasing his sleeve as soon as he turned his indignant gaze my way, 'you won't know me, but my name is Roger. I'm a chapman by trade, and I've been lodged next door by Master Oliver Cozin, the lawyer, to keep an eye upon the house for Master Colet. Did you... ? Did you, by any chance, hear anything last night, during the hours of darkness?'

The man's lean features registered alarm. 'Hear anything? Like what, pray? Dear Heaven, are you saying that the outlaws may have breached the town's defences? Colin!' he called to his friend, but fortunately the horseman was still deep in talk and did not hear him.

'No, no, sir!’ I interrupted hurriedly. 'This had nothing to do with the robbers. This noise was more like the singing of a child. But whether the voice was that of a boy or a girl, I was unable to distinguish. Did either you or any member of your household hear it?'

'The singing of a child?' My gentleman grew irascible. 'What nonsense is this? We've more serious matters to deal with this morning than your nocturnal fancies, as you're no doubt aware.' His gaze narrowed. 'Didn't I see you supping at the castle ale-house last evening? Mmm. I thought I wasn't mistaken. And downing some of Jaeinta's best Rhenish if I remember rightly. No doubt, it went to your head and made you tipsy. In future, leave such drink for your betters and stick to ale. All right! I'm coming! I'm comingI' he added, as the horseman, whom he had addressed as Colin, finished his conversation and grew impatient to move on.

Walking beside his friend's horse, he vanished round the bend in the roadway, intent on his quest for further information. I tipped my hat and bowed to the lady opposite, but she, suddenly becoming conscious of her state of undress, whisked herself inside and slammed shut the casement. The other people, too, disappeared indoors, anxious to let husbands, wives or masters know of the night's happenings and of the possible arrival of the Sheriff later in the day.

With my own inquiries to make, I put off eating for a while and directed my feet away from the castle ale-house towards the West Gate. The same man I had talked to yesterday was on duty again today, and was at that moment arguing fiercely with a cowherd who wished to drive his animals from the Rotherfold to pasture, on the other side of town.

'You must take them by South Street and the Foregate. Clear passage must be left within the walls in case my Lord Sheriff and his men arrive.'

"E'll not be 'ere until nightfall,' the cowherd protested angrily. 'Maybe not until tomorrow. 'E ain't long been sent for, so I 'eard. It's a long way round by South Street. Why should me and my beasts travel all that way?'

'Get along with you, you lazy varmint!' the gatekeeper exclaimed wrathfully. 'You ain't entering here, and that's a fact. If you give me any trouble, I'll see you set in the pillory, so I will. Stand aside, now! You're interfering with those about their lawful business.'

Grumbling, the cowman turned about and departed with his herd, to the great inconvenience of those trying to enter into the town, and for the next several minutes, the gatekeeper's attention was fully occupied. I was, however, able to speak to him at last, and was greeted civilly enough as an old acquaintance, although not with quite the geniality of the previous day, when traffic had been slack.

'What can I do for you, then, friend? Here's a terrible night's work by all accounts.'

I agreed, but briefly. There were already more travellers approaching up the hill from the Leper Hospital, as well as from along the Plymouth road.

'Yesterevening,' I said urgently, 'near to curfew, did Master Colet enter by this gate?'

'Master Colet?' The man rubbed his nose thoughtfully with one ham-like fist. 'Close to curfew?' Slowly, he shook his head. 'No. I saw nothing of him. Why do you ask?' 'No reason,' I answered hastily. 'I... I thought I recognized him in the street last night, as I left the castle tavern. But I was most likely mistaken.'

'Most likely you were.' The gatekeeper shrugged his massive shoulders and turned away to greet the next arrivals.

'You're sure?' I persisted. 'You'd have known Master Colet if you saw him?'

He gave me a look of withering scorn. 'And him living within a few yards of the gate for more than two years? Do you think my head's stuffed with wool? Of course I'd know him! Get along with you, chapman! I've work to do. Now then, lad, where are those sheep bound for? Pasture or the Shambles?'

So, Eudo Colet, if he had followed me from Agatha Tenter's cottage, had not entered by the West Gate. I would make further inquiries at the East Gate later, when I had broken my fast.

Jacinta herself welcomed me as I stooped beneath the lintel and seated myself at a table near the doorway. She hurried across as soon as she had finished serving two travellers with their meal of oatmeal, boiled bacon and salt herring.