The Saltergate Psalter (7 page)

He tried to smile. ‘I'll be back to working with wood again. And Walter to his messages.'

‘Pray God.' She gasped sharply and put a hand on her belly.

‘What is it?' he asked, worried, but Katherine's face held a wondrous smile.

‘The baby. It moved. It … kicked.'

‘Are you all right?' Was this how it should be? He had no idea, surprised by her laugh.

‘John, it's natural. It means the child is healthy and alive. I'm going to leave you to rest. Wilhelmina said you'd need plenty of it.'

Her footsteps faded on the stair. The shutters were open, the sun shining warm on him. He wanted to sleep, his body ached for more of it, but his mind was tumbling. Who was the man with Edward? He'd only caught the smallest of glimpses before the blow stunned him. Small, with a feral face. Wild eyes, his mouth set in a snarl. He'd been the one with the knife; John remembered that now. He could recall the way the moon shone on the blade.

The pair of them had meant to kill, no doubt about that. It was just God's good grace that he hadn't died.

He could hear the muffled sounds of the house below. Katherine's voice, and the girls chattering away. The soft beauty of home. He tried to lift his left arm again, but it defeated him. The pain was too sharp.

He closed his eyes and tried to think.

• • •

‘He has his colour back.'

John stirred as he heard the words, seeing a woman bent over him. Her fingertips were light against his arm. He turned his head to watch as she untied the bandage on his arm.

‘You look better than the last time I saw you,' she said with a smile. He'd expected the wise woman to be old, but Wilhelmina still had an air of youth about her, with warm grey eyes, hair tucked into a crisp veil as white as January snow.

He realised his head wasn't pounding. There was a heavy ache, but he could move it, and his vision was clear.

‘Rest helped,' he said with a thick voice.

‘It always does,' she said gently. ‘Nature's best physic.' With a soft touch she removed the rag and peered at the wound. For the first time he could see it, jagged and ugly at the top of his arm. Above the muscle, close to the pit of his arm.

‘This should heal well,' the woman said. ‘The cut's clean enough.' After a little thought she reached into her scrip and took out a small jar of ointment, spreading a little on the wound. It felt deliciously cool on his skin and he breathed in gratefully. ‘That will help. It's going to ache and it will be a while before you can move it fully. But there's no great damage.' She bound the injury again.

‘Thank you,' John said with relief. It wouldn't affect his work. His real work.

Very carefully she touched his eyelids, pulling them apart and studying what she saw. Her hands had the summer smell of herbs.

‘Your eyes are clear,' she said slowly. ‘How many of me do you see?'

‘Just one,' he said with a smile.

‘That's good. You should give thanks. I don't know what happened, but you took a heavy blow. You must have a thick skull.'

‘That's what my wife tells me.' He smiled.

‘She'd know,' Wilhelmina said with a bright laugh. ‘Rest today, as much as you can,' she ordered. ‘After that, if your head hurts, stop what you're doing. Lie down. Don't try to do too much. Our bodies talk to us. The trouble is that most people don't listen.'

‘I will,' he promised.

‘You have plenty of bruises and cuts, but they're nothing,' she assured him.

‘The coroner will pay you,' John said and she raised an eyebrow. ‘I was working for him.'

‘I won't spare his purse, then.' She grinned impishly, then her face turned serious. ‘Be careful. Next time God might not smile so kindly on you.'

• • •

He dozed and drifted, letting the day glide over him. Katherine came up, sitting silently with him for a few minutes and holding his hand.

Alone, his thoughts wandered hither and yon. Edward and the leather man. They likely believed he was dead, carried away by the Hipper, and they were safe. By now the bailiffs should have them, maybe the psalter, too. They'd be in jail, awaiting transportation to Derby to stand trial for murder.

Or they might have taken to the roads. A hue and cry might track them, but he knew how many were never found. A new town, a new name, and the past might never have happened.

Finally, as the afternoon was beginning to wane, birds calling on the breeze, Walter came up to the solar.

‘Are you all right, John?' he asked nervously.

‘The wise woman says I'll recover. What's the news? Have they arrested Edward?'

‘No.' The boy looked worried. ‘I saw the bailiffs go in to the Shambles, but they came out without him.'

So they'd fled, or they were hiding. John grimaced. He'd like to have seen them. He owed Edward and his friend a few blows. But that debt could gladly wait.

Even now, though, he could make neither head no tail of it. When he'd questioned Edward he'd paid close attention to the way the man reacted. He couldn't have misjudged the man so badly, could he? Perhaps he had.

‘Last night … I thought you were going to die,' Walter's voice shook him from his thoughts.

‘Don't worry, I'm not that easy to kill.' He grinned. ‘They didn't know that.'

‘What are you going to do, John?'

‘I've been ordered to keep to my bed today. Tomorrow?' He tried to shrug, but the movement hurt his arm. ‘Whatever happens, it's over for us. Coroner de Harville can deal with the hunt for them.'

He could see the disappointment on Walter's face. It was done so quickly, before he'd had a chance to show his value.

‘Trust me, we're better out of it,' John assured him. ‘It's not worth it. We're not fighting men.'

‘If I'd been with you last night …'

‘Then we might have both ended up in the river. Or worse,' he said.

‘But, John …'

He shook his head. The sharp movement made him wince a little, a reminder that he'd hurt for a while yet.

‘No. There's enough danger in life without going out to court it.'

The lad hadn't even been born when the pestilence came. He couldn't know what things had been like then. More death than life, everywhere in the country. There was no excitement or pleasure in hunting killers. Not when God had shown them the greatest killer of them all in a time when life had no value. There wasn't even a need to go hunting for it. Insatiable, the plague took all the life it wanted.

‘If you say so, John,' Walter said hesitantly.

He smiled. ‘I do,' he answered. ‘You did a good job. Maybe you'll have another chance.' But pray God not, he thought as the lad beamed in anticipation.

He must have slept right through the evening, struggling half-awake as Katherine came to bed. From the edge of his vision he saw the glow of a candle, the scent of tallow, and then darkness. The night was silent as he felt her curl up against him, the warmth of her body close to his.

As he opened his eyes he could smell the dawn. The freshness of it all, alive and new. He felt rested, all the tiredness purged from his body. Carefully, he eased himself out of bed. But he wasn't dizzy when he stood. His head throbbed, but he'd felt worse after a night of ale.

When he tried to put on his jerkin, though, he could barely raise his arm high enough to go through the hole. Tying his braies after going to the jakes, his fingers felt large and fumbling, like an old man.

With a bowl of bean and barley pottage in his belly, he left the house. People were already up and around, workers gathered round a fire outside the church. He passed in the shadows of first light, his boots light on the ground as he walked down Soutergate in his shirt and hose. By the time he reached the bottom he was out of breath.

He stopped at the bridge, hands resting on the cold stones of the parapet, and watched the flow of the River Hipper below, trying to piece together what had happened on Saturday night. They'd taken him by surprise.

‘What are you doing, John?'

He turned to see Walter standing by his side; he'd been too lost in his musings to hear his approach. The boy smiled apologetically.

‘What are you doing here?'

‘I followed you. Do you mind?'

‘No,' he replied. ‘Not at all.' With his good right hand he pointed downstream. ‘That's where I climbed out. I'm just trying to remember as much as I can.'

He stood silently for a little while. There were images, flashes, but nothing more. Maybe it would all return in time; maybe not. Finally he sighed and clapped Walter on the shoulder.

‘Let's go and see the coroner. Maybe he's learned more about where Edward and his friend might be.'

‘I thought we were finished with this.'

‘We are,' John told him with a grin. ‘But I'm like anyone else, I want to know the tale.'

• • •

As they walked into the yard on the High Street, they could hear raised voices, the coroner shouting somewhere inside the house. John put a finger to his lips, standing and waiting until there was silence.

‘Should we go, John?' Walter asked.

‘No.' He knew de Harville's temper; it was like quicksilver, always shifting from one mood to another. Another minute and his anger would have evaporated. He knocked on the door, and they were ushered in by a serving girl who was wiping the tears from her cheeks. The coroner was alone in the hall, sitting with his boots up on the table and peeling a dried apple from last autumn with his knife.

‘Able to drag yourself out of bed today, Carpenter?' There was a hard edge to his voice.

‘Yes, Master.'

‘The dog and his pup together. Come to hear what happened?'

‘I'd like to know.'

‘It's simple enough. Your butcher has gone to ground. For all I know, he might have left Chesterfield altogether. He'd better, if he has a whit of sense.'

‘Have you sent people out searching?'

De Harville took tight hold of the knife and plunged the point into the scarred wood. ‘I'm not a fool. Don't go telling me my job.'

‘What about the other man?' John persisted. ‘Did you find a name for him?'

‘We did,' he said with satisfaction. ‘The monk wrote it down.'

He'd find Brother Robert later; he wanted to know.

‘I still don't understand it–'

‘You don't need to,' the coroner cut him off. ‘They've already shown their guilt. But we still need to hoist them on the gallows. And I told you to find them.'

‘Me?' he answered in astonishment. ‘I can't if they've gone. Master.'

‘Can't?' De Harville tilted his head. ‘Didn't I give you a job, Carpenter? I expect you to finish it. Or have you become a poor workman?'

Inside, John bristled.

‘I did what you asked,' he replied coldly.

The coroner pulled the knife out of the wood and pointed it at him. ‘The job isn't finished yet.'

‘I can't go chasing all over the county for them.' The man knew that just as well as he did.

‘Then find out if they're still in Chesterfield.' His anger flashed briefly, then he smiled. ‘I'm sure you could do that.' He selected another apple and began to peel it with fierce concentration. ‘You have your orders, Carpenter.'

John looked at Walter. He left the room, the boy close behind.

Outside, he hunted for Brother Robert, and found him in the stable, feeding one of the apples to the roan horse. He turned at the footsteps.

‘John.' A look of concern came into his eyes. ‘How are you? Should you be up yet?'

‘I'm better, praise God,' he answered, knowing how unlikely that sounded with a bandage wrapped around his skull. And he could feel the tiredness rising from the soles of his feet.

‘When Katherine sent word, we were fearful for your life.'

‘No need to worry, Brother, I'm not going to die that easily. And your master didn't seem concerned about my health this morning.'

‘You picked a bad time to see him,' the monk said with a frown. ‘The physician was here earlier. His wife is growing worse.'

‘I didn't know.' It explained the ill temper; John felt guilty for his resentment.

‘The child grows stronger, his mother grows weaker.' He sighed. ‘The doctor says she might die.' He crossed himself. ‘Pray for her, John. You too, Walter.'

‘We will. He told me you have the name of Edward's companion.'

‘He didn't remember?' Robert shook his head. ‘Too much on his mind. It's Gilbert. He works for Edmund the Shoemaker on Soutergate.'

Of course. The man smelt of leather. He looked out through the gate.

‘What do you think, Brother? Are they still here?'

The monk smile wanly.

‘I don't know. Any wise man would run.' He paused a moment. ‘But a truly wise man wouldn't have killed in the first place.'

‘He wants us to find them if they're still here.'

‘You know what he's like. Forgive him. He's not himself at the moment.'

‘He doesn't make it easy. It's like he's filled with vinegar.'

‘Some men thrive on conflict, John. He's always been that way, even when he was young.'

‘So it would be a blessing if I helped him by finding Edward and Gilbert?'

The monk nodded. ‘He won't show it but he'd be grateful.' He reached out a bony hand and grasped John's wrist. ‘If you can.'

‘I'll try,' he agreed.

‘May God give you help.'

• • •

‘What are we going to do, John?' Walter asked as they crossed the empty market square, walking towards Low Pavement. People were already at their work, the shutters coming down to display their wares, the tempting smell of food from the cookshops.