Free 31 - City of Fiends by Michael Jecks Page A

of the church where the rest of the band were waiting with the carts and horses. There was a muttering of quiet orders, a slithering hiss of steel,
and then nothing more.
    Ulric looked at Sir Charles and the other archer. There were another six men in the church, and Sir Charles nodded his head to them. ‘The people are coming. Make haste!’
    In the blink of an eye, the men concealed themselves about the church, while Sir Charles and the archer took their positions at either side of the door. Ulric was motioned away, impatiently, and
he darted to the wall behind Sir Charles.
    There was a chattering of voices, and then the door opened, and a tall, grizzled man entered. He was clad in good scarlet, and Ulric instantly thought he must be the vill’s bailiff. Behind
him was a short, buxom woman, and a couple of young fellows who looked like their sons, and Ulric saw more people behind them, thronging the little entranceway.
    Whoever he was, the man was no fool. In an instant he took in the sight of the altar thrown against the wall, the blood on the floor, and he roared a warning, setting his hand to his hilt, but
even as he made to draw steel, Sir Charles had rested his blade on the man’s shoulder, the steel against his throat. ‘You’ll wait, man.’
    Outside there was a sudden commotion as the congregation was herded inside, the archer and two others grabbing any weapons from the unresisting peasants as they came.
    It was all so easy. Ulric gazed in wonder to see the people brought in and forced to kneel on the ground, while Sir Charles’s men moved amongst them, cutting away purses and pulling rings
from fingers. Some rich, most poorer, men with sullen eyes, women with fear in their faces, holding children to them, terrified of what might happen, all pushed to the rear of the building while
Sir Charles’s men took up positions around them.
    And only then, when Ulric glanced at the grim faces of the men from Sir Charles’s party, did he feel a leaden fear in his belly.
    Exeter North Gate
    It was already late when they finally reached the gates to the city, and Simon knew that they must hurry if they were to get to the Cathedral before the Close was shut.
    ‘Simon,’ Baldwin said as they rode under the city gates, ‘there is no need for you to come as well. If you join us at the Cathedral, you will be held up there and may not
escape this night. Do you go to your daughter’s house instead, and we shall come to meet you tomorrow morning as soon as we are free. We can visit the Sheriff tomorrow, and then head for our
homes.’
    It was a welcome plan. Simon grasped Baldwin’s hand, waved to Sir Richard and Edgar, then called to his servant Hugh, and trotted off in the direction of Edith’s house.
    Baldwin watched him, then grunted to himself as he and the others carried on down the street to Carfoix, and along the High Street to the Fissand Gate.
    ‘Sirs, the gates will be closing soon,’ Janekyn Beyvyn called from his stool just inside. He was eating a husk of bread, and Wolf, Baldwin’s great tricoloured mastiff, went and
sat in front of him, his eyes fixed earnestly upon the crust as his jowls drooled. Janekyn glowered at him.
    ‘Aye,’ Sir Richard agreed. ‘But we have urgent business with the Dean.’
    ‘I’m afraid Dean Alfred is not well,’ Janekyn said. ‘He has been bled, and is away resting. I think the barber took too much blood. He’s not a young man, but the
surgeon wouldn’t listen to anyone.’
    ‘Well, the Precentor will do,’ Baldwin said. ‘Porter, could you send a boy to tell him that Sir Baldwin de Furnshill and Sir Richard de Welles regret interrupting him at this
sorry time, but we have some grievous news to impart.’
    ‘Sorry time, sir?’
    Baldwin gave a quick frown. ‘Have you not heard?’
    ‘Simon was right, then,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Please send to the good Precentor, porter. We have bad news for him.’
    Monday after the Nativity of St John the Baptist