Free The Malice of Unnatural Death: by Michael Jecks Page A

the men grabbed a wrist and an arm and tugged.
    The man at the wrist was a younger fellow, and the churl was as ineffectual as a damned maiden in the way that he pulled at
the hand which had been all but chewed away by the hog, but Sir Richard’s attention was not focused on him, or on the hand
with the missing fingers. Rather, his serious gaze was fixed on the uniform of the dead man. Particoloured: half blue, half
blue striped.
    ‘Sweet mother of Christ,’ he muttered. ‘The man’s a king’s messenger.’
    Watching from a short distance away, the man sucked his teeth as the messenger’s body was tugged from the garbage heap, and
then, having seen enough, he turned away and crossed the street towards the tavern at the top of the Cooks’ Row. From there
he could watch the streets east and west, which gave him some comfort. He didn’t want to be arrested without seeing her.
    Mauricehad spent too much time running. His boots were almost worn through, his hosen frayed and ripped from crossing too much wild
land through bracken and bramble, and his cloak was scarcely any use as protection from the weather. Although he still carried
a small riding sword, it was concealed beneath his cloak where men would not see it so easily. A man of his condition should
not carry a noble weapon like that. It attracted too much attention.
    He bit into a loaf of bread and ate it ravenously, his eyes going about all the men in the room. No one appeared to be taking
too much notice of him, and he felt moderately sure that his sudden departure from Evesham had gone unnoticed. In any case,
he had covered the distance quickly, and even mounted men would have taken longer. Riders had to bear in mind the condition
of their horses.
    Finishing his meal, he rested his left hand at his thigh, feeling the comforting weight of the sword beneath. He had one thing
to do here, and he would do it, no matter what.
    In the alley, Robinet was marching at a rapid pace. First thing was, to get out of the city. There were plenty of places where
a man like him could hide, but the first thing was protection. While he remained here in the city, there was the danger that
someone might have seen him with the dead man and report him. In his shabby clothing, he was scarcely conspicuous, but with
his luck the man who saw him would be a fellow with a perfect memory for detail. Better by far to leave the city and put as
many miles between it and him as possible.
    How could he have been so
stupid
! It was insane to kill the man. Yes, he had been a complete bastard to Robinet,and betrayed his trust entirely, but that was no excuse for such a mad act. He must have been beastly drunk to have done something
like that. Anyway, he thought they’d been getting on fine by the third quart of strong ale. Had they argued late in the night?
    The memory of the blade at his belt, smothered in a slick coating of gore, was enough to make his belly clench, and he was
close to heaving as he reached the end of the alley. His pack was made of his cloak, rolled and tied with thongs to keep everything
inside, and now he slipped his arm through one and threw the parcel over his shoulder, gripped his staff, and let his head
hang as he walked towards the southern gate.
    As always the way here was blocked with the crowds coming into the city. Exeter was so busy now, the four key gates were always
hectic. Today the southern gate was blocked by what looked like a solid mass of people marching towards him, all carrying
wares on their heads or yokes about their necks. A woman with a bucket of fish had dropped it and was wailing as she tried
to gather up her merchandise; a short distance behind her a tranter on his cart was hurling abuse at her for holding up everyone
else, and when she remained there in the road the man swore loudly, whipped up his old nag, and tried to ride around her. His wheel caught between a pair of loose cobbles, and although the horse tugged for all it was worth, the cart