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

rocked but
wouldn’t rise from the small gulley. In a fury, the carter jerked the reins, and the poor brute, trying to obey, twisted to
pass across the road. One hoof caught the woman a slashing blow on her arm, and she screamed as the sharpened metal of the
shoe tore down her upper arm and opened the flesh for six inches. The horse, panicked by herscream, reared and plunged, and terrified people screamed as they saw those metal-shod feet flailing.
    People were shouting and pushing, and the man’s hoarse bellowing helped little. Robinet stood gaping as the people hurried
past him. Two barged into him, but he scarcely noticed. There was no point in joining the confusion. Rather, he fell back
with the people, gradually slipping to the edge of them, so that he could gain the protection of a house’s wall, and wait
there.
    By good fortune, from where he now stood, he could see the figure of the dead messenger in the roadway. A guard stood watchfully
over the corpse, and Robinet could not help himself. He walked over to the body and stood peering at it while the guard leaned
against the wall and watched the people running past. The urgency and terror was already abating, and there were already more
people laughing than screaming. Children had arrived to see what was the cause of the uproar, and the watchman was chuckling
at the antics of the tranter as he clambered down from his cart and tried to pull his nag forward, out of the little gulley.
    ‘This man. Has the coroner given his verdict on the death?’ Robinet asked.
    ‘Yes. He was throttled some time recently. Didn’t want us to take him away yet, said someone else had to see him. God knows
why. Clear enough what happened.’
    ‘What, a robbery?’
    ‘Yeah. Course. Someone found him here drunk, and pulled him out from the road with a cord round his neck. Wouldn’t take long
to kill him like that.’
    Robinet nodded, but his mind was far away. He wasn’t even looking at the body now. Instead he stared down towards his belly,
at the knife that dangled there.
    Soif he had been strangled,
whose
blood was it on his knife?
    Coroner Richard was loud, bullying and ferocious when he thought it necessary, but he was not a fool, and now, as he walked
away from his brief investigation of the body, he wore a frown.
    The man had been murdered, that was plain. As had the other fellow. But the first had been robbed after having his throat
cut – a simple theft by some scrote who happened by the dead man while hard up for money. It was a common enough event. The
other was very different: he was a king’s messenger, and as such should have been safe from any kind of attack. The fact that
someone dared to assault him was worrying.
    He entered a tavern and bawled for ale while he considered the matter. One thing was clear – he must report it as soon as
he could. He would go to the sheriff and advise him of the messenger’s death.

Chapter Six
The Bishop’s Palace
    ‘SirBaldwin, I am glad to see you once more. You are well, I hope?’
    The Bishop of Exeter sat coolly as Baldwin entered his chamber. Bishop Walter II was a tall man, with peering eyes, a stooped
back, and all too often a frown on his face. Just now his expression was welcoming, but as Baldwin bent to kiss the episcopal
ring, he was quite sure that before long that cheerful smile would fade.
    Their greetings over, the bishop sat back and toyed with his spectacles. Baldwin knew that Walter was very shortsighted. It
was the natural effect of so many years studying religious books, and more recently keeping a close eye on the detailed reports
of the nation’s finances. He was Lord High Treasurer, close adviser to the king, and recently he had become friend and ally
of the Despenser family.
    ‘Sir Baldwin, I was very sad to hear that you were unhappy with the idea of becoming a member of the king’s parliament. No!’ He held up a hand as Baldwin tried to interrupt him. ‘Please let me finish. My feeling was, and is,