Read Online A Plague of Heretics by Bernard Knight - Free Book Online

sell to pilgrims. They knew little else about him, as he was a quiet, withdrawn person, with no relatives that they knew of.
    Matilda seized upon the news like a terrier with a rat, as John had not bothered to tell her why he had arrived home late that afternoon.
    ‘I have heard of the man. He shaped some parts of the rood screen in St Pancras Church,’ she snapped. ‘Why should someone want to murder a devout man like that? He could have no riches to steal.’
    Clement and Matilda launched on a somewhat patronising discussion about why the good are struck down while the wicked prosper. John, sitting now in one of the monks’ seats, was content to watch Cecilia, who so far had hardly spoken a word, except for some polite responses to a few questions about how she liked her new life in Exeter.
    As he looked across at her profile, the old adage ‘still waters run deep’ came into his mind, and he again had to remind himself that an equally attractive woman awaited him in Dawlish. Cecilia seemed aware of his scrutiny, for she turned her head and gave him a slight, almost secret smile. He thought that she must be well used to men staring at her; it could hardly be otherwise. He was jerked from his daydreaming by her husband speaking to him.
    ‘Is there any reason why this man should have been fatally attacked?’ he asked. ‘As in any town, there are plenty of drunken brawls and knife fights, but this secret killing must be unusual, even for such a large city as Exeter.’
    John raised his shoulders in an almost Gallic gesture. ‘It is too early to say. I sent my officer around to all the houses nearby, to raise the hue and cry, not that it was of any use as the man had been dead for some time. But no one admitted seeing or hearing anything untoward. We can do no more until daybreak tomorrow.’
    He kept the nature of the injuries to himself, but saw no harm in enlarging on the circumstances, as doctors heard things that often no one else could pick up, other than priests in the confessional.
    ‘The victim was severely wounded, so it is probable that the assailant would have been heavily bloodstained. Given this deep frost, it is impossible even to guess at the time of the attack, which must have taken place somewhere else.’
    At last, Cecilia joined the conversation. ‘How could someone move a body across the city without being seen?’ she asked. Her voice was low and pleasant, her Norman-French perfect. Though John knew that they could both speak good English – and no doubt the physician was fluent in Latin – Matilda insisted on always speaking French in the house. Though she was born in Devon and had lived all her life there, apart from a couple of trips to distant relatives in Normandy, she insisted on ‘playing the Norman’ on the strength of her de Revelle ancestors.
    ‘There are plenty of back alleys and, at night, few people about, except around the taverns,’ answered Cecilia’s husband. ‘Maybe you will never find the culprit, though Almighty God knows and will bring him to his proper reckoning when the Great Trump sounds!’ he added piously.
    John was more forthright. ‘It must have been possible to move him, for indeed it happened!’ he declared. ‘The dead man was a thin old fellow; he could have been carried quite easily. And for all we know, there might have been more than one assailant.’
    Matilda was becoming increasingly fractious at the choice of subject. She wanted to talk of churches, priests and well-known citizens of her acquaintance.
    ‘Do you have to bring your loathsome work home with you, John?’ she snapped. ‘I’m sure the doctor here does not weary his wife with tales from the sickbed!’
    Cecilia smiled faintly but said nothing in response, leaving it to the others to guess whether her husband discussed his patients’ problems with her. However, John was not going to be sidetracked by Matilda, for he needed some information.
    ‘Doctor Clement, these outbreaks of the