Read Online The Malice of Unnatural Death: by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online Page A

moments.
    There was nothing new about this. Someone had cracked his skull last night. Quickly he reached for his essentials: his little
wallet, in which he had stored his spoon and the pewter badge of St Christopher from when he went on pilgrimage long ago. His knife was still at his belt, and his few coins were not stolen. All seemed in their place. And there was this place, too.
Where
, in God’s good name, was he?
    Shaking his head gently, he walked to the doorway. From here he could gaze out into a small yard. It was entirely unfamiliar,
and he wondered whether he might have been brought here by James last night.
    The fellow had a sound heart. He had explained all about how his uncautious words had come to the ear of the king, and how
his guilt had assailed him immediately he heard what had happened to Robinet, but by that stage there was nothing he could
do. The harm was done, and Robinet was after all the architect of his own downfall. He should have kept his trap locked shut
instead of shooting his mouth off like some idiot with word diarrhoea.
    Bearing in mind how fearful James had been on meeting him again, the lad had proved stout-hearted. He’d insisted on buying Robinet, his ‘old mentor’, as he would repeat over and over, more ale until Newt had been quite cheerful. And then, for some
reason, the pair of them had decided that they needed to go out for a walk in the middle of the night. A God-cursed miracle
they hadn’t been seen by the watch and arrested.
    Why, though? Was it just to clear their heads? To his shame, Newt couldn’t remember. It was an affliction he’dnoticed before, this loss of memory after a few ales. It never used to happen to him when he was young, but now he was into
his fiftieth year, whenever he drank more than usual, it led to this forgetfulness.
    The light was bright in the doorway, and, feeling still rather fragile, he walked slowly to the bed where he had slept last
night, letting himself fall into the hay. Eyes closed, he groaned gently to himself. James must have brought him here rather
than deposit him with Walter. James had always been scared of Walter – natural enough, but Robinet had long ago lost any terror
he had of Walter. The man was retired now, anyway, and it was plain silly to be scared of him. Still, it had been kind of James to find him a safe, warm stable to sleep in. If he’d been left out in the cold and ice, he could have frozen to the
cobbles.
    It was strange to think how he had hated James for all those years. The lad had been the focus of all his bile and loathing,
and yet now James had protected him from the miserable weather.
    Curious to think how they had changed. When they had first met, it was before the famine. Christ Jesus, Robinet was still
too used to the miserable weather of the last years. It would never leave him, no, nor any of the others who had experienced
it. The famine had touched every household in the realm with the kiss of death. Barons, the rich, the poor, all were affected. And as people died, the cost of food had risen until many like Robinet could no longer afford feed for their horses.
    Robinet had already decided to end his career in 1320, but when his corrody had been granted at Ospringe, he had taken leave
to travel a little more. For a man like him, to be tied to one religious house was a torment. Better by far to bepermitted to wander still as the urge took him. There was little of the country which he had not already seen, admittedly,
but he still had a desire to see some other aspects of it. He had come to Exeter, and then he had seen the man whom he loathed
above all others. The man who had reported him and destroyed his career. Young James.
    It was peculiar to see him there in broad daylight as though there was nothing for him to be fearful about. The fool. There
was always someone to fear, no matter how strong or courageous you might be. Even the king himself … but that was a separate
story.
    A cry in the street