The Chapel of Bones: (Knights Templar 18) by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online Page B

death. Robert’s bark was much worse than his bite, and today he was mourning not only a companion of some years, but one of his best trained and experienced masons.
    On his way to the hovel today, Thomas had spied a small shop with skins of wine for sale. He hurried away and bought one, carrying it back less swiftly, hoping that she might have recovered. Hers was the sort of face he’d have liked to see smiling, not full of grief. When he first saw her, wearing that sweet and mischievous smile, he had felt that he would like to see her smile like that for ever.
    She was awake, lying on her palliasse and shuddering with grief, when he gently pushed at the door and peeped around it. As soon as he did so, a matron of his own age, sixty or so, rose with a glower and thrust a hand against his breast, almost knocking him over.
    ‘Mistress!’ he cried.
    ‘Shut up. You’ve done enough harm already, bringing the maid this news. Do you go, now, and leave her to recover. Go on, clear off!’
    ‘Mistress, I have brought her this to soothe her spirits. Please tell her I’m very sorry.’
    ‘Sorry won’t buy bread for her and the boys, will it?’ thewoman said caustically, snatching away the wineskin and closing the door in his face.
    Henry Potell belched as he tipped the jug one last time. There was a small trickle, then two drips, and that was his supply of wine finished. He slumped back in his chair, polished off the remaining dregs, and stared moodily at the far wall.
    Joel.
He
was to blame. It was all his stupidity that had led to this disaster. Soon Henry would hear that the pleader had been instructed, and then he’d be called to the court to explain his mistakes. Not that there was any excuse for what had happened. He’d simply trusted Joel, that was all. He’d been buying his frames from Joel since he first set up his shop. If he was to be sued now, he’d sue Joel as well. There was no reason why he should be held responsible, when it was another man who had built the blasted things.
    ‘So, Husband. You’re still here, then? Are you going to try to drink all of the wine in the house?’
    Mabilla’s sarcasm was of little consequence to Henry. He had made up his mind. He stood slowly and, so he felt, magisterially. ‘I’m going out.’
    ‘Out? Oh, no! You can hardly place one foot in front of the other, Henry. Please, stay here and have a rest. We can talk about it again later, when you’re sober.’
    ‘Woman, I am as sober as I need to be for this!’ Henry exclaimed, and strode purposefully to the door, grabbing his thick, fur-lined cotte as he passed the chest.
    Outside, the sun was harsh at the limewashed houses opposite, and he winced as the brightness stabbed at his brain. Here, on his side of Smythen Street, all was in shadow; the low wintry sun couldn’t reach his front door, and all along his walk he had to keep his eyes narrowed. There was a cacophony ofnoise as he went, hawkers shrieking, horses neighing, dogs whining and barking – all conspired to erode whatever calmness there had been in his mind. As he passed by yet another female huckster selling apples from a great basket, he almost bellowed at her to be silent. God, he thought, grabbing hold of a table outside a shop, if only these damned people could be quiet for a moment!
    Joel lived at the corner of Goldsmith Street where it met the High Street. The place was not as large as Henry’s own house, but it was comfortable, and it had the advantage of a great yard behind it where Joel could store all his timber.
    Henry staggered to the door and pounded upon it with his fist. He had a slight light-headedness, he found, and he had to take some deep breaths of air as he stood there, contemplating the crowds hurrying past. The town seemed unaware of his predicament. Some folks did indeed cast a glance in his direction, but for the most part, all scurried along like so many rats in a sewer. Except this sewer was of their own making.
His
own