The Saltergate Psalter by Chris Nickson

Author:Chris Nickson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780750966696
Publisher: The History Press
Published: 2015-10-01T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

‘What did you manage to find out about Stephen and the other men?’ John asked. He leaned against the wall, staring out over the marketplace. It was still early, the light rising in the east as men moved around quickly, setting up their stalls.

‘Stephen comes here often,’ Walter replied. His voice was serious as he concentrated on what he’d learned. ‘He sells salt to the bakers and the shops here.’

‘How regularly does he come to Chesterfield?’

‘About every fortnight. That’s what I was told.’

A butcher might well need salt to keep his meat. His contact with Julian could be innocent. From the look of Stephen’s house in Bakewell he didn’t live extravagantly. Someone who once had money and lost it, Roger had said.

‘What else?’

‘He’s done business with Julian for years. Edward the Butcher was a customer of his, too. Most of them in the Shambles seem to buy from him.’

‘How did you hear all this?’ John asked with a smile.

‘I asked,’ Walter answered with a shrug and blushed. ‘It’s easier down there now that Edward and Julian have gone.’

‘Were you able to find anything about the other men?’

‘No.’ The boy lowered his head. ‘I’m sorry, John, but no one seemed to know them.’

‘That’s fine. You tried.’ He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Come on, we’ll get something from the cookshop.’

The two mystery men, he thought as he ate the warm oatcakes with butter. Nobody seemed to know anything about them, as if they hadn’t really existed. Maybe they weren’t even involved; coincidences did happen.

He sighed. This was all too complicated. Little trails that seemed to lead nowhere, or to dead bodies. Timothy, Nicholas, Edward, Gilbert, Julian. Why, he wondered? Did it all start with someone seeing Timothy as an easy victim? Or was there more behind it? And where did the psalter enter into it all?

John wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. The day had started off quite cool, refreshing, and hazy clouds filled the sky.

‘I need to talk to the priest,’ he said. ‘Do you want to come with me?’

The indecision was plain on the lad’s face.

‘I can’t, John. I need to run messages today. The horse traders are coming to the market. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ he assured Walter. ‘Go and do your work. If I discover anything interesting I’ll tell you later.’

‘Yes, John.’ The boy grinned broadly and scampered off, long legs raising dust.

The priest. But there was another place to visit first.

• • •

Edmund the Shoemaker was sitting on his stool, a shoe half-sewn in front of him. As John entered he looked up, his face breaking into a smile.

‘Master! I was wondering when you’d come.’ He turned, fumbling along the shelf for a pair of boots and rubbing the dust off the leather with his sleeve. ‘Try them on and tell me if they’re not the most comfortable you’ve ever worn.’

John slipped off the old, worn shoes, flexing his toes before pulling on the boots. They felt supple, snug without being tight.

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