by Paul Doherty
‘I think the murderer was in that house,’ Kathryn replied. ‘I have no proof, just suspicions. They have a copy of Chaucer’s Tales, but it’s Straunge’s remark which intrigues me. Why should he find flour on the floor of the herbarium?’
‘Anything else?’ Colum asked.
Kathryn shook her head wearily. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Thomasina, Master Murtagh, I bid you good night.’
And, leaving the Irishman and her maid to their own devices, Kathryn took her goblet of wine down to her writing-office. She lit the candles, and as she closed the door, she heard Thomasina exchanging good-natured banter with Colum, then a scrape of stools as they both retired. Kathryn just sat and stared at the wall, whilst different images and memories of the evening flitting through her mind. Chaddedon’s courtesy, the opulent library, the hard-eyed women, Straunge standing in the doorway making his strange pronouncement. And lastly, the footpads leaping from the darkness and Colum’s cold despatch of two of them.
Kathryn sighed and pulled across the copy of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. She opened the book and began to leaf through the pages. First the Prologue, with the poet’s deft touches in conveying the character and calling of each of the pilgrims, then the stories themselves. Kathryn felt a little cold, so she wrapped her cloak around herself and took the book back into the kitchen, where she lighted candles and raked up the embers of the fire. She sat with the book in her lap leafing through the different tales as this merry band of pilgrims made their way to Canterbury. She grew heavy-eyed but suddenly a line from ‘The Knight’s Tale’ caught her attention: ‘Two young knights sprawled together . . .’ She read the succeeding verses carefully, closed the book and sat back rocking it gently in her lap. Now she had the proof. She had no doubt that she had met the assassin, the slayer of pilgrims.
Chapter 10
Despite the late hour in retiring to bed, Kathryn had intended to rise early. Instead she and the rest of the household were rudely awakened by a loud banging on the door just after dawn. Protesting at the clatter, she wrapped herself up in a cloak, slipped her feet into thonged sandals and hurried down the stairs, even as Thomasina answered the front door and ushered their visitor into the house. Colum, half-dressed and equally heavy-eyed, came crashing down the stairs after her.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
The cowled figure in the kitchen drew back his hood.
‘For God’s sake, Luberon,’ Colum snarled, ‘what is the matter?’
Luberon handed him a piece of dirty parchment. Murtagh studied it and passed it to Kathryn.
‘There’s been another murder, hasn’t there?’
Luberon nodded. Kathryn studied the scrawled writing.
A summoner to Canterbury his way did trot,
And now in Hell his soul will rot.
‘A summoner has been killed?’ Kathryn queried.
The clerk nodded. ‘John atte-Southgate in the Fastolf Inn outside Westgate.’ Luberon rubbed his unshaven cheek. ‘You’ve got to come now. Not only has a summoner been murdered, but the whore who was with him.’ Luberon sank down onto a stool. ‘This good summoner, like many of his ilk, enjoyed the pleasures of life. The innkeeper says a woman, cloaked and hooded, arrived at the tavern long after curfew looking for Southgate. The taverner didn’t object, he guessed she was a whore, and who would dare confront a summoner?’ Luberon licked his lips. ‘Apparently, they had a fine old time except that the whore brought a sealed jug of wine which contained poison. They both drank and both now lie murdered.’
‘Who found the bodies?’
‘A chambermaid,’ Luberon replied. ‘On the orders of the Archbishop, I had already ordered every taverner in the city to inform me of any sudden deaths. I was rudely awakened by an ostler with the news and came immediately here.’
‘You want us to go with you?’
Luberon stood up. ‘Of course!’ he snapped. ‘I’m not here for the good of my health!’
Colum cursed and banged the top of the table. ‘But I have business out at Kingsmead. The manor is deserted. I and my merry band of men need to go to outlying farms to buy oats, bran, straw and hay for the King’s horses! The horses will soon be in Canterbury and it’s prudent to buy such foodstuffs as soon as possible.’
‘If this matter is not settled,’ Luberon snarled, ‘you will have more to explain to his Grace the King than the lack of bran and oats! Get dressed!’
‘Go to hell!’ Colum growled.
‘Colum, we must go!’ Kathryn intervened. ‘We have no choice.’
Kathryn returned to her chamber, dressed quickly and, when Thomasina came up, gave her maid swift instructions about what to do should any patients call.
‘Tend to the herb gardens,’ Kathryn added. ‘The sun has been hot and the plants need watering. Deal with any cuts and bruises, but as for anything more serious, just let me know on my return.’ Kathryn nudged her maid gently on the arm. ‘Thomasina, for God’s sake, are you with me?’
The maid’s cheery face broke into a smile. ‘Ah, you go, Mistress, all will be well here. Agnes and I will cope. Especially’ – her voice rose – ‘as the house will be free of foot-clopping soldiers!’
Kathryn and Colum joined Luberon downstairs. She went and took three manchet loaves from the buttery.
‘We can break our fast on these,’ she said, offering the small loaves. Chewing the fine bread, they left the house. Colum hurried across the street to the corner tavern, where he had stabled his horse. He was gone some time, leaving Luberon, who had unhitched his sorry-looking nag from a nearby post, to fume and mutter curses. At last Colum returned, not only leading his own horse but a gentle cob for Kathryn. He tossed the reins at her.
‘It’s my gift to you,’ he said, smiling. ‘She’s quiet, pleasant and even-tempered. Just like Thomasina!’ He eschewed her thanks, saying it was part-payment for her hospitality, cupped his hands and helped Kathryn to mount. Moments later they followed Luberon out of Ottemelle Lane, along Hethenman Lane, turning left into King’s Bridge, past St Peter’s Gate, the Friars of the Sack and down the main thoroughfare to Westgate.
As they rode, Colum told Luberon about the previous evening’s supper with the physicians. The little clerk listened sourly and became so morose at having been excluded from the invitation that Colum shrugged and fell silent, leaving Luberon to his own dark thoughts.
The city was still quiet, with only a few roisterers returning home, singing and laughing, intent on evading the watch. Colum looked at them, shamefacedly remembering his own revelry, and winked apologetically at Kathryn. They passed a forger firmly padlocked in the stocks at the mouth of Black Griffin Alley and two tinkers pushing their hand carts towards the Buttermarket. A few sleepy-eyed beadles, staves in their hands, were walking towards the soaring towers and crenellated turrets of Westgate. Kathryn studied them and abruptly reined in. Luberon turned in exasperation, pulling his horse’s head round.
‘What is the matter, Mistress?’ he said. ‘There’s a corpse to be viewed and a murderer to be hunted! Are you day-dreaming?’
‘Oh, be still!’ Colum bellowed. ‘Kathryn, what is it?’
Kathryn pointed to Westgate. ‘The beadles ensure the gates of the city are shut at curfew, yes?’
Luberon nodded.
‘And yet the whore arrived at the Fastolf after curfew. So who let her through?’
‘The city guards certainly wouldn’t,’ Colum replied. ‘They are King’s men.’
Kathryn patted her horse’s neck and gently urged it forward. ‘In which case,’ she concluded, ‘our young lady of the night must have gone through a postern gate, and the only persons who have keys to the gate are physicians.’
‘Which brings us,’ Luberon declared, ‘back to the beginning. But who, Mistress Swinbrooke, who?’
He led them on through Westgate, where Colum stopped to make a few enquiries of the Captain of the Guard. The grizzled soldier shook his head and pointed at the iron-bound gates.
&nb
sp; ‘I locked them myself last night, and no one, especially a whore, went anywhere near them.’
Colum, shaking his head, led them out under the lowering archway, along the trackway from where they could see the gaudily painted sign of the Fastolf swinging gently in the breeze. Kathryn eased the cramp in the nape of her neck. She smelt the sweet tang of summer from the green lush fields on either side and realised how rarely she had left Canterbury since her father’s death.
The Fastolf Inn was eerily quiet, the great cobbled yard empty of horses, sumpter-ponies and ostlers. Only a few soldiers, their livery rather stained and ragged, slouched against the wall. They recognised Colum, who shouted friendly abuse until a dirty-faced serjeant, thin as a beanpole, lurched unsteadily out of one of the outhouses, a wineskin in his hand.
‘We’ve told all the buggers to stay indoors!’ he slurred. He looked evilly at Luberon. ‘At least until the officials are finished.’
Colum and his small party dismounted, the Irishman throwing the reins of his horse at the serjeant. ‘Take care of these!’
Kathryn and Luberon followed him across the yard into the musty taproom. The landlord, his leather apron covered in greasy spots, came bobbing and curtsying, as if Colum were the King himself. Over his shoulder Kathryn glimpsed the anxious faces of the maids, scullions and pot-boys.
‘Where’s the corpse?’ Luberon demanded, pushing his way forward.
The landlord jabbed a dirty stubby finger at the smoke-blackened ceiling. ‘In the chamber at the top. Honest to God, we haven’t touched anything!’
Luberon led them up the rickety stairs. He stopped on the small second landing. ‘These stairs are bloody dangerous!’ he bawled down at the landlord. ‘Get them fixed or I’ll send the ale-tasters round!’ He glowered at Colum. ‘Nothing is what it should be,’ Luberon grumbled. ‘Bloody wars and fighting have stopped good commerce.’ He seized a thin-shouldered pot-boy trying to sneak downstairs. ‘Show us the chamber where the corpse is!’
The boy nodded and led them on. Kathryn had to cover her nose against the dank stench of the place. The plaster on the walls was peeling, doors to chambers hung slightly askew and the cracked windows were covered in bits of parchment. They reached the top floor of the tavern, where the boy led them down a small corridor and pointed grimly at a door. Luberon pushed it open and went in. The chamber was nothing but a lime-washed box. The walls were covered with dark stains. The rushes on the floor were dry and hard, as if they had not been changed for years, and Kathryn grimaced at the dog turds nestling there. The bed was a massive, derelict four-poster, curtained off by ragged draperies. Luberon pulled these aside and Kathryn flinched at the sight of the two corpses which lay there. On one side of the bed the summoner was naked as the day he was born, the fat flesh on his thighs and paunch now turned a dirty white, whilst his pudgy face had the blackened, twisted look of a hanged man. He just sprawled, mouth gaping, eyes staring. Beside him was the bony, thin corpse of the whore; her head, face down on the dirty sheets, covered by a red wig which now hung askew, one hand across the summoner’s portly chest so that even in death she seemed to want to comfort him. Colum turned her body over. The flaccid breasts bounced slightly, her arms sprawled lifeless like the wings of a dead bird. Kathryn edged closer and stared down at the painted face, the yellowing teeth framed between carmine-painted lips; her skin had the same darkish tinge as that of the summoner.
‘By the stones!’ Colum breathed. ‘Not a pretty sight.’
‘Death never is,’ Kathryn replied. She heard a retching sound and turned to see Luberon standing in the corner, one hand against the wall, gagging and vomiting. ‘There is no need for you to stay, Master Clerk,’ she said softly. She looked at the reddish patches on both corpses. ‘I think they drank enough poison to slay the entire tavern.’
Kathryn closed their eyes and eased the whore’s corpse slightly to one side. She picked up the battered jug which lay between the bodies; its contents had stained the grimy sheets. She walked round the bed and found the pewter cups which had been cast there as the couple had gone into their violent death-throes. Both were empty. Kathryn sniffed each one carefully and looked at Colum.
‘Never drink coarse wine,’ she said. ‘God knows what it can hide!’
She took the wine jar and smashed it against the wall. Then, crouching down, she sifted amongst the shards, picking up the clay base.
‘Why did you do that?’ Colum came and squatted beside her.
Kathryn picked up one of the rushes and carefully scraped the shattered base.
‘You can see the wine,’ she said. ‘But notice this sludge, like the ooze of a pond?’
‘Wouldn’t wine leave that?’ Colum asked.
Kathryn shook her head. ‘No, this is soft and recent, like a thick powder. Wine silt is different, more like grains of sand.’
‘So what is it?’
‘As yet I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions.’
She rose and washed her hands in a bowl of water, gingerly drying them on a soiled napkin, then went with Colum out into the passageway, where a white-faced Luberon was waiting.
‘You can have the corpses removed,’ Kathryn said. ‘Both unfortunates were murdered. Yet I doubt we’ll learn much here.’
They went downstairs, where a frightened taverner told them that the summoner had arrived the previous day and spent a great deal of time in the taproom. Later that night he had been joined by the whore.
‘Did they know each other?’ Kathryn asked sharply.
‘No, no, the woman came in, looked around and asked if there was a summoner here. She then went and joined him.’
‘And the wine?’ Colum asked.
The fellow pulled a face. ‘The summoner drank what we have, but the whore brought her own jug, sealed at the neck. I didn’t want any trouble, so I left them alone.’ He turned, hawked and spat. ‘You know what these petty officials are like. Interfere with their pleasures and they are on your back for life. Now can I get on with the day’s business?’
Luberon agreed and they went back into the yard, where the serjeant still stood guarding their horses. Kathryn breathed in deeply; after the tavern, even the manure piled high in the corner of the yard smelt sweet.
‘You think that was the work of our murderer?’ Luberon asked.
‘Yes, I do,’ Kathryn replied. ‘And what’s more, whoever killed him is a physician.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, the taverner said the woman arrived late. The Captain of the Guard did not allow her through Westgate, so the only way she left the city was through the postern door. All of our physician friends have a key to that.’
Colum helped her remount and smiled up at her.
‘And what else, most astute of physicians?’
Kathryn gathered the reins in her hand and ignored the banter.
‘I think she was hired by a physician, well paid, given that jug of poisoned wine, then sent through the postern gate to entertain the summoner.’ Kathryn nodded, looking back at the tavern. ‘Our noble innkeeper, whatever he may say, has been through the pockets of both victims and kept whatever monies he has found.’ She looked round at Luberon. ‘Who found the corpses?’
‘Oh, one of the slatterns doing her morning rounds.’
‘Did any of the customers know the whore?’
Luberon shrugged.
‘You can always ask,’ Colum hinted.
Luberon dismounted, swaggered back to the tavern and returned a few minutes later scratching his head.
‘They are not sure, but they think it’s Peg of Bullpaunch Alley, one of those reeking runnels in Westgate Ward near Saint Peter’s Church.’
Kathryn sighed and closed her eyes.
‘Hell’s kitchen,’ she murmured to Colum. ‘A tangle of dirty alley-ways and passages where you can hire a girl for a penny.’ She looked at Luberon. ‘Do any of our physician friends work there?’
Luberon smiled for the first time that day. ‘Yes, three of them do.
There is some charity, you know the sort. A bequest, left to the church of Saint Peter’s, which pays for physicians to tend the sick and infirm in the quarter.’ Luberon mounted his own cob and sat thinking to himself.
‘Yes, Master Luberon?’ Colum persisted.
The clerk coughed nervously. ‘I don’t live in Westgate,’ he answered defensively. ‘But, amongst my many duties, I am a warden of Saint Peter’s Church, that’s how I know about the charity. The parish priest there, Father Raoul, often talks about the good work the physicians do.’
‘Which ones?’ Kathryn asked, steadying her horse, which stirred restlessly as ostlers and stable-boys began to move round the yard.
‘Well, at first it was a physician who lived there but that didn’t last long, so the bequest was paid to the collegium: Darryl, Straunge and Chaddedon.’
‘So,’ Colum observed, ‘that leaves Cotterell out!’
Luberon shook his head and urged his horse forward.
‘Oh, no, it doesn’t,’ he breathed.
They waited until they were on the track leading down to Westgate. Colum winked at Kathryn and pushed alongside Luberon, tugging gently at the reins of his horse.
‘You were going to say something else, Master Clerk?’
Luberon reined in and looked round, as if eavesdroppers lurked behind the hedges. He glanced quickly at Kathryn and licked his dry lips.
‘Our fat physician . . .’ he whispered. ‘Well, he’s a strange man with peculiar tastes.’ Luberon looked down and plucked a loose thread from his cloak.
‘And he can satisfy those tastes in Westgate?’ Kathryn continued.
Luberon nodded.
‘And you, Master Luberon,’ Colum said. ‘Were you in Westgate yesterday?’
