The Merchant's Tale

by Ann Swinfen

  ‘Sick? How can I know?’ He planted his feet far apart and folded his thick arms, which would have been a credit to a blacksmith. ‘All I know is that dog has been howling without taking breath since the middle of last night, and none of us had a morsel of sleep. I’ve knocked on Hamo’s door three times already today – three times! – but can he stir himself to answer? Not he! Thinks himself a cut above ordinary folk, does Hamo Belancer, yet his mother was nothing but a poor serving wench at the Swindlestock tavern before she married that French wine merchant.’

  He gave a derogatory snort. This was all new to me.

  ‘I was just on my way to fetch the constable,’ he said. ‘To tell him to make Hamo do summat about that bastard of a dog. Still, maybe as he’ll open for you, Maister Elyot.’

  I did not think Brinley had any reason to blame me for the dog’s howls, but a man who has had no sleep may be forgiven much.

  ‘Let us go together,’ I said mildly. ‘Perhaps two voices calling to him may have better effect than one.’

  He gave an assenting grunt, relaxed somewhat, and walked over to me.

  ‘Was it the street door you tried?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Perhaps he did not hear you, with the shop closed and the dog barking. Best we try the back door in the alley.’

  Brinley pulled a disgusted face. ‘’Tis his responsibility, not mine, to keep this portion of the alley clean, that runs past his house and shop. And I must endure the state he leaves it in. My wife will not use our side door, for the filth.’

  ‘Well, if we are to make ourselves heard, I think we should try the other door.’

  We picked our way down the alley to the door, and I was glad I had not been able to see the state of it more clearly in the dark the previous night.

  ‘I cannot blame your wife,’ I said, with a shudder.

  It was strange that a man who dealt in wines, and who took some pride in their quality, should allow this festering alley so near to his shop. Although it was true that Hamo had become idle and discouraged, as well as obsessed, of late, ever since the loss of his lands in Guyenne. I did not particularly like the man, but it must have been a severe blow to one in his position, with his trade.

  As we neared the door, the dog’s barking sounded louder. It was clear that he was here, at the back of the building.

  I looked round at the cobbler dubiously. ‘Perhaps Hamo has gone out and left the dog shut in. That may be why you could not rouse him. He may be down at the fair.’

  ‘Ever since the middle of last night?’ The man raised his eyebrows incredulously and gave a disbelieving snort. ‘He has not taken a stall there, I know, for he told me so. Said it was not worth the rent, for the little profit he would make. Not with merchants coming from France with their fine wines. Like the rest of us, he has to put up with the loss of trade.’

  ‘Well, let us see,’ I said.

  I raised my fist and banged on the door.

  The only response was even more frantic barking from the dog.

  I banged again.

  It did seem very strange. Hamo had definitely been here last night, after Vespers, for Peter Winchingham had heard him. He knew the vintner’s voice. And as the cobbler said, it was extremely unlikely that he would have gone out in the middle of the night, leaving the dog shut in the house all this while. Hamo was a surly and unsociable man, but he was not cruel, and he was fond of that old dog.

  No answer.

  The cobbler took me by the elbows and moved me to one side, then leaned close to the door.

  ‘Belancer!’ he bellowed, ‘we know you are in there. Here’s Master Nicholas Elyot come to see you, and I want you to silence that dog, lest it drive us all mad.’

  Then he raised both meaty fists and hammered on the door as though he were beating a tattoo on a drum.

  Apart from ever more desperate cries from the dog, there was no response. We looked at each other, and I knew the same thought was suddenly passing through both our minds. During the time of the Pestilence, you might bid a healthy friend goodnight, then in the morning find that you could not rouse him, for he and all his household lay dead behind the door.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said quietly, ‘he is ill.’

  The cobbler, looking suddenly smaller and older, nodded. ‘Aye, perhaps he is.’

  He seized hold of the latch and rattled it, as though the more noise he made, the more the spectres of the past could be chased away.

  ‘’Tis not locked,’ he whispered.

  Now, for a purveyor of wines, even if they were no longer of the highest quality, not to lock his door during the hurly-burly of St Frideswide’s fair, with so many strangers about, was a matter for concern. The cobbler turned to me, raising his eyebrows in query.

  I hesitated. I was reluctant to enter another man’s house unbidden, but the dog was in distress, while Hamo Belancer might be seriously ill and in need of help.

  ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Best open it. If there is nothing amiss, we will apologise and leave.’

  By now I was losing any desire to question Hamo about his acquaintance amongst the French merchants. The barking of the dog was beginning to make my head throb, and I felt considerable sympathy for the cobbler and his family. I also felt a growing unease about Hamo.

  Cautiously, Brinley began to push the door open. The room beyond, which I took to be the kitchen, was gloomy, with all the shutters closed and little light coming from the door leading from the dark alley.

  ‘It is stuck,’ Brinley said, when the door was not yet halfway open.

  He heaved at it, but it did not move. Together, we both put our shoulders to it and leaned as hard as we could. The door groaned and yielded a few more inches, just enough for us to squeeze through.

  It took a few moments for my eyes to accustom themselves to the gloom. I could smell spilt wine, but I supposed that was not unusual in a vintner’s home. Perhaps he and the Frenchman had downed several flasks of wine after Peter Winchingham was laid low, and now Hamo was sleeping off the after effects, still too drunk to be woken by the dog’s noise, despite the fact that the afternoon was already well advanced. There was another smell, metallic.

  Brinley had gone in search of the dog.

  ‘Found him shut in a storeroom at the back,’ he said, returning with the old dog fawning and quivering with gratitude. ‘Poor fellow. He must have been there for hours.’

  Now that the dog had stopped barking, instead leaping about in excitement, and licking his hand with enthusiasm, Brinley seemed inclined to forgive the beast.

  I turned back to the door, peering behind it. ‘There is something blocking it,’ I said. ‘No wonder we had trouble getting it open.’

  I took a step forward, but the dog was ahead of me. He circled warily, whining.

  He was reluctant to allow me to come any nearer, but yielded at last and I knelt down on the floor.

  ‘Can you find a candle?’ I said over my shoulder. ‘I think I have found Belancer.’

  As Brinley fumbled about behind me, I ran my hands over the object which had blocked the door. It was certainly a man. Almost certainly Hamo Belancer. When the cobbler finally approached with a lit candle, I took it from him and leaned forward, holding the candle high. But I did not need the candle to tell me what I already knew, for I had felt the man’s flesh.

  No one could be that cold, and live.

  I sat back on my heels.

  ‘It is Belancer,’ I said, ‘and he is dead.’

  I heard the hiss of the cobbler’s in-drawn breath.

  ‘’Tis not–’ he dared not speak the word.

  I shook my head. ‘It is not the Death.’

  It was not disease that had taken the vintner’s life. The whole front of his cotte was soaked with blood, and more blood had pooled on the floor. That was the metallic smell I had noticed. But the blood was blackening and dry. Belancer had been dead for hours. I leaned forward again, for I had noticed something else.

  ‘Look at thi
s,’ I said.

  The cobbler came uneasily to stand beside me. For such a big, confident man he looked exceptionally queasy at the sight of blood.

  ‘What is it?’ He glanced down, then looked away again.

  I spread wide the collar of Belancer’s cotte, and pointed at his neck, which was marked with a wide line of purple bruising.

  ‘Strangled and stabbed,’ I said. ‘Someone wanted to make very sure of him.’

  Brinley gulped. ‘I know he was not a popular man, but why should anyone want to kill him, unless . . .’ he glanced round the room, which was indeed a kitchen.

  ‘. . . unless they meant to rob him in the night, and he tried to stop them.’

  I did not respond to this. Belancer was not in his night shift, so he had not been disturbed in his sleep. And would the dog have been shut away in the small storeroom during the night? More likely he would have been left to roam loose, to deter any such burglars. As far as I could see, the room did not appear much disturbed, only as untidy as any kitchen is, belonging to a man who lives alone.

  ‘If I stay with him, will you look into the shop? See whether there is anything amiss there.’

  He nodded and hurried away, clearly glad to escape from the horror on the floor. He was back almost at once.

  ‘Too dark.’ He lit another candle, and returned to the shop, leaving the doors between open.

  ‘Nothing disturbed here,’ he shouted. ‘Everything as it has always been. He kept a tidy shop.’

  He returned and sank down on one of the stools beside the table. I got up and joined him. I saw that there were two cups of fine pottery, on long stems and with broad circular bases. The glaze was a costly, glowing blue. Hamo had brought out his best drinking vessels to entertain his guest last night. There was a large flask standing next to them, all at the far end of the table. I did not draw Brinley’s attention to the flask, in case he took it into his head to pour a drink to steady himself after our discovery. I thought everything should be left for the sheriff to see.

  ‘What are we to do?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘I think one of us should stay here,’ I said. ‘It will be best if no one else comes interfering with aught until Sheriff Walden has seen it. I will stay, if you wish. Then, if you will fetch the sheriff as quickly as you may?’

  ‘Aye.’ He sprang to his feet, clearly glad to escape. ‘What of the dog?’

  We both looked at the dog, who was sitting by the body, perhaps hoping his master would get up from the floor.

  ‘Can you take him to your house?’ I said. ‘If your wife will not mind? He’d best have some water, and some scraps to eat, if you can find something. He has had a hard time. Afterwards, we will decide what is to be done with him.’

  ‘He’s not a bad hound,’ Brinley conceded. ‘It was just the endless barking we could not stomach. I’ll tell my wife to feed him, and I’ll fetch Sheriff Walden as quickly as I may. I hope he is at the castle.’

  ‘Indeed,’ I said, but he was already through the door, the dog obediently following his whistle.

  Once he was gone, I went round opening the shutters, both in the kitchen and in the shop, although not the shop front. With a little more light, I was able to examine both the body and the room more easily, but there was little more to see.

  Belancer had been stabbed neatly, once, in the chest, by someone who knew exactly where to strike. It was difficult to tell whether he had been strangled first and stabbed afterwards, or t’other way about. I had been unfortunate enough to see the result of a strangling only weeks before, but this was different. Belancer’s neck bore the clear imprint of fingers, and of two thumbs pressed into his windpipe. The other strangling I had seen had been done with a thin garotte, from behind. This murderer had been facing his victim. I wondered whether Belancer had fought back. He was neither small nor weak, but this murder bore the signs – or so it seemed to me – of a skilled killer. Alice’s Frenchman, able for any crime if he were paid enough? I was almost certain of it.

  Peter Winchingham had heard them talking together sometime shortly after Vespers, when he was on his way to sup with us. It was probably about an hour later that Jordain and I had found him in the alley. As far as I could remember, closing my eyes and trying to visualise it again, he had been lying about halfway between the back door Brinley and I had come through now and the far end of the alley, where it emerged into the High Street.

  Try as I might, I could not remember whether there had been any sign of life about Belancer’s house when we found the merchant. We had been too much occupied with carrying him where he could have his injury treated and be kept safe and warm. Though I thought I recalled a light being extinguished. By the time Winchingham’s head had been physicked, and we had eaten a leisurely meal, at least another two hours must have passed, perhaps even three.

  And by the time we were walking the merchant back to the Mitre, Belancer’s shop and house were certainly in total darkness.

  But the dog had not begun to bark then. We would have heard it, even from across the street, in the darkness of the late night.

  Was the murderer still here when we passed? Probably not. The dog could have lain quiet for a time, before he became anxious. He was an old dog, probably usually content to lie and sleep. It was likely, therefore, that the murder had been committed between, let us say, half an hour after Vespers and perhaps two hours after that.

  I hoped the murderer had no intention of coming back. I wished now that I had kept the dog with me.

  I was eying the open door uneasily when I heard footsteps approaching along the alley. I rose quietly, looking about for some kind of weapon, for I had nothing but the knife I used for eating. Even the slender blade I used for cutting parchment or paper would have been better than that, but coming here I had merely crossed the street to ask Hamo about the French vintner, meaning to return home in a few minutes.

  The footsteps paused at the door, and the cobbler’s wife leaned her head warily in.

  ‘Master Elyot?’

  ‘Aye, Goodwife Brinley.’ I went to the door, making sure that I blocked the view of the body on the floor.

  ‘My man, he asked me to tell you as we’ve got the dog, and he’s off to the castle to fetch the sheriff.’

  ‘I thank you,’ I said. ‘Could you oblige me? I do not want to leave the . . . That is, I think I should stay here. Could you step over to my shop and tell my journeyman why I am delayed? And ask him to explain to my sister, when she comes back from the fair?’

  ‘I’d be glad to oblige, Master Elyot.’ She dropped me a curtsey. Then she smiled. ‘Your sister and those others, they’re making a fine showing at the fair. And their goods are the best quality. I don’t often buy others’ cooking, but I had some of their bullace cheese myself. ’Tis a bother to make, what with the gathering of the fruit, and then all them stones. Always seems there’s more stones than fruit. I do believe some of those damsons and bullaces has two stones.’

  I nodded distractedly, not being in the mood for a culinary discussion. I watched from the door as she picked her way, with distaste, down the alley, then set off to cross the High Street. I sat down again on the stool. It would be at least an hour by the time the cobbler had walked all the way to the castle and then returned with Sheriff Walden. I decided to examine the room again, to see whether it had anything else to tell me.

  My second examination of the kitchen revealed no more than the first – Belancer’s body, the usual cooking pots and ladles, and the presence of the two wine cups with the flask – although as I pulled out the stool to sit down again I saw a rough scrap of parchment on the floor. I picked it up and tilted it toward the meagre light from the window. It bore no writing, just a sketch of a few lines, which meant nothing to me. I shrugged and slipped it into my scrip. It did not seem to be of any importance.

  As I had feared, it was a long wait before Brinley returned with Sheriff Walden and two of his officers. One of these, I noticed, was the fellow who had behaved
with such arrogant rudeness to me, when I had sought entrance to the castle a few months ago. I hoped it was not he who had delayed the cobbler when he arrived seeking the sheriff. I did not ask whether Brinley had needed to search long for the sheriff, but by the time they arrived the afternoon light was fading into evening and I had lit more candles.

  ‘Well, Nicholas,’ Walden said, ‘Brinley here tells me you have found a body. Hamo Belancer, he says.’

  ‘Aye,’ I said, ‘we found him together. The dog had been barking for hours, and no one answered the door. The door itself was not locked, so we entered and found him, just where he lies now.’ I wanted to be sure that Walden understood there had been two witnesses to the discovery of the body.

  ‘Aye, Goodman Brinley has told me, while we were on our way here.’

  ‘Do you need me any further, sir?’ The cobbler had begun to edge toward the door.

  ‘Nay. You live next door, do you not? You will be there, should I need to speak to you again?’

  ‘Where else should I go?’ He spoke with a touch of his previous grumpiness. ‘There will be no trade for another three days, and I’ll not go to the fair, to put my money in that prior’s pockets.’ He went off, though we heard him mutter, ‘Not that a man can stop his womenfolk wasting their coin.’

  Walden and I grinned at each other.

  ‘He had no sleep last night,’ I said, ‘for the dog’s barking.’

  ‘So he has been telling me. Now let us look at your man.’

  I wished he would not call him that.

  Walden knelt down to examine the body and I said nothing until he had finished. He stood up and brushed off his knees.

  ‘Stabbed and strangled,’ he said, just as I had.

  I nodded. ‘He wanted to make quite sure. I think he must have attempted strangulation first. With that stab wound, he must have known that he had made an end to his victim.’

  ‘I think you are probably right. Perhaps Belancer struggled and fought back, so the murderer’s hands slipped from the throat. Then he drew his knife to finish the job.’

  ‘Knife or dagger, do you think?’ I asked.