‘That’s not the point. The point is, you have no rational explanation as to why someone should be, as you say, dogging Karvinel with such foul luck.’
‘No,’ Baldwin admitted.
‘It could as easily be someone else who could afford to pay for this Sir Thomas’s services. Until you know who is wealthy enough to pay him, you’ll never find out anything.’
‘We have to find out more, yes,’ Baldwin said slowly, and then he sat upright with a beatific smile on his face. ‘Thank you, my friend.’
‘Eh? What for?’ Simon demanded suspiciously.
‘Why, for showing me what I should do, of course,’ Baldwin said innocently and walked from the room.
Simon swore under his breath, then swore again when he saw his breath hanging on the air in front of him. Reaching forward he threw more logs onto the fire, and shivered glumly. He knew he’d never get back to sleep again now.
Jolinde walked from the inn to the cookshops, scratching at his head and yawning luxuriously. It astonished him how Claricia could work until late, bed him until he must run to the Cathedral for the early-morning services, and then welcome him back to her bed later in the morning without showing any apparent signs of exhaustion.
For his part, he was utterly tired out. Even when Claricia left him alone, he found it hard to sleep. He kept seeing poor Peter’s face in his last agonies, puking and fouling himself in his stall. And then there was the thought of the stuff. Where could it have gone? Not that Jolinde truly cared. He would never have thought of making off with it. It was tainted money, stolen from Ralph, the rightful owner.
‘So you are up early, Jolinde?’
‘Canon Stephen,’ Jolinde said. ‘You startled me.’
‘Most of the Secondaries are back in their beds trying to catch up with the sleep they missed during Matins and Prime. I am pleased to see that you need less sleep.’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Jolinde said. It was nothing more than the truth.
‘You mustn’t concern yourself with your friend’s death, Jolinde.’
There was a kindness and gentleness in Stephen’s voice that made Jolly look up at him. ‘Canon?’
‘Your friend was a bad sort,’ Stephen explained. ‘I saw him on the day he died, late in the afternoon. He was a sinner, Jolinde, and quite undeserving of his position here. He committed a dreadful act, a truly awful crime, and I would not have you worrying yourself over his death. If he was deserving of forgiveness, God will recognise His own, but having learned what I did from him, I would scarcely think Peter could achieve a place at God’s side.’
Shaking his head sadly, he walked on a short way.
Jolinde could not speak. It was all too clear what Stephen meant: he had learned that Peter had stolen the money; even now he was blaming Peter for the theft of Ralph’s cash. It was terrible! Jolinde must do what he could to defend Peter’s name, but how?
Then the means came to him. He would admit to being responsible for the theft. It would destroy his position in the Cathedral, but he didn’t think he had any future there anyway, so that was no loss. No, he would confess to his own part in the matter and that would clear Peter’s name.
Except it might not, he realised. Men demanded tangible proofs, otherwise they might simply assume that a loyal friend was taking all the responsibility upon himself. And there was another point: they might decide that if he was truly guilty, he should not benefit from his theft.
He must find the money. That little purse with the filched cash could be produced to show that Peter was innocent, and could prove that he, Jolinde, had no intention of profiting from the theft.
Where the Hell could Peter have hidden it?
Justice was much on Henry’s mind. He had awoken with a backside still smarting from the lashing Gervase had given him the night before. The Canon had laid into him in front of all the other Choristers, taking a stiffened strip of bull’s leather and whipping Henry for all he was worth.
The memory made Henry’s eyes fill with tears of frustration. He had been made to look a fool and thrashed in front of all his friends and enemies when he was completely innocent! He’d not pushed Luke – he’d not even known the other boy was out there. No, he’d been working, keeping his head down, the sort of thing that Gervase kept telling him he should do, and look how he’d been repaid!
He wouldn’t be surprised if Luke had shoved his own face in the muck just so he could put the blame onto Henry. Henry was a fair-minded boy, and he accepted that there would be a certain justice in Luke getting his revenge like that, because after all Henry had made his life difficult often enough.
Henry cast a glance to his right where the cloisters lay. A naughty smile crossed his features as he recalled putting that beetle down the back of Luke’s neck. And then when he’d hit him with dung; it had been deeply satisfying, hearing that damp slapping noise. Brilliant! He had fled Luke’s justifiable rage, hurrying into the cloisters and out the other side, to the works where he had his refuge.
It was a small gap in a wall in a cellar, near where the new workings met the old Cathedral tower. He had found it the previous summer in an idle moment, wondering what lay behind, and when he squeezed his way inside, he discovered that a wall had been knocked down, and beyond was a shaft going down. A ladder was propped, and he descended into a large, airy tunnel. He had no idea what it was for, but as soon as he discovered it he knew it was a perfect place to conceal himself. After any attack on Luke he would scurry down the shaft, dragging the ladder after him, and stay there, listening with beating heart and eager ears, feeling the thrill of the chase, even if from the prey’s perspective, mingled with the delight of the battle he had instigated.
Yes, he decided, if Luke wanted revenge, the easy approach would be to mess himself up, then pass the blame on to Henry. But hang on! That couldn’t be right. Luke wouldn’t even have known Henry was there. And his cry sounded genuine – really terrified. Henry shook his head doubtfully. It was very confusing.
He shuffled idly along the path that led around the Cathedral up towards the Choristers’ hall where he intended doing a little more work before attending his next service. That reminded him of his yellow orpiment. Someone had taken it. He’d known something was missing. The thought made him glower. He hadn’t finished with it.
He soon found the bottle on Luke’s desk. Henry picked it up and noticed how low the level had sunk. Huh! Typical of Luke to splash the stuff all over his pages. He was just lucky that his daubings always seemed to turn out to look so good. He put the orpiment back on Luke’s desk. There was no point in keeping it.
Even if he couldn’t draw and paint as well as Luke, he could at least take pleasure in the fact that he was going to be the boy-Bishop – and he could enjoy running about the streets with other boys.
Going to the door, he glanced out. The weather looked cold, but bright. There were several clouds, but at this moment the sun was beaming down on the city. Henry smiled. His arse was still bruised from the lash, but that happened yesterday, and Henry was nothing if not sanguine. Today was a new day, with new opportunities for fun. He stepped out.
He had only gone five paces when he heard a noise behind him. Henry was not so slow as Luke. In a split second he had darted to one side and ducked behind a tree.
There was a chuckle, and when he peered around the trunk, he saw Adam standing and rocking with mirth. ‘You should have seen the way you hurried off! Like a startled rabbit, you were, with a slingshot up the backside.’
Henry kept his mouth shut. There were loads of Secondaries and other clerks who enjoyed beating or bullying the Choristers. They largely got away with it, because they held out the threat of even more punishment if their victims told a Canon or Gervase. And even if Gervase was told, that was no guarantee that the perpetrator would be punished.
‘You’re lucky. I thought you were Luke. If it had been him, I’d have ducked his face in the shit again,’ Adam said comfortably. ‘Obnoxious little bastard that
he is.’
Henry watched him with narrowed eyes as Adam walked to the Choristers’ hall, looking in through the doorway. ‘More candles here,’ he said, and walked inside.
Chewing his lip, Henry stood scowling at the shut door reflectively. He could go and tell Gervase, but the Succentor probably wouldn’t believe him. He’d think Henry had invented the story to make Gervase feel guilty, or perhaps to work off a grudge against Adam. No, Henry couldn’t go to Gervase. But there must be someone he could tell.
Yes, if no one else, at least Luke would be interested. He might not believe Henry at first, but Henry was prepared to forgive that. All he wanted was to make sure Luke realised Henry himself was innocent.
Anyhow, he couldn’t have picked up Luke and thrown him into the crap.
Luke was far too fat and heavy.
Chapter Twenty-One
Coppe grunted as he eased his position. The cold was affecting his big toe. The toe of the leg he had left in the sea near France.
It was the same with the scar that so transfigured his face. The scar could predict with unerring accuracy when the weather was about to change. Now, looking up and snuffing the air, he could distinguish, over the scent of the woodsmoke, horse dung, dogs’ urine and mud, the metallic tang of the cold. There would be snow soon, he told himself with a grimace.
Snow was an additional burden to him. Not only would he freeze his arse off, sitting on the ground as he must, but he’d not see many folks either. They’d prefer to stay inside rather than pass by his station here.
A shadow passed over him and he looked up to see Janekyn. The old man was cupping a drink in his hands. ‘Want some?’
‘Thanks,’ Coppe said, taking the steaming wooden mazer from him and sipping. ‘You won’t believe this,’ he said, sadly contemplating his legless stump, ‘but I can feel the heat going all the way down to my toes.’
The older man chuckled. ‘We’re a pair of wrecks, you and me, John. You’re all cut to pieces, and me, I’m so old I’ve got little time left to me.’
‘You’ll probably see me out, Jan. In fact, I’d be glad if God would take me right away. I’ve had enough of this. It’s no way for a man to live, begging for alms all the time.’
Janekyn looked down at Coppe. He’d known the cripple for most of his time as porter, for he had only taken on the role three years ago. The thought of standing here without the cripple huddled by the wall was strangely upsetting. It would leave a horrible gap in Janekyn’s life. He enjoyed his occasional arguments with the old sailor. Abruptly he turned and walked back inside, calling for a clerk.
Jolinde was hurrying past the entrance as Janekyn disappeared, and Coppe looked up brightly. ‘Come, Master, a coin or two for wine to warm my veins?’
‘I have nothing.’
Coppe was surprised at the snarl in Jolinde’s voice. ‘There’s no shame in that, Master. No need to be angry. At least you haven’t run into anyone like your friend did with Ralph that morning.’
‘What do you mean? What friend? What morning?’ Jolinde cast a baffled look at the cripple.
‘Why, the morning poor Ralph Glover was killed. Your friend pelted back to the gate and ran slap into him, wasn’t looking where he was going was he? All agitated, he seemed.’
‘He ran into Ralph?’
‘Yes. The glover was with Stephen. I saw your friend run into him down near St Petrock’s and then he came haring up here to the Fissand, nearly tripped over me there, and nipped straight inside.’
Jolinde was frowning now. ‘Are you sure? What on earth would he have been doing out of the Cathedral at that time of day?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ Coppe said, automatically waving his bowl under Jolinde’s nose. ‘He was back in time for the service, though only just, I’d guess. He ran past me here just as the bells stopped.’
Jolinde dropped a farthing into his bowl and walked on slowly and musingly. Only a few feet from Coppe, he suddenly stopped and cried, ‘Shit! He can’t have taken them back! He can’t! What can I do if he took them all back?’
He burst into a shambling run, and Coppe stared after him as he hurried over to the lane that led to his house. As he disappeared from view Janekyn appeared dragging a lighted brazier by a rope which he had lashed to one of the legs. ‘What was that about?’
‘I only wish I knew,’ Coppe said with transparent honesty.
‘Never mind. Here you are, one brazier, and more wine to warm your veins. Merry Christmas! And if it gets colder . . .’ He dropped a few pennies into Coppe’s hand. ‘You can go and find yourself a warm tavern where you can sit before a fire.’
Sutton’s Inn was blessedly quiet. In the hearth a fire was burning strongly, with three faggots throwing out a delicious scent of applewood and oak as they flamed and sputtered. Smoke rose up to the rafters high overhead – a fine, thin smoke that provided the room with a pleasant, incense-like odour. Occasionally there was a minor explosion as a log split in the heat, but then the wood settled again and was quiet.
Simon and Baldwin had arranged to meet the Coroner to discuss progress.
‘Do you really think that poor fellow in the gaol could have murdered his master?’ Baldwin began.
‘No. That was one reason for taking you there, to meet him in the flesh. The Bailiff, William, always was too keen to pick the easiest victim. Personally I think I have as much of a duty not to imprison the innocent as I have to capture the guilty.’
‘I should like you to tell us about some of the other people in the city. For example, this girl Mary with whom Elias fancies himself in love. What do you know of her?’
The host appeared and the three men ordered two quarts of spiced wine to be set by the fire to warm. When the man had brought a large pot of strong Bordeaux flavoured with cinnamon and nutmeg he left them and Roger leaned forward thoughtfully.
‘She’s a bright little thing, very comely. Daughter of a baker called Rob near the Shambles, and often works with him, since her brother Martin died. But she’s flighty, that one. I doubt whether she was ever that serious about Elias.’
‘Is she vain? Greedy? Deceitful?’
‘Ho, Sir Baldwin,’ Roger smiled, leaning back. ‘She’s a woman, but she’s no worse than many, I swear. No, I don’t think she’s overly greedy or vain. No more than any woman.’
Baldwin fleetingly reflected that it was fortunate that his wife was not present to hear the Coroner’s views, but then he was considering the issue again. ‘This is too serious for us to worry about upsetting her or her friends. I only wonder whether she herself may have been persuaded to keep Elias with her.’
‘What, you think someone tried to keep him back?’ Roger exclaimed, watching Simon pour their wine.
Simon had heated his dagger’s blade in the fire. Now he used it to stir his wine. It sizzled as it touched the liquor and he watched the steam rising. ‘It’s an interesting thought. The one day that Elias happens to be really late is the same day that a random thief happens to find his way clear. Too much of a coincidence. It’s more rational to assume that the boy was delayed intentionally – which means that Mary was involved in it somehow. She was bribed or blackmailed into chatting to Elias and keeping him back for longer than usual, so that the assassin had plenty of time.’
‘No. I can’t swallow that. Mary is many things, I don’t doubt, but this is implicating her in two deaths – that of poor Ralph Glover, and the possible execution of Elias, an innocent man.’
‘Last night she danced for Vincent le Berwe,’ Simon said. ‘And in the evening I saw her rutting enthusiastically with one of the musicians. She didn’t seem very concerned about Elias then.’
The Coroner looked appalled. His brows came down and he glowered into his pot of wine. ‘The young bitch!’
Baldwin sighed. ‘Let us consider the two clerks who visited the glover early in December. They were together for that delivery, as they were in their rooms, and yet one is now dead.’
‘Yes?’
; ‘Does it not seem suspicious to you? One specific fact leaps out at me.’
Roger shook his head in bafflement.
Baldwin continued patiently, ‘Coroner, if someone knew that the money was there, it is reasonable to assume he might have known where it came from: he knew it was Cathedral money. If somebody heard about it, did he hear about it before it was delivered, or did he only hear about it after it had been delivered?’
‘Do you believe in dissecting every enquiry in the same manner?’ Coroner Roger asked dryly.
Simon shrugged. ‘Two clerks could be robbed easily. A couple of taps with a stick and they would be unconscious. Then the thief could have helped himself to the money. Why wait until they had delivered the stuff?’
‘He probably thought it would be easier to break into a place where there was only one man, rather than knocking over two youngsters. So would I,’ Roger added with emphasis, knocking back his wine and smacking his lips appreciatively.
‘Perhaps. But most felons would prefer to take their chances in the open. Except,’ Simon added musingly, ‘we don’t know how he could have known what the two carried.’
‘There you are. He saw two clerical types walking about the city. So? Not much new in that. Then Ralph shot his mouth off in a tavern and people got to hear about his fortune in winning so lucrative a contract. A short while after someone decides to take a little of it for himself. He breaks in and steals it all, killing poor Ralph at the same time. Problem solved.’
‘Nearly. But not quite. Did Ralph often frequent taverns?’
‘Not very often, but so what? A man can decide to visit one if he wants.’
‘True,’ Baldwin breathed. ‘Very well. What of others? For example, how much do you know about Nicholas Karvinel and his wife?’
‘Karvinel? He’s a lousy businessman from what I’ve heard. Can’t make money to save his life. And he has managed to amass huge debts. You heard about the attack on him? Set upon by a gang of thieves in broad daylight, for God’s sake? It’s getting so you can hardly leave your front door nowadays. Crime is increasing all the time.’
The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker Page 23
