The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

by Michael Jecks

  It was while he stood there that a beggar came limping along the road and Simon cast a scornful eye over him. From his threadbare fustian cloak to his scuffed and ruined shoe, the bowl hanging by a thong from his neck, the fellow looked every bit the professional beggar, and Simon had no wish to be bothered by his sort today. He and Baldwin were too busy.

  Seeing how he curled his lip, John Coppe changed his mind about asking for money. Coppe was perfectly used to being ignored. He gave a mental shrug and considered the second man. Baldwin was at the door studying the shop, peering in through a gap, and Coppe began to wonder whether he had arrived just in time to prevent a theft. The cold had persuaded him to go and seek the warmth of a tavern, but now it looked as though his old friend’s shop was about to be broken into. He should call the Bailiff – and yet why bother? Whatever Ralph had owned was no longer his. The poor fellow was dead. Perhaps it was as well to let someone rob the place rather than see all Ralph’s goods fall under a tax or be legally stolen by the Receiver and others.

  All these considerations flashed through Coppe’s mind as he hobbled along, and by the time he was close to the knight he had made up his mind. He tentatively held out a hand. ‘Master? A coin for some pottage?’

  Baldwin gave the man a long, thoughtful stare, then nodded and reached into his purse. He drew out a coin. The beggar’s face lit up with delight when he saw it, and he bowed. ‘Thank you, Master, thank you.’

  Coppe wanted to leave and invest the money in a refreshing pot of ale, but something made him remain standing there, watching the knight peering again through a shuttered window. ‘He’s dead, you know.’

  Simon crossed the street casually as Baldwin nodded slowly. ‘I had heard. I wanted to see where he had lived.’

  ‘They ought to make him a saint,’ Coppe said gruffly.

  Simon glanced up at the house. ‘Why? Was he good to you?’

  ‘He was always giving us money. Not like some of the tightfisted bastards in this city. If you was on fire they wouldn’t piss on you without charging for their time and trouble – aye, and for the ale they’d drunk, too.’

  ‘But Ralph was generous?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Him? He used to give feasts to the poorest of the city. At Christmas and Candlemas, and if the weather stayed bad, he’d give another on Lady Day. Any of us who could get to his door was always welcome to a pot of wine and some bread. He didn’t feel the need to wait for a feast day.’

  Coppe was gazing up at the house with an expression of such sadness and longing that Simon found himself wishing he could have met Ralph. Certainly for a man to have earned the trust and loyalty of even a tatty beggar like this one spoke of his Christian spirit.

  Baldwin interrupted his reverie. ‘Have you often been inside his hall?’

  ‘Often enough.’

  ‘I should like to go inside to see whether anything is missing. Would you know if anyone would have a key to it?’

  John Coppe cast an eye up and down the knight, his mind recalling his first assumption. Baldwin did not look like a thief, but sometimes the wealthiest men in the land could behave worse than the poorest. That was how they became rich. ‘Why would you want to go inside?’

  ‘I am Keeper of the King’s Peace in Crediton and the Coroner has asked me to enquire about Ralph’s death. I want to see whether he was robbed of anything other than his money when he died.’

  ‘Oh! Well, in that case I’d try there,’ Coppe said, pointing at the house next door but one. ‘Ask for David. He used to see quite a lot of Ralph.’

  It was a larger place, but not so well looked after, to Simon’s mind. The paint was peeling from the woodwork and the limewash hadn’t been renewed for many a long year. Strips had faded or been discoloured by the smoke and soot of the adjoining buildings and it had an air of shabbiness, like a woman who has lost interest in her looks and cares only for the essentials of life: no longer bothering about her physical appearance, only about being comfortable.

  The owner was a cheerful enough fellow: stooped, peering through narrowed eyes under a thin greying thatch of curling hair. He wore a good quality shirt and tunic, although both had seen better days. He looked enquiringly at the three men when he came to his door, and when Baldwin told him who he was, he agreed to let them see the house and shop so long as he himself stayed with them.

  ‘This is fair,’ Baldwin said. ‘I would prefer witnesses.’

  The four entered the dead glover’s hall first. The neighbour had a key and he threw open the front door, standing aside to let Baldwin lead the way inside, Simon behind him.

  It was much like any other little hall. The corridor from the front door led along the length of the shop into the hall itself, behind which was a small pantry and parlour. Baldwin stood and contemplated the hall, then went upstairs with David while Simon went out and opened the door from the pantry. At the back was a little yard with a variety of plants growing in raised beds prettily laid out with wickerwork walls to keep the compost and manure in place. The back door was locked with a wooden peg that fitted into and securely held a latch.

  Simon surveyed it, but it told him nothing about the death of the glover or the identity of his killer.

  Walking back inside, he crouched at the fireside. Coppe had sat down on a stool at the wall and Simon saw that his foot had left ashy prints over the floor. When the door opened, a little of the fire’s ashes were disturbed by the draught, blowing out of the hearth and onto the floor where people would step in it and, like Coppe, tread the ashes all over the place.

  When Baldwin came down the ladder, he saw Simon at the doorway. ‘Nothing up there, I’m afraid.’

  In the shop itself Baldwin and Simon asked their companions to wait in the street doorway while they looked around. Simon in particular had hoped to find ashy footprints, but there were none. So many people had come in after finding the body that there was nothing more to be discovered. He leaned against a large counter-top with his arms crossed while Baldwin stood in the middle of the floor and gazed about.

  The room was square, with skins and leathers tied together and hanging from strings looped over hooks on all the walls. Behind the counter were shelves, and here lay some of Ralph and Elias’s finished products: soft pigskin gloves; delicate and dainty light gloves for ladies; heavier, working two-fingered gloves, into each finger of which the wearer pushed two of his own; fine soft gloves for a gentleman; even thick gauntlets for men-at-arms.

  Simon found his attention wandering. He looked at the hanging furs and leathers, smelling the faintly sour odour of the smoke, barks and urine used in the tanning processes. Then he found himself contemplating the paintwork. On the wall at the front there was only good, clean whitewash. Only when he noticed some marks low on the side wall under some skins did he feel his interest waken. He crossed the room and bent, touching the marks and sniffing at his fingers. ‘Aha! This is where he died, then.’

  ‘Why are you so sure?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Men who’ve been stabbed will often thrash about and kick, won’t they? The floor in the house there had ash on it. Some had got onto Ralph’s boots, I guess, and when he fell, his boot caught the wall. These smudges are wood ash. I imagine he opened the door to someone, turned to lead the way in here and that was then they threw the first blow, getting him in the back. Ralph fell, and his boots scuffed up the wall here.’

  From the doorway, David spoke up. ‘He wasn’t there when they found him.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  ‘Here.’

  Simon crouched again. There was blood in a dried and crusted pool where David pointed. ‘Someone must have moved him.’

  David shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Only in so far that he was moved away from the door. The killer couldn’t get in and out with him lying in the way,’ Simon said. ‘Then again, perhaps someone wanted to avoid trouble.’

  The ‘First Finder’ of a murdered man would be fined to ensure he appeared at the Coroner�
��s court. Many chose to avoid that cost by pretending not to see a body.

  Baldwin added, ‘So many men prefer to deny seeing anything. It is cheaper.’ He noticed a small frown on David’s face as he absorbed all this. Baldwin’s tone sharpened. ‘Did you see anyone here the morning Ralph died.’

  David looked as though he was about to shake his head, but then he grimaced unhappily. ‘Masters, it’s so hard to know what to do for the best, but yes, I saw someone with him that morning.’

  Baldwin’s eyebrows rose. ‘Did you tell the Bailiff or anyone?’

  ‘There was nothing to tell! I saw Ralph and another man entering here. That’s all. I looked away, and when I looked back, they were gone.’

  ‘Didn’t it occur to you that the man with him might have killed Ralph?’ Baldwin exclaimed disbelievingly. ‘You saw Ralph with his murderer and did nothing?’

  ‘I didn’t see who was with him, so there was little I could tell anyone. And I didn’t know Ralph was going to be killed. I just thought he’d opened up early for once and there was no reason to report that,’ he said defensively.

  Baldwin glared at him furiously. ‘You mean you didn’t want to get involved in the Coroner’s inquest and risk getting amerced to turn up when the murder trial is held, preferring to hold your tongue to avoid paying anyone.’

  The man flushed slightly but didn’t speak.

  John Coppe gripped his crutch as if readying himself to strike David with it. He rasped, ‘You saw the man? You saw the bastard who killed the glover and didn’t do anything about it? You’d rather see the apprentice hanged, is that it?’

  The other three ignored him. ‘So,’ Baldwin said slowly, ‘was the man with Ralph his apprentice – Elias?’

  ‘I didn’t see clearly . . .’

  ‘Be damned to that!’ Simon roared suddenly, his anger getting the better of him. He took a couple of quick paces towards the man. The neighbour would have bolted, but the beggar grabbed his arm, and before he could free himself, Simon had his shirtfront in both fists. He hauled the man closer until their noses almost touched. ‘The knight asked you if it was Elias who was there with his master. Think carefully, you God-damned shit, because if you start lying to protect your own arse, I’ll have you in gaol before you can fart.’

  ‘You can’t – you have no authority here. I’m a Freeman of the City, I . . .’

  ‘Fetch Coroner Roger,’ Simon spat at the beggar.

  ‘No!’ the man cried, wilting in Simon’s grip. ‘All right, I don’t think it was Elias. I would have told the court, I wouldn’t have let the pathetic wretch hang for it. I just didn’t think it’d matter if I didn’t tell people just yet.’

  ‘You bastard!’ Simon said. He maintained his grip. ‘You saw that poor devil stuck in gaol for something he never did, and did nothing to protect him. Just to save you a few pennies.’

  ‘Did you recognise the man?’ Baldwin demanded.

  ‘I told you, no! He was under the overhang in the shadow and wearing a cloak or something, with a wide-brimmed hat. I only had a fleeting glimpse, no more. I thought it was just a client.’

  ‘That tells us nothing. Everyone will have a cloak and a broad-brimmed hat against the rain,’ Baldwin said.

  Simon studied the man in his grasp. ‘Not necessarily, Baldwin. A cleric wouldn’t, would he?’

  ‘You consider this finally proves Peter’s innocence?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Simon said. He shook David, not ungently. ‘It wasn’t Elias?’

  ‘No. Elias is taller, more gawky and clumsy. This one moved confidently, easily,’ David muttered. ‘I just thought it was someone after an urgent bit of work or something. How was I to know he’d kill poor old Ralph?’

  ‘Was this fellow taller or shorter than Ralph?’ Baldwin pressed him. At the same time Simon began to relax his grip a little.

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps . . . no, he was shorter. I remember now. Ralph opened the door and thrust it open, allowing the client in first, and Ralph was taller.’

  The beggar hawked and spat on David’s shoulder. ‘You make me want to puke. You were going to let the apprentice swing for something you knew he didn’t do, just so you could keep away from paying money into the court.’

  David pursed his lips while Simon hastily withdrew his hand from the spittle. ‘Get inside,’ he said. Then to the beggar: ‘You stay out here and there’ll be another penny for you. Yes?’

  ‘Yes, Master,’ Coppe said, his head hanging low.

  Ignoring David, Simon addressed Baldwin. ‘We know Ralph was murdered in this room. The killer didn’t run much of a risk. All he had to do was stab Ralph and leave him, dart next door and take everything from the cash box. Easy.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Simon ran his hand over the gloves on sale. ‘He was a good worker.’

  ‘So was Elias,’ David offered.

  ‘He still bloody is,’ Baldwin snapped.

  David appeared fully cowed and like many who find themselves on the wrong side of the law, he was keen to show how total was his conversion. Taking a deep breath he cleared his throat. ‘Sirs, there is another thing. A while before the two entered here, I saw another man.’

  ‘How long before and who was it?’

  ‘The bells were still ringing for the service, so I think it was before the first Mass, and it was a cleric of some sort – I think a lad of twenty or so years. He had a thin sort of face, long and anxious. I saw him quite clearly.’

  ‘Was he a Vicar?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I think he was one of the Secondaries.’ He hung his head. ‘I think it was the one you mentioned. The lad called Peter.’

  ‘Peter was out that morning,’ Coppe agreed, and told them about seeing the cleric running smack into Ralph outside the gate. ‘If it wasn’t for the Treasurer, Ralph would have fallen,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think Peter was well that day. Later I saw him leave the Cathedral again, walking as if he was in a daze. He left after Ralph and didn’t return till much later.’

  ‘You didn’t see him come back here?’ Baldwin asked David.

  ‘I was working after that. Maybe he returned. There was someone outside with a wagon, I know. While I was out back I heard the wheels stop outside here.’

  ‘I see,’ said Baldwin. ‘So now we know Stephen was outside the Cathedral that morning as well.’

  David jerked his head at the door. ‘I saw Peter go to the front door of the house and walk inside with a small bag in his hand. He didn’t look guilty or furtive. If he was breaking in to commit a crime, he was begging to be caught.’

  Baldwin gave a dry smile. ‘I think that is the most observant comment you have given for a long time. Did you see him leave?’

  ‘It was a short while later. He came out, looked up and down the road, and then hurried off back to the Cathedral grounds. I noticed that he didn’t have anything in his hands then. It was quite some while later that I saw Ralph and his visitor, and then my wife called me and I went back to my own hall.’

  ‘Well, I think you have cleared up much that was confusing,’ Baldwin said. He was handling the hanging leathers, a small frown puckering his brow.

  ‘What is it?’ Simon asked.

  ‘The Coroner told us Ralph paid Vincent le Berwe for basan and cordwain and took it away the same day, but there’s none here.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They watched while the subdued David locked the doors, then with the beggar directing them, they left him and sought a tavern.

  Coppe led them to Will Row’s alehouse down an alley off the High Street, run by a pleasant woman in her fifties, who smiled with toothless gums when she saw their companion. ‘John, where have you been? I was beginning to think you’d got pissed, fallen down a well and drowned.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that, Joan. Not while you were still around to tempt me back again.’

  He grinned, his mouth likewise all but empty of teeth, when she playfully cuffed him over the head, cackling.

&nb
sp; ‘Come on, wench, there’s gentlemen here to be served.’

  A young girl appeared, but Simon was more attracted to the wizened old woman. She shouted at the girl like a harridan, but her face was more composed of smiling wrinkles than frowns. What, he wondered, would he look like when he got to her age? Or his wife, Meg, come to that. This Joan had a calmness about her that was pleasant and motherly, while the beggar, for all his scruffiness, was clearly trusted by her.

  As the two women disappeared to fetch drinks, Coppe told the others, ‘She was the wife of my best mate. I was a sailor, see. I used to have a good life going off all over the place – oh, from here to Venice I’ve been. God, some of the seas you’d see there, it was amazing that the ships lasted the trip.’

  ‘If you get the old sod talking about his sailing days, you’ll never get away from him,’ Joan said, returning with pots for all the men. The girl appeared a moment later with a massive jug from which she poured them spiced wine, hot and sweet.

  ‘Oh, give me leave to speak a moment with friends,’ John Coppe said aloofly and Joan roared with laughter before dropping into a seat nearer her fire and starting to knit.

  ‘Joan’s old man Will was a good sailor too. Him and me, we went all over. All along the Breton coast, and the Norman one, all the way down as far as Bordeaux. Often did that run, buying wines mainly. Then one day we were attacked by French pirates and had our cargo taken.’

  ‘My Will was hit by an arrow,’ Joan said, this time more quietly. She paused and let her knitting fall to her lap, sighing, then continued, her needles flying faster than before as if concentration was itself a cure for her sadness, ‘So since then I’ve made shift as best I can.’

  ‘And I never had a wife or a house; when I got back, I was forced to start begging to survive. At first I stayed a while with my brother, who lived over near the South Gate, but he died a while ago, and his wife had to sell the place, so since then I’ve not had a place of my own. There was no point when I was young, because I was always looking for the next ship. But if you’re wrecked like me, the masters don’t want you. Anyway, no one would have used me even if I wasn’t ruined like this. I have a bad reputation.’