Mystery in the Minster: The Seventeenth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew)

by Gregory, Susanna

  ‘Why?’ asked Michael curiously.

  ‘I ordered him to,’ explained Langelee. ‘We could not risk the vicars-choral seeing it – they might have accused us of making it ourselves. Or worse, demanded their hundred marks back.’

  ‘I read the letters first, though,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Neville had discovered that some of the chantry fund had been stolen, and Christopher suspected Myton. They were on the verge of proving it when they were murdered.’

  Michael stared at him. ‘You mean that if Isabella and Helen had stayed their hand, Myton would have been exposed? And the executors would not have been murdered, because Helen and Isabella could not have held them responsible for failing to complete Zouche’s chapel?’

  Bartholomew nodded. ‘Although Myton did not steal all of it – a good deal had been allowed to dribble away through incompetence and negligence.’

  ‘Lord!’ breathed Michael, shocked.

  ‘Do you remember the night we arrived back at the hospitium, and found Radeford rummaging in my saddlebag, Brother?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He claimed he wanted a remedy for his headache, but I think he was just checking that his discoveries would be safe until the following day, when he planned to pull them out and prove himself cleverer than Cynric.’

  ‘In exchange for a magic spell to snag Isabella,’ said Langelee. ‘Poor Radeford. He really did love her, so perhaps it was a mercy that he never learned her true nature.’

  They were silent for a while, reflecting on all that had happened. Then the bell began to chime, informing them that supper was ready in the hall. Its note was sweet and high on the evening air.

  ‘Come,’ said Langelee, standing abruptly. ‘Or there will be nothing left.’

  ‘That may not be a bad thing,’ grumbled Michael. ‘Because there is fish-giblet soup tonight. It is on days like this that I wish we were still in York, because the abbey knew how to feed us.’

  Langelee winked. ‘The students will eat fish-giblet soup, but I have arranged for something a little more appetising for the Fellows. We owe ourselves something for getting that hundred marks.’

  Michael brightened. ‘Really? Will there be enough for Matt and the others, as well as for you and me? Or is that why you suggest that we should hurry?’

  Langelee considered carefully, then broke into a run. ‘I am not sure.’

  Bartholomew smiled as Michael hared after him. He missed Radeford, but it was still good to be among the familiar things of home.

  The same day, York

  In her cramped prison cell, Lady Helen waited in tense anticipation for the appointed hour. She had known she would not hang, not when the saints had delivered her from the collapsing crypt, although she was sorry her good fortune had not been extended to Marmaduke and Isabella. It hardly seemed fair, when the scholars and Frost had escaped.

  Frost! Helen felt nothing but contempt for him and the way he had capitulated so readily, thus tightening the noose around her neck. It was all Sir William’s fault, of course. He had shown Frost letters she had written to Isabella, which exposed the fact that she had never really intended to marry him, and had made the ‘promise’ as a way to secure a devoted henchman. Bitterly hurt, Frost had provided a full account of her crimes, in return for which he had been permitted to abjure the realm.

  Unfortunately, the whole business had so appalled Gisbyrn that he had renounced all association with both of them. He had not even relented when Frost – in a desperate effort to redeem himself – had paid for an expensive obit for Gisbyrn and his entire family. Of course, it was not just the murders that had so horrified Gisbyrn – he was angry because the ensuing scandal had given Longton the moral advantage in their continuing feud.

  There was a slight scratch on the cell door, and Helen glided towards it. Sir William thought he was so clever, pawing through her private correspondence, and asking probing questions of her friends and acquaintances. He believed he had learned the answers to everything. But she had one helpmeet he had never suspected, one who had also admired Zouche, and who would do anything to see the wrongs against him righted.

  Her heart began to thump as she heard the bar lifted. She was ready, her cloak donned and her bag packed. Her friend would see to the rest of the escape, although not personally, of course. That was what minions were for. Thus she was astonished when the door opened, and she saw him standing there, tall, grave and haughty. Recovering quickly, she moved towards him and knelt to kiss his ring.

  ‘My Lord Archbishop,’ she said softly. ‘I was not expecting to see you in person.’

  ‘Some matters cannot be delegated,’ replied Thoresby. ‘As poor Zouche discovered to his cost.’

  ‘But you will build a whole choir to be your chantry chapel,’ she said eagerly. ‘I have seen the plans. And you will raise an altar for Zouche at the same time. You will see he has what he wanted, and he will be released from Purgatory.’

  ‘No,’ said Thoresby shortly. ‘You have ensured that any such memorial to him will be tainted, so I cannot afford to be associated with it. Poor Zouche will have to rely on his own good deeds to set himself free.’

  ‘Then I shall remain here, and see that justice is done,’ said Helen stiffly. ‘Because—’

  ‘Unfortunately, it has been decided that you must disappear,’ came another voice, and Helen frowned her bemusement when Jafford stepped out from behind the prelate. ‘So you will not be in a position to meddle with Zouche’s affairs again.’

  ‘Murder should never go unpunished,’ said Thoresby softly, standing aside, so the new sub-chanter could enter the cell. With horror, Helen saw that Jafford carried a knife, and that the angelic features were cold and hard. ‘No murder.’

  Jafford had been in the process of raising the weapon, but he lowered it when he heard the odd timbre of the Archbishop’s voice, and regarded him uneasily. Thoresby nodded his satisfaction.

  ‘Your reaction tells me all I needed to know, Jafford. The physician was right: Cave did lack the poise to have dispatched Cotyngham and remain calm while his “victim” languished in the infirmary. But you knew how to leave misleading clues – ones that pointed to him as the killer.’

  ‘What?’ Jafford’s face was white with shock.

  ‘You knew how to ensure Ellis’s downfall, too,’ Thoresby went on remorselessly. ‘If he had not been killed in St Mary ad Valvas, you would have arranged matters so that he was deposed. Either way, you were there, ready to step into his shoes.’

  For a moment, it seemed Jafford would deny the accusations, but then he shrugged. ‘Both were causing untold damage to the Bedern with their foul manners and brazen greed. I did not mean to kill Cotyngham, anyway. I went to apologise for Cave making off with his church silver, but he was angry, and would not believe me when I said I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘So you pushed him,’ said Thoresby in disgust, while Helen’s face was a mask of shock. ‘And he cracked his head on the hearth. Moreover, I know Cave did not suffer a seizure, either. He was poisoned by the same toxin that killed the executors. Everyone is talking about the stuff, so I imagine it was not difficult for a man with access to books to learn what Isabella used.’

  Jafford looked at the knife in his hand. ‘And because of this, you asked me here to …’

  ‘To see how low you would stoop.’

  ‘Thank God!’ breathed Helen. ‘For a moment, I thought you intended to let him stab me!’

  ‘You are both despicable,’ said Thoresby, regarding first one and then the other with such utter disdain that neither could meet his eyes. ‘I shall pray for your souls, although I doubt my petitions will help. You are not bound for Purgatory, but for Hell.’

  He turned to leave, his cloak billowing behind him. Helen started to follow, but found her way blocked by two men. Her irritable objections died in her throat when they pushed back their hoods to reveal their faces: both were kin to Ralph Neville, one of the first executors she and Isabella had dispatched.

  The grim business d
id not take long, and when the bodies were found the following morning, Neville’s nephews were many miles from York.

  The gaoler was a simple man, and he opted for a simple explanation: that Jafford had gone to hear Lady Helen’s confession, and she had tried to escape. Both had died in the ensuing struggle. Thoresby listened gravely, then dismissed him with a blessing.

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  It is impossible to overemphasise the importance of Purgatory to the medieval mind. Few people saw themselves as sufficiently stainless to go straight to Heaven, so expected to spend time in the purifying fires first. The duration of their stay depended on the nature of their sins. However, there were things that could be done to speed matters along. The very wealthy could found private chapels or altars, so that prayers could be said on their behalf. For the less well off, there were obits – establishing a fund to pay for masses to be said on a particular day of the year. In York, one such obit was established in 1359 for Hugh de Myton, described as ‘venerable and discreet’. Another was paid for by William Frost, ‘administrator’ for John Gisbyrn (Gyseburne), a woman named Helen and various members of Gisbyrn’s family.

  Archbishop Zouche, who died on 19 July 1352 in his palace at Cawood, started to build his own chantry chapel when he was still alive, and his will stipulated quite clearly that it was to be finished by his executors. It was probably in the south wall of the choir, near the angle of the east transept, but the project was abandoned when the choir was rebuilt and widened by his successor John Thoresby (Archbishop from 1352 until 1373).

  Zouche’s will was drawn up by a notary public named John d’Alfeld (Dalfeld), and lists nine executors: Roger Zouche, Ralph Neville, Marmaduke Constable, William de Playce, Christopher and Anketil Malore, Gilbert de Welton, Roger de Stiendby and William de Ferriby. These would have been men Zouche trusted, and some would have benefited from his largess while Archbishop. But they failed to fulfil his last wishes, and he still lies in his ‘temporary’ tomb in the nave.

  By the 1350s, York was England’s second largest city, a bustling metropolis with probably in excess of 13,000 people. It was dominated by its minster and religious foundations, but was also a centre for trade, with a burgeoning mercantile class. Like today, it was vulnerable to flooding, and the rivers Ouse and Foss were notoriously unpredictable.

  The minster was run by secular clergy – ones not affiliated with a particular Order – comprising a dean and a chapter of canons. As the canons were often away, they appointed deputies known as vicars-choral to fulfil their religious obligations. These lived in the foundation known as the Bedern, located east of the cathedral, which comprised a hall, a private chapel and a dormitory that was later separated into little houses. The sub-chanter in 1358 was Ellis (or Elijah) of Walkington, and other vicars at this time included Richard Cave and William Jafford.

  Because the post of Dean was a powerful one, a lot of men were eager to hold it, and during the 1340s and 1350s three men laid claim to the title. John de Offord and Philip de Weston were soon seen off by the third contender, the aristocratic Elias Talerand (or Talleyrand) de Périgord, who held the position until his death in 1364.

  Generations of archivists have bemoaned the poor condition and order inflicted on the minster’s muniments through the years, and there is a record that Archbishop Thoresby expressed concern in 1359–60. They were stored in chests and boxes, some in the vestibule leading to the chapter house, some in the vestry and others (probably) in the treasury. The books would have been stored separately, and there is no record of the minster owning many in the 1350s. I have taken the liberty of enlarging the collection and having it stored in a single room named ‘the library’, although the minster owned no such place until the fifteenth century.

  In 1357, a long-running dispute began between Gisbyrn and John Longton (Langton). It was all to do with a shift in power from the older, aristocratic families to merchants, a move that probably began when York was designated a Staple Town in 1355. Gisbyrn represented the up and coming mercantile class, a breed of clever, successful and ruthless opportunists; he was a mercer, who owned a ship and exported wool and cloth. Longton came from the old landed gentry, and he and his father were mayors of York twenty-two times. William Longton was a minster advocate in the 1350s.

  Gisbyrn was elected a bailiff of the city in 1357, but was prevented from taking office when Longton claimed that he had subverted the liberties, laws and customs of the city. It is not known exactly what this entailed, but it is possible that Gisbyrn might have bent the rules for trading purposes. Regardless, he was unimpressed with Longton’s high-handed tactics, and the antipathy between the two men lasted well into the 1380s.

  There were roughly sixty religious foundations in York. In addition to the minster, there were priories, hospitals, chapels, churches, chantries and maisons-dieu (small hospitals). The Benedictines alone had three foundations. The first was St Mary’s Abbey; its Abbot in 1358 was Thomas Multone, and one of his monks was named Oustwyk. The abbey’s relations with the city were ambigu ous. On the one hand, it provided employment for locals and dispensed alms; on the other there were disputes over its boundary walls and ditches, especially with St Leonard’s Hospital. Another quarrel was over St Olave’s Church, built into the abbey walls; the monks declined to pay for its upkeep, but also rejected the notion that ownership should pass to its parishioners. As a consequence, St Olave’s was in poor repair during much of the fourteenth century.

  The second Benedictine foundation was Holy Trinity Priory, an alien house owned and controlled by Marmoutier Abbey in France. Its Prior in 1358 was John de Chozaico. Richard de Chicole, Odo Friquet, Oliver Bages also held office. People resented its foreign ties, and it was deeply unpopular during the Hundred Years War, when it was accused of harbouring French spies and frequently attacked. Some years earlier, the monks had produced a remarkable bestiary. A permanent exhibition about it can be seen in the Priory Church of the Holy Trinity in Micklegate.

  The third Benedictine foundation was Clementhorpe, a house for nuns, dedicated to St Clement. Alice de Pakenham was one of its prioresses; she died in 1396. Isabella de Stodley, who became a nun in 1315, proved to be troublesome, and was brought before the Archbishop accused of apostasy and other more worldly sins.

  Robert de Stayndrop was a Warden of the Franciscans in the middle of the fourteenth century, and one of his friars, John Mardisley, had a famous debate in York Minster with the Dominican William Jorden about the nature of the Immaculate Conception. Both men went on to become Vicars Provincial for their respective Orders.

  The Carmelites, whose Prior was William Penterel, were actively involved in several legal disputes in the 1300s. They sued Elen Duffield for debt and a potter for stealing topsoil, a crime that was repeated by the vicars-choral some years later. Roger de Fournays, a barber-surgeon, bequeathed them a garden in Hungate in 1350. In 1374, a Carmelite friar named John Wy killed a fellow cleric named John Harold.

  Visitors to York today can see many reminders of the bustling medieval town. Besides the magnificent minster, there are the atmospheric ruins of St Mary’s Abbey (including the hospitium), the castle, gates, city walls and many churches. Some of the abbey ruins have been cleverly incorporated into the beautifully refurbished Yorkshire Museum and Gardens, along with a display about its history.

  Nothing survives of St Mary ad Valvas, though. It is thought to have stood at the eastern end of the minster chancel, and was demolished in the 1360s. Its dedication is peculiar, but may have referred to a moving door, perhaps a reference to the stone that was rolled across the entrance of Jesus’s tomb.

  The church at Huntington belonged to the Abbot and convent of Whitby, and its rector was John Cotyngham (Cottingham). The fourteenth-century vicars-choral had had their eye on it for some time, and had petitioned Archbishop Zouche to encourage Whitby to give it to them. They claimed their motive was poverty, although they owned at least a hundred and fifty properties at this time. It was duly pass
ed to them in 1351 (one local witness was John Keysmaby). Zouche died before the proper deeds could be issued, and it was left to Thoresby to provide them. He was careful to state that the vicars should not have it until Cotyngham died or resigned. Cotyngham resigned in 1354.