by S. J. Parris
“I am,” I said, then, glancing at his chain, added, “Your Worship,” with a deferential lowering of my head. I did not get out of Geneva without learning how to deploy a little judicious humility. So this was the mayor Meg had warned me about. Also a friend of Edward Kingsley, according to Sophia.
The mayor’s face visibly softened at this recognition of his status, though I noticed he winced slightly every time he caught the stench coming off me.
“Well, Savolino. I am Humphrey Fitzwalter, Mayor of Canterbury, as you have divined. Dean Rogers tells me you are a distinguished scholar and an esteemed guest of one of his canons, with letters of introduction from one of the first families of Her Majesty’s court. Yet Constable Edmonton here seems to believe you are a dangerous brigand and murderer. Naturally, I am inclined to respect the dean’s judgement, but I am nonetheless curious as to how you could have given the constable reason to suspect you?”
“I fear my face and my voice are reason enough, Your Worship,” I said, again lowering my eyes.
“Your Worship,” Edmonton cut in, breathless, “I have sworn testimony from Doctor Sykes himself that this man was the last to enter the apothecary Fitch’s shop before he was beaten to death.”
“This is a lie.” I folded my arms. “I was the first to find the apothecary, as the constable knows. Perhaps this testimony was meant to draw attention away from the real perpetrators.” I glanced at Samuel as I said this, but he merely returned my look with that same level stare and I found myself gripped by a sudden urge to punch his inscrutable face.
The mayor looked from me to Edmonton with an expression of mild curiosity.
“Well,” he said, stretching out his arms on the desktop and clasping his hands together. On the little finger of each he wore a fat gold ring. “You are fortunate in your connections, it seems, Savolino. Doctor Harry Robinson has agreed to stand bail for you and Dean Rogers himself has come in person to attest to your good character. So I am persuaded to grant you your liberty, on condition that you do not leave the city. You may answer the accusations against you at the assizes in two days’ time.”
“It is absurd that I should have to answer any charges at all,” I said, drawing back my shoulders and looking him in the eye with as much dignity as I could muster in my present state. “This accusation is no more than malicious prejudice.”
Fitzwalter blinked.
“That statement could be construed as slander. The law must take its course, and the innocent have nothing to fear from its process.”
I gave a dry laugh. “In my country, the Holy Office says this to men it means to burn.”
Fitzwalter’s eyes narrowed until they were no more than red-rimmed slits in his pale face, and I glimpsed a hardness beneath the affable exterior.
“If I were you, Savolino, I would show a little more gratitude to the friends who bought your freedom, and a little more respect for authority while you are a visitor here, especially one whose name is not yet cleared.” He shuffled some papers on his desk and nodded curtly at the dean, as if to show we were dismissed. “I would also suggest you clean yourself up. You have the smell about you of a seven-day-old corpse.”
“I smell of the gaol where men are made to lie in their own filth among the rats. Your Worship,” I added, emphasizing the words.
“Oh? Would you have us provide them with feather beds?” He drew himself up, needled.
“No. But clean straw might let them feel they were still regarded as fellow men. You would not stable your horse in such conditions, I am sure.”
“No, sir, I would not. But then my horse has not murdered anyone. Dean Rogers, this man is released into your care. Against my better judgement, I will allow his knife to be returned to him. Now please get him and his peculiar ideas out of my office.”
The dean smiled nervously and bustled me out of the room, pressing my knife in its sheath into my hands. In the entrance hall, I bowed and thanked him for his intervention as I strapped it back onto my belt. He moved as if to shake my hand, but my present condition evidently made him think better of it. Instead he looked down at me with a crease in his brow as his fingers worried at the front of his robe.
“Doctor Savolino—I hardly know how to apologise for this insult to your person and your integrity. That a friend of Her Majesty’s court should have been treated so … But you understand there is a delicate relationship in this town between the cathedral foundation and the civic authorities. The cathedral remains powerful and”—here he gave a nervous little laugh—“for the moment, wealthy. There have been occasions when we have felt it necessary to intervene in matters of city governance, and this creates a certain, ah—resentment. If it were within my power to have this accusation against you withdrawn …” He held out his hands to indicate his helplessness.
“I thank you for your support, Dean Rogers,” I reassured him. “The only way for me to answer these charges, it seems, is to find out who really killed the apothecary.”
The dean looked doubtful. “But how could you begin to do that?”
“I might consider the motive of the man who wants me found guilty.”
His face tensed at this.
“I am sure Doctor Sykes was only acting as he thought best.”
I was poised to argue but was aware of Samuel’s sharp gaze boring into me.
“Of course,” I murmured.
The dean looked relieved. Why was everyone so afraid of Sykes, I wondered?
“Harry would have come for you himself, but the walk would have been a trial for him. He sent Samuel with the bail money, but asked me to accompany him to support the case for your innocence.”
I glanced at Samuel. “It was good of you both to take the time.”
Samuel merely offered a thin smile.
“A condition of the bail is that your whereabouts are now Harry’s responsibility,” the dean continued, as we stepped out into the High Street and began to walk in the direction of the cathedral, attracting curious glances along the way. “I’m afraid you will have to leave your lodgings at the Cheker and stay in his house until the assizes.”
I nodded, keeping my face steady, but this news was a blow. To be trapped there, under Samuel’s eye, with the prospect of his relaying my every word back to Langworth, was not how I had envisaged my return to freedom. I had to find some means to get Samuel out of the way; without his influence, there was a chance Harry might listen to me. I was already compromised on every side: Langworth knew who I really was and to the rest of Canterbury I was now a suspected murderer. I badly needed even one ally here, and I had no choice but to trust Harry. The fact that he had paid my bail out of his own pocket suggested that he had a little faith in me—or at least respect for Walsingham—which I might hope to work on, if only I could do something about the brooding, watchful presence of his servant.
I glanced over my shoulder at Samuel; at my side, the dean was earnestly explaining how helpful it would be in my current situation if, for the sake of public opinion, I were to be seen frequently at divine service in the cathedral in the company of the canons. Samuel walked a few paces after us, dressed in his customary doublet and breeches of plain black linen, his hands folded behind his back, as if he were our appointed escort. I noted with distaste how several long strands of black hair still clung stubbornly to the front of his bald scalp like the legs of spiders. Tall and bald, the old monk had said of the man who came to give bread to the beggar children. Was it Samuel, at the bidding of his powerful friends? He caught me looking at him and returned my stare with a raised eyebrow, as if daring me to state my challenge. Calmly I shifted my attention to the dean, who was still talking though I had not heard a word, recalling as I did so what Harry had said about Samuel carrying his messages to Walsingham. That was the answer. I was so pleased with the idea that I had to stop myself smiling like a half-wit. Samuel must be made to carry a letter to London; not only would that take him out of the way, but I would contrive to include an invisible message in th
e letter that the bearer should be detained and taken for questioning.
“And I should be honoured if you would accept,” the dean said, laying a hand on my shoulder before withdrawing it in haste and surreptitiously wiping it on the side of his robe.
“The honour would be mine,” I replied, smiling, though I was not sure what I had just agreed to.
“Splendid. Directly after Evensong, then—you and Harry can come together. I keep a plain table, as you will see—no untoward extravagance, as befits a servant of God and Her Majesty, I assure you”—here he gave his nervous little laugh again—“though I venture to boast that my cook has talents enough to make a feast from the simplest fare.”
Ah. So I had been invited to dinner.
“I am easy to please at table, sir. So long as it is hot and filling.”
This was untrue; such atrocities as the English practised upon their food I found baffling and almost impossible to stomach, though I had been obliged to accustom myself to it over the past year. But my denial seemed to please the dean.
“The best kind of guest,” he beamed, as we reached the Christ Church gate. “Very well, then. I shall leave Samuel to deliver you safely to Harry and will see you at divine service this evening.” His brow furrowed again as his eyes travelled over me. “I trust you have a change of clothes?”
“Do not fear, sir—I will have shed all traces of the gaol by this evening,” I reassured him.
He sighed. “If only one could wash away the stain to one’s reputation so easily,” he murmured, before taking his leave and passing through the gate in the direction of the Archbishop’s Palace.
Samuel gestured towards the cathedral with his head and I stepped through the archway. Tom Garth appeared from his cubbyhole to stare at us and even moved forward as if he would speak to me, but I walked on without a word. My thoughts now were all on the purse I had stuffed behind the hay bales in the stable of the Cheker; once I had thanked Harry and found a way to dispatch Samuel to London, my first priority must be to retrieve it. And then what? I rubbed my forehead, catching again the sickening smell of dead flesh still clinging to my fingers. Go after Sykes? Could I find a way to get into his house and find some proof to connect him to the death of Fitch before the assizes?
Samuel and I walked in silence to the door of Harry’s house. Perhaps he thought, as I did, that to speak was the surest way to betray oneself. I had no idea how much he guessed I knew about him, but between us there was a wariness and suspicion so pronounced you could almost hear it crackling in the air; I sensed it as if we were two strange dogs circling each other, each waiting for the other to bare its teeth first. He paused with his hand on the latch.
“You should not expect to find him in a good humour, after your antics.” He did not even give me the courtesy of looking at me while he spoke.
“My antics, as you call them, consist of no more than being falsely accused by a man who has judged me because my face and voice are unfamiliar to him.”
Samuel sniffed.
“Nonetheless, you have cost my master dear. No one asked you to come here,” he added, unnecessarily.
I bit my tongue and looked at the ground. Someone did ask me to Canterbury, I wanted to say, and she still has faith in me. Though I feared I was running out of time to justify it.
“I am sorry to have caused him trouble, and I will tell him so,” I said. Samuel hesitated, but seemed wrongfooted by my show of humility. He could find nothing to say in response, and instead opened the door.
“By the cross, you are determined to be a thorn in my side, Bruno.” Harry heaved himself up from his familiar place in the front room when I entered. Grey afternoon light fell across his face and his bushy brows cast his eyes into shadow. “You must be parched. Samuel, fetch our guest a jug of beer and some bread.”
“Thank you. I will reimburse your expenses—”
He waved a hand, as if this were unimportant.
“Of course you will. That’s not my worry. Christ’s body, you stink, man—where have you been?”
“I will tell you everything in due course—there is much to tell. But first, with this arrest, it is essential that I get a message to Walsingham—some intervention by his hand may be my only hope at the assizes. And the message must be taken with the utmost urgency.” I looked at him expectantly. Slow realisation dawned on the old man’s face as his servant came back bearing a tray.
“But—Samuel would be gone for some days.” His voice rose a notch and I realised that, for all his gruff show of independence, he was alarmed at the prospect of being left alone.
“Gone where?” Samuel asked, his tone sharp, glancing from me to his master.
“I have no other means to send a message to London,” I said, ignoring him and turning to Harry. “In any case, I will be staying here with you. I understand those were the terms on which I was released?”
“You?” Harry looked doubtful. I wondered again how close he was to Samuel and how much he might know of his servant’s deceit, but there was no time to worry about that now; I had no choice other than to confide in Harry. There was no one else. “Can you light a stove and cook a meal? Can you lay out my clothes of a morning?”
I smiled in a manner which I hope inspired confidence.
“I can try any task, if you instruct me.”
“A philosopher to make my breakfast. There’s a fine thing.” Harry turned again to Samuel and a look passed between them that I could not read. “Well, I suppose we have no choice. We are all Walsingham’s servants, and it appears your recklessness in blundering about this town with no regard for the sensitivities of position and authority has landed you in a bind that only Master Secretary can get you out of.”
I lowered my head and took his reproach without protest; there would be time enough to explain myself to Harry. For now, as I looked at my boots, I fought against a smirk of triumph at the prospect of Samuel’s imminent departure.
“I thank you both.” Raising my head, I shone the full beam of my most sincere smile at Samuel. “You may be sure Sir Francis will reward you for your trouble.”
“Oh, I shall tell him you have promised me so on his behalf,” he replied softly, his smile dripping sarcasm.
“I will return to the inn for my belongings and come back with the letter I need Samuel to take,” I said. “The dean has asked me to be present at Evensong tonight, Harry, and to accompany you to his table for supper.”
Harry grunted.
“Well, it won’t do any harm for folks to see you showing a bit of Christian piety,” he muttered. “God alone knows what they are saying about you in the town. And what they will say of me for giving you lodging.”
“My name will be cleared at the assizes,” I said.
“Maybe.” He did not sound convinced. “But mud sticks. Come back with your things, then, and make yourself comfortable. Samuel can ready his horse.”
“I hope he is a fast horse,” I said, with a meaningful look at Samuel to let him know I was in earnest.
“He’s the only horse we have, so you’ll have to make do,” Harry snapped back, and his tone warned me not to overstep the mark. I was fortunate that he was willing to part with Samuel at all.
I wolfed down the bread so quickly that I could not swallow it fast enough and it lodged like a ball in my upper chest; I had to sip at the beer to try and shift it, pain shooting into my dry throat as I doubled over. Samuel watched me with contempt for a few moments before stalking from the room in silence.
“There is much I need to say to you,” I told Harry, when I had recovered enough to speak.
“Take your time. Collect your things, and you and I shall talk,” he said. “You may as well bring your horse—there is stabling here and Samuel’s will be out. Save you paying at the inn.” This time there was a kinder note in his voice. My earlier doubts began to recede and I dared to hope that I might yet be able to confide in Harry and find him ready with some advice. My spell in the gaol and my appearance b
efore the mayor, when I had been so relieved to see the dean and even Samuel, had served to remind me of how alone I was in Canterbury, and how vulnerable. There was no question in my mind that Langworth and Sykes between them had contrived to have me arrested to stop me asking questions. Their plan had been thwarted by Harry’s willingness to stand bail and the dean’s testimony, and I imagined they would not be pleased by the fact that I was once more abroad in the city. I would have to keep my wits about me; if the process of the law did not serve their purpose in removing me, there was every chance they might decide to bypass it. After all, I had seen what they did to William Fitch, even if I did not yet know which of them had done it.
Chapter 12
A hot wind whipped up the dust in the streets as I made my way through the Buttermarket and on towards the Cheker. Pieces of straw eddied in the air and goodwives clasped their coifs to their heads. After the heavy stillness of the past days the breeze should have been welcome, but it was a sickly wind, humid and pregnant with the promise of a storm. Clouds bore down overhead as if in a basin that threatens to spill over at any moment.
I attracted glances from passersby as I walked but I kept my head down and ignored them, my thoughts once again turning to Sophia. My whole purpose in coming here had been to save her from the taint of murder and now I was faced with the same fate myself. Though I was not yet seriously afraid—I had a quick wit and powerful patrons, which was more than most of those wretches in the gaol could claim—I was nevertheless uncomfortably aware that I was a long way from the protection of Walsingham here, and that local justice was notoriously corrupt. I had no doubt that Samuel would do his best to delay or lose my message altogether, with the aim that I might be convicted before any help could come from Walsingham. My hope lay entirely in the message I had sent to Sidney with the weavers. I knew well enough from my years as a fugitive that only a fool puts his faith in the fact of his innocence, especially if he is a foreigner.
