Prince Edward's Warrant

by Mel Starr

  Or was Roger apprehended as he departed the hall, before he reached the squires’ chamber? Did some man seek him, rather than he seek another? If so, the fellow likely knew what he intended for Roger. Death. To silence him? I was convinced of this. I was now as near to certain as could be that Roger de Clare was one of the four who had accosted Arthur and me upon the road from Hornsey. If one or more of the others knew that Roger had got himself into trouble with Prince Edward, he might fear that Roger could be coerced into identifying the others who accompanied him in the attack.

  How would Roger’s accomplice know that the squire had annoyed Prince Edward? The felon must be close to Kennington Palace, or within, for Roger to have so quickly passed the news to him. Or perhaps the man was within the hall and heard Prince Edward banish Roger. Did Roger also tell this man that he had seen my gaze fixed upon him at dinner, and feared that he was identified as one who had descended upon Arthur and me from the wood, even though his liripipe covered all but his eyes and forehead?

  Most men have an enemy or two. Even the Lord Christ, the only perfect man, had enemies. They crucified Him. Little good it did them. It is how enemies are made that sets men apart. Some make enemies of good men, others make enemies of the bad. I pray that I will always have the proper enemies.

  Good men seldom slay their evil enemies – although they may contemplate doing so. Was Roger murdered because of the evil he had done, or because his slayer thought he might do good? What good could he do but speak of accomplices in the attack? If he had done so, he would have set me upon the path which would lead to the man who hired Arnaud Tonge to poison Sir Giles.

  Immediately after Sir Giles was slain there was but one course I could follow to find his killer. That route led to Hornsey, but was soon obstructed. Now there were many paths to follow to find Sir Giles’s murderer. If I could learn who pierced Sir John and Lady Ardith, or who plunged Roger de Clare into the herrings, I would shortly after know who paid Arnaud to poison Sir Giles. So I thought.

  I lay abed listening to Arthur snore and musing about which direction would most likely lead me to a felon or felons. In the morning it might be as well to discuss matters again with Randall Patchett. He had been present in the squires’ chamber when I sought Roger de Clare. Perhaps he had overheard conversations he might share – conversations that may have meant little or nothing to him at the time, not knowing that Roger was likely already a corpse, or soon would be.

  I awoke next morning to the sound of activity in the palace yard. Men were shouting and iron-shod hooves were clattering upon the cobbles before the marshalsea. I splashed water upon my face and with Arthur departed our chamber to learn the cause of such clamor.

  Men were loading wagons and carts. Grooms and valets and stable boys busied themselves hitching runcies to conveyances and covering the loads with waxed linen shrouds to protect from the rain which seemed likely to fall soon.

  When all was prepared and the horses in place between the shafts, two ladies left the palace and were assisted into the wagons. Their knightly husbands mounted their own steeds. Prince Edward and Lady Joan had been standing to one side watching the process, and now approached the wagons to bid farewell to the gentlemen and their ladies who, with their squires, valets, and grooms, were departing Kennington Palace. Two knights and a lady had perished in this place. Sir John Berell and Sir Aymer Esty had decided to return to their own manors, choosing to request permission to leave the royal presence rather than risk adding themselves to the list of corpses accumulating in Kennington Palace.

  “Have you spoken to Prince Edward yet about me serving him?” Randall asked when I found him after Matins.

  “Not yet. Other matters concern me. It is about those other matters that I would speak to you. Walk with me in Lady Joan’s garden again.”

  We passed through the great hall on the way to the garden. Arthur was in the hall, as I had instructed him to be. He nodded slightly as Randall and I passed. His duty was to watch if any man, or woman, took interest in my conversation with Randall. None did.

  “When I came to the squires’ chamber two nights past Fulk was there,” I began, “but Roger was not. Had he been and departed, or did he never appear? You were present in the hall and heard Prince Edward banish him and Fulk from Kennington.”

  “I saw Roger and Fulk leave the hall in disgrace,” Randall said. “I did not immediately follow, nor did any other squires or pages, I think. But the brawl drove away delight and soon several of us left the hall and the dancing and went to our chamber.”

  “How many?” I asked.

  “Four or five. Didn’t count.”

  “So some squires remained in the hall?”

  “Aye. For a time.”

  “When you reached your lodging only Fulk was present. Is this so?”

  “Aye.”

  “You said that after Prince Edward had banished them you remained in the hall for a time but soon departed. What does ‘soon’ mean? After a dance or two, or three?”

  “After the next dance.”

  “As you walked to the squires’ chamber did you see any man that might have been Roger in the passageway or elsewhere?”

  Randall scratched his chin, which was an affectation, for he had no bristles there to cause an itch.

  “I saw two men in the corridor, leaving the far end as I entered. Thought at first ’twas Fulk and Roger, but then knew it would not be, as the fellows did not seem to be antagonistic.”

  “It was too dark there to identify the fellows?”

  “It was. I saw only shapes against a cresset at the far end of the passageway. And only a glimpse. They disappeared past the corner as I saw them.”

  “You believe they saw you and that caused them to be off?” I said.

  “Nay. It didn’t seem so. They were walking away when I first saw their shadows. Likely never saw me, though they might’ve heard our footsteps on the flags and our conversation. There were several of us. But if they did, it didn’t change their direction or behavior. Not that I could see.”

  “Could one of these two have been Roger de Clare?” I asked.

  “Could have been,” Randall shrugged. “It was too dark to know, and they were walking away.”

  “In a comradely fashion, would you say, from what you saw?”

  “Aye, just so. I saw no hostility.”

  A light grey cap might show against the darkened corridor, even in the light of but one candle.

  “Roger wore a light grey cap which might be noticeable even in a dark place. Do you remember if one of these two wore some light-colored cap?”

  Randall’s eyes seemed to open a bit wider. “Aye,” he exclaimed. “Now you mention it one of them did wear such a cap.”

  “And Fulk was alone in the squires’ chamber when you and the others entered after having seen the two men at the far end of the passageway?”

  “Aye, he was. And much in sorrow, too.”

  The bell for dinner rang and ended our conversation. We reentered the hall and as we did so I saw Arthur from the corner of my eye shaking his head. No man, or woman, had tried to overhear my conversation with Randall. None that Arthur had seen.

  From my place beside William Blackwater I could see Fulk de Driby toying with his dinner. The first remove was dighted crab, and the squire spent most of his time staring at the crab as if he expected it to rise from his trencher and smite him. Neither did he speak to either of his companions. Perhaps he had nothing to say to them. Or they had nothing they desired to say to him.

  I suspect that Fulk showed no more interest in the second remove than he had the first, but I do not know this of a certainty. Dr. Blackwater wished to discuss Prince Edward’s illness. More precisely, he wished to charge me with damaging the prince’s health with my herbs.

  “Had he continued my instructions and consumed boiled roosters at his dinner, his strength would not have failed him as it has. And Lady Joan has told me that his foul emanations are as abominable as they ever were.
”

  I could not argue that point, having had recent experience of the prince’s wind. “Aye,” I agreed. “He is as malodorous now as he was when he consumed your boiled roosters at dinner. I worry that his ailment has worsened, so that neither your boiled roosters nor my physics will avail.”

  “Nonsense. ’Tis his humors remain out of joint. If he will again attend to my advice his humors will soon balance.”

  “If health were so simple,” I said, “why do men die? All do. Can a learned physician like yourself not prescribe the food and drink which will balance all men’s humors so that they will suffer no lasting illness?”

  Blackwater snorted. “I’ll suffer no instruction from a simple mechanic. Stick to stitching up men’s wounds and mending broken bones and heads. Leave the cure of diseases and adjustment of humors to men who know what they are about.”

  It pained me to admit it, and I did not say this to Blackwater, but I thought at the time that he might speak true. Certainly the tansy, thyme, cress, and bramble leaves with oil of fennel root had lost their effectiveness. If they had ever been effective.

  I was lost in speculations of medical matters and forgot that I had also intended to observe Fulk de Driby throughout the meal. The third remove, eels in bruit, and fruit and salmon pie, had been served when I next glanced at the squire. His face was as downcast as before, and he seemed to find no pleasure in the remove.

  When the subtlety (a gingerbread castle in the form of Kennington Palace) and void had been consumed the hall was cleared. Gentlefolk and commons scattered to their duties and pleasures. I watched Fulk walk somberly to the corridor which led to the squires’ chamber. Did he plan to spend the afternoon shut into that room? His fellows would be about the pleasures of youth: wrestling, discussing fair maids, exercising their horses, discussing other fair maids, gambling at Nine Man Morris, and discussing even more fair maids.

  I found Fulk sitting upon his pallet, head in hands, a picture of disconsolation. I did not think my questions would lift his heavy heart.

  The squire looked up when my shadow darkened the chamber door. He did not at first recognize me, I think, as the chamber was poorly lit and my form was but a shadow interrupting the light from the passageway windows. When I spoke, he knew who had entered, and were it possible, his face fell even more. He knew I was appointed to discover who had slain Sir Giles Cheyne. When a man given such authority suddenly appears, even the innocent will feel some dread. Constables, like bailiffs, have few friends, and most folk are more pleased to see them go than come.

  In situations where I wish to ask information of a man who might be reluctant to yield it, I have discovered that standing, while the man I question is seated, is effective at prying such information from a fellow. But Fulk, I thought, was not now such a man. If he ever had been. I sat upon the cot next to his, our knees nearly touching, so cramped was the chamber.

  “Randall Patchett has told me that after Roger de Clare struck you at dancing you came here alone, in obedience to Prince Edward’s demand. Is this so? Did Roger not come here also as the prince required?”

  “Roger left the hall with me. But when we came to our chamber he kept walking along the passage. He didn’t speak more to me. I never saw him again.”

  “He went on through the passageway and out of the door?”

  “I suppose so,” Fulk said. “When I entered here he was yet in the passageway. Not alone, I think.”

  “Why do you say so?” I asked.

  “Heard a voice. Speaking low, so as not to be heard. But I know – knew – Roger’s voice, and the words were not his.”

  “You could not hear what was said?”

  “Nay. I was about to go to the passageway to see who it was Roger was speaking to, or who was speaking to Roger, when Randall and some other squires returned. I never heard voices after that, and Roger never returned to this chamber. I heard what befell him. Do you think the man I heard speaking was him who slew Roger?”

  “Likely,” I replied.

  “Why? I know some folk think I did the murder, then hurried back here before Randall and the others found me here. I had reason, they say, though I swear before God I did not do it. What cause would another man have to slay Roger? Has he done evil to others also?”

  “Mayhap. From what I’ve learned of Roger ’tis likely. But I do not think he was slain for what he did.”

  “What, then?”

  “For what he knew.”

  “For what he knew? Was he slain because he would not tell his murderer what he wished to know?”

  “Nay. The other way round. The felon who put Roger in the herring barrel knew what Roger knew, and did murder to prevent Roger giving this information to me or any other man. So I believe. Since Roger’s death was made known, have you heard other squires or pages speak of it?”

  “Oh, aye. Often.”

  “What opinions have you heard?”

  Fulk shrugged. “They do not speak of me having slain him – not when I’m present. But I know they do so when my back is turned. Mostly, when I can hear, they talk of suffocating in a cask of salted herrings and compare it to other manners of untimely death. Some make sport of it.”

  “Those who disliked Roger?” I suggested.

  “Aye.”

  “Are there many who hold that view?”

  “A few. Roger had both foes and friends.”

  “Who were his friends?” I asked.

  “Friends? Why do you ask of them? Is it not a foe who would have slain him?”

  “You said he was with some other man that night in the passageway, and that the other man spoke softly to him. So softly that you could not hear. Does that seem the behavior of an enemy? Would Roger consort in a darkened corridor with an adversary? And Randall Patchett also saw the shapes of two men in the corridor, and said they seemed affable. The man with Roger was perhaps the man who slew him. Likely with help. Roger did not go off from here with an enemy. So I seek the names of his friends.”

  “He was oft with Robert Waynflete and Stephen Corbet. Thomas Poer and John Stonor, also. And Geoffrey Paget.”

  “When Randall entered this chamber that evening, were any of those friends of Roger’s with him?”

  “Ah,” Fulk said, “I see your drift. Were they with Randall they could not have been with Roger in the passageway.”

  “Just so.”

  Fulk furrowed his brow and thought back to that evening. For several minutes he did not reply.

  “I was in a foul mood, I fear, when Randall and the others entered. I remember only John Stonor among Roger’s friends who entered with Randall.”

  “Perhaps Randall will remember if there were others of Roger’s friends who departed the hall with him,” I said.

  Chapter 14

  I left Fulk as I had found him, staring glumly at his feet, alone in the squires’ chamber. I walked the palace grounds seeking Randall Patchett and found him with several other squires and pages playing at bowls. I caught his eye and motioned to him to join me. He looked back to his companions, then reluctantly left his sport. Perhaps he had a few pence at risk in the game.

  We walked some distance from the bowlers before I spoke. If he responded to my questions with a name or names of those who had been with him at bowls I did not wish for them to hear their names mentioned.

  “When you left the dancing on the night of the murders and went to the squires’ chamber, what others accompanied you?”

  “You ask who else may have seen two men at the end of the passageway?” he said. “Do you not believe I spoke true?”

  “I believe you. Have no concern of that. I seek the names of others who entered the squires’ chamber for another reason.”

  Randall’s features relaxed. No man likes to be thought a liar, especially when the man who might believe him to be has authority to send him to a gallows. He puzzled over the question for a moment, as had Fulk. “Stephen Corbet, Richard Daniel, Robert Waynflete were with me. John Stoner, Simon Ewes and
Geoffrey Molyns, also.”

  “No others?”

  “Nay. Those six. I’m sure of it.”

  Of the friends Fulk had named, Thomas Poer and Sir Geoffrey Paget were unaccounted for when Roger de Clare was slain. Sir Geoffrey I had seen dancing. But had he remained in the hall after Fulk and Roger had raised Prince Edward’s ire? His dancing had not been enthusiastic even before the prince’s eruption. Would the disturbance have caused him to abandon his fiancée, who was enjoying herself even if he was not, and leave the hall?

  Arthur had remained in the hall when I followed Prince Edward up the stairs to his privy chamber. The upper rooms were forbidden to him. He had seen Lady Amabil and so might remember her partner at dancing.

  I found Arthur playing knucklebones with other grooms. He seemed less reluctant to leave the game than Randall had been to leave his amusement. Perhaps the game had not been friendly and his purse the lighter for it.

  “Lady Amabil?” he said. “She the lass what I saw following you an’ that squire in the garden a few days past?”

  “Aye. She and Sir Geoffrey were dancing when Roger de Clare struck Fulk de Driby. Do you remember seeing them?”

  “Hard to forget a lass like that.”

  “Prince Edward told Fulk and Roger that they were banished from Kennington Palace and must leave on the morrow. He then went to the stairs and his privy chamber. I followed. When I was gone from the hall did you see if Sir Geoffrey was yet there when the musicians began again to play? Did you enjoy watching Amabil enough that you remember what her partners did?”

  “Went off, didn’t he? The lass was right vexed about it, too. Saw ’er stomp ’er foot when ’e walked away.”

  “Which way did he go when he left her?”

  “Out through the porch.”

  “He did not go through the screens passage toward the squires’ chamber?”

  “Nay.”

  This puzzled me, but only for a moment. If he hurried, Sir Geoffrey could have passed from the porch outside the south wall of the hall, and entered the passageway door leading to the squires’ chamber by the time Roger came there. Sir Geoffrey is not a large man. His form is much like Fulk de Driby’s. If he disposed of Roger de Clare in a herring cask the squire must have first been rendered senseless, or Sir Geoffrey had help. I did not know Thomas Poer. Was he a brawny fellow? ’Twas time to find out.