That was Jen’s greatest fear as she hurried along the streets. She was convinced that she would hear that the merchant had been struck down in the streets, stabbed and left dying, but fully able to point his finger at his assassin, the leader of the gang he said had attacked him and robbed him.
But her anxiety was misplaced. In the fifth tavern she entered, the Cock, she found Sir Thomas sitting at the back of a gloomy hall filled with smoke from the damp logs that the host had optimistically set in the central hearth.
He sat on a stool, a slumped, rather sad figure huddled in his cloak and gulping wine from a pint pot. Seeing her shadow, he started, then gave her a lopsided grin. ‘So, little lark. You’ve come to fetch me home, have you?’
‘I thought you had been killed. I thought you had stuck your dagger in him and been caught. Why didn’t you come straight back with Hob? You could have sent a message with him to stop me worrying.’
He took her hand and gently tugged her towards him, then pulled her onto his lap and rested his head upon her breast. ‘Because I saw this Karvinel in the crowd. Your brother pointed him out to me and I followed him home. I know where he lives. Then he went to an alehouse and I followed him again. I could have killed him there, Jen, if I’d wanted to. I could have slipped my blade between his shoulders and left him dead in the gutter. Easy. But before I kill him, I want to know why he did it.’
‘You left him and came here?’ she asked sarcastically.
‘No. After the tavern, he returned to his house where he collected his wife, and they went off to another house where there was a Christmas feast; I ate from the alms dish at the door to find out whose house it was. It is owned by Vincent le Berwe, the steward told me. He’s the City’s Receiver.’
‘Does that tell you something about Karvinel?’
‘No, nothing. I still don’t know why he had Hamond killed,’ Sir Thomas said. ‘But I will!’
Why had the bastard sent his fellow to the gallows? All that day, Sir Thomas had been with Hamond in the city. Hamond had walked with Sir Thomas to the city gate and waved him off only a half hour or so before Karvinel ran up to the city’s gate and pointed out Hamond as being a felon.
Not knowing was dreadful, but Sir Thomas would find out. A firm resolution filled him with the warm satisfaction of revenge to come. Yes. Sir Thomas would not let Karvinel get away with his crime. Sir Thomas was a knight and he demanded satisfaction from the mere merchant who had murdered his servant. That was what it was: murder by proxy. Karvinel was too cowardly to kill Hamond in a fair fight, so he sought Hamond’s death by deceit, telling people Hamond had robbed him. And then had Hamond executed by the city.
‘You could have been seen – been captured,’ Jen said fearfully.
‘Not today,’ he said. ‘No one is looking today.’ But his attention had already returned to Karvinel. As soon as he could, he would catch the shit and beat the truth out of him. Before killing him.
Adam saw Luke at the corner of the chorister’s block as he left the Cathedral, his box of candles in his hand.
It was chilly out in the open air again, and now, with the dusk giving way to full night, Adam was tired and cold. He gripped his box of candles to his chest as he hurried over the grass towards his chamber.
But the boy walking ahead of him was too tempting.
Adam had never liked Luke. Truth to tell, he hated the cocky little shite. He hated the way Luke always contrived to be smart and clean, the way he was always being commended for his efforts, the way the little brat accepted the compliments of Canons and clerks for the purity of his singing, like a little male whore with that smug, smarmy smile on his fat face.
It wasn’t so easy for the men about the place, Adam knew. He’d done everything in his power to learn the lessons he’d been given from the first day he entered the Choristers, but he’d failed. The letters moved on the page before his eyes, he couldn’t make head nor tail of them, and the pictures were as bad. What was a man supposed to do when the reed in his hand just didn’t work? He couldn’t help the fact that his sketches and drawings were smudged and out of proportion. And try as he might, he couldn’t make the scenes he drew look neat. Where others formed pretty little pictures with balance and elegance, his ended up as the worst of cartoons, with men and women looking sharp-faced, bestial.
His time here must be drawing to an end soon. He couldn’t remain with any likelihood of preferment. The Canons would grumble, asking that someone else be brought in to take the spare place, someone who would be of more direct and immediate use to the Cathedral. Perhaps he’d be lucky, get offered a post as an acolyte. He could stay in the Cathedral provided he agreed to continue looking after the candles, delivering loaves to the older members of the choir, and a few other duties.
It almost made him throw down his candles in rage and disgust. Why should he be cast off, when these little bastards were allowed to stay? They had other places they could go to, they had homes; in Luke’s case, a wealthy home. Everyone knew how well off his people were. He came from the Soth family. It was unfair!
Luke was still walking slowly ahead of him. As Adam watched, Luke pulled out a lump of bread. He broke off a piece just as Adam saw an object that would allow him to take out his revenge in a mean and cruel manner on one of his most hated rivals.
The first Luke knew was when he heard the slap of sandalled feet behind him.
After seeing Henry in the hall, Luke had been musing over the celebrations for Holy Innocents’ Day and wondering whether he could somehow escape the humiliation of waiting upon the new boy-Bishop. Sadly he came to the conclusion that there was no escape: any attempt would show Henry that he had won, that he had succeeded in destroying Luke’s equilibrium.
Luke’s appetite had wakened. It felt like days since the feast in Stephen’s house; Luke sometimes thought that the whole of his life was spent in hunger. The amounts of food given to him and the other choirboys were never enough.
He was about to slip the first piece of bread into his mouth when he heard the feet. There was a hollow, empty-sounding rattle as Adam dropped his candle-box, and Luke was suddenly convinced that a ghost was coming to grab him, maybe to pull him down under the ground with him. Squeaking in terror, he felt strong arms grip him, felt himself swung up and over, upside-down, and his face was heading towards the ground.
Henry frowned at all the other desks, but before he could make a search, he heard the muffled cry from outside. Forgetting his pot of orpiment, he rose and went to the door. There, in the dim light that streamed from behind him in the doorway, he saw a figure lying on the ground. He felt the flesh of his scalp creep as he wondered whether it was a dead man, but then he realised that the body was lifting itself up.
He heard the sobs and frowned. It was weak to cry; but he would help if he could. Only when he arrived at Luke’s side did he recognise who it was, and the hand he had put out in sympathy stayed in mid-air as he realised that his sympathy might not be agreeable to this victim.
‘What in God’s name is going on?’ roared Gervase. He had been in his hall when he heard the first hiccupping cry, and now he peered from the door to see, as he thought, Henry leaning over Luke, having pushed him or thumped him.
Henry’s face turned to him, almost white in the cold moonlight, and Gervase instantly marked him down as guilty. He stormed out and went to Luke’s side, picking him up and then wincing. ‘Are you all right?’
The boy had been pushed headfirst into a gutter, which was filled with horse manure and dung from the animals which had passed through there today. Luke’s face was a grimace of revulsion and hatred as he tried to keep the tears at bay. ‘Someone picked me up and threw me into that,’ he declared with a sob.
‘Was it Henry?’
‘I haven’t done anything, I was in the hall!’ Henry stated emphatically.
Gervase’s anger burst. ‘You and Luke have always had this silly dispute, haven’t you? And now you’ve made him suffer like this, you little heath
en. Your behaviour is a disgrace to the Cathedral and to the robes you wear, you devil. My God, I am tempted to rip the robe from you and throw you from the precinct at once!’
‘I didn’t do anything! I came out to help him when I heard him cry out!’
‘I saw you there, pushing at him, you devil! Get back inside and go to your room. I’ll not have you trying any more tricks on this poor child. Go on! Go!’
Henry turned and shuffled away, snivelling. Luke was still weeping as he was wiped and cleaned as best he could be by the Succentor before being led away to have his face washed.
When they had all gone, Adam slipped out from his hiding-place, collected his empty candle box, and then, after a moment’s thought, picked up the loaf, which had fallen on the grass and had missed following Luke into the sewer. With a skip to his steps, Adam made his way back to his own little chamber in the Close, chortling as he remembered Luke’s panicked squeak. He wouldn’t forget that for many a long month.
Chapter Twenty
On the day after Christmas, Simon woke in the early hours to find Baldwin in the hall with him. The knight was squatting by the side of the fire, ruminatively prodding at the coals with a stick, sipping every now and again from a pot of ale at his side.
‘Baldwin! Are you all right?’
‘Oh, Simon, I am sorry to have woken you. I thought I was being quiet. Ah well, I shall leave you. My apologies.’ He stood and collected up his pot.
‘No, sit down again. What’s the matter?’
Nothing loath, the knight dropped onto a stool beside the fire again. ‘I cannot help but feel that something bad is going on here, Simon, and the feeling is growing stronger. Someone is going to suffer unnecessarily and unfairly, I think, unless we do something to help him.’
‘Obviously you mean the poor devil in gaol.’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘That poor apprentice. I can see no reason why he should be confined, and if we do nothing he may well be executed for something he didn’t do. The only motive we have been given is that the lad might have robbed his master – and yet there is no money or jewels to prove that he did. They say he could have run away and hidden them – but no one can show where he might have put them. No, it is more likely that he had nothing to do with the murder or the theft. They came as a complete surprise to him.’
‘Then who did have a reason to kill the glover?’
‘That is the all-important question,’ Baldwin said heavily. ‘Jolinde had bought the arsenic, but what would be his motive? Although I am intrigued by Jolinde and Peter delivering the money and gemstones to Ralph. It is significant, too, that Peter also contributed to the death of the felon.’
‘You think one of the outlaws might have decided to kill him?’
‘It is possible. Unlikely but possible.’
‘And the Dean asked us to look into the Secondary’s death as well,’ Simon pointed out, yawning.
‘Yes. That in itself is odd. Why should he ask us to enquire into that when he had the Coroner there to investigate?’ He scowled at the fire, trying to make sense of it all.
Simon leaned across to take Baldwin’s pot from him. Sipping from it he said, ‘There is one obvious conclusion: the Dean and Chapter don’t trust the Coroner.’
‘Possibly – and yet I find it hard to believe. Coroner Roger is transparently innocent, especially now he has suggested other courses for us to look into. He didn’t need to introduce us to the City Bailiff.’
‘Fine, so if we assume he is straight, perhaps there was another motive behind the Dean’s suggestion that we should help. Maybe he feared that the Coroner himself could get into deep water.’
‘Or was it something to do with the suspects?’ Baldwin mused.
Simon took another gulp and considered. ‘It’s feasible. What if he was concerned like you that the wrong man could be accused? You are worried about the apprentice, and maybe he’s worried about someone else?’
‘Who?’ Baldwin scoffed.
‘Don’t be stupid! There’s only one real suspect in Peter’s death, and you know it as well as I do: Jolinde. He’s the only man who had the chance. God’s bollocks! He even told us about his delivery of food. How easy it would have been for him to have slipped poison into Peter’s food. And he told us that he didn’t eat it.’
‘But what could lead Jolinde to kill Peter now when he had had opportunities for the last few years?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘There’s nothing to suggest that they had a row about anything.’
‘Jolinde’s girl said that they were a bit odd in the tavern.’
‘I think Claricia was more struck with the way that Peter snubbed Karvinel later on.’
Simon said slowly, ‘If the Dean realised that the evidence pointed to Jolinde, wouldn’t that be reason enough to get another pair of heads in to help the Coroner?’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘Baldwin, you’ve left your brains in bed with Jeanne. Think! The Cathedral survives on the money it wins from the city and the people living here. There are a number of wealthy men, but one in particular stands out in terms of potential income.’
‘The Receiver!’
‘Vincent le Berwe,’ Simon nodded. ‘The father of Jolinde, if our informer was correct. I think we have the Dean’s motive right there. He didn’t want to upset one of his major financiers by being responsible for having his son arrested, not unless there was absolutely no alternative.’
‘Vincent would be upset if his son was taken, presumably, although I’ve seen nothing to suggest that he is particularly fond of the boy.’
‘Just because he doesn’t have the boy in his house with him and with his wife, don’t hold that against him,’ Simon warned. ‘Just imagine that you had an illegitimate son twenty-odd years ago – then imagine that your only child with Jeanne had died. Would you inflict upon Jeanne the presence of your child out of marriage? It would be a dreadful reminder to her that she herself hadn’t provided you with your heir when a village slut could manage it perfectly happily. If Jolinde is his son, he must have some feelings for the lad.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘True, but there is the other aspect, which is that if Vincent was concerned, surely he’d have paid the Sheriff to see to it that the matter never reached the court with his boy. In the best courts in the land there is normally someone who can be persuaded by cash.’
‘Maybe Vincent would try that if his boy was actually arrested. But the Dean would still have the embarrassment of being involved with that arrest – and I doubt he wants that to happen to the man with possibly the biggest purse in the parish.’
‘The trouble is, we have no idea why Peter Golloc should have been killed. Unless he killed himself, as we said. And Jolinde had every opportunity.’
‘He had several with the very fair Claricia,’ Simon added with a leer.
‘Yes, yes. Vincent le Berwe surely fits into all this somehow, but I cannot see how. And there was something about Karvinel: he appeared very jittery when I asked him about the robbery. I suppose the attack could have unsettled him, but he didn’t seem to want to discuss the affair at all. That seems odd. Most people want to talk about their misfortune. He had all his money taken, but was reticent on the details. And I have to say that so much bad luck itself looks suspicious, when you add it all together.’
‘What, you think he conspired to have his goods stolen from him?’ Simon laughed.
Baldwin looked at him seriously. ‘There are other possibilities. He could have made a powerful enemy, for instance. You recall this man they all talk about as a vicious outlaw leading a large band of men – Sir Thomas of Exmouth? Perhaps he has a specific grudge against Karvinel.’
‘What?’ Simon grunted, tugging the cloak and blanket which served as his bedclothes more closely about him. ‘What are you saying, that this poor fool Karvinel has upset someone who can hire an entire outlaw band to give him a kicking? Does it sound reasonable?’
‘Remember what we were told about Karvinel’s legendary b
ad luck,’ Baldwin said, looking at his friend with a serious, worried expression on his face. ‘Karvinel lost his ship years ago, his house was burgled, then put to the torch, and finally this outrageous attack was sprung on him as he was approaching the city. Does that sound normal to you? How often have you known evil luck of that nature dog a man’s footsteps?’
‘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.
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