The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker (26 page)

‘An excellent dancer,’ he complimented Vincent.

‘Yes. She is the daughter of a baker of ours. He pulls his hair out, as you’d expect. A girl like her flaunting herself before the eager eyes of so many men,’ Vincent grinned. ‘There are enough to be jealous of Elias.’

‘She’s Mary?’

‘Yes, I thought you knew,’ Vincent said off-handedly.

It was intriguing to watch her. Baldwin, his eyes on her feet in an attempt to keep up with the rapid movements, could easily imagine how a young lad could become infatuated by her: a boy brought up in the secluded, bachelor environment of the glover’s household. Meeting this splendid creature each morning to collect his daily loaf of bread, was it any surprise that he should be knocked sideways?

‘Sir Baldwin,’ Vincent had risen and was standing before him. ‘You haven’t met my friend, have you? This is Nicholas Karvinel – the man who has helped to make your gloves.’

‘Master Karvinel, it is a pleasure,’ Baldwin said, with a faint hint of remoteness in his tone. ‘Tell me, aren’t you the poor fellow that was robbed on the road south of the city? And you later found one of the outlaws in a tavern?’

Unaccountably the man looked wary, glancing at Vincent. ‘Um, yes,’ he said after a pause, ‘and I’m glad to say the bastard swung, God rot him!’

‘Well, at least you caught the villain,’ Baldwin said politely.

‘Yes, that at least was good.’

Vincent excused himself and went to speak to another guest, and Baldwin was left smiling blankly at a man about whom he knew nothing except for his reputation for miserably bad luck.

At his side, Jeanne rescued him. ‘It must have been dreadful to hear that the other glover was murdered. Such a terrible thing to happen to anyone, that kind of
petit treason
. The thought that your own servant should kill you . . .’

‘It is a horrible thing to dwell upon, my Lady,’ Nicholas Karvinel agreed. ‘But there is murder and madness upon all the streets. All we can do is hang those who would break the laws. It’s the only rule they understand. And the apprentice who kills his master is very certainly deserving of his end. What sort of world would we live in if we allowed that kind of lunacy?’

‘Ugh, yes! Horrid,’ Jeanne said, with affected revulsion. Baldwin restrained the grin that threatened to crack his serious features. His wife was already bored with the man and disliked his opinions, although she was too well-bred to contradict him. ‘Tell me,’ she continued, ‘how magnificent are these gloves to be?’

‘Ah, my Lady, you wouldn’t expect me to give away the secrets of my work? My commission was to produce splendid gloves so that the Dean and Chapter could show their appreciation to the city and the friends of the Cathedral. I couldn’t possibly tell you what they would be like.’

‘Oh, I see. But you got all you needed from the poor dead glover?’

‘The gloves were almost finished. I only had to add some gems – ah! You have made me confess that much already!’

‘But I understood that jewels and the money for the commission were already paid to poor Master Ralph. Has the Cathedral had to pay twice?’

‘I couldn’t afford to do the work for free,’ Karvinel smiled, ‘but the Cathedral needed only to pay me for finishing Ralph’s work.’

Baldwin was listening to him with interest. ‘I suppose you have had to help many other people who would have made use of Ralph the glover’s services?’

‘A few people have come to me, Sir Knight,’ the man conceded, then added: ‘but I hope you don’t think I might have arranged poor Ralph’s death just to win over some of his clients!’

‘My Heavens! What a thought,’ Baldwin said, as if shocked. Then: ‘What happened to the rest of the attacking outlaws?’

‘Eh? What, the men who waylaid me and my man?’

Baldwin didn’t bother to nod. He merely remained staring unblinking.

Karvinel was more heavily set than Vincent, but was sluggish; he lacked the drive which seemed a major part of le Berwe’s make-up. Baldwin reflected that it was probably due to the fact that he was financially in dire straits. Vincent was a success, Nicholas Karvinel a failure.

Vincent was suave and confident in his manner, no matter what he was talking about or to whom; Karvinel was, in comparison, wary and aggressive. The latter now stood with every sign of being cowed by Fate. His eyes moved about the room constantly; his hands were clasped with an outward show of humility and meekness, but there was something about him which Baldwin distrusted.

At his side, Jeanne felt the same. It was hardly a surprise that Karvinel’s business should fail, she thought, when the proprietor was so oily and unpleasant. She would never buy gloves from so unsavoury a character. He reminded her of a snake preparing to strike.

After a moment or two Karvinel replied, ‘They all turned and ran down the road beyond the Maudlin. Like the cowards they are!’

‘Does anyone know who they are?’ Jeanne asked.

‘Oh, their leader styles himself a knight; he has some fifteen or so men with him. All sorts, all ages, all characterised by their willingness to flout the law. It’s a disgrace.’

‘You called the Hue and Cry when you returned to the city, of course?’

‘Well, of course I did! What else would a man do when he has been robbed?’

‘I was merely wondering. Vincent told us that you saw one of the men in a tavern or somewhere, and had him arrested immediately.’

‘Yes, I caught the devil myself. Hamond. God’s blood, but the cheeky sod said he hadn’t been down that way at all. It didn’t do him any good; he was known to be a man of manifest guilt. He was indicted for going about at night-time with a weapon some years ago.’

‘Ah!’ Baldwin said. He recalled his first thoughts on hearing of the hanged man’s background. This Hamond had been so well-known for his nefarious behaviour that when a crime was committed, he was the first to be arrested. Men in his position were often found guilty because the jury who presented them to court thought they were the most likely culprits. So long as someone in the Hundred was convicted of a crime, the King’s Judge would be content, and any jury would prefer to see a useless or dangerous man removed rather than risk a prolonged investigation which would invariably prove still more expensive.

By now, Baldwin was growing to actively dislike this Karvinel. The man had a face rather like a toad’s, with small narrow eyes placed rather widely apart; his nose was thick at the base, broken before the nostrils and badly set. He had not been shaved well, and his stubble was thicker on the left than the right, which made him look sloppy. Normally Baldwin would not think to condemn a man for his dress or toilet, but today was Christ’s, celebrating the infant’s birth and although Baldwin himself was very ambivalent in his attitude to the Church since the destruction of the Temple, that did not affect his adoration of Christ.

When he studied Karvinel, the merchant looked away, a trait which Baldwin had learned to mistrust in any man, but Karvinel added to the knight’s feeling of unease in his presence by staring at Baldwin’s shoes. It was not Karvinel’s fault that Baldwin’s shoes proved how wet and muddy the roads were, but irrationally it made Baldwin feel that an intentional slight was being offered.

‘I assume this man’s family stood up for him?’ he asked stiffly.

‘I don’t know where he came from,’ Karvinel said dismissively. ‘I shouldn’t think anyone else did either.’

‘Vincent told me he was a local,’ Baldwin remembered.

‘I am surprised Vincent knew of him,’ Karvinel said, and his expression confirmed his words. He frowned after their host doubtfully. ‘The lad had every opportunity to defend himself, but he couldn’t get away from the fact that my clerk and I saw him there. We actually saw him with the gang.’

Baldwin set his head to one side in exaggerated surprise. ‘You mean his face was not masked or covered? He must have been the veriest fool in Christendom to attack travellers and not try to hide his identity.’

‘Perhaps, but such is how it was.’

‘What of the rest of the gang?’

‘They
were
masked.’

There was a lightness to his voice which could have indicated boredom, as if he found the repetition of his attack infinitely dull – or maybe the man was simply ashamed of the attack. But that was foolish. How could a man be embarrassed about being set upon by fifteen or so men? ‘They were all armed, I suppose?’

‘All with sticks or axes. Some had billhooks. It was terrifying, I assure you.’

A whole band armed with such weapons would be a fearsome sight. ‘I wonder why this one had no face covering.’

‘He was a fool.’

‘It is merely odd. In my experience, outlaws would happily kill a traveller to prevent their being recognised later – especially if they are local and could be seen by another local man.’

Karvinel shrugged but said nothing.

‘And your clerk has died too, hasn’t he?’ Baldwin continued after a moment. ‘The young Secondary, Peter?’

‘Yes.’

‘You saw him in a tavern a few days ago – the twenty-third, I think. He turned from you as if angry – why should he do that?’

‘He never avoided me.’

‘But I heard . . .’

Karvinel had been surveying the other guests but now he turned to face Baldwin, and the latter could see the naked rage that simmered under the polite exterior. ‘Are you suggesting that I am not telling the truth, Master Knight? Do you call me a liar?’

‘No, Master Nicholas,’ said Baldwin with a suave smile. ‘Of course not.’

He had no need to when Karvinel’s manner convinced him of the fact.

The Bailiff was enjoying himself immensely as his drinking horn was topped up once more. He stood, a beatific grin spread over his features, the horn gripped tightly in his right hand.

Some of the guests were sitting at low tables and playing merrills or backgammon while servants brought in harps and other instruments ready for more singing. Simon was all in favour of gambling and singing, especially after a good meal, and now he leaned against a table, eyeing the throng with a benevolent expression on his face.

Baldwin saw Simon swaying gently and smiled to himself. Walking over, he nodded at the drinking horn. ‘It is my fervent wish that you should regret your consumption tomorrow, Simon.’

‘Me? Hardly had more than a few. No, I can handle my drink.’

Baldwin curled his lip. More than a pint or two of wine and his head was unbearable the next day, not to mention the acid in his belly.

‘The dancer was talented, wasn’t she?’ Simon continued pensively. ‘She could tempt a man, that one.’ In his mind he recalled the tall, slim woman springing up onto her hands, then backwards onto her feet again. The thought of such suppleness brought a happy smile to his face. ‘Yes, she could tempt a monk, that girl. God’s balls, but she can move!’

‘Sad, considering her man is in gaol,’ Baldwin said, explaining that Mary was, in fact, the baker’s daughter: Elias’s girlfriend. ‘You should consider yourself lucky she hasn’t looked at you, anyway,’ he chuckled. ‘After all you’ve had to drink, you would hardly manage a smile even if you found her tucked up in your bed!’

Simon blinked slowly as he considered this. ‘That,’ he slurred carefully, ‘is an entirely unwarranted comment. I can father children with my great sword.’

Baldwin’s bellow of laughter made others in the room turn. ‘Great sword? I should think after all that drink it would be more like a bent knife that has been used too often for cutting leather. Old, weak and blunted.’

‘Hurtful,’ Simon said sadly, shaking his head. ‘Anyway, whatever you think of it, and since I doubt that I will be able to prove my virility with that girl, I shall go out and use it for its secondary purpose.’

‘Walk cautiously, then,’ Baldwin smiled as his friend took a slightly indirect path for the doorway.

Outside, Simon immediately felt more clear-headed. The plot was long and narrow, with vegetables growing near the house and a small enclosed arbour concealing a farther garden. He walked to this and lifted his tunic, peeing contentedly against a fruit tree. When he was done he was loath to return immediately and instead strolled a little further, enjoying the quiet.

It was then that he heard the short gasp. He stilled, listening intently. Slowly he stepped forward with extreme caution.

All too often thieves had been known to break into parties and rob all the guests. Simon intended to see whether outlaws had clambered over Vincent’s wall. He advanced past a small fence with apple-trees trained against it, along the line of a small hedge, but then he was close enough to see that there was no risk from either of the two who so enthusiastically grappled and strove together.

Grinning, Simon tiptoed away. There was no point in disturbing them. He returned to the house.

Baldwin was in the doorway. ‘You took your time. I was wondering whether you had blundered into a hole.’

‘No,’ said Simon. ‘I thought there was an intruder, but then I realised it was a welcome intrusion I heard.’

Baldwin eyed him. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

Simon said nothing, but nodded back towards the garden. There, walking towards them was the dancing girl and one of the musicians, both strolling with all the arrogance of youth and satisfied lust.

‘Ah, I see,’ Baldwin grinned once the two had pushed their way back indoors. Then Simon wiped the smile off his face with his next remark.

‘I should think she has anticipated her marriage. In fact, even though the nuptial bed was green and damp, I’d say young Mary Skinner had just performed the most important of the marital duties.’

‘My God! She scarcely seems overly concerned by Elias’s incarceration, does she?’

While Simon fetched them fresh drinks, despite Baldwin’s protestations, Baldwin noticed that Vincent was talking to Karvinel again, quietly in a corner. The Receiver appeared calm, but Karvinel seemed to be restraining his anger with great difficulty. Baldwin only wished he could get a little nearer, but before he could approach, Lady Hawisia was bearing down on him. Baldwin steeled himself.

‘Ah, there you are, Sir Baldwin. There are so many men here who wish to meet you. Couldn’t you come with me for a moment?’