The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker (30 page)

A shadow passed over him and he looked up to see Janekyn. The old man was cupping a drink in his hands. ‘Want some?’

‘Thanks,’ Coppe said, taking the steaming wooden mazer from him and sipping. ‘You won’t believe this,’ he said, sadly contemplating his legless stump, ‘but I can feel the heat going all the way down to my toes.’

The older man chuckled. ‘We’re a pair of wrecks, you and me, John. You’re all cut to pieces, and me, I’m so old I’ve got little time left to me.’

‘You’ll probably see me out, Jan. In fact, I’d be glad if God would take me right away. I’ve had enough of this. It’s no way for a man to live, begging for alms all the time.’

Janekyn looked down at Coppe. He’d known the cripple for most of his time as porter, for he had only taken on the role three years ago. The thought of standing here without the cripple huddled by the wall was strangely upsetting. It would leave a horrible gap in Janekyn’s life. He enjoyed his occasional arguments with the old sailor. Abruptly he turned and walked back inside, calling for a clerk.

Jolinde was hurrying past the entrance as Janekyn disappeared, and Coppe looked up brightly. ‘Come, Master, a coin or two for wine to warm my veins?’

‘I have nothing.’

Coppe was surprised at the snarl in Jolinde’s voice. ‘There’s no shame in that, Master. No need to be angry. At least you haven’t run into anyone like your friend did with Ralph that morning.’

‘What do you mean? What friend? What morning?’ Jolinde cast a baffled look at the cripple.

‘Why, the morning poor Ralph Glover was killed. Your friend pelted back to the gate and ran slap into him, wasn’t looking where he was going was he? All agitated, he seemed.’

‘He ran into Ralph?’

‘Yes. The glover was with Stephen. I saw your friend run into him down near St Petrock’s and then he came haring up here to the Fissand, nearly tripped over me there, and nipped straight inside.’

Jolinde was frowning now. ‘Are you sure? What on earth would he have been doing out of the Cathedral at that time of day?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ Coppe said, automatically waving his bowl under Jolinde’s nose. ‘He was back in time for the service, though only just, I’d guess. He ran past me here just as the bells stopped.’

Jolinde dropped a farthing into his bowl and walked on slowly and musingly. Only a few feet from Coppe, he suddenly stopped and cried, ‘Shit! He can’t have taken them back! He
can’t
! What can I do if he took them all back?’

He burst into a shambling run, and Coppe stared after him as he hurried over to the lane that led to his house. As he disappeared from view Janekyn appeared dragging a lighted brazier by a rope which he had lashed to one of the legs. ‘What was that about?’

‘I only wish I knew,’ Coppe said with transparent honesty.

‘Never mind. Here you are, one brazier, and more wine to warm your veins. Merry Christmas! And if it gets colder . . .’ He dropped a few pennies into Coppe’s hand. ‘You can go and find yourself a warm tavern where you can sit before a fire.’

Sutton’s Inn was blessedly quiet. In the hearth a fire was burning strongly, with three faggots throwing out a delicious scent of applewood and oak as they flamed and sputtered. Smoke rose up to the rafters high overhead – a fine, thin smoke that provided the room with a pleasant, incense-like odour. Occasionally there was a minor explosion as a log split in the heat, but then the wood settled again and was quiet.

Simon and Baldwin had arranged to meet the Coroner to discuss progress.

‘Do you really think that poor fellow in the gaol could have murdered his master?’ Baldwin began.

‘No. That was one reason for taking you there, to meet him in the flesh. The Bailiff, William, always was too keen to pick the easiest victim. Personally I think I have as much of a duty not to imprison the innocent as I have to capture the guilty.’

‘I should like you to tell us about some of the other people in the city. For example, this girl Mary with whom Elias fancies himself in love. What do
you
know of
her
?’

The host appeared and the three men ordered two quarts of spiced wine to be set by the fire to warm. When the man had brought a large pot of strong Bordeaux flavoured with cinnamon and nutmeg he left them and Roger leaned forward thoughtfully.

‘She’s a bright little thing, very comely. Daughter of a baker called Rob near the Shambles, and often works with him, since her brother Martin died. But she’s flighty, that one. I doubt whether she was ever that serious about Elias.’

‘Is she vain? Greedy? Deceitful?’

‘Ho, Sir Baldwin,’ Roger smiled, leaning back. ‘She’s a woman, but she’s no worse than many, I swear. No, I don’t think she’s overly greedy or vain. No more than any woman.’

Baldwin fleetingly reflected that it was fortunate that his wife was not present to hear the Coroner’s views, but then he was considering the issue again. ‘This is too serious for us to worry about upsetting her or her friends. I only wonder whether she herself may have been persuaded to keep Elias with her.’

‘What, you think someone tried to keep him back?’ Roger exclaimed, watching Simon pour their wine.

Simon had heated his dagger’s blade in the fire. Now he used it to stir his wine. It sizzled as it touched the liquor and he watched the steam rising. ‘It’s an interesting thought. The one day that Elias happens to be really late is the same day that a random thief happens to find his way clear. Too much of a coincidence. It’s more rational to assume that the boy was delayed intentionally – which means that Mary was involved in it somehow. She was bribed or blackmailed into chatting to Elias and keeping him back for longer than usual, so that the assassin had plenty of time.’

‘No. I can’t swallow that. Mary is many things, I don’t doubt, but this is implicating her in two deaths – that of poor Ralph Glover, and the possible execution of Elias, an innocent man.’

‘Last night she danced for Vincent le Berwe,’ Simon said. ‘And in the evening I saw her rutting enthusiastically with one of the musicians. She didn’t seem very concerned about Elias then.’

The Coroner looked appalled. His brows came down and he glowered into his pot of wine. ‘The young bitch!’

Baldwin sighed. ‘Let us consider the two clerks who visited the glover early in December. They were together for that delivery, as they were in their rooms, and yet one is now dead.’

‘Yes?’

‘Does it not seem suspicious to you? One specific fact leaps out at me.’

Roger shook his head in bafflement.

Baldwin continued patiently, ‘Coroner, if someone knew that the money was there, it is reasonable to assume he might have known where it came
from
: he knew it was Cathedral money. If somebody heard about it, did he hear about it before it was delivered, or did he only hear about it
after
it had been delivered?’

‘Do you believe in dissecting every enquiry in the same manner?’ Coroner Roger asked dryly.

Simon shrugged. ‘Two clerks could be robbed easily. A couple of taps with a stick and they would be unconscious. Then the thief could have helped himself to the money. Why wait until they had delivered the stuff?’

‘He probably thought it would be easier to break into a place where there was only one man, rather than knocking over two youngsters. So would I,’ Roger added with emphasis, knocking back his wine and smacking his lips appreciatively.

‘Perhaps. But most felons would prefer to take their chances in the open. Except,’ Simon added musingly, ‘we don’t know how he could have known what the two carried.’

‘There you are. He saw two clerical types walking about the city. So? Not much new in that. Then Ralph shot his mouth off in a tavern and people got to hear about his fortune in winning so lucrative a contract. A short while after someone decides to take a little of it for himself. He breaks in and steals it all, killing poor Ralph at the same time. Problem solved.’

‘Nearly. But not quite. Did Ralph often frequent taverns?’

‘Not very often, but so what? A man can decide to visit one if he wants.’

‘True,’ Baldwin breathed. ‘Very well. What of others? For example, how much do you know about Nicholas Karvinel and his wife?’

‘Karvinel? He’s a lousy businessman from what I’ve heard. Can’t make money to save his life. And he has managed to amass huge debts. You heard about the attack on him? Set upon by a gang of thieves in broad daylight, for God’s sake? It’s getting so you can hardly leave your front door nowadays. Crime is increasing all the time.’

‘What exactly happened?’ Simon asked.

‘I was in the Guildhall when a messenger arrived saying that there’d been a robbery. Apparently that fool Karvinel had been down to the port to check on a cargo. He had a load of wine and iron arriving, and he went there with the Cathedral’s steward to check it all . . .’

‘Why with the Cathedral’s steward?’ Simon interjected.

‘The wine was for the Dean and the iron was for the Cathedral works. Karvinel went down there, and as soon as the goods were checked out of the port, straight onto the Cathedral wagons, Karvinel took his payment and set off back. He was also carrying money back to the Dean, but when—’

Baldwin interrupted him with a sharp gesture. ‘You say he was carrying
other
money, not only his own?’

‘Yes. Is it important?’

‘It might be nothing,’ Baldwin said, but with a smile of calm satisfaction. ‘But if I am right, this could be the explanation of much.’

‘I see . . . you mean that someone within the Cathedral could have advised the thieves and arranged for the robberies?’

‘All I will say is, consider the curious similarities between the two events. One robbery was out in the open, some distance from the city; the thieves must have been ready warned. At Ralph’s place likewise there was clearly a lot of planning, making sure of the household’s routine, speaking to Mary, perhaps, and ensuring that the scapegoat would be delayed.’

‘If Karvinel
was
robbed on his way back to Exeter,’ said Simon. ‘How many others were robbed that day?’

‘Nobody I know of.’

‘So,’ Baldwin summed up, ‘ we have one man who was robbed of his money and the Cathedral’s when his goods had been sold – and another who was murdered and robbed in his own house when there was Cathedral money in his strong box.’

‘You seriously think that is relevant? Sir Baldwin, if you spoke to any man in the city, you would find that the Cathedral held some place in their lives. It reaches into every aspect of the city. Everyone here has something to do with it.’

‘All the Freeman of the City, you mean?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Certainly all the merchants. And many of the others too. We all profit from the presence of the Cathedral.’

‘Let us return to the day of the robbery. You heard about it in the Guildhall, you say?’

‘Yes,’ Roger grunted, pouring himself more wine. ‘I was there with Vincent le Berwe and Ralph to witness some documents when a messenger from Karvinel came and hammered on the doors. He told us about the robbery and wanted me to join Karvinel at an alehouse near the South Gate. Said Karvinel had recognised one of his attackers sitting drinking.

‘Obviously I went with him immediately. The fellow was beaten, but what do you expect when an angry crowd grabs hold of a wrong-doer? He was lucky that most men had joined the posse to catch the other members of the gang. Then Peter arrived and . . .’

‘Where had he been? Surely he should have arrived at the same time as Karvinel,’ Simon frowned.

‘Yes. Well, he said he’d been so shocked he’d had to go and get some wine down his neck,’ the Coroner said dismissively.

‘Someone told me that the leader of this band goes under a knightly title,’ Baldwin recalled. Who had told him that, he wondered. Was it Karvinel again?

‘That’s right. Sir Thomas of Exmouth. Miserable sinner that he is! The man we caught wouldn’t tell us anything, sadly. He denied having anything to do with the robbery, but he was known as a disreputable character. He’d been found out of doors at night a couple of times when people had been knocked on the head, so his guilt seemed pretty obvious. Anyway, they decided he was guilty on the proof of Karvinel’s evidence and that of his clerk. Who would disprove a cleric?’

‘Did the posse catch any other members of the gang?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘No. Not a sight or sound. In fact we heard afterwards that a band attacked some people up towards Silverton, so maybe they’ve moved on. The posse must have missed them. Then again, who knows how long it was from Karvinel being thumped to when he got back to town?’

‘This wasn’t his only bad piece of luck this year, was it?’ Simon said.

‘Oh, the poor bugger’s been robbed at home, had his place burgled again, and fired. He won’t want to remember the year 1321: it’s been foul for him.’

‘And yet Karvinel and Vincent le Berwe get on well?’

‘I don’t know about “well”. They know each other, certainly. I believe they have some mutual business interests.’

‘Tell me, what was the document that Ralph Glover and le Berwe wanted you to sign?’

‘That? It was a sales agreement. Le Berwe had imported several bundles of basan and cordwain, and Ralph was buying it. He passed over the money after both had signed the document and the wagon was loaded at once. I saw it as I left to see Karvinel.’

‘You read the document yourself?’

‘Of course,’ he said patiently. ‘Vincent called me into the room just as Ralph left it to find a privy, and Vincent told me what they were proposing, which was for him to sell twenty dozens of basan and twelve of cordwain. I read it, and then Ralph came back, and he made his mark and stamped his seal upon the document, as did Vincent, and then me. Ralph was all frowns, though, and hardly looked at the document when he put on his mark.’

‘Why was Ralph like that? Because of Vincent’s business methods?’

‘No, it was a box of candles out in the screens. He told me later that he thought they were the Bishop’s – only the Bishop had his personal candles coloured that way or somesuch nonsense – and wanted me to find out where they had come from. I refused – I have little enough time to seek out all the bodies in Exeter and parts of Devon without searching for more mysteries. I told him, “No one from the Cathedral has asked me to investigate the Bishop’s candles,” but he was quite insistent. In the end I told him a few stolen candles were not my concern. If he was truly troubled, he should see the Constable or Bailiff.’