The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker (39 page)

‘Maybe he realised what had happened,’ the Coroner said speculatively.

‘Not so far as I know. If I had to bet, I’d say Karvinel did it.’

Simon and Baldwin returned to their inn as dusk was giving way to full night. Jeanne met them in the crowded and smoke-filled hall, Edgar standing at her side to keep unwanted visitors at bay, glowering at any stranger who approached too close. Both appeared relieved to see the two men return.

Baldwin took his seat and motioned to the host to serve them. While waiting, he looked enquiringly at his wife. ‘Are you well? Did you enjoy your tour of the city?’

‘Yes, it was interesting enough, but not so fascinating as your enquiries. I heard another man was poisoned – is it true?’

‘I am afraid so. It was one of the Secondaries called Adam, although, thank God, he should recover. So long as the apothecary’s intervention does not put an end to him first!’

‘Who did it?’

‘There we have the difficulty,’ Simon grunted, throwing a leg over a bench and surveying the crowd in the bar. ‘Two folks have been suspected, but neither seem probable. One is only a child, while the other is le Berwe’s illegitimate son, who has no reason to want to harm Adam.’

‘I think I have news for you, then,’ Jeanne declared, and told them of Hawisia’s terrified appearance and her assertions about Jolinde.

‘She suggests that he poisoned them?’ Baldwin breathed. ‘My God. That would follow on from what the Dean told us.’

Simon nodded. ‘He said rumours suggested Jolinde had tried to kill his father’s wife and got the wrong woman – Ralph’s wife. Now Hawisia says she thinks he succeeded with poison. God’s bollocks!’

Baldwin agreed. ‘I loathe and detest poison. It is so cowardly. There is no courage in attacking someone with such an indiscriminate weapon. It is a tool used by the weak and feebleminded.’

Simon looked at him. ‘I have never heard you so scathing, Baldwin.’

‘The older I become, the more appalled I grow to see such foul behaviour. It is obnoxious to consider putting orpiment or somesuch in a man’s food or drink. A man should be able to trust that his food is safe no matter what.’

Jeanne put her hand on his arm. ‘Calm yourself, husband. Try to think of happier things.’

‘How can I, Jeanne?’ he snapped. ‘The murderer is in the city somewhere and could well strike again at any time. Perhaps it is Jolinde, perhaps it was truly the child Luke! How on earth can I relax when anyone picking up a lump of bread or piece of fruit could be poisoned? How many more will be dead by morning?’

Vincent himself was little happier. He was filled with a deep moroseness which lay heavily on his soul as he walked into his hall.

Hawisia sat waiting for him at their table, and seeing him enter she poured warmed wine into his favourite silver-chased mazer and brought it to him beside the fire. He smiled weakly at her before emptying it in one go. She took it from him and refilled it, passing it to him with solemn assurance.

‘Husband, you are troubled?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Troubled?’ He stared at her as if awoken from a slow lethargy and despair attacked him with renewed force. He shot nervous looks about him, agitatedly biting his nails. Standing, he strode over to the table and was about to place his mazer on it when the urge suddenly took him to smash it. He lifted it high as if to dash it on the floor in a rage; but as soon as the urge took hold of him, it left him, and he let his hands slowly fall to the table, setting the cup down.

In an instant she was at his side, an arm about his shoulder as he began to sob. ‘My love, my darling, what is it? Oh, tell me what has happened!’

He couldn’t speak for some while. The words felt as though they would choke him. After so much effort and work, after all his careful planning to recover from the disastrous loss of his ship, he would now be ruined. ‘The Coroner came to see me just now.’

‘Yes, he was here earlier while I was out. Apparently he was in a foul mood,’ Hawisia said.

‘Not so foul as when he saw me! He knows everything – how I had Jolly take Ralph’s money and jewels, how I had Jolly get the fool to sign his mark on the receipt so that Ralph could be shown to be a thief when the gloves were presented . . . everything!’

Hawisia didn’t know what to do or say. She kissed his cheek, murmuring soft words to ease him, but Vincent stood resting his hands on the table-top, his eyes closed. ‘We are ruined, Hawisia. There’s nothing else I can do.’

‘Why? He hasn’t arrested you. He obviously doesn’t think he has enough proof to present you before the King’s Justice.’

‘Christ alive, woman, it’s not only
him
! Karvinel came to see me as well. He said he would accuse me of being there when Ralph died; said he would allege his clerk saw me there.’

‘His clerk is dead,’ Hawisia pointed out.

‘True, but if he swore it, I could be lynched!’

‘A man must be alive to accuse you.’

‘But Karvinel could convince others. Oh, Christ!’

‘Darling, there is something you could try. I know you had your own men rob Karvinel.’

‘You mean my friend in the woods?’ He turned to her with a terrible understanding in his eyes. ‘You mean pay Sir Thomas to kill Karvinel?’

‘Why not? He has robbed the man and fired his house on your orders.’

‘I couldn’t,’ Vincent said. But he knew that he could. His eyes were staring into the distance as he wondered whether this could indeed provide him with a solution. And he knew the alehouse where Sir Thomas would be staying. He always chose the same low dive: the Cock.

Sir Thomas was disgusted by her. When she felt the blade at her neck she had thought he was playing some kind of game, that it was a sign he enjoyed inflicting or receiving pain with sex and she had moaned with desire for him.

He shoved her from him and asked her his questions. She had not been much help. He felt no nearer a solution, an answer as to why his comrade had died. He was forced to the conclusion that it was the whim of a wealthy man, someone who had picked a scapegoat simply because he could. A suspected outlaw would fit the bill – why not make use of him?

Juliana had tried to tempt him into her bed, with a kind of desperate passionless longing. She wanted a man, she said, a strong man who would rescue her from her husband. No price was too high for her freedom. All the man need do was kill Nicholas, the useless fool and she would give herself to him completely.

He had slapped her, hard, three or four times, until her lips swelled and the blood ran, but still she asked him to help her – offering her body, her few jewels, all her money. She repelled him; with her disloyalty and shabby, sordid advances. In the end he left her lying semi-naked on her bed, watching him leave with large empty eyes, as though he was her last hope and prayer and he was leaving her desolated.

It was in the hall that he heard the knock. Instantly he ran to the ladder and slipped down to the ground. Crossing the floor, he peered round the door into the hall. The room was clear, and he hurried to the screens door, looking into the passageway.

The tapping at the door came again and he glanced about him. He had limited options. There were the two doors opposite, leading to the buttery and storerooms, or he could run to the back door. Making a quick decision, he crossed to the buttery and squeezed behind the door. There he waited.

He heard the door open, soft footsteps entering. They passed through into the hall, then out at the far end, going into the solar.

Sir Thomas slipped from his hiding place and was at the front door in a moment, but then he hesitated, seeing a large chest. With a cruel smile, he untied his cloak and gathered it up, setting it upon the chest in full view of Karvinel when he entered. Only then did Sir Thomas open the door and walk into the street.

In the road he saw Hob waiting anxiously, hopping from one foot to the other in agitation, wondering what would happen when the visitor saw Sir Thomas. The knight’s smiling face reassured him and he looked relieved as Sir Thomas strode towards him.

‘That woman hasn’t the brain she was born with,’ Sir Thomas said contemptuously. ‘But Hamond’s revenge has begun. I look forward to hearing how Karvinel responds to finding a man’s cloak in his hall.’

‘God’s teeth!’ he continued a short while later. ‘What would a man want a gross woman like her for? Give me a lissom wench like your sister. She’s much more life in her, more pleasure and amusement. And she has a brain! That fat bitch in there only thinks of herself. She ever looks to the next comfort, not caring what may happen to others.’

It was Karvinel himself, however, whom Sir Thomas wanted to pay for the crime, not Juliana. Before him rose the vision of Hamond swinging from a rope. Hamond had died in order that there should be proof of a robbery. It mattered not a whit that Hamond had been nowhere near the robbery and could not have been involved; Hamond was accused by a merchant and his clerk and that was enough.

But if Hamond had not been there, so the rest of the story was false.

‘Why should Karvinel fake a robbery of his own money,’ pondered Sir Thomas aloud. ‘How would he gain by pretending that his own money was gone?’

Hob skipped at his side as the knight strode to the Cathedral. As they reached the Fissand Gate he suggested self-consciously: ‘Because there was more than his own money.’

‘Eh?’ Sir Thomas looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The m-merchant,’ Hob said, stuttering nervously. ‘He was carrying money for the Cathedral too. It wasn’t just his own.’

‘What? Who told you this?’

‘The . . . the cripple at the gate,’ Hob said, terrified of the expression on his master’s face.

Sir Thomas stood a moment staring at Hob and then, slowly, he began to chuckle.

Later, much later, in the Cock, in the poor, shabby district of the city, Sir Thomas settled his remaining cloak over the top of the thick blankets to protect himself and Jen against the cold.

‘This place is an embarrassment,’ he grumbled, pulling her to him. ‘I would never come to such a hovel when I owned my own manor. A flea has bitten me!’

‘But the manor is gone,’ she reminded him. ‘And this is better than the mud and cold. Your tent is fine when the weather is still, but when the wind blows . . .’

Sir Thomas cast a sombre eye at Hob, who had begun to snore over at the door. ‘
Shut up!
’ he hissed before planting a kiss on Jen’s lips. ‘You’re right, I suppose. I think maybe I’m too old for the life.’

She stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you think I mean? I can’t keep on striving as an outlaw. It’s no life for an old sod like me. No, I have to try to win a pardon. God knows how.’

Jen rolled over onto his chest, staring down at him, her hair falling about their faces. ‘You mean that? You’ll seek a pardon and settle?’

‘That bastard Karvinel must die first. I must repay Hamond’s debt, Jen. It’s a matter of honour.’

Jen pulled away. ‘Don’t do that, my lover. If you kill him, they will find you. He’s a well-known citizen. They would have to seek you out.’

‘I must,’ he stated flatly. ‘Hamond was my man.’

‘There must be another way. Please, there must be.’

He kissed her gently, and she rolled over to lie on her back. They made love quietly, but with a restrained desperation, as if both knew it could be their last night together.

It was dark when Karvinel returned home. He opened the door and tiptoed inside, hoping not to wake his wife. A jug lay on the table in the hall and he poured himself a large cup of wine, standing before the fire, drinking sullenly.

Soon he could start making small payments and investments, he decided. It should be safe enough by then. People would hardly be likely to connect a few small payments to the robbery. Of course he’d have to be careful about the Cathedral. Perhaps he should offer them money for the rebuilding. He would certainly have enough cash when his investments came in.

All that money. He brooded as he sipped, thinking of the two heavy purses he had concealed: one his own, the second belonging to the Cathedral. He had hidden them carefully before pulling at his cloak and tearing at his shirt. Drawing his dagger, he had scratched himself on the chin, the neck and the forearm. Then he had thrown away his knife and walked to the city.

It was a sheer fluke that he had seen the man at the Nobles Inn. Hamond was known about the city. He had a reputation – was the perfect scapegoat. Hurrying to the Cathedral, Karvinel had sought out his clerk and told him his story. He had been robbed on his way back. All his money, and the Cathedral’s, had been taken from him, but who would believe him? And now one of his attackers was sitting, bold as brass, drinking in an alehouse.

Peter had been appalled. He had sat white-lipped while Karvinel spilled out his story, and agreed immediately, bless him, that he should support Karvinel’s version of events.

With a clerk to back him up, Nick was safe. He went to the Constable and told him about his robbery, and in a short space Hamond was arrested. Cocky at first, he hadn’t believed that he would be kept long. He claimed he had been nowhere near the place where the robbery was said to have happened.

But others disbelieved him, especially when a farmer came forward to say that he had seen Hamond in the company of the well-known rogue Sir Thomas. That sealed Hamond’s fate. The jury was satisfied that he deserved his end. He was hanged on the twenty-second; one day after Ralph’s death.

Karvinel met Peter later that same day, the day the executioner made Hamond dance his death jig. Peter stood underneath the swaying body, gazing up at the dark, blood-engorged face. Peter said that Hamond almost seemed to be watching him accusingly. He had said it with a nervous chuckle, like a man who was too worldly-wise to believe in such nonsense, while Nick Karvinel knew he was scared that the outlaw’s ghost might come for revenge. It was partly to soothe him that Karvinel took him to the tavern. Later that afternoon, in the tavern, Karvinel had told him.

He didn’t know what had made him admit it. Perhaps he had an urge to share his guilt; or maybe it was the desire to cap another man’s story. Because it was there that Peter had told him about seeing Vincent’s cart outside Ralph’s house, someone filling it with leather. Shortly afterwards Karvinel agreed that sometimes people would act out of character, and had sworn Peter to the secrecy of the confessional before telling him the truth about Hamond’s innocence.