Bernard Knight - A Plague of Heretics

‘Sir John, you are most welcome.’ She waved him in and he went into their hall, which was well furnished and better lit than his own, with a large fire flaming in the firepit and a series of tallow-dips flickering in sconces around the walls.

‘I am afraid my husband is not here, though he said he will be early this evening as he wishes to attend a special service at the cathedral. It seems that one of the canons is to preach a sermon on the dangers of heresy,’ she added with a wry smile.

The doctor’s wife looked as attractive as always, slender and erect, with a crisp linen head-cloth and a silken gorget covering her throat up to her chin. She offered him refreshment, which he gravely declined.

‘I was hoping to see him to ask his professional advice,’ said John and went on to tell her of his brother being stricken by the yellow distemper. Cecilia seemed genuinely upset by his news, holding her fingers to her lips in a gesture of concern.

‘Your only brother? That is desperately sad,’ she said solicitously, reaching out to lay a consoling hand gently on his arm. Her maid lurked in the background, resolutely chaperoning her mistress. As if in answer to her suspicions, there was a noise from the outer vestibule and the girl hurried out to meet her master, who had just arrived.

Clement of Salisbury handed her his cloak and broad-brimmed pilgrim’s hat and came into the hall, looking slightly startled as he saw the tall, looming figure of his neighbour. Cecilia started forward, but John noticed that she did not give him a welcome embrace. Instead, she launched into the reason for him being there.

‘Sir John has grave tidings, Clement! His brother, the Lord of Stoke and Holcombe, has been stricken by this plague.’

The physician made sympathetic noises and declared how mortified Sir John must be at the news.

‘He is still alive but looks dreadfully sick,’ said John.

‘You have seen him?’ asked Clement, apparently surprised.

‘Only a few hours ago — I have just returned from his bedside.’

‘Is there anything we can do to help you?’ offered the physician.

‘I would be very grateful if you would come with me tomorrow to see if you can do anything for my brother. I would naturally pay whatever fee you desire.’

From his previous conversations with the doctor, John expected a polite refusal, but he was confounded by Clement’s answer.

‘Tomorrow? I think I could manage that, though I would have to desert several of my patients. There is no question of a fee, Sir John; you are my neighbour.’

As the coroner made a rapid revision of his opinion of the physician, they agreed on the details of a late start next morning, then John took his leave, with profound thanks to Clement and a stiff bow to Cecilia.

‘I will pray for your brother and your whole family,’ she murmured as she followed him to the front door, which the maid opened for him.

He went out into the lane and took a few steps towards his own house, then stopped. Making a sudden decision, he swung around and strode off towards the High Street.

Later that evening the coroner walked down to the Bush, with his old hound weaving ahead of him, enjoying the smells of the odorous Exeter streets. In the tavern he sat with Gwyn at his usual table by the fire, as though the icy weather had moderated it was still a chilly, windswept night and he was glad of the warmth.

By the time Edwin had brought them a quart mug apiece, Thomas appeared, summoned by Gwyn at John’s request after returning from Stoke. Almost by habit, the priest sidled into the inn as if entering a den of sin, though he had been there innumerable times before, especially when mothered by Nesta, during his worst period before being restored to the priesthood. Settled with a cup of cider, he asked solicitously after William de Wolfe and fervently promised to pray for his recovery.

‘Afterwards, I went up to seek advice from Richard Lustcote and he immediately agreed to come down to Stoke tomorrow with the doctor to see William.’

Lustcote was the senior of the three Exeter apothecaries, who had a shop in North Street. From past experience, John held a high opinion of him, both as a man of integrity and as a good apothecary. Like Clement of Salisbury, he had warned John that there was very little he could do, except perhaps to alleviate some of the symptoms, but he was willing to make the long ride to Stoke for the sake of his friendship with de Wolfe.

John then got down to business, glad to have something to take his mind off his personal problems for a while.

‘Gwyn has discovered something about the heretics, Thomas. It seems that one group holds covert meetings not far from the city. Did you glean any more from the cathedral?’

‘Not so much about the blasphemers themselves, master, but I did pick up some facts about the people who are determined to stop them.’

He hunched closer across the table, as if he was about to disclose some state secrets. ‘The three canons who are the prime movers in this matter are very keen indeed to extirpate any deviation from the rule of Rome. Some of my vicar friends even say that they are totally obsessed by what they see as a crusade.’

‘So why have they chosen to start their crusade now?’ asked John. ‘Surely these critics of the Church have been around for a long time.’

Thomas wiped a drop from the tip of his sharp nose with the back of his hand. The cold weather affected him and he was always sniffing and wheezing. ‘Robert de Baggetor spent some time in Aquitaine and Toulouse a year ago, and when he came back it seems he was full of outrage about the rise of the Albigensian heresy in that region. Then he began hearing reports of men with similar sympathies in this county and tried to persuade the bishop to act against them.’

Gwyn yawned and banged his pot on the table to attract Edwin’s attention. He was a man of action and Thomas’s tales tended to send him to sleep. De Wolfe, however, was keen to learn more.

‘I take it that Henry Marshal had more important things on his mind, like plotting with Prince John to oust King Richard?’

Thomas shrugged. ‘Probably, but as de Baggetor could raise little enthusiasm in the bishop’s palace, he started a campaign of his own. He found two other canons of a like mind and they have been using the proctors’ bailiffs to do their spying for them.’

‘We know all that already,’ grunted Gwyn. ‘What we need to know is who is likely to have snuffed out the woodcarver and possibly the man you saw in the plague pit.’

De Wolfe ignored his officer’s grumble and jabbed a long finger at his clerk. ‘So what are they going to do about it now?’ he asked. ‘They’ve lost the man who they were going to haul up before the bishop’s court. Are there any others under suspicion?’

Thomas bobbed his head. ‘So it seems! They have this list of names which we copied and their bailiffs are actively seeking more. They say they know that several groups meet for discussions and to hold their own type of sacrilegious services. They wish to catch them red-handed.’

This stimulated Gwyn to take more interest. ‘If I could learn of one of these meetings just from visiting a couple of taverns, then the proctors’ men can do the same.’

‘Have you got that list with you, Thomas?’ demanded John.

The clerk scrabbled under his cloak for the pouch on his belt and took out a folded scrap of parchment. ‘A dozen names on it, Crowner,’ he said, smoothing out the piece of thin sheepskin on the table. ‘They mean nothing to me, I must admit.’

‘Let’s hear them,’ commanded the coroner. ‘Maybe Gwyn can recognise someone from his tour of the alehouses.’

Thomas began to read out the twelve names, and Gwyn halted him after the fifth.