Paul Doherty - The Waxman Murders

‘A wasted journey?’ Ranulf asked.

‘Not really.’ Berengaria pouted. ‘Sir Rauf would still give me a coin. You see, sirs,’ Berengaria breathed in deeply, ‘he enjoined me to be prudent, and I was, very, very careful.’

‘So the door had been locked before?’

‘Of course.’ Berengaria turned to Ranulf. ‘Sir Rauf had visitors, or Lechlade would be staggering to and from that tavern.’

‘You’ve heard,’ Corbett asked, ‘about the skeleton found in the garden?’

Berengaria shook her head. ‘I know nothing of that. My mistress never told me. Sir Rauf did have visitors late at night, people coming and going. I asked him once but he said that was his business and I was not to worry about it.’

Corbett stared down the darkening hall. A sconce light fluttered, the cresset torches were burning low. He felt tired, and his back ached; he wished to be away from here.

‘Do you think, Berengaria, as your mistress is now pregnant, that she knew Sir Rauf planned to claim their marriage wasn’t consummated, and intended by her pregnancy to show this to be a lie?’

‘It’s possible, Sir Hugh. She had no love for Sir Rauf, but sometimes she’d talk about what she’d do when he was dead and all his wealth came to her.’

‘And now?’ Corbett asked. ‘You’ll not return to your mistress’s service. Sooner or later what you have told me will become public knowledge.’

‘Ah, Sir Hugh, I listen very carefully to the Scriptures. How one should save against the evil day. Sir Rauf was generous to me. I have money put aside, and once this is over, I will leave Lady Adelicia’s service. She must give me a good recommendation. After all, if she knows about me, I certainly know about her.’

‘Blackmail?’ Ranulf asked. ‘You’d blackmail your mistress?’

‘Master Ranulf,’ came the quick reply, ‘if you had sat in a corner of an alleyway stinking of urine and dung, shivering in rags, blackmail is nothing compared to that! Are you finished with me, Sir Hugh?’

‘Yes, yes, I am for the time being.’

Berengaria got off the stool, gave Sir Hugh a mocking bow, waggled her fingers at Ranulf and walked saucily from the chamber. Corbett stared in disbelief at the door closing behind her.

‘Don’t be surprised, master.’ Ranulf didn’t even lift his head. ‘I could find girls in London half her age who’d do the same for a penny. What she said is true. When you’re poor you’ll do anything!’

Corbett shook his head. He still felt uneasy. Berengaria hadn’t told him the full truth. She was concealing something, or had she decided to peddle a farrago of half-truths? What was wrong? He sighed and shouted at Chanson to bring Castledene in.

Sir Walter entered, face pinched and pale. He’d lost some of his haughtiness, though Corbett could tell by the way he was gnawing his lower lip that the mayor was finding great difficulty in accepting royal jurisdiction being imposed on him. Corbett did not wish to alienate the man. He rose in deference but showed no partiality. Once Castledene had taken the oath and Parson Warfeld had been dismissed, Sir Hugh reassured the mayor that he did not wish to interfere in the liberties, customs, rights and privileges of the King’s City of Canterbury but that the matters before them were pressing and urgent and he needed satisfactory answers to certain questions. Castledene was astute and skilled enough to realise that Corbett was simply going through the usual diplomatic phrases and protocols, so he sat on the stool half nodding as Corbett delivered his formal speech.

‘Sir Hugh,’ Castledene pushed his hands up the voluminous sleeves of his gown, ‘you are a busy man and so am I. This is one matter amongst many. I am here to answer your questions. I am on oath. I will do so honestly.’

‘Very well.’ Corbett asked for a brazier to be brought closer and one of the candelabra from further down the hall to be placed on the table.

‘The parents of Adam Blackstock and Hubert the Monk, our two outlaws?’ Corbett began. ‘I know something about their deaths. Sir Walter, you are a Canterbury man, I would like to hear it from you. This time add as much detail as you can provide.’ He indicated the pouch at his feet. ‘I have been through the documents sent from the Guildhall, but there is very little; perhaps you can fill the gaps?’

‘Sir Hugh, you must remember we are talking about events which occurred thirty years ago, when I was young, sprightly and slim as a willow wand. Merchants like myself and Decontet were just starting out; we were petty traders in this city. We had very little to do with such matters, or what happened afterwards.’

‘You talk of “we”?’ Corbett asked.

‘At one time, Sir Hugh,’ Castledene sighed, ‘Decontet and I were very close, almost like brothers. But life is like a knife: it sinks deeper and it turns. Decontet became Decontet and I followed my own path.’

‘And the beginning of this tragedy?’ Corbett asked.

‘Well, Sir Hugh, if you need a lesson in history. .’

‘No I don’t, Sir Walter.’

‘What I am about to tell you,’ Castledene spread his hands out, ‘is well known. In 1272 the old King died at Westminster. Now, as you know, when he died, Edward, his heir, was in Outremer on crusade. There was a breakdown in the king’s peace; armed gangs carried out raids throughout the kingdom. Merchants were afraid of being attacked; the same happened here in the Weald of Kent. Canterbury was fairly quiet but there were attacks; a gang of rifflers — we don’t know their identities because they went masked, hooded and visored — attacked farms. In the main they simply stole moveables: cattle, stock, treasure, anything they could lay their hands on. However, on that night, the Year of Our Lord 1272, the Feast of Finding the True Cross, they attacked Blackstock’s manor near Maison Dieu. To be brief, Sir Hugh, the place was looted and razed to the ground. Blackstock’s father and his second wife — I forget the woman’s name; it may have been Isabella — were killed together with their servants. Adam, their younger son, escaped unscathed, as did his half-brother Hubert, who was a scholar at St Augustine’s Abbey.’

‘St Augustine’s?’ Corbett asked. ‘You are sure?’

‘Oh yes, St Augustine’s. Of course, the Royal Justices moved into the shire on a commision of oyer and terminer. Special assize courts were set up, but no one ever discovered who was responsible for that murderous attack. Adam was placed as an apprentice to a trade in the city; his master is long dead. Hubert, as you know, continued his studies and moved to the Black Monks’ house at Westminster, which he left abruptly to become a venator hominum . Of one thing I am certain: he never returned to Canterbury. Adam, on the other hand, like many apprentices, became disillusioned and drifted away. The next we heard of him was that he was in Brabant and Hainault consorting with privateers and pirates, later becoming one of their principal captains.’

‘He attacked your ships?’ Corbett asked. ‘Did he single you out?’

‘Yes and no,’ Castledene replied with a sigh. ‘You see, Sir Hugh, I am one of the few merchants in Canterbury who actually owns ships. Others, like Decontet,’ he allowed himself a half-smile, ‘would advance monies for this voyage or that.’

‘But you were different?’

‘Yes, I was different. I owned ships; I still do. Blackstock preyed on my craft, not because of any personal hatred towards me — I hardly knew him — but out of hatred towards the city of Canterbury. Perhaps he held it responsible for the tragedy.’

‘Was it?’

‘Of course not! And in the end I had to plot Blackstock’s destruction.’ Castledene waved a hand. ‘You know the rest of the story.’