Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

‘Were you there when he died today?’ Baldwin asked.

Jolinde couldn’t help the grimace of horror from passing over his features. ‘It was terrible. He was late to the service, but he often has been recently and I didn’t think much of it until I saw his face. Oh, poor Peter! He was yellow and green, as if he’d been up till late drinking and was about to spew, right there in his stall. I could see he wasn’t really concentrating. He was so ill-looking, I felt sick myself just to look at him. And then he started spluttering, just frothed at the mouth and fell to the floor, as though his legs had been fighting to keep him upright and then couldn’t do it any longer. He went down like an axed hog, and his limbs all wriggled and jerked… My God, it was awful!’ he blurted, and covered his face with his hands.

‘What sort of person was Peter?’ asked Sir Baldwin after a moment or two.

‘He was kind and good, sir.’ Jolinde drew his hands away regretfully. ‘I loved him like a brother. He was with me from the age of – oh, nine, I think. From then on we were inseparable. But when we both failed to proceed to become Deacons, we took on this place. It was an ideal base for us to continue our studies, and – well, it is a sociable Cathedral. We could study if we wished but if not, we could walk about the city.’

‘We have heard that your friend may have stolen from Ralph the Glover – maybe even murdered the poor devil. What do you think?’ Roger demanded brutally.

‘Peter? Oh, that’s rubbish,’ said Jolinde, but he didn’t meet the Coroner’s eyes.

Baldwin spoke. ‘We’ve also heard he might have been killed by felons because he pointed out one of their number.’

The young man shrugged. ‘Who can say how outlaws will behave?’

‘Was he wealthy?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Well, no. He had no patron here in the Cathedral.’

‘Poverty is a common cause of theft,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Peter earned enough. He clerked for merchants who couldn’t read; he helped Nick Karvinel occasionally. Anyway, if he had robbed Ralph, where is the proof? Where is the money he’s supposed to have taken? There’s nowhere to hide it in this hovel.’

Baldwin asked, ‘How long do Secondaries remain here usually?’

‘Oh, not terribly long… perhaps until they are twenty-one or so.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty.’

‘Where do Secondaries go when they get to twenty-one?’

‘They would become Vicars or Annuellars, sir. Perhaps a few would leave to become Chaplains to a minor lord, and some might remain here as clerks.’

‘What was Peter going to do?’ Baldwin said.

‘He was happy working for the Exchequer, sir. He was ever good with numbers: they held no mystery for him. He was considering learning the law but had not the money to go to University. I think Peter…’ He hesitated.

‘Yes?’ Roger rasped. ‘Spit it out, man!’

‘Peter was not a worldly man. He liked the peace of the cloister. Outside that he was shy, confused. Anxious.’

‘He is dead and some think he might have been murdered, others that he might have killed himself,’ said Baldwin. ‘What do you think?’

‘He wouldn’t have murdered himself willingly, but… He has not been well for some time, since the Feast of St Nicholas, sixth of December, when we took the money and jewels for the gloves.’

‘In what way?’ Baldwin was suddenly alert.

‘He was anxious and fretful at first, sir,’ Jolinde said. The words burst from him in a rush. It was a relief to be able to tell the story at last. ‘He’d been upset since the glover died, and I thought it might be some sort of imbalance in his humours. I was concerned about him, especially since he wasn’t being fed with his master, so I brought food to him.’

‘Why should you do that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He was pale, withdrawn… I thought he might have food poisoning. But he wouldn’t go to the infirmarer. I think he was scared that he might find out he was more ill than he thought. Or maybe that he would find he was as ill as he feared.’

‘And how ill was that, do you think?’ Baldwin murmured.

Jolinde looked up, his face blanched. ‘I heard him in his dreams – he thought he was possessed. He was convinced that he had been taken over by a demon and was gradually being driven away from the Church. It terrified him.’

Baldwin interrupted the sudden silence. ‘He told you this?’

‘No, sir. He wouldn’t. He was too fearful of the way he was being pulled apart; yet I heard him crying out in his sleep, and then pleading with the devil he thought was inside him. Oh sir, it was awful. But there was nothing I could do.’

‘You could have told one of the Canons or a Vicar. Sought assistance for him,’ Coroner Roger pointed out with a frown.

‘With him denying it? What could I have done to help him? I made sure he was fed, saw to it he had wine…’ He broke off, miserable.

Baldwin took pity on him. ‘You say that his Canon was away and that was why he wasn’t being fed, and yet you seemingly had food for yourself. Was this from your Canon’s table? He must be generous with his victuals if he provided so much you could fill a friend’s mouth as well.’

Jolinde couldn’t meet the grim, dark eyes. He had to look away. Still kneeling, he spoke quietly. ‘Sir, I am not so honourable as Peter. I didn’t notice how he was before last night because after we delivered the box to Ralph Glover, I met a girl and stayed in town. Since then I have remained in town most nights, only returning here for services.’

‘You have been staying with this girl?’ Baldwin confirmed. When the lad nodded, he asked for her name.

‘Claricia Cornisshe, sir. She lives out near the Shambles, working in Sutton’s Inn.’

‘And she can confirm you have been with her?’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve been with her each night.’

‘Where did the food come from?’

‘I bought it, sir. I have a good allowance.’

Simon was intrigued by this. ‘You know that people say Peter was murdered, that he ate or drank poison and that is what killed him? This food you provided, where did you get it from?’

‘The wine was from my barrel out in the storage room,’ Jolinde said, pointing to the small door at the back of the hall. ‘The bread came straight from the Cathedral’s baker – it’s delivered to us by Adam, another Secondary – while the meat came from butchers in the Shambles near the Fleshfold.’

‘And how often did you purchase this food?’ Simon pressed him.

‘Regularly. I would bring him something every two or three days,’ Jolinde said. Then he gaped. ‘You don’t suppose I could have killed Peter, do you?’

The Coroner sniffed. ‘Who else would you suspect? You admit you brought him food. It would have been easy for you to have put poison into it, wouldn’t it? And you brought it straight here to give to your room-mate, so no one else could succumb to it. It was a well-conceived plan, I’ll give you that.’

‘But I wouldn’t have killed him – why should I kill him? What possible reason could I have had?’

‘Maybe he’d already stolen the jewels from Ralph Glover and you wanted them for yourself?’ Coroner Roger hazarded, squinting pensively. ‘Or maybe it’s simpler than that. You say you went with him to deliver the money and stuff early in the month?’

‘Yes, the Feast of St Nicholas. We got a receipt for it all. Check with Canon Stephen, the Treasurer. He’ll confirm that Peter and I brought the receipt back. He should have it now. Ralph the Glover signed it himself.’

‘But what if you thought you could rob him, eh?’ Roger asked shrewdly. ‘What if you went back there on the twenty-first, killed the glover and took his money? What if your friend saw the jewels and money here in this hall after he heard about Glover’s death? You might feel the need to silence him for ever, mightn’t you?’