Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

‘This Peter,’ Baldwin said slowly, ‘was killed with poison – if he was murdered. A man who fears attacking another might well use such a weapon.’

‘Not Jolly,’ she repeated with conviction. ‘He wouldn’t kill a man. Why’d he want to?’

‘Why would anyone want to?’ Simon shrugged. ‘Do you know of someone who might have had a grudge against Peter?’

‘No. Why should someone want to harm a man who lived in the Cathedral and only came to the city to help merchants? How could he offend people? He was hardly ever here.’

‘Peter and Jolinde delivered money and gems to the glover who died,’ Baldwin told her. ‘And when the glover was killed, the gems not already stitched to gloves were missing. It has been suggested that Jolinde or Peter killed the glover, that Jolinde wanted the money and took it, killing his friend in the process…’

‘Oh, rubbish! Don’t you think that if Jolly was going to rob Peter, he’d do something faster than poison? If Peter had suspected something or seen Jolly doing the deed, he could have spoken out – said that Jolly had poisoned him to steal the money. Did Peter tell anyone?’

‘No. Peter died in the Cathedral, but he didn’t accuse anyone,’ Baldwin said slowly.

‘I’d think it pretty unlikely that he was poisoned by Jolly, then. If he was, he’d have accused Jolly in front of witnesses. And if he was the accomplice of a murderer and thief, wouldn’t he have wanted to confess his sins? Surely he’d admit to having killed a man so that he could win absolution before he died?’

‘You met Jolinde on sixth December?’ Baldwin asked, abruptly changing the subject. ‘The Feast of St Nicholas?’

‘Jolly came in here to the tavern on his way back to the Cathedral after delivering the money to Ralph. Dragged Peter in after him, not that Peter really wanted to be here. He was quiet-looking – anxious, I suppose, but Jolly persuaded him to have just one cup of wine with him.’

‘And you liked the look of Jolinde.’

She pushed out her lips in a moue . ‘Well, he was polite, and interested in what I said. It’s not as if many men will listen to a wench from a tavern, but he did. It was nice. And the next night he came back, and the night after that.’

‘Yet he manages to get back into the Cathedral when the gates are locked in order to attend his services on time.’ Baldwin mused.

‘He has his own way in and out,’ she agreed, her expression smug.

‘Which is?’

‘How should I know? I’ve never asked him.’

‘When the two of them were in here, how did they seem together?’ Simon asked.

‘Not very happy,’ she admitted slowly. ‘They’d been having words, I reckoned. Both looked a bit warm, you know? Maybe they’d had a disagreement. But Vicars and so on are more serious about things, aren’t they?’

‘Did Peter lose his temper, or Jolly?’

‘Oh, neither really. I only saw Peter look angry the once.’

‘When was that?’

‘It was yesterday, early in the afternoon, when Nick Karvinel came in. I saw Peter deliberately turn his back on him. It looked really rude – a calculated insult. I’ve no idea why he did it. Jolly was left standing there gaping, with his pot halfway to his mouth. Peter wouldn’t turn around again until Karvinel had gone. Mind you, Peter didn’t stay long afterwards. He looked really ill… sick as well as furious.’

‘But Karvinel was the merchant whom Peter helped, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you have no idea why Peter should have reacted like that on seeing his master?’

‘I asked Jolly a bit later, but he didn’t know. Said Peter always took things too seriously; said he had to learn that life was too brief not to be enjoyed to the full.’

‘What did he mean by that?’

‘Ask him. All I can say is, he’s had his own troubles in his time.’ Claricia eyed the two men with a hint of exasperation. ‘Go on – talk to Jolly. He’s no murderer. If he was upset with someone, he wouldn’t kill them. Anyway, if Peter had thought he’d been poisoned, he’d have told someone, wouldn’t he? He’d have called for help and accused his killer. I reckon he probably just ate a piece of bad meat or something.’

‘You know Jolinde has been buying food for Peter?’ Baldwin asked suddenly.

‘Of course I know. He’d buy it on his way here. So what? It was kind of him. Maybe you ought to go to the butcher who sold him his meat and see if any other customers have fallen ill. A few times he brought bread, sometimes meat, sometimes sweetmeats. The bread was certainly all right because we ourselves ate it. He’d bring some of it up to my room and we’d eat there in peace. I’ve not become ill so it can’t be that food.’

‘Did you always take the food up with you? For example, last night?’

‘Not always. Sometimes he’d leave the rest of it in the hall in his bag. He did so last night.’

‘Where exactly did he leave it?’ Simon asked.

Claricia looked at him. He was leaning forward and staring at her like a hawk fixed upon a mouse. A swift shudder of fear went through her. ‘Just there,’ she gulped, pointing to a rough table near the door to the screens passage.

‘Then anyone could get to it,’ Baldwin noted.

Simon nodded. ‘Tell us, girl. Was there anyone you recognised in here last night?’

She shrugged off-handedly. ‘Only Nick Karvinel. It was a quiet night. Nick actually asked about Peter – but only because he said he had some business coming up soon and Peter always clerked for him, taking notes and so on.’

‘So he could have tampered with your boyfriend’s parcel?’ Simon said shortly.

Claricia looked from him to Baldwin, who now sat gazing into the middle distance with a faint puckering at his brow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘He could have put poison on it,’ Simon explained.

Her face paled. ‘But I ate some last night.’

‘While you ate, someone may have sprinkled poison on the rest,’ Simon grunted.

‘Only the meat then. We ate all of the bread,’ she said.

‘Ah!’ Simon exclaimed. ‘That narrows it down.’ He glanced at Baldwin, but the knight merely shrugged, his expression thoughtful.

The gaol was in the castle, at the northernmost tip of the city – a large, red-stone block which dominated the city from its perch on the hill.

Elias was in a squalid cell, along with many other men. All were forced to make use of a single leathern bucket for their toilet. A man had apparently become ill overnight, calling out and then going into convulsions; he had kicked the pail over, adding the noisome reek of its contents to the already foul interior.

The suffering man lay on his side near a wall, his face gaunt and grey with a faintly green tinge.

‘He won’t last the day,’ Baldwin murmured compassionately.

‘I fear not,’ the Coroner agreed. The fellow had evidently rolled over in his fever, and now his clothing was bespattered with the bucket’s contents.

Elias turned out to be a tall, gangling youth in his early twenties, pale-faced with terror. ‘There are rats in here, sir,’ he said pathetically to Roger as they called him out of the cell and studied him in the corridor outside.

‘Sod the cell and sod the rats,’ Roger said unsympathetically. ‘You’re here to answer any questions these gentlemen wish to ask you.’

‘I didn’t do it, sirs,’ Elias stated. Although he mumbled the words they were clear enough, as was his bitterness at being incarcerated. ‘I’ve never been in a place like this before, and I didn’t ought to be here now.’

‘What didn’t you do?’ Simon asked.