Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

Hob had not been hit by Sir Thomas’s men since then. Only by Sir Thomas himself – occasionally. But it was his own fault. Hob knew he must deserve it if his own defender clobbered him.

‘Hob? Where are you?’

‘H-here,’ he stammered, standing.

Jen stood in the track a few yards away. Her breast was covered again, her hair decorously tied up, but her face was flushed. She saw his tear-streaked face and held out a hand. ‘You been thinking about Mum again?’ He nodded. ‘Come on, Hob, let’s get back. I hope you have good news for him.’

‘Yes, sister,’ he said hesitantly, trying to get the words out before the stammer strangled him. ‘The m-merchant’s clerk is dead.’

‘What do you think, Sir Baldwin?’ Roger asked. The three men walked from the gaol, across the castle’s court, and stood in the road outside.

‘It is hard to know what to think,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘I cannot see that poor creature as a murderer and I am confused by Peter’s visit to the glovemaker on the day Ralph died. Why should he go there? And where did the additional gems and money come from?’

‘And how did Peter die?’ the Coroner grunted.

‘And why did the Dean want us to investigate?’ Baldwin mused.

‘I think he himself is certain Peter was murdered,’ the Coroner grumbled.

‘If so, he must believe the man responsible is from the city, not the Cathedral,’ said Baldwin.

‘Why?’ Roger asked.

‘Because a religious man would hardly expect to find a murderer among his flock,’ Baldwin said dismissively.

‘Well, he may think as he wishes; I have a duty to seek out murderers,’ the Coroner growled. ‘Wherever he lives, my duty is to see the person responsible captured. If he is answerable to Canon Law I may pass him back to the Church authorities, but only if he is so answerable. Until such time as he can prove that to me, I have every right to investigate and keep him in my gaol.’

‘And when he’s found guilty, you have the right to be in the Bishop’s Court to officially witness the sentencing,’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes,’ came the uncompromising reply. ‘ And witness the hanging.’

‘But if the murderer wasn’t from the city, what then?’ Simon continued.

‘Then we have little authority to do anything,’ said the Coroner. ‘Sir Baldwin, Bailiff, I have much other work to occupy me, but this affair troubles me – especially the idea that the dead man might have stolen from the Cathedral.’

‘What will you do?’ Baldwin asked him.

‘Frankly, I have no idea. There’s nothing much to go on. With no witness seeing the theft, with no witness seeing Peter hiding his stolen goods, with no witness seeing poison being administered, I don’t see how I can do very much.’

‘If Peter was murdered, it would be a great shame to let his murderer go free,’ Baldwin said slowly.

‘Undoubtedly. But what would you recommend? I am a busy man. Even now I expect there are calls for me to go and view corpses between here and the Cornish border. I haven’t the time or inclination to search for killers when they may be as insubstantial as marsh gas.’

‘I quite understand,’ Baldwin said. He sighed. ‘And you are probably right. But I am struck by the fact that so many things seem to have happened: Karvinel’s robbery, the murder of Ralph, and now this fellow Peter dying. It seems odd, especially now we have heard from Elias about Peter’s curious second visit. What lay behind that?’

Coroner Roger stretched. ‘God knows. Since he’s dead, we may never find out. Anyway, as far as I am concerned, with Christmas Day tomorrow, I won’t be able to do more for a while.’

Baldwin looked at him, his features serious. ‘What do you think, Roger? Was Peter murdered?’

The Coroner met his gaze without blinking. ‘My report will note the facts. There is no evidence to suggest he was murdered.’

‘Which means Elias is still in danger.’

‘If Peter was murdered, it’d make me more inclined to consider Elias innocent.’

Simon interrupted them. ‘Now we know what will go in your report, what do you think , Coroner?’

Roger glanced away. ‘I don’t think Elias is a murderer, but if he didn’t kill Ralph, who did? And why would someone poison Peter?’

Henry mockingly held out his hand for the other Choristers to kiss, just as they would usually bow and kiss the ring of the Bishop. He held his head superciliously, nose in the air, peeping at his peers as they filed past, some giggling, most trying desperately to hold their faces in a solemn mask – and failing.

‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ Luke cried. His voice was petulant, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. It was horrible seeing Henry making fun of the most important aspects of the Feast Day. Henry was a cheat: a liar and a cheat. He’d taken the election when Luke knew he should have won. It wasn’t fair that Henry had got all the others to vote for him. Not that there was anything he could do about it now. The cheat had won unfairly, bribing other Choristers to give him their votes, and Luke had fallen by the wayside. As soon as the hands went up for Henry, those who were wavering saw how the rest were going and supported Henry too. And when the boys who had promised themselves to Luke saw that their leader was lost, they instantly conformed. It was a unanimous vote.

In his heart of hearts Luke might have been able to sympathise with them. If he had been one of them, he would probably have voted along with them. After all, the boy-Bishop would be unlikely to forget who had failed to support him. It might only be for one day that the boy-Bishop reigned, but that was long enough to make the life of an intransigent elector painful. There were summary punishments to be given, like the refusal to allow him to sit at the same table and perhaps make him go hungry for the day, or even the extreme of embarrassment, making a fool of him on Holy Innocents’ Day when all the Choristers were enjoying themselves. It would be easy to make a boy feel a complete dottypoll on such a day. Especially when all the other Choristers were determined not to stand out by defending someone else in case they might be picked on next.

Luke turned away in disgust. It was stupid, and insulting to God. And He only knew what the Succentor would say if he caught them all at it. It was tempting to go and find Brother Gervase to tell him, but Luke resisted the impulse. He knew that Henry would simply tell the other boys to disappear and keep quiet. Then it would be Luke’s word, Luke the boy who had wanted to be the boy-Bishop, against that of Henry, the boy who had won it. There was no skill in guessing which of them would be believed. Henry would put on his sad, innocent, forgiving face and kindly tell Luke that he mustn’t invent such stories, that telling lies was displeasing to God. And Luke would be looked upon as a vindictive liar.

He left the sniggering clan grouped about their leader and walked through into the hall where they all studied. Only a small room, it had a series of trestle tables set about it. Luke went to his desk. Although he wasn’t supposed to keep food here, he had concealed his half loaf on the shelf beneath. If he became hungry during his work, he could take a lump of the drying crust and chew it. Not that he would want to, because the coarse loaf was growing hard. Luke hadn’t had a chance to pick at it, for the Choristers had been spending almost all their time in the Cathedral practising their singing for the Christmas celebrations and the Feast of Holy Innocents. He wasn’t hungry now anyway, he thought, putting the loaf back; he was too angry to think of food.

At least Henry hadn’t attacked him out in the Cathedral grounds since that last time when he hurled horseshit at him. Luke still hadn’t found Henry’s hiding place. Yet another failure. The common, nasty boy had a hideaway, somewhere that Luke couldn’t even find, let alone use himself. It wasn’t fair .