Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

He saw the City Bailiff and the Coroner arrive together. They were talking in low voices, both frowning seriously as if their conversation was not pleasing to either. The Coroner’s gaze passed over Jolinde, and with a shudder of guilt Jolinde saw Roger de Gidleigh’s eyes return to him, studying him unblinkingly.

The knowledge of his crime made Jolinde stumble as he hurried to keep up with young Adam. The Secondary tutted irritably as Jolinde almost tripped, and took the box from him. ‘Watch your step!’ he growled. ‘And mind out for clumsy bastards knocking you over. Last night it was the merchant, le Berwe, and half the folks today have already been at the wine.’

Joline nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. If anyone here had seen him abroad on the night that Peter died, or worse, if they knew he had been about in the city on the morning that Ralph had died, they would have many questions for him. Especially if someone had guessed at his theft as well.

He was relieved when the bells stopped ringing, and he and Adam could collect their boxes and tapers and make their way to the other side of the screen and into the choir.

When he felt the man shove at his back Nick Karvinel snapped his head round ready to curse whoever it might be, but he held his tongue when he recognised the clerical garb. A candle cleric, he thought to himself with a sneer. Pathetic fool! The best he can manage is to fill empty candle-holders for a living.

His wife was at his side, glancing openly about the nave, eyeing up the men present, the bitch. Juliana had been happy enough with him when he’d been a success, delighted when he made his big deals, getting a name for himself, making it into the Freedom of the City with all the big merchants. If things had gone right for him this year, she’d still be content.

He kept a surreptitious eye on her as the crowd moved forward, jockeying for the best position to hear what was going on beyond the screen, or perhaps find a point from which they could peer through a section to where the Canons were singing their praises to God.

She wasn’t watching the priest up at the altar, she was still ogling the men, he saw. Especially that Bailiff, Puttock, who’d been at her side the night before at le Berwe’s feast. Karvinel peered over the heads of the people nearest. The Bailiff was up to the right side of the nave, following the service attentively. At his side was his friend the knight, whose lips moved in time with the singing as if he knew the words. His wife Jeanne made a show of her piety, keeping her eyes downcast like a bloody virgin.

People like that made him sick. As he returned his gaze to the altar, occasionally glancing at his wife, Karvinel couldn’t help a sneer distorting his features. Knights and their ladies had no idea what life was all about – just like the merchants in Vincent’s league. They hadn’t a clue what a man had to do to survive, to succeed. It was hard enough when times were good, when competition undercut your prices and forced you to find cheaper suppliers, but when times were bad and you couldn’t persuade anyone to buy what you had, that was really tough. And then you got troubles like Karvinel’s, when some bastard broke into your house and nicked everything. And later torched it.

Sometimes the only way a man could survive was by betraying his own soul. Occasionally a man must steal and risk damnation just to be able to live. Karvinel knew that now. Had known it two days ago when he went down to shout at his bottler for not waking him, and had found the man’s bed unslept in. The last of his servants, bar the cretinous urchin who swept the hall, had left.

Juliana had shrugged carelessly, saying it was lucky. It would be a relief to be rid of so expensive a mouth to feed, and he wasn’t really necessary now.

‘What do you mean, not necessary?’ he had shouted.

‘You don’t have that much business to conduct, do you, my dear?’ she had returned coldly

‘There are the gloves to finish for the Cathedral, the wine for–’

‘Precisely. There really is very little for you to do, husband. Perhaps there will be more soon, for if your creditors all appear and ask for your money, I suppose we shall be forced to sell the house and all our belongings. But until then, there is little to be done that you can’t do alone, is there?’

Her spiteful manner had made him see red. He could have hit her, punched her, and the release would have given him immense satisfaction… except he knew what the end result would be. She would simply look at him contemptuously and go quiet, perhaps silently walk away from him – and from that moment she would be entirely lost to him.

That was the trouble, he knew, watching his wife as she watched other men. Everything he had done was intended to keep her as his own. He couldn’t risk losing her. The loss of prestige should she leave him was too appalling even to contemplate. But he couldn’t tolerate her flirting with other men, not even if that was the price he must pay for her continued company. Swallowing painfully, he viewed the future. Unless he could soon reveal his renewed financial status, she would leave him.

Then a new resolve stiffened his spine. There was no need for him to go on suffering this intolerable situation. Juliana’s stupid behaviour must improve soon. She would hardly go looking for another man to support her if she learned that her own husband was immensely wealthy again. That was the reason for her coldness recently – the belief that he was a failure. Well, soon he’d be able to show her – point to the large sums of money he’d acquired – and then she’d warm up towards him, she’d love him again as she had before.

Right now she was drooling over every available male in the area. It looked as though she was determined to find anyone who had money so that she could desert him. Any fellow with a well-filled purse would do, Nick thought cynically; she’d leap into his bed without compunction. There was nothing to hold her to Nick. Not while he was bankrupt. In Juliana’s mind, her marriage to Nick Karvinel was a financial transaction: he could possess her, provided that he gave her access to his money. While his finances were healthy, she was happy.

And, at this minute she was far from happy. His recent difficulties had turned her frigid, impervious to his needs. He could prove to her that he was strong, but there were risks: if she boasted about his money, others could get to hear. It was far too dangerous. No, he’d have to keep his secret hidden, even from her.

Especially from her.

In his thick cloak, Sir Thomas stood trying to keep out of the view of the general public. He couldn’t keep his hood up, for that would have appeared disrespectful in God’s house, so he partially concealed himself in shadows wherever he could away from the brightest candles. Then he caught sight of a figure he recognised: the Bailiff of the City, William de Lappeford. Sir Thomas retreated slightly. He knew de Lappeford only too well, and de Lappeford knew his description. All the officers involved in the law knew of Sir Thomas.

It was then that Hob gasped and pulled at his sleeve. ‘That’s them, Sir Thomas! Karvinel and his Lady.’

Following his pointing finger, Sir Thomas caught a fleeting glimpse of the couple. Although he had been responsible for stealing from the man, and even setting his house on fire, the outlaw had never actually seen his victim in the flesh. Fearing he might lose sight of them, Sir Thomas slipped away from his place of concealment and went up the side of the nave, his eye fixed upon the pair. The candles lit up his face a couple of times, but he didn’t care. He kept on going, resting at a pillar from where he had a good view of them.