Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

‘An excellent dancer,’ he complimented Vincent.

‘Yes. She is the daughter of a baker of ours. He pulls his hair out, as you’d expect. A girl like her flaunting herself before the eager eyes of so many men,’ Vincent grinned. ‘There are enough to be jealous of Elias.’

‘She’s Mary?’

‘Yes, I thought you knew,’ Vincent said off-handedly.

It was intriguing to watch her. Baldwin, his eyes on her feet in an attempt to keep up with the rapid movements, could easily imagine how a young lad could become infatuated by her: a boy brought up in the secluded, bachelor environment of the glover’s household. Meeting this splendid creature each morning to collect his daily loaf of bread, was it any surprise that he should be knocked sideways?

‘Sir Baldwin,’ Vincent had risen and was standing before him. ‘You haven’t met my friend, have you? This is Nicholas Karvinel – the man who has helped to make your gloves.’

‘Master Karvinel, it is a pleasure,’ Baldwin said, with a faint hint of remoteness in his tone. ‘Tell me, aren’t you the poor fellow that was robbed on the road south of the city? And you later found one of the outlaws in a tavern?’

Unaccountably the man looked wary, glancing at Vincent. ‘Um, yes,’ he said after a pause, ‘and I’m glad to say the bastard swung, God rot him!’

‘Well, at least you caught the villain,’ Baldwin said politely.

‘Yes, that at least was good.’

Vincent excused himself and went to speak to another guest, and Baldwin was left smiling blankly at a man about whom he knew nothing except for his reputation for miserably bad luck.

At his side, Jeanne rescued him. ‘It must have been dreadful to hear that the other glover was murdered. Such a terrible thing to happen to anyone, that kind of petit treason . The thought that your own servant should kill you…’

‘It is a horrible thing to dwell upon, my Lady,’ Nicholas Karvinel agreed. ‘But there is murder and madness upon all the streets. All we can do is hang those who would break the laws. It’s the only rule they understand. And the apprentice who kills his master is very certainly deserving of his end. What sort of world would we live in if we allowed that kind of lunacy?’

‘Ugh, yes! Horrid,’ Jeanne said, with affected revulsion. Baldwin restrained the grin that threatened to crack his serious features. His wife was already bored with the man and disliked his opinions, although she was too well-bred to contradict him. ‘Tell me,’ she continued, ‘how magnificent are these gloves to be?’

‘Ah, my Lady, you wouldn’t expect me to give away the secrets of my work? My commission was to produce splendid gloves so that the Dean and Chapter could show their appreciation to the city and the friends of the Cathedral. I couldn’t possibly tell you what they would be like.’

‘Oh, I see. But you got all you needed from the poor dead glover?’

‘The gloves were almost finished. I only had to add some gems – ah! You have made me confess that much already!’

‘But I understood that jewels and the money for the commission were already paid to poor Master Ralph. Has the Cathedral had to pay twice?’

‘I couldn’t afford to do the work for free,’ Karvinel smiled, ‘but the Cathedral needed only to pay me for finishing Ralph’s work.’

Baldwin was listening to him with interest. ‘I suppose you have had to help many other people who would have made use of Ralph the glover’s services?’

‘A few people have come to me, Sir Knight,’ the man conceded, then added: ‘but I hope you don’t think I might have arranged poor Ralph’s death just to win over some of his clients!’

‘My Heavens! What a thought,’ Baldwin said, as if shocked. Then: ‘What happened to the rest of the attacking outlaws?’

‘Eh? What, the men who waylaid me and my man?’

Baldwin didn’t bother to nod. He merely remained staring unblinking.

Karvinel was more heavily set than Vincent, but was sluggish; he lacked the drive which seemed a major part of le Berwe’s make-up. Baldwin reflected that it was probably due to the fact that he was financially in dire straits. Vincent was a success, Nicholas Karvinel a failure.

Vincent was suave and confident in his manner, no matter what he was talking about or to whom; Karvinel was, in comparison, wary and aggressive. The latter now stood with every sign of being cowed by Fate. His eyes moved about the room constantly; his hands were clasped with an outward show of humility and meekness, but there was something about him which Baldwin distrusted.

At his side, Jeanne felt the same. It was hardly a surprise that Karvinel’s business should fail, she thought, when the proprietor was so oily and unpleasant. She would never buy gloves from so unsavoury a character. He reminded her of a snake preparing to strike.

After a moment or two Karvinel replied, ‘They all turned and ran down the road beyond the Maudlin. Like the cowards they are!’

‘Does anyone know who they are?’ Jeanne asked.

‘Oh, their leader styles himself a knight; he has some fifteen or so men with him. All sorts, all ages, all characterised by their willingness to flout the law. It’s a disgrace.’

‘You called the Hue and Cry when you returned to the city, of course?’

‘Well, of course I did! What else would a man do when he has been robbed?’

‘I was merely wondering. Vincent told us that you saw one of the men in a tavern or somewhere, and had him arrested immediately.’

‘Yes, I caught the devil myself. Hamond. God’s blood, but the cheeky sod said he hadn’t been down that way at all. It didn’t do him any good; he was known to be a man of manifest guilt. He was indicted for going about at night-time with a weapon some years ago.’

‘Ah!’ Baldwin said. He recalled his first thoughts on hearing of the hanged man’s background. This Hamond had been so well-known for his nefarious behaviour that when a crime was committed, he was the first to be arrested. Men in his position were often found guilty because the jury who presented them to court thought they were the most likely culprits. So long as someone in the Hundred was convicted of a crime, the King’s Judge would be content, and any jury would prefer to see a useless or dangerous man removed rather than risk a prolonged investigation which would invariably prove still more expensive.

By now, Baldwin was growing to actively dislike this Karvinel. The man had a face rather like a toad’s, with small narrow eyes placed rather widely apart; his nose was thick at the base, broken before the nostrils and badly set. He had not been shaved well, and his stubble was thicker on the left than the right, which made him look sloppy. Normally Baldwin would not think to condemn a man for his dress or toilet, but today was Christ’s, celebrating the infant’s birth and although Baldwin himself was very ambivalent in his attitude to the Church since the destruction of the Temple, that did not affect his adoration of Christ.

When he studied Karvinel, the merchant looked away, a trait which Baldwin had learned to mistrust in any man, but Karvinel added to the knight’s feeling of unease in his presence by staring at Baldwin’s shoes. It was not Karvinel’s fault that Baldwin’s shoes proved how wet and muddy the roads were, but irrationally it made Baldwin feel that an intentional slight was being offered.

‘I assume this man’s family stood up for him?’ he asked stiffly.

‘I don’t know where he came from,’ Karvinel said dismissively. ‘I shouldn’t think anyone else did either.’

‘Vincent told me he was a local,’ Baldwin remembered.

‘I am surprised Vincent knew of him,’ Karvinel said, and his expression confirmed his words. He frowned after their host doubtfully. ‘The lad had every opportunity to defend himself, but he couldn’t get away from the fact that my clerk and I saw him there. We actually saw him with the gang.’