Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

‘If you get the old sod talking about his sailing days, you’ll never get away from him,’ Joan said, returning with pots for all the men. The girl appeared a moment later with a massive jug from which she poured them spiced wine, hot and sweet.

‘Oh, give me leave to speak a moment with friends,’ John Coppe said aloofly and Joan roared with laughter before dropping into a seat nearer her fire and starting to knit.

‘Joan’s old man Will was a good sailor too. Him and me, we went all over. All along the Breton coast, and the Norman one, all the way down as far as Bordeaux. Often did that run, buying wines mainly. Then one day we were attacked by French pirates and had our cargo taken.’

‘My Will was hit by an arrow,’ Joan said, this time more quietly. She paused and let her knitting fall to her lap, sighing, then continued, her needles flying faster than before as if concentration was itself a cure for her sadness, ‘So since then I’ve made shift as best I can.’

‘And I never had a wife or a house; when I got back, I was forced to start begging to survive. At first I stayed a while with my brother, who lived over near the South Gate, but he died a while ago, and his wife had to sell the place, so since then I’ve not had a place of my own. There was no point when I was young, because I was always looking for the next ship. But if you’re wrecked like me, the masters don’t want you. Anyway, no one would have used me even if I wasn’t ruined like this. I have a bad reputation.’

Baldwin stirred his wine with a finger and sucked it. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Nicholas Karvinel. It was his ship, his cargo, that was taken by the pirates and he was sure that someone warned the French when our ship sailed, and that was how the pirates caught us. He thought a crew member gave away the ship for a bribe.’

‘Is it possible?’ Simon asked.

‘Anything is possible, but is it likely? Pirates don’t wait and ask who is their friend, they attack as soon as they can and kill everyone. Anyway, a ship saw us as we left Topsham that day to go to France, and it almost caught us a couple of times. We reached port and loaded with wine and set off for home, but then the pirate caught us out in the Channel and came at us with the wind behind him. It was quite a chase, sirs, because our master had a good head for the sea, and he could make good use of every little gust, but then our wind died, and the French paddled with oars to approach us. The wind picked up, but they caught it first, and with their ship being lighter, they catched us quick. And then it was all down to the axes and the bows.’

‘Old John here was one of three men who survived. All the others died,’ Joan said matter-of-factly. ‘So of course a lot of the merchants thought that if someone had given away the ship to the French it would have been one of the men who lived afterwards.’

John Coppe snorted in disgust. ‘How any man could have protected himself in a mêlée like that, I don’t know. If there was a spy among us, he was as like to be knocked on the head as any other. And I lost my leg and had my face wrecked like this. It’s just stupid rubbish!’

‘But Karvinel wouldn’t use any of the survivors again?’ Simon asked.

‘Oh, he did better than that,’ Joan was with wry coldness, but Coppe held his hand up with impatience.

‘Karvinel couldn’t use me – look at this,’ he said, tapping his stump. ‘Anyway, he’d lost his ship and with it much of his wealth. Up until then he was a powerful man here in Exeter, but from that moment nothing he’s touched has come good. No, I think he told his friends about his suspicions and now none of them will use me.’

‘What happened to the other two?’

‘They’re dead. This is going back a few years, sir. I’m talking of five or maybe seven years ago. One died two years ago in a brawl in a tavern, the other froze to death in the winter during the famine, God bless them both.’

‘Talking of famines,’ Baldwin murmured, but just then the girl returned. She had run to the Cook’s Row, and her pale features were pleasantly flushed. ‘Thank you,’ he said, taking a large pie from her apron and dropping coins onto the table.

Simon meditatively watched Coppe as he ate voraciously. ‘It’s some time since your last meal, I’d guess.’

‘Other than Cathedral bread, aye,’ came the response, with a few crumbs. ‘But they bake a good loaf. Adam delivers some at the gate on his rounds.’

Baldwin sipped at his wine. ‘What else do you know about Karvinel?’

‘He’s not far from being in the same position as me. He owns little now that isn’t pawned. All his high hopes to recover his losses with the last shipment have been dashed, and I don’t know if he’ll be able to afford any of the city posts. His friend the Steward might try to help him, but I don’t know if he’ll succeed. I hope not!’

The last words came out with a cruel hopefulness, but the fire of hatred which had flared so briefly in his eyes, quickly subsided and Coppe finished his pie, picking at the crumbs on the table top before him.

‘What of le Berwe?’ Baldwin prodded. ‘How is he looked upon in the city?’

‘He is respected, I suppose. He’s one of the stewards… more than that, he’s the Receiver: in charge of all records, seeing that justice is upheld, visiting all the markets and fairs within the city to make sure the victuals are wholesome as well as collecting all the city’s rents and money due.’

Joan sniffed. ‘He would be well looked upon. He has the money to buy influence and friends.’

‘You think he doesn’t deserve such treatment, Mother?’ Simon said with a grin.

‘No, he doesn’t. He’s a sharp, calculating devil that one, and some day the Devil will come and take his own.’

‘Why do you say so?’ Baldwin in some surprise. He didn’t much like the Receiver himself, but the old woman’s loathing went further than mere dislike.

‘Because he uses people and breaks them when he has no more use for them, that’s why. Like his first wife. There’s enough people in the city reckon he killed her, poor little chit. I wouldn’t trust him further than I could spit!’

Hawisia rose from her needlework when she heard her husband return.

Their marriage was undergoing some strain, it was true. She had expected that the expressions of love which Vincent le Berwe had used to woo her were proof of undying devotion, and yet now she rarely saw him except to entertain others. He spent so much time with his business, especially now he was the Receiver.

Hawisia wondered sometimes whether he had been the same with his first wife. She had died very young, just before giving birth to her first baby, and Hawisia asked herself whether Vincent had been always so busy while she was alive. Certainly his business had suffered after her death. Vincent had been forced to try to rebuild it, or so he had told Hawisia.

The muttering against him was caused because his dead bride was so young. At only fourteen, many people thought his interests in wedding her were suspicious. In some areas that sort of age was considered all right for a wife, but here in Exeter people were more conservative. And when she died, rumours began to circulate about him. It had taken some little while for him to rebuild his business interests afterwards, for many customers faded away and sought new suppliers.

It had taken all of Hawisia’s diplomatic skills to help him build up his business interests again.

‘My love?’ she called.

Vincent appeared in the doorway. ‘I have to go out for a while. Amuse yourself, dear. I shouldn’t be very long,’ he said, and was gone.

‘But you’ve been away all…’

She stopped herself. He was already out of the door and in any case there was no point in making a fuss. He had business to attend to, didn’t he? Of course he would have to go out every so often. She only wished she could be of more use to him. Rather than sitting back in this insipid manner she should try to help him more… except she had no idea how.