Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

‘Interesting,’ Baldwin murmured.

The Dean washed his hands with apparent anguish. ‘You cannot suspect him of anything, surely? He is a victim, not the perpetrator.’

‘True enough,’ Baldwin said. Then something in the Dean’s tone communicated itself to him. ‘Is there something else you would like to tell us, Dean?’

‘God forgive me, but I cannot live without telling you. Ahm. It is Jolinde… Only rumours, I have to say – no one dared to allege anything serious, but even so…’

‘Something he has done?’

‘Done. Ha! You see, Ralph’s wife and child were both killed when a wagon overturned.’

‘Yes, we heard about this. But it was an accident, I believe?’

‘That is what we all wanted to believe. Yet, rumours ah abound in a city like this one,’ the Dean said wretchedly. ‘You see, Jolinde was driving the wagon and some have commented that the dead woman looked much like Vincent’s first wife. Many umm thought that Jolinde tried to kill her, to destroy the baby which would steal his inheritance.’

‘Oh, surely not!’ Simon exclaimed.

Baldwin was thoughtful. ‘As I understand it, Vincent’s wife died while pregnant.’

‘Yes. And although I never wanted to believe it, it ah remained at the back of my mind, the suspicion that he might have removed ah a competitor, as it were. Could he have umm done the same to Peter? I fear that when a competitor is removed, a man can feel more at ease. If Jolinde thought that Peter was in his way, could he not fear that poor Adam too was a threat?’

‘I understand,’ Baldwin sighed, shaking his head. ‘But how could Jolinde consider Peter a threat? Or Adam? It makes no sense.’ He nodded to Gervase. ‘Could we be taken to the room where this boy was poisoned? I wish to see where it happened, and then I should like to talk to the boy accused – and the victim.’

Gervase stood and held the door for them. As they descended the stone steps to the ground floor, they could hear the Dean still talking to himself. ‘Such a thing to happen. Terrible, terrible.’

Over at Stephen’s house, Baldwin stood in the doorway while his dark eyes took in the scene. Before him was a table, now knocked askew. At the nearer end was a mess of food, vomit and excrement. ‘My God,’ he muttered disdainfully. He would have hoped that the servants might have cleaned up the worst of the muck. ‘How, er, how is the victim?’

A voice behind him answered, ‘As well as can be expected. Sore, exhausted, dreadfully weak. The poor fellow hardly knew what had hit him.’ It was Stephen. He sat by the doorway staring at the ruins of his room. There was nothing he could do now. All was unravelling. The Cathedral would be blamed; pilgrims would avoid a place of so much disaster.

Baldwin asked him about the meal and Stephen answered dully. It was all rather irrelevant now. ‘Who could have wanted to kill him?’ he wondered aloud.

‘Do you know anything about the other two deaths?’ Simon asked.

‘Ralph and Peter? I know nothing about Ralph, but I know enough about Peter. He deserved his death. He caused another man to die,’ Stephen blurted, and then a hand flew to his mouth as if to snatch back the words or prevent more escaping.

‘Who?’ Baldwin asked, and when there was no answer, he squatted before Stephen, making the Canon look into his eyes. ‘It wasn’t Adam, and you say it wasn’t Ralph. Does that mean you reckon it was the outlaw? The hanged man?’

‘My brother wanted to avenge him. Hamond and my brother were nowhere near Karvinel when he was robbed, so I knew Peter lied when he identified Hamond. He deliberately saw a man turned off a ladder and hanged because he was paid. He must have been evil !’

Baldwin stood. ‘Or a dupe.’ Then Stephen’s words hit him. ‘You mean you are Sir Thomas’s brother?’

‘I have said enough,’ Stephen said weakly. He rose. ‘Peter deserved his death, but these others… There must be a curse on us all.’

Gervase fetched the household’s steward, who stood before the three men with a wary expression on his features. All the servants knew their lives would be worth little if they were accused of trying to poison a clerk.

‘You served the food today?’ Baldwin began. The steward nodded. ‘Good. Tell me exactly what happened.’

‘Nothing was wrong, sir, until the middle of the second course. The Treasurer had a dish of mussels, as did Vicar Arthur and the Chorister. But Master Adam, he never liked mussels, so he had a pottage instead.’

‘And halfway through it he vomited,’ Gervase added.

‘What was the first course?’

The steward blinked. ‘Pies and fish dishes.’

‘Was there anything that only Adam ate from that course?’

‘No, sir. All partook of the dishes together. It was only the pottage that he alone tried.’

Gervase interrupted to tell Baldwin how the cook had proven the pottage to be safe.

‘I see,’ said Baldwin. ‘And how was Adam today?’

The steward gave an offhand shrug. ‘The same as usual. Perhaps…’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I thought he was teasing Luke. He often does. And then he began hiccuping and burping, and went a bit green. But at this time of year, it’s normal for a youth to overindulge himself. If he can’t at Christmas, when would he be able to?’

‘A good point. Now, Gervase,’ Baldwin said, turning to the Succentor. ‘You say you saw the cook eat a whole ladle of this pottage?’

‘ Two ladles. He insisted that his food was wholesome, and from the way he swallowed it with no ill-effects, I have to believe him.’

‘Yes, except this fellow Adam vomited almost immediately.’

‘As I heard Stephen say, he had almost finished his bowl of food,’ Gervase said hesitantly.

His doubting tone made Baldwin give him an expectant look. ‘Yes?’

‘That is remarkably fast for a poison, not that my experience is particularly extensive, but I have a little knowledge about the subject.’ Gervase explained about his time in Oxford.

‘And that means?’

‘I think it means he ate a very large dose of poison – so large that little was absorbed. It sometimes happens that too much poison will make a man sick, while less would kill.’

Simon had been silent, but now he interrupted their thoughts. ‘The victim accused the boy Luke, you say. Did he say that he actually saw the boy putting poison in his food?’

‘No.’

‘The kitchen is out at the back of the house, but could someone have added some poison to his food between kitchen and hall? Someone other than this Chorister? A Chorister is hardly my idea of an ideal suspect for a poisoning.’

‘It is good of you to try to find another possibility, but I fear the worst. After all, is a cleric of another sort any more likely as a killer?’

Simon nodded to the steward. ‘Was anyone out in the garden when you were bringing the food in from the kitchen?’

‘One of the Secondaries, sir, yes.’

‘Who?’

‘It was the youth who lived near Peter. The one called Jolinde.’

At the door to their inn, Jeanne paused a moment and pointed up the road. ‘Isn’t that Mistress le Berwe?’

Edgar squinted. ‘I believe so, Lady, with a servant. I think she has seen us.’

‘Ah, good,’ said Jeanne, smothering the curse that rose to her lips. She forced a pleasant and welcoming smile to her face. ‘Hawisia, how pleasant to see you. How are you?’

‘Fine, my Lady, very well. I only… Have you seen my husband?’

‘Vincent? No, why? Has he disappeared?’

‘He left the house to go and see to a little business and returned for his breakfast, but a short while ago he said he must leave once more. I did wonder whether he might have come here to share a pot of wine with you and your husband.’