Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

‘Why someone should want to kill Peter at all is still a mystery to me,’ Simon grunted.

‘What if the murderer intended killing another?’

‘Like whom?’

‘Jolinde, for instance.’

Simon stopped, frowning. ‘It would make sense.’

‘More than that, it would be logical. If you wish to poison a man, you poison the food he is buying. You don’t assume he’ll give it away to someone else.’

‘True. Yet the poisoner might have known that the food was to be eaten by Peter.’

‘It is possible, but what if that wasn’t known? Then we are left with the opposite perspective.’

Simon waited but his friend remained silent and the Bailiff was reluctant to break into his thoughts as they returned to the house where Adam lay recovering.

‘Has he confessed?’ Stephen asked.

Simon shook his head as he entered. He wasn’t even certain whom Stephen was asking about: Luke or Jolinde.

Adam lay on a palliasse on the floor, a rolled robe was his pillow and he was covered with a pair of thick blankets, although his shivering seemed to show they were doing him little good. Stephen had taken on himself the responsibility of nursing the boy and sat on a stool near his head. To aid Adam’s recovery, he had set a large crucifix on a table nearby, so that Adam could see it by turning his head.

Stephen had recovered greatly and now he could look upon the two law officials with a certain asperity. ‘What is it? This poor fellow needs to rest. He was almost killed.’

Baldwin took in the room with a glance. ‘We wish to ask him some questions,’ he said. ‘First, we understand you took a loaf from Luke last night. Is that correct?’

Adam glanced up at Stephen, but the Canon was telling his beads through his fingers and didn’t meet his look. ‘Yes, sir. I took it, but I didn’t touch it. He dropped it in some muck, and I threw it away.’

‘You didn’t eat any of it?’

‘No. Why should I? It had shit on it.’

‘What does this matter?’ Stephen asked.

‘Jolinde gave food to Peter. The bread was given to Luke by Peter. It is possible that the bread was poisoned.’

Adam blenched. ‘But I could have eaten it!’

‘Perhaps it would have been justice if you had,’ Baldwin stated unsympathetically. ‘Did you have a bottle of orpiment with you today?’

‘No.’

‘A bottle was found on the floor afterwards. It wasn’t yours?’

‘No.’

Stephen stirred. ‘It could have been Luke’s.’

Baldwin looked at him kindly. ‘No. I am convinced that he had nothing to do with this. I believe that while you and the Chapter were in the Cathedral someone went to your house and put poison on Adam’s bread, leaving the orpiment behind to make it appear that Luke or someone else in the room had tried to kill him. Anyone could have got in.’

Stephen sighed. ‘Oh, thank God!’

‘What is it?’

‘I had been convinced that my nephew had done this.’

Baldwin’s eyebrows rose. ‘Nephew? Earlier you told us about your brother…?’

‘I was the second son of Sir Ranulf Soth of Exmouth. My brother Thomas took the manor and I came here. When my brother’s wife died and he became an outlaw, I agreed to look after his son. That boy is Luke.’

‘And you thought that his father’s evil disposition could have led to his trying to poison Adam?’

‘I had heard that Adam had waylaid him last evening, yes, and thought my brother’s violent nature had been repeated in Luke. It wouldn’t have been the first time such things have happened.’

‘Well you may relax in the knowledge that Luke is most certainly innocent.’

‘And Jolinde took food to Peter?’ Stephen said. ‘I saw him once with something under his robe in the Cathedral. That must have been what it was. Bread and meat for his friend.’

‘You mean Luke is really Sir Thomas’s son?’ Adam cried suddenly.

‘Be quiet and try to rest,’ Stephen said.

‘Then it must have been Sir Thomas who tried to kill me! He wanted revenge for what I’d done to his son!’

‘Was he here today?’ Simon shot out.

Stephen wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I refuse to believe that my brother would have poisoned someone in my house. He is many things, but he would not risk harming me. And he would be more likely to use a dagger or sword – an honourable weapon. Not poison.’

‘I know little about him,’ Baldwin admitted, ‘but I do not think any knight would resort to poison.’ He looked at Adam. ‘Tell me: I hear you are responsible for the candles and chandlery in the Cathedral. Is that right?’

Adam nodded.

‘Is it true that Cathedral candles are being sold to a city merchant? Stolen from the Cathedral and Chapter and sold for your profit?’

Stephen gasped. ‘Adam, you wouldn’t!’

‘I had to get away! I can’t stay here and grow old as a candle-maker! What sort of life is that? I was only selling enough to make a little cash so–’

‘You evil little devil! You’re no better than that damned fool Peter!’

Baldwin smiled. ‘Adam, to whom did you sell these candles?’

After his brush with death, Adam was past caring. His belly and bowels felt as though they were on fire, his throat was sore from vomiting and he only wanted peace: he wanted Baldwin and Simon to leave him alone. But if he was to get rid of them by confessing, he wasn’t going to take the blame all for himself and leave his accomplice to escape.

‘Vincent. He sells the tallow, wax and wicks to the Cathedral and I make the candles. I asked him if I could clerk for him because I want some ready money, but he refused me, saying that if I wanted money he’d help me get it. All I had to do was write up the accounts logging how much wax he had supplied and understate the full weight. Then I could make more candles than the Cathedral needed, and sell the excess back to him. He split the profits with me.’

‘But why boy? You were safe here for as long as you wanted! Why steal from your home?’ Stephen asked.

‘You’ve seen what happens to Secondaries. We never last long. We’re either made into sub-Deacons or we’re out. Well, I’ll never get to be a sub-Deacon, that’s obvious.’

‘You were safe here for as long as you could have wanted!’

‘I think that clears up Ralph the glover’s suggestion that there was a theft going on,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Does this have to be bruited abroad?’ Stephen asked. ‘News of this would break the Dean’s heart.’

‘Come outside with us a moment,’ Baldwin said.

‘What do you want?’ Stephen said when they were out in the chill sunlight.

‘The truth. If you tell me the truth on two points, I shall swear to keep your secrets but I must know, just so that I can be certain that the killer is not escaping justice.’

Stephen drew in a breath. ‘Very well.’

‘First, Peter.’

‘His crime was foul. My brother told me categorically that he and Hamond had nothing to do with the robbery of Karvinel, yet Peter’s evidence helped condemn the man. I think Karvinel most cruelly and dishonestly forced Peter to lie for him. Perhaps – I cannot tell – but maybe Peter committed suicide realising his mortal sin. He had caused another man to be killed.’

‘I understand. And the other: Adam’s father. Who is he?’

Stephen gave him a hunted look. ‘Why do you need to know? That is not my secret.’

The Cathedral doors opened and people began to flood out onto the grassed precinct. Simon watched the folk pass by and heard Baldwin murmuring into Stephen’s ear.

The Canon nodded resignedly, then shook his head. ‘Yes. I fear you are quite right.’

Vincent le Berwe shook hands heartily with the thickset Breton and then sat back in his chair as his client left. It was hard to contain his glee. He had confirmed orders for wine, for lead and for dyes. All in all, a good day’s work. If he could keep up the momentum he would soon be able to cover his losses.