Michael JECKS - The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

‘Perhaps. But what does this have to do with anything?’

‘I would like to know the truth. Perhaps it was because you didn’t trust the man’s brother? That led you to think that brothers will sometimes behave alike.’

‘Ahm, yes. So you have heard about that. But I may not be able to inform you of certain secrets. So much of my life is tied up with secrecy. The confessional, Church diplomatic matters, affairs of state. All these can mean my mouth must, um, necessarily be stilled.’

‘Can you give us no explanation, Dean?’

‘Perhaps I can give you a slight hint. No more.’ As the Dean studied Baldwin, the knight saw the eyes glitter in a friendly manner, and Baldwin noticed how the reticence disappeared like a ruse thrown away after its deceit had served its purpose.

‘Sir Baldwin, ah it is difficult to protect the Cathedral. We monitor everything that we can, with clerks trained in finance to check all our accounts, but it is very difficult when we have such a large project going on. A block of lead is worth a lot of money, but if you have several hundred of them, one can go missing. I was suspicious that money was being filtered out, but I had no idea who was doing it, nor how.

‘If you know that the brother of one of your senior dignitaries is a felon, you have to wonder about him when some money goes missing. And if a sum of money is stolen from a merchant transporting it for you, you wonder anew. Especially if only a short time later you hear that a glover to whom much treasure had been given has been killed and robbed. So many coincidences. So much wealth lost.’

‘So you expected us to investigate your own Treasurer?’

‘No. I wanted to make sure that all were investigated. I only hoped you would do so without showing favours.’

‘You know that Adam was responsible for selling candles on the side?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Please do not remind me!’ the Dean said and shuddered. ‘It is hard enough seeing how he has failed academically and socially without being told of his dishonesty.’ He looked up at the window, sadness tightening his features. ‘When I look at him,’ he murmured, ‘I can see, even if from a distance, the beauty of his mother. It will be extremely painful to see him go.’

‘So you suspected him of responsibility for these other losses?’

‘God forgive me, but yes.’

‘How was he granted a position here in the first place?’ Baldwin asked gently.

‘When he was old enough, the famine was beginning. I had kept in touch with his mother, and she asked if we, ah, could look after him. I felt it was the least I could do. I never thought it would come to this.’

His words made Simon pucker his brow.

‘You don’t understand,’ the Dean smiled. ‘It is simple. Adam is my son – half-brother to Sir Thomas’s woman and that foolish boy who lives with them. Adam was the first-born. Stephen was a useful go-between some years ago, for there was every reason for him to visit his brother when he still owned his lands, and Stephen would deliver messages for me and bring back her own. And then she married a good man and gave birth to other children – although only Jen and Hob survived. Thus I heard what was happening to Adam.’

‘I think I understand. He will leave the Cathedral?’ asked Baldwin.

‘I cannot allow him to remain.’

‘What of Jolinde?’

‘He has gone. He had decided to leave before this final disaster.’

‘Will Luke stay?’

The Dean eyed him a moment contemplatively. ‘When the, ah, family lost everything in a squabble with their neighbour, who happened to be a friend of the King, Luke’s mother was already dead. With his father an outlaw, it was, um, natural that his uncle, our Canon Stephen, would protect the child as best he may. And he concealed the true nature of his brother’s activities from the child. Why should the boy learn the demeaning truth – that his own father was a felon? If we can, we should hide that shame from him.’

Baldwin smiled faintly. ‘The Cathedral seems a haven for many children.’

‘There are many innocents whose births are not legitimate,’ the Dean answered.

‘I see,’ Baldwin said, standing. ‘Dean I thank you for your patience. Please excuse us if we leave you now.’ He drained his cup and bowed.

The Dean rose and nodded, making the sign of the cross, first over Baldwin, then to Simon and Jeanne. ‘Go with God.’

The place was filled. Simon was used to such sights. As Bailiff of the Stannaries, he often had to speak to large groups of men and the scene gave him no concern, but Baldwin felt discontented to see so many people all watching him. It was not like being in a court, he felt. There he was aware of his own authority and the aura of the position itself cushioned him from the public gaze, but here, in a strange city, with unknown people staring at him, he felt exposed and threatened.

Henry had the words off pat. He stepped forward and while his friend read out the note of thanks, Henry waited. As soon as the last words were spoken, he took a pair of cordwain gloves, wonderfully stitched and studded with jewels, and passed them to Baldwin. Then there was another short reading, and a second pair were given to Simon, before the boy made the sign of the cross and prayed for them.

Soon the affair was over and Baldwin could breathe a sigh of relief. He and Simon walked away from the public attention while other worthies stepped up to take their awards, and when Baldwin had returned to Jeanne’s side, he heard a rough cackle.

‘So, Sir Baldwin, are you content now?’

‘Coroner, I didn’t see you – my apologies. I am very content, thank you. It is enough no longer to be the focus of attention.’

They chatted idly, but there was nothing in their conversation to interest Simon. He had his eye on the Dean, who stood watching Luke and Henry with hawk-like intensity.

Later, when the crowds had thinned and the two men were walking about the city with Jeanne, Simon turned to Baldwin. ‘The Dean’s son is Adam, so why didn’t he confront his boy and ask if he was telling known robbers about Cathedral money?’

‘I think he was anxious to be fair at all stages,’ Baldwin said. ‘He agreed to have the child brought here to be educated, and, to ensure that the boy received the best training possible, he had him quartered with the Treasurer, Canon Stephen. When he began to fear that the thefts were somehow the responsibility of the Treasurer, what could he do?’

‘He could have accused the man,’ Simon shrugged.

‘He could hardly do that, for the Treasurer could retaliate by telling all that the Dean had fathered an illegitimate boy and kept him in the Cathedral for his own satisfaction. At the least you can assume that the boy would have been sent away.’

Simon considered a moment. Then he asked, ‘What do you think will happen to Sir Thomas?’

‘I think he will be granted a pardon. He is an important enough man, after all. Yes, I would imagine he would be freed. And then he may settle here with his woman.’

Simon nodded. ‘And the half-wit with them.’

‘Yes, they seem genuinely fond of the lad.’

‘Meanwhile Vincent…’

‘Don’t expect me to feel sympathy for him,’ Baldwin said grimly.

‘It hardly seems fair. The man is ruined, and through his wife’s acts, not his own.’

‘He was as evil as her in his own way. He may not have dirtied his hands, because he employed Sir Thomas to do his work for him, but that is no excuse. Vincent was prepared to see Ralph broken utterly, just because he feared that a competitor might prove too powerful. To achieve his own ends he destroyed Karvinel. If it wasn’t for his own greed and arrogance, Ralph, Peter, Nick and Juliana Karvinel – yes, even Hawisia herself – would probably be alive still. All were killed for Vincent’s comfort and avarice. No, don’t expect me to feel sympathy for him. He is a felon, no better than the worst of Sir Thomas’s outlaws. I expect he will swing.’