The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

The clerk whistled through his teeth to express concern. ‘He was certainly the best physician in Bristol – not that any of them could do much good – and he was certainly the most expensive!’

William Hangfield finished his ale in one swallow and rose from his seat.

‘I had better tell the coroner straight away, as even in death people like Robert Giffard command priority.’

He walked across the hall to a doorway on the opposite side, where a man-at-arms stood guard with a pike. Nodding at the man, William opened the door and went along a passage from which opened a number of doors, one of which was the coroner’s chamber. Inside the familiar room, he greeted the old clerk sitting at a writing desk with a quill. This was Samuel of Redcliffe, who had been compiling the coroner’s records for longer than anyone could remember.

‘Is he in yet?’ asked Hangfield. ‘There was a Mercer’s Guild dinner last night, so I thought he might be a bit under the weather this morning.’

Samuel’s toothless mouth gaped in a grin. ‘He’s in, all right, but in a foul temper.’

The coroner’s officer walked to an inner door and, after a perfunctory knock, went inside. The coroner, Sir Ralph fitz Urse, was slumped in the leather-backed chair behind his table, on which were scattered various parchments concening current cases. He was a pugnacious man, built like a bull, with a florid face and nose covered in small blue veins, suggesting his fondness for the wine flask. He had thinning ginger hair and bushy eyebrows of the same colour. Beady eyes sat above drooping pouches of skin and his fleshy lips were down-turned in a permanent expression of bad temper.

William Hangfield was well used to fitz Urse’s unattractive appearance and repugnant personality, but for some reason the abrasive coroner seemed to tolerate his officer far more than most other people with whom he came into contact.

‘What do you want?’ he growled, peering suspiciously from his bloodshot eyes.

‘I’ve had a death reported,’ replied William blandly. ‘One that’s a bit out of the ordinary.’

‘Let me see,’ grunted fitz Urse, holding out an unsteady hand to grab the parchment that his officer held. Having read the brief message, he looked up at William, who stood in front of his desk.

‘I didn’t know the bloody man was even ill,’ he grumbled, getting laboriously to his feet. ‘I could have done with a decent doctor myself, the way I feel this morning.’

‘What do you want me to do about it?’ asked William. ‘I presume you’ll want me to go down there straight away?’

The coroner rasped his bristly chin. ‘With someone this important in the city, I’d better tell the sheriff. And you’d better see the family and find out why they think he’s been poisoned.’

He lumbered towards the door, heading for the offices of Sir Nicholas Cheyney, the Sheriff of Somerset, who occupied several chambers on the opposite side of the hall. As he reached it, he turned to give further orders to his officer.

‘A lot of important people in the city will be very put out by the loss of their favourite doctor.’ he grated. ‘So make sure you get this right, or we’ll both be in the shite!’

William Hangfield strode out of the castle and across the bridge over the wide western moat to the gate at the end of Wine Street. It was becoming warm already and he was glad that he had not worn his cote-hardie. He had on a loose brown linen tunic down to his thighs, being sufficient over his leggings. He had found his chaperon, a cloth headpiece with a tail on the side, too warm and had tucked it into his belt alongside his dagger and pouch. Pushing his way through the crowded street, now filled with porters, beggars, street musicians and goodwives doing their daily market, he reached the High Cross, the junction of the four main roads, and turned left down High Street. He knew every inch of the city and most of the county beyond, so he was able to walk unerringly to the Giffard house, a large stone-built burgage, its size and quality indicating the prosperity of the lately deceased owner.

He knocked on the heavy oak door from which Erasmus Crote had been turned away the previous day, but received no reply. As he was about to hammer it again, a small figure appeared around the corner of the house. It was the same lad who had delivered the message to the castle.

‘The household is all at sixes and sevens,’ the boy announced. ‘The mistress is too upset to organise the servants and Edward Stogursey is trying to deal with some of the master’s patients who have turned up for treatment.’

William put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Never mind, lad, it will all settle down,’ he said kindly. ‘But I must speak to someone straight away about your master’s death. Do you know anything about it?’

The boy shook his head fearfully. ‘Nothing at all, sir. I am only a boot-boy here and am below the notice of anyone in the family. I think Edward is the one you should speak to.’

The coroner’s officer followed the lad around the corner of the house, through a gate into the garden. Behind the main house was a smaller building, which was used as the doctor’s consulting room. It had a separate entrance onto the street at the side.

‘Edward will be in there, dealing with patients,’ explained the lad, whose name was Henry. He led William Hangfield into an open lean-to, where three or four well-dressed people, who looked to be of the merchant class, were seated on a bench waiting to be seen.

An inner door opened and a man whom William recognised as the wealthy owner of a tannery came out. They nodded to each other as Henry darted inside and emerged with a short, dark-haired man. The coroner’s officer had seen him about the city and rightly assumed that this was Edward Stogursey. It was common knowledge that this household steward also acted as the doctor’s dispenser.

‘I think it was you who sent a note to the coroner by the hand of this boy?’

Stogursey nodded and invited the official to enter the physician’s room. Closing the door, he motioned William to a stool and stood before him in a slightly submissive attitude.

‘Things are very difficult, Serjeant,’ he began in a low voice. ‘My mistress is naturally beside herself with grief at the loss of her husband in suspicious circumstances and there is no one else in the household but me who can hold things together.’

‘Are there no relatives that you can call upon?’

‘None hereabouts, sir. My master came to Bristol from London a good number of years ago and his wife is, of course, the daughter of the Lord of Berkeley Castle. They have no children, so there is no one to direct what is to be done.’

‘You say “suspicious circumstances”, but what evidence is there for that?’ demanded the officer.

‘The mistress called the infirmarian of Keynsham Abbey to see the master yesterday. He said he was sure it was a case of poisoning, but had no idea by what – or how it could be treated.’

This was news to William Hangfield, and changed the whole nature of the case.

‘I will have to speak with Mistress Giffard at once,’ he declared in a voice that allowed no argument. ‘I realise she is distressed at the loss of her husband, but if what you say is true, then this is an allegation of murder.’

Edward Stogursey nodded his understanding. ‘Of course, sir. I’ll seek out my mistress now and advise her that she should speak to you.’

William wondered whether it was significant that this servant felt he should ‘advise’ his employer, rather than inform her. Before Edward could leave the room by an internal door, the coroner’s officer stopped him.

‘Before you go, tell me exactly how many people live in this house. I assume there are servants like yourself, as you say there are no other family members?’