The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

Hangfield noticed that the widow’s iron resolve appeared to be weakening. She became pale and her strong voice faltered.

‘I have troubled you too much at this time of melancholy, Mistress Giffard.’ He rose from his stool and bowed again to the woman in black. ‘I will leave you to your grief and return to make my report to the coroner. It will be necessary for me to speak to all your servants later – and I will have to hear what the physician at Keynsham has to say, but I will not trouble you again, unless some new matter arises.’

Stogursey accompanied him out of the room and down to the front door, where a portly man, whom he presumed was the bottler, opened it for them. William hesitated, wondering whether he should start interrogating the other servants now, but decided he had better report back to the coroner without delay, as this was likely to become a major issue in the city, given the influential people who knew the physician.

When he arrived at the castle, he went straight to Ralph fitz Urse and told him what he had learned at the Giffard house.

‘They seem convinced that Robert was poisoned, but with what, and by what means is unknown,’ he finished.

The coroner, hunched over his table looking like a bad-tempered bear, scowled at him. ‘Are you sure they are not suffering from some delusion, some fantasy about a conspiracy, born of their bereavement?’

Hangfield shook his head. ‘It has been going on for some months – and this renowned infirmarian from Keynsham is said to have confirmed it only yesterday.’

Fitz Urse grunted, still doubtful about the story. ‘You’d better get up the river and see this monk. When I told the sheriff about this after you left, he was most agitated – Robert Giffard was so well known and well-regarded in the city that everyone who matters will be seeking an explanation.’

‘I expected that, sire, but we can only do what is possible in seeking into it,’ said William, slightly aggrieved that his efforts went unappreciated.

The coroner ignored his tone. ‘And what about this tale that the three physicians in the city may have wanted Giffard dead?’

His officer shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Seems far-fetched to me! The widow said that it was her husband’s idea that his competitors were envious of his success and of his monopoly of rich patients.’

The coroner scratched the stubble on his jowls; he shaved only on Fridays and it was already Wednesday. ‘So these rich patrons will have to go elsewhere now. At least Giffard was right there.’

‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said William dubiously. ‘This Stogursey fellow has been acting as the physician’s righthand man for years. Perhaps he can keep the practice going until Mistress Giffard arranges for another doctor to take over, if that’s what she desires.’

‘She’s a fine-looking woman, from what I’ve seen of her at feasts in the Guildhall and elsewhere,’ muttered fitz Urse ruminatively. ‘Much younger than Giffard himself, though he was comely enough.’

William could not see where this line of thought was going, but in spite of the coroner’s appearance and uncouth manners, he was a wily fellow, with much experience of human nature gleaned from years as a soldier and even more as a coroner.

‘It occurs to me, William, that since the world began, wives have been getting rid of their husbands when they desire a different man. Who better has the opportunity to poison their spouse than a wife?’

His officer was reluctant to accept that this elegant woman could be a killer, but part of his mind recalled her dry eyes and her lack of obvious grieving, even though he had earlier told himself that such outward sins were not to be trusted.

‘But how would she gain anything by that?’ he said defensively. ‘Robert Giffard was a successful man, looked upon with favour by the aristocracy of this city – and he was undoubtedly rich. His grand house and many servants confirm that.’

Ralph fitz Urse’s reply was cut short as the door of his chamber was thrust open to bang against the wall and a corpulent figure strode in.

‘The news is all over the town!’ howled the new arrival. ‘What are you doing about it, fitz Urse?’

This was the Mayor of Bristol, Richard de Tilly, the leader of the civic and merchant community of the city, who vied with the sheriff for pride of place as the most important figure in the county. A fat, self-opinionated man with a face as fleshy as the coroner’s, but one that was more podgy and soft. Piggy eyes peered out suspiciously at the world, always looking for slights and offence. He was over-dressed in a red velvet cotta down to his knees, the flowing sleeves and green leggings too hot for the day’s weather. On his head was a green brocade creation, which flopped down into a wide curtain on one side, reaching his shoulder. He was always to be seen with his gold chain of office hanging around his neck, and William sometimes wondered if he wore it to bed.

The coroner, who despised the mayor for a self-seeking tyrant, glowered at him. There was little love lost between the King’s men and the civic authorities at the Guildhall.

‘What are you talking about? Has the river dried up?’ he snapped. This was a gibe at the city merchants, whose wealth depended almost totally on the free passage of trading ships down the Avon to the sea.

‘You know damned well what I mean!’ stormed de Tilly. ‘Our physician suddenly dies and you ask what’s wrong! How are we all to survive without his expert knowledge?’

‘There are three other doctors in the city – use them,’ grunted fitz Urse indifferently, seeking to annoy the other man.

‘Those incompetents? I wouldn’t take my dog near any of them. So what’s happened and what’s being done about it?’ he demanded. ‘It’s barely an hour since I heard of the death and already half a dozen of the most influential merchants have been invading the Guildhall, demanding to know what happened and asking who are they going to find to treat them and their families!’

As Richard de Tilly continued to berate the coroner, William Hangfield took the opportunity to sidle towards the open door and vanish into the passage outside. He knew from experience that the coroner and mayor would argue until they started to trade insults, fitz Urse pointing out that the administration of justice was the King’s business and de Tilly countering with blather about his responsibility to the citizens of Bristol. The sheriff would sometimes be drawn into the altercation, as a royal servant always taking the coroner’s side, the whole fracas usually ending in the mayor stalking away, muttering under his breath.

It was still only mid-morning and as Ralph fitz Urse had specifically instructed him to speak to the physician at Keynsham Priory, William decided to go there straight away and leave the Giffard house servants until later. Making his way to the castle stables, he had his horse saddled and thankfully crossed the bridge into the country beyond, to enjoy the green woods and pastures of the Avon valley.

At noon that day, Bristol’s three remaining physicians met again at the Anchor alehouse in Corn Street. Erasmus Crote, who had heard the news first from a patient who was one of the city watchmen, had sent a couple of urchins around to Humphrey de Cockville and William Blundus, calling an urgent meeting to discuss the passing of Robert Giffard. They sat in a corner this time, pots of ale before them, but no bread and cheese.

‘There are all sort of rumours going around already,’ announced Erasmus. ‘Whispers that he was poisoned!’

Blundus nodded his agreement. ‘I heard the same from a fellow in the street,’ he said anxiously. ‘No doubt the town crier will be yelling it abroad in the next couple of hours.’