The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

Though the three discomforted physicians assumed that they would never be allowed to darken the door of the Giffard house again, circumstances dictated otherwise. As soon as William Hangfield had returned from Keynsham, he went straight to the coroner and reported the meagre information that he had gained from Brother Xavier.

‘Doesn’t take us much further,’ grunted Ralph fitz Urse grudgingly. ‘I’ve had the sheriff and that fat bastard of a mayor on my back while you were away. They want this matter settled as quickly as possible, for it seems that some of the high and mighty of the city have taken the loss of their favourite doctor very badly.’

‘Why should that be?’ asked his officer. ‘After all, he was only a physician.’

Fitz Urse shook his grizzled head. ‘You did realise that his wife, the fair Eleanor, was a daughter of Maurice, Lord of Berkeley Castle? It seems he’s been stirring it up since he heard that his son-in-law has been murdered.’

Hangfield knew only too well how the ruling classes still held sway over the public servants when anything went wrong. The kicking began at the top and ended with the lowest men, of which he was one.

‘There’s an even further complication,’ muttered the coroner, morosely. ‘Ranulf fitz Hamon, who as you well know is the commercial king of Bristol, owning almost half the ships that trade out of here, was a close friend of the Giffards. Not only did Giffard look after the health of all his ship-masters, but gossip has it that Ranulf wanted his son Jordan to marry Eleanor, the daughter of an earl, but Robert Giffard got in there first.’

William could hardly see the relevance of this in a murder investigation.

‘You’re not suggesting that could be a motive for getting rid of Giffard – to make his widow eligible for Jordan, are you?’

The burly coroner shrugged. ‘I’ve learned in this job that nothing’s impossible, though I admit it’s a bit far-fetched.’

He suddenly stood up and slammed his big fist down on the table, making his ale-cup and inkpot rattle.

‘Anyway, these people are nagging at the sheriff and he’s nagging at me, so now I’m nagging you to get something done! First of all, as coroner, I’m obliged to view the body – for God’s sake, we only have hearsay that Giffard is even dead!’

‘I don’t think there’s much doubt about that, sir,’ said William, trying to avoid one of fitz Urse’s rages.

‘Well, we’ll go and make sure! I have to hold an inquest and so far there’s damn little evidence to present.’

Hangfield was looking forward to going home to see his wife and son and have a meal and some rest, but it looked increasingly unlikely that this would be for some time. The coroner was already reaching for his surcoat and flat hat.

‘We need a doctor to see if there are any signs of any violence on his body – and to suggest what sort of poison was used,’ he rasped. ‘Who can we call upon?’

‘There are three others in the city, sir. Which one would you prefer?’

‘I don’t give a damn!’ snarled fitz Urse. ‘Call them all. Three minds may be better than one, especially if they are idiots or charlatans, like most physicians.’

On the way out, William called urgently for one of the castle messengers and gave orders that he find the three doctors and order them, on pain of dire penalties from the sheriff, to come to the Giffard house without delay.

The coroner and his officer stalked across the castle bailey and into the city, fitz Urse shouldering aside any luckless pedestrian who got in his way in the narrow streets. Though most trading had ceased, as it was now early evening, there were still plenty of people about, many going in and out of alehouses and eating shops. They marched down High Street in the direction of Bristol’s only bridge across the Avon, until William indicated the large house that was the Giffards’.

‘Must be plenty of money in doctoring, by the look of it,’ growled the coroner. ‘Though if the woman is from the Berkeley dynasty, maybe they bought it for her.’

William banged the front door once again.

‘They’re not a very welcoming lot in here,’ he warned fitz Urse. ‘Even the bloody servants think they are royalty.’

The coroner soon saw that for himself, but he was the wrong man to try to obstruct. Hamelin the bottler opened the door and was about to make some obstructive remark when fitz Urse pushed past him and demanded to be taken to Mistress Giffard. Hamelin’s attempted protests were met with an offer to take him to the castle dungeons if he didn’t comply instantly with the order of a King’s officer. Brushing him aside, they went upstairs to the door of Eleanor’s solar, but here they met another obstacle, which was harder for the coroner to overcome.

Sitting on a stool outside was Evelyn, the mistress’s hand-maiden, though it was many years since the elderly woman had been a maiden. She rose as the two large men clumped up the stairs and along the passage, followed by an outraged Hamelin.

‘You can’t go in!’ cried Evelyn in a wavering voice. ‘The mistress has a visitor.’

‘I tried to tell you, sir,’ cried the bottler. ‘But you wouldn’t listen.’

‘This is King’s business!’ snapped the coroner. ‘I’m the only visitor that matters at the moment.’

‘Who is it?’ asked William Hangfield in a more moderate tone. ‘We need to speak with your mistress urgently.’

Another voice came from their rear, that of Edward Stogursey who had followed them up the stairs.

‘It is Jordan fitz Hamon, come to convey the condolences of himself and his father, Sir Ranulf!’ he said in acidulous tone. ‘And the Earl of Berkeley is expected at any time, to comfort his daughter in her hour of bereavement.’

This was name-dropping on a massive scale, designed to dissuade fitz Urse from intruding on their private affairs, but it had no effect on the pugnacious coroner.

He gave a perfunctory rap on the solar door and without waiting for a reply, pushed it open. William, peering past his master’s bulky body, saw Eleanor Giffard in the centre of the room, again dressed in black, but this time in an even more elegant gown of silk, with a filmy black veil covering her hair. But what was more interesting was the back view of a tall man who had been facing her in close proximity, but who had stepped back suddenly when the coroner intruded.

This man now swung round to demand to know who had disturbed them. As soon as he and the coroner saw each other, there was mutual recognition, if not pleasure.

‘Do you always blunder into a lady’s chamber without her permission, fitz Urse?’ he demanded.

A slim, athletic man of about thirty-five, Jordan fitz Hamon had the haughty air of a man whose family could have bought and sold most of the local nobility, if he chose. A long face with a straight nose, which usually seemed to pointing above the heads of lesser mortals, he was dressed in the latest fashion. A scarlet cote-hardie came to his thighs, belted with an elaborate band of embossed leather. His breeches were tight-fitting and ended in soft leather shoes with long toe-points. He wore no hat indoors, but William saw a green velvet creation with a vivid peacock feather, lying on a chair.

The coroner, who knew both Jordan and his father by sight – and had little wish to deepen the acquaintance – ignored him and addressed the new widow.

‘I regret the necessity of troubling you on a day like this, mistress, but I have legal duties to perform.’

This was as near an apology as fitz Urse was ever likely to make.

‘Damned insensitive and unnecessary, if you ask me!’ snapped Jordan, but no one was asking him, as the coroner continued to speak to Eleanor. ‘A King’s coroner is obliged to view the body and to hold an inquest, madam. I also need to have the corpse examined by a physician, in circumstances such as have been alleged here.’