The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘Can nothing be done about it?’

‘It is difficult since he is not – and could not be – a member of the Guild, as he is unqualified and has served no apprenticeship. Thus there is no way of disciplining him, other than by physical violence and ejection from the city. As far as the physicians are concerned, they have no professional organisation, being so small in numbers outside London. So there is no one to say him nay!’

The coroner’s officer arranged with Matthew to go down to the Giffard house in an hour’s time, giving William the opportunity to speak further with the servants before he arrived. As he arrived at the physician’s home, he saw a fine horse with an expensively decorated harness standing in the yard that led to the stable behind the house. It was being tended by a groom, who had his own pony tethered a few yards away, and William guessed that a man of substance was visiting the house. Was this person going to be the subject of the anonymous note, he wondered. As a lowly public servant, he felt he could hardly tackle Jordan fitz Hamon, the heir to the richest fortune in Somerset, to ask him whether he had been committing adultery with the dead man’s widow. He walked over to the groom, who wore a smart uniform, rather than the usual nondescript tunic and breeches.

‘That’s a fine mare. Does he belong to Jordan fitz Hamon?’ he asked bluntly.

The man, seeing the small badge bearing a crown on the jacket of Hangfield’s jerkin that denoted a King’s servant, touched his forelock.

‘No, sir, it’s his father’s steed. My master is Ranulf fitz Hamon.’

Surprised, William gave a grunt and moved on rapidly. What was the significance of this, he wondered. He must tread carefully, as he had no wish to be caught up in some inter-family intrigue amongst the upper echelons of Bristol society.

Going into the house through the servants’ door at the back, he came across Henry, the young boot-boy, who was struggling to drag a large bundle of clothing tied up in twine. As the lad was a thin, weedy weakling, who looked as if a substantial meal would do him good, William picked up the bundle for him, conscious that the lad was only a few years older than his own son, Nicholas.

‘And where were you trying to take this, Henry?’ he asked amiably.

‘Outside the back door, sir. It is to be collected by someone from St James’s, as clothing to be given to the poor.’

The coroner’s serjeant hefted the bundle back to the entrance and as he dropped it outside, noticed that the clothing appeared to be of the best quality with no signs of wear.

‘Good stuff to be given away so readily,’ he remarked.

‘That is the last bundle, sir. The mistress is getting rid of all my dead master’s clothing. No doubt it reminds her too much of the great loss she has suffered.’ William felt that it might also be a token of ridding herself of the last vestiges of someone she wished to replace. If so, she had acted quickly, as her husband had only died on the previous day. Then he chided himself for his cynical thoughts, as Henry might have been correct with his more charitable version of Mistress Giffard’s motives.

‘Is she ridding the house of all of his belongings?’ he asked, knowing that he may well get better information from the more lowly servants than the likes of Stogursey or Hamelin the bottler.

‘I don’t know about everything, sir, but I have had to tie up three bundles of his garments and several pairs of boots and shoes, which have already gone to the priory.’

The coroner’s officer used the opportunity to pursue another matter.

‘That’s a very fine horse I saw in the yard. The groom told me it belonged to the father of the gentleman I saw here yesterday. Is he a frequent visitor?’

Henry, always ready for a gossip, shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen the older man here before. The cook said he is a rich man who owns many of the ships along the riverside.’

‘Did his son, the younger man, come often?’ Henry’s ingenuous expression did not falter.

‘Quite often, sir, John Black said he was especially helpful to the mistress when Master Giffard was away in London after his first illness.’

It sounded as if the cook was the fount of gossip in the household and William marked him down as the next to be interviewed in more depth. Having squeezed all he could from the boot-boy, William went further into the house, looking for Edward Stogursey. He found him in a small chamber next to the room where the physician used to see his patients. The servant-cum-apothecary was sitting at a table cluttered with bottles and boxes of powders, grinding something in a pestle and mortar.

When he saw who his visitor was, his face clouded in annoyance, but no one could risk offending the coroner or one of his serjeants, on penalty of being dragged to the castle and fined, or worse.

‘A senior apothecary will be coming very shortly to examine these premises, looking for anything that might have caused the symptoms your late master suffered,’ he announced brusquely. He saw no reason to defer to this man, who was only a house servant, however much he thought he was above that station in life.

Stogursey shrugged indifferently. ‘Very well, but it’s a waste of everyone’s time. All doctors’ houses have a score of substances that could cause death, given a sufficient quantity.’

‘Well, I’ll let Matthew Herbert be the judge of that. You will give him your full co-operation – understand?’

From the deepening of the man’s scowl, William guessed that the leader of Bristol’s apothecaries was not Stogursey’s favourite person, but he continued his questioning.

‘I see that Ranulph fitz Hamon’s horse is outside. I assume that he is visiting your mistress?’

‘I would not know that; it’s none of my business,’ Edward said sullenly.

‘Does he visit often, like his son?’ demanded William, being deliberately provocative.

‘Again, I don’t know. My mistress’s affairs are of no concern of mine.’

And if you did, you wouldn’t tell me, said William to himself, though he admitted that it was the proper attitude for a loyal servant to take.

‘Mistress Giffard seems to depend heavily upon you, from what I heard at my last visit.’

‘Only in professional matters to do with the medical practice!’ snapped Stogursey. He began pounding the white granules in his pestle with renewed vigour.

‘I see that the lady has been generous enough to give away many articles of clothing for distribution to the poor and needy,’ persisted Hangfield.

‘My mistress performs many charitable acts in the city – and as her departed husband has no further need of them, she felt that the friars could find a better use for them.’

‘But your late master has not yet been put into the earth.’

‘That is none of my business, Serjeant,’ said Edward, in a tone of finality. ‘If you wish to know more of my mistress’s personal affairs, you will have to ask her yourself.’

‘Oh, I will, never fear. But first, I wish to speak to John Black. Where will I find him?’

‘In the kitchen, as befits a cook,’ muttered Stogursey, bordering on the insolent, but William ignored him and left to seek the nether regions of the house. He found John Black not cooking, but sprawled in a chair in the large kitchen, a quart pot of ale on the table nearby.

A young girl, little more than a child, was chopping onions in a far corner, the tears in her eyes presumably not because of the death of her employer. The cook was a big, fat man who obviously took sampling his dishes seriously. William thought cynically that if the doctor had been poisoned through the food in the household, John Black would have succumbed much earlier than his master. A florid-faced man with thinning fair hair, he was less than forty years of age, but his teeth were already reduced to a couple of blackened stumps.