The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

‘Our master has asked me to ask you to look into the matter, to… resolve it somehow,’ said Thomas Banks.

The steward was sitting across from Chaucer in the little room. He tugged absently at his chain of office. This request from Gaunt, coming via Banks, was more of an order. And Chaucer couldn’t help feeling some involvement in the whole business anyway. He had never spoken to the dead man but he had spied on him. Geoffrey couldn’t help wondering how well his wife had known de Flores. He guessed that the copy of the poem on the body was the one that had been stolen from Aldgate. In which case, de Flores was almost certainly the thief.

‘You will do this, resolve the matter or clear it away,’ said Thomas Banks. Again, it was more instruction than request. ‘Our master is preoccupied, he has other things on his mind. You may have whatever you need, speak to whoever you want. Our master has put me at your disposal.’

Geoffrey was irritated by these references to ‘our master’, as if Banks were determined to show himself the perfect, diligent servant. Yet the steward was right to say that Gaunt was preoccupied. His older brother, Edward, was very near to death, it could be only a matter of days. When that happened, and because of the infirmity of his father, John’s position in the country would be all powerful. The last thing Lancaster needed was some scandal to do with a courtier from his wife’s company of foreigners.

Nevertheless Geoffrey tried to take things in a different direction.

‘Isn’t it possible that this de Flores was attacked by a stranger, by someone who has nothing to do with the Savoy Palace? Perhaps he was the victim of a robbery?’

‘No,’ said the steward. ‘For one thing, the only way down to the river shore where he was found is through the palace gardens. For another, not a thing was taken from his body. His rings, his jewellery, everything was there. Including this.’

From a pocket Banks fished a thin golden chain. It was broken. There was a small ruby set in the chain. Banks laughed, a dry, humourless sound.

‘This ruby did not protect him from harm.’

‘May I have it?’ said Geoffrey. ‘I’d like to show it to someone.’

The steward shrugged, as if to say: do what you please. Now Chaucer picked up the copy of the Beornwyn story, which Banks had earlier presented to him as if it were evidence of some crime. And it was evidence in a way. After all, there was blood on one end.

‘I suppose it is a coincidence de Flores had this with him when he was found?’

‘I do not think so, Master Chaucer.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of. I cannot see any reason why he should have it, though.’

‘Oh, I can help you there. I have a… witness… one who has a story.’

Banks left the room. Geoffrey thought about his predicament. He would have to talk to Philippa, at some point, about the man de Flores.

The steward returned with someone else. To Geoffrey’s amazement it was the red-capped person from the Tabard, the firebrand, the one he’d seen entering the Savoy several weeks before. He remembered now that he’d intended to report on the man’s fiery words to Thomas Banks. Not necessary now since the two were obviously acquainted. The man was just as surprised to see Chaucer. But Geoffrey seized the advantage in greeting him by name: ‘John Hall.’

‘Why, it is the man who says John of Gaunt is the issue of a dragon and a mermaid.’

Now it was Banks’s turn to look confused.

Chaucer said, ‘We have met, we two, and not under auspicious circumstances. The last time I saw you, John Hall, you were spouting seditious words against the Savoy.’

Hall did not reply. He looked at the steward.

‘The words you heard should not be taken at face value, Master Chaucer. This one is in my pay. By coincidence – yes, this is a genuine coincidence – it was his brother and another man who discovered de Flores’s body yesterday. Hugh Hall is a member of this household. It gives brother John a pretext for visiting from time to time.’

‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, though he didn’t.

‘Explain yourself,’ said Thomas Banks to Hall. He returned to his seat. Chaucer had not left his. Hall remained standing. In his posture and tone was a mixture of defiance and deference.

‘I am in the secret employment of this gentleman here,’ he said to Geoffrey, who noticed that he used the word ‘employment’ instead of ‘pay’. ‘My work makes for strange bedfellows, whether in the Tabard Inn or elsewhere. If you want an explanation for my “seditious words”, sir, it is because sometimes the discontented and the treasonous have to be smoked out of their lairs. Pretending to be one of them is a way of doing it.’

Geoffrey observed how, as he was saying this, Hall’s eyes darted repeatedly towards Banks. Hall was definitely a spy of some kind but Geoffrey wondered whether the steward knew the real force of Hall’s rants against John of Gaunt and the house of Lancaster. He wondered what the red-cap actually believed, whose side he was on. The uncertainty was not cleared up when Hall continued: ‘Also, sir, I have been reporting to a gentleman in the Spanish party here in the Savoy.’

‘The dead man, de Flores?’

Hall ducked his head slightly in acknowledgement. ‘Yes. His death had nothing to do with me.’

‘No one said it did,’ said Geoffrey.

‘The Spaniard believed I was telling him things even while he was telling me things, all unawares. Things that I passed on to my employer here.’

‘Did you get paid by the dead man for your things?’

‘No…’ Then seeing the expression on Geoffrey’s face, he said: ‘Not much anyway… not enough…’

‘You had a disagreement over payment. You had a fight.’

‘We had a falling out,’ said the man, choosing his words with care. ‘But I did not kill him, I say.’

‘No one said you did, John Hall. What did you learn from this de Flores?’

‘The Castilian was interested in causing a division here in the Duke’s court. He talked of a poem.’

‘A poem?’ said Geoffrey, feeling a chill that was not caused by the dank chamber.

‘A poem about a lady who was not what she seemed. I didn’t understand what he was talking about.’

‘You were not dispatched on any errands by de Flores?’ said Geoffrey. ‘For example, you did not visit a house in Aldgate to – obtain an item – through deception?’

Either the look of bafflement on the other’s face was genuine or John Hall was a fine player. But Chaucer did not believe that he was the one who’d stolen the Beornwyn piece anyway. Nor did he seem to have any notion of why the Castilians might wish to get their hands on the poem. Geoffrey nodded at Thomas Banks as a sign that his man could go. The steward waved the spy away and Hall moved out of the room in his stiff-gaited way.

When the door had closed, Banks stood up, arms akimbo.

‘Well, Master Chaucer, I must confess that I am not much the wiser.’

Geoffrey shrugged as if he too were in the dark. But an idea was beginning to take shape in his head. He rose.

‘You will excuse me, steward. I have to visit my wife.’

‘I did not care for that poem about the saint, Geoffrey,’ said Philippa.

She spoke regretfully as if she would like to have liked it. Husband and wife were sitting in Philippa’s apartment, the one where Chaucer had encountered John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford together a few weeks earlier. The most uncomfortable part of the conversation was over. Geoffrey had asked Philippa directly about her friendship with Carlos de Flores. She didn’t seem put out by his words. Perhaps the man’s death made such questions seem necessary, instead of painful or impertinent. Philippa replied that the Castilian was a friend to all ladies, and that she was not such a fool as not to see what kind of a man he was. Besides, she added, he was interested in her more on account of her sister, and that not because he was such a fool to believe he could have Gaunt’s woman for himself but for some other reason. And de Flores also asked several questions about him, Geoffrey, her husband.