D. Wilson - The Traitor’s Mark

‘Is there no way you can get a message to him – a warning?’

Again the doleful, almost resigned, shake of the head.

‘What about you and the children – and their mother?’

Adie scowled. ‘Oh, she’s been up and away long since. Packed her bags and left Master Johannes with four bearns, and one not yet weaned. Said she was tired of his comings and goings. Said she was for better things than bearing babies and looking after them. Slattern!’ She spat out the word.

I rode on and was soon at the City wall.

There was only a trickle of humanity passing to and fro through Aldgate. A few people stood beneath the rusted prongs of the raised portcullis, finding some coolness in the shade, where a half-hearted breeze shifted through the archway. I tethered Golding to an iron ring in the wall and announced myself to the duty guard. He was seated at the toll table just inside the open door of the guardhouse. He appraised me with an expert eye.

‘Good day, Master Treviot. We was expecting you.’

‘Good. Then I can take my man off your hands?’

‘Ah well, now, Sir.’ He stood up – a tall fellow in a leather jerkin who had the courteous demeanour of an official who knows that politeness is not a weakness when backed by authority. ‘I’m afraid I have my orders. The prisoner is to stay here until the coroner arrives to question him.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Constable Pett has gone to fetch him. They should be back soon.’

‘Well, I hope they are. I can’t wait all afternoon. May I see my man, now? I gather he’s been injured.’

The guard gave a deferential nod. ‘Certainly, Sir, if you’ll step this way. You’ll see he’s taken quite a beating but I shouldn’t worry yourself too much on his account. I’ve seen many a broken head in this job. His looks worse than it is.’

I was glad of the warning. The sight that met me when the inner door was unlocked and I stepped through into the narrow cell would otherwise have shaken me badly. A truckle bed stood against one wall. Bart was half-lying on the bed, his upper body propped up in the corner. A grimy rag was tied round his head and his face was streaked with dirt and dried blood. The right side of his face was badly swollen and the eye almost completely closed. He squinted at me and winced as he eased himself off the bed. ‘Master Thomas! Thank God!’.

‘I came as fast as I could. What in the name of Mary and all the saints …’

‘I’m sorry, Master Thomas. I didn’t want to trouble you but it honestly wasn’t my fault.’

‘So I gather. The girl you sent with the message told me something about it but I’d like to hear an account from your lips.’

Bart grimaced and sank back on to the bed, rubbing his hand gingerly over his ribs. ‘Jesus, but that hurts! I came to the painter’s house, like you said, and asked for Master Johannes. There was only this young lad there and he said his master was away. Well, I was obviously not the only one looking for him. Three men came in and started …’

‘Three men?’

‘Well, actually there were four. One stood in the doorway as a lookout.’

‘Can you describe them?’

Before Bart could reply there were noises in the outer guard room..

I turned to see the small space filling with people. Walt had arrived with the girl. As they stood in the outer doorway another man pushed past them and strode into the cell. He was a burly fellow in a greasy jerkin and red cap set at an angle atop untidy dark hair. He went straight to Bart, grabbed him by his open doublet and yanked him to his feet. Bart yelped with pain.

‘Shut your snout, hedge pig! You’ve to come with me back to the scene of your crime. The crowner wants to hear what you’ve got to say. Can’t think why. The truth’s as plain to see as a strumpet’s tits.’

I placed myself between the bully and the door. ‘Just a moment,’ I said, as calmly as I could. ‘I take it you’re the ward constable.’

‘That I am.’ He glared as though inviting contradiction. ‘And you, I take it, are this rogue’s master.’

I was in no mood to bear with the arrogance of this minor official. ‘Is this how you behave to your betters?’ I demanded.

‘Only when they try to get between me and my duty to protect my neighbours!’ He pushed past, dragging a shuffling Bart behind him.

It was only a few yards to Master Johannes’ house. The three of us followed the constable. There were four or five people standing round the door. Doubtless there would have been more if the street’s throbbing heat had not smothered their curiosity and sent them in search of shade.

We went inside and found a room furnished with a table, benches and stools. The fireplace had been cleaned out, An open cupboard to one side held pots, pans and pewter plates – all tidily arranged. Everything suggested a well-ordered household. The scene that faced us when we went through into the inner room was very different. The first thing I was aware of was the noise, the buzzing of a myriad of flies. The second impression was of vivid colours. Reds, greens, yellows – they were everywhere – splashed on the walls, streaking the floor rushes, leaking from broken dishes. The artist’s canvases had, similarly, been thrown about the room. A large easel lay face-down beside the window. The few items of furniture were overturned. Poor Johannes’ studio had been wrecked, either deliberately or in the course of a very violent fight. In the middle of the room, sprawled on its back, was the body of a young man, lying in a pool of his own blood, on which the flies were hungrily feasting. Sudden anger welled up in me – anger and anxiety for my friend.

The only living occupant of the room was a small, spare man in a lawyer’s black gown. He turned as we entered. ‘Nothing to be gained here!’ He held a pomander to his nose and motioned us back into the outer room.

We stood in a circle. No one seemed to want to speak. No one, that is, except Constable Pett. ‘As requested, Your Honour, I’ve brought the culprit. And this’ – he gave the slightest disdainful nod towards Adie – ‘is the person as found the body. Or so she says.’

The coroner nodded and turned to me. ‘This citizen I recognise. We have met before, I’m sure. Where was it, now – Gray’s Inn revels, last Christmas?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I remember. My name is Thomas Treviot.’

‘An honoured name in the City. I am James Corridge. What brings you to this sorry scene, Master Treviot?’

‘My assistant, Bartholomew Miller, has been mistakenly detained by the constable. I’m come to explain his presence here. He was on a matter of business for me and became the unfortunate witness of this appalling crime. He was certainly not its perpetrator.’

‘So he says!’ The constable, who was keeping a tight hold of Bart, took a step forward, almost thrusting himself between the coroner and me.

‘’Tis God’s truth!’ Bart pleaded. ‘I had no hand in that man’s death.’

Pett gave a snort of laughter. ‘You don’t want to trust what this villain says, Your Worship. Why, you’ve only got to look at the man-’

‘Thank you, Constable. I will decide who is best believed and who not.’ Corridge wafted the pomander beneath his nose and edged away from the man, who reeked of sweat, stale ale and onions. ‘What other witnesses do we have?’

‘None,’ the constable replied promptly. ‘Very convenient for the murderer. He obviously knew when best to strike – when his victim would be alone.’

‘Witnesses?’ Bart’s angry response was more a frightened whine than a shout. ‘Oh, aye, there were witnesses – four of ’em. They were the bloody knaves who did this thing.’

‘Well, that should be easy to determine, Constable. I take it you’ve made enquiry about these men. You’ve asked all the neighbours.’