C Sansom - Sovereign

I nodded. ‘That is in her own interest. Lady Rochford might blame Mistress Marlin for not keeping proper control of the girl. Mistress Marlin is a strange creature. What does young Tamasin think of her?’

‘That she is mostly a kind mistress, oddly enough. It was she who chose Tamasin to come to York. I think Tamasin feels sorry for her, because the other ladies mock her. Tamasin has a kind heart.’

‘Well, that is a virtuous thing in a woman.’ I massaged my neck again. ‘Jesu, I am tired. I should go to the prison tonight, but I cannot face trailing through York again in the dark.’

‘Hardly surprising, after being knocked out. You should rest tonight.’

‘I shall go tomorrow, and call on Master Wrenne as well. I grow fond of that old man.’ I was quiet for a moment then said, ‘He is alone. That reminds me of my father, and then I feel guilty for not visiting him for a year before he died.’

The events of the day seemed to have put us in a rare mood for confidences, there in the huge desecrated vault of the church, the swish of straw and crowing of fighting cocks echoing in the background. ‘I dream of my father sometimes,’ Barak said. ‘When I was small he always wanted to hold me and I would squirm away because I could not stand the smell of his trade. The emptying of cesspits. I often dream he comes to me with arms outstretched, but I catch the smell of him and draw back as I did then, I cannot help myself. Then I wake with that smell in my nostrils. I thought of it when they brought that apprentice into Maleverer.’ He fingered his breast, where I knew he carried the ancient mezuzah his father had bequeathed him. ‘Perhaps such dreams are sent to punish us,’ he concluded softly. ‘To remind us of our sins.’

‘You are a Job’s comforter.’

‘Ay.’ He rose. ‘ ’Tis this grim place.’

‘I wonder what will happen to that boy.’

‘Young Green?’

‘That was a cruel humiliation Maleverer visited on him, sending him bare-arsed into the town.’

Barak suppressed a laugh. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but it did look funny. The Yorkers will probably sympathize. He’ll find another place. Come, shall we get some supper before you retire?’

‘Yes.’ I rose and we walked to the far door.

He turned to me. ‘I am sorry for causing you to lose the papers, more than I can say.’

I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Come, no recriminations. There is no point.’

We went to look at the horses, complimenting the stable boy on how well they were cared for, then went and ate companionably in the refectory. As we walked we were both on the alert, looking into shadowed corners. The refectory was busier and noisier than the night before. The carpenters, their work done, were in boisterous mood. If they were allowed into the town tonight there would be revelry and probably bloody noses too. I was tired again, glad to return to my cot. Barak said he was going into the town, ‘to see what I can see’.

‘No adventures.’

‘No, I’ll save those for Tamasin tomorrow. Shall I wake you at six in the morning?’

‘Ay.’ He left me then, and I sank into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep, disturbed only when the lawyers and clerks returned late and went to bed. Yet it was not Barak who woke me next morning but a soldier, a hand shaking me roughly awake. It was still dark, he carried a lamp. I stared at him. It was young Sergeant Leacon. His face was serious. My heart leaped in terror, and I feared for a second that Maleverer might have put me under arrest.

‘What is it?’

‘I have been sent to escort you to York Castle, sir, at once,’ he said. ‘The prisoner Broderick, he has been poisoned.’

IT WAS STILL ONLY five in the morning as we marched through a dark and silent York. Barak had been woken when Leacon roused me and I asked him to accompany us; whatever awaited us at the castle, I wanted another pair of eyes to see. The town constables, roused by our footsteps, shone their lamps at us but retreated again at the sight of Leacon’s red uniform. I shivered and drew my coat round me, for a cold gusting wind had risen.

‘Who brought you the news?’ I asked the young sergeant.

‘A messenger sent by the captain of the castle guard. He said the prisoner had been poisoned and seemed like to die, and you were asked for at once. I thought it best to come myself as we must cross the city. The constables would stop you otherwise.’

‘Thank you.’ By the light of his lamp I could see a worried expression on Leacon’s boyish face. ‘I put you to much trouble, I fear.’

‘I was called to Sir William yesterday, asked for the details of your arrival at St Mary’s with that box. He questioned me closely.’ He hesitated, looking at the bruise on my head. ‘He told me you were attacked. The guards at St Mary’s have been warned to be triply attentive. The King arrives tomorrow.’

The castle tower reared up on its hill, outlined against a sky which was just beginning to lighten. We hurried on to where torches burned brightly on the drawbridge; we were expected and quickly gained admittance. I thanked the sergeant and told him to go back to St Mary’s. Barak watched him return across the drawbridge.

‘He must think trouble surrounds us everywhere we go.’

We hurried across the bailey to the guardroom. The door was open, light spilling into the yard. The hard-looking fellow who had met me on my previous visits was standing in the doorway, looking worried.

‘I’ll take you up, sir,’ he said at once.

‘What happened?’

‘Master Radwinter came into the guardroom not an hour ago, said the prisoner was taken ill. He suspected poison, said to send for you and the physician. The physician’s just gone up.’

So Radwinter had summoned me. To protect his back, perhaps, share the blame if Broderick died. I set my lips tight as we followed the guard up the damp spiral staircase. The door to Broderick’s cell was open. Inside, by the light of a lamp set on the floor, a stout man in a black fur-trimmed robe and close-fitting cap was bent over the bed. The sour stink of vomit filled the room. Radwinter stood looking on, holding another lamp high. He turned as we came in. His face was pale against his black beard. He had dressed hurriedly; he looked far from his usual dapper self and his eyes had a look of fear and anger. He stared at Barak, who met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Who’s that?’ he snapped.

‘My assistant, Barak. He is privy to everything, by the Archbishop’s authority. How is Sir Edward?’

It was the physician who answered, rising and turning to me. He was in his fifties, the hair under his cap grey, and I was glad to see his broad face seemed intelligent. ‘This man has undoubtedly been poisoned. Master Radwinter tells me he heard the prisoner fall heavily from his bed, from his own room underneath, about an hour ago.’

‘You are the physician who examined the prisoner two days ago?’

‘I am, sir.’ He bowed. ‘Dr Jibson, of Lop Lane.’

I leaned round him to get a view of Broderick. He lay on his pallet, the long chains slack across his body. His beard was wet with vomit, his face a ghastly white.

‘Will he live?’

‘I hope so. Whatever he was given, he seems to have vomited it all up.’ The physician glanced at a half-full pail on the floor. A cup and a wooden bowl, both empty, lay there as well. ‘Are those for his food?’

‘Yes,’ Radwinter said. ‘He had his supper late last night.’

Dr Jibson frowned. ‘Then I would have expected him to vomit before now. But different poisons act in different ways.’ He peered into the stinking pail with professional interest.

‘It must have been in his food,’ Radwinter said. ‘There’s no other way. I have been in my room constantly, Broderick’s cell has been locked as always and a mouse could not get past my room without me hearing. And the guards say no strangers have been anywhere near this end of the bailey all day.’