The Boy-Bishop's Glovemaker

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Nicholas Karvinel had been about to go straight home, and although he didn’t know it, his death would certainly have been hastened had he done so, for he would have walked in upon Sir Thomas with his wife.

Instead, Karvinel was delayed as he left the Cathedral. In the High Street he bumped into Coroner Roger and the City Bailiff, both standing angrily glaring up and down the road.

‘Coroner? Are you all right?’

‘No, I’m damn well not!’

‘What on earth is the trouble?’

‘That bastard Vincent. Do you know where he is?’

‘He usually attends an earlier Mass. He’s in around the middle of the day, so no, I fear I have no idea where he is – unless he’s in the Guildhall or his home.’

‘No, I’ve checked both,’ Roger spat. ‘The bastard could almost be deliberately avoiding me. And so he bloody should!’

Karvinel’s confused expression made the Coroner relent a little. ‘Vincent apparently got his son to try to ruin Ralph.’ He explained what Jolinde had told him. ‘I want to talk to him.’

‘Ralph’s death seems to become more confusing by the day,’ Karvinel said.

‘Well, not for much longer. I intend clearing up the whole sorry mess.’

‘Good.’

Roger was about to walk off when a thought struck him. ‘Tell me – cordwain and basan: Ralph bought some a short while before he died – I witnessed the deal – but it has disappeared from Ralph’s shop. Do you know anything about it?’

Karvinel felt his heart stop in his chest. ‘Ralph’s shop? Why no, no one has offered me anything like that,’ he said. ‘When was it taken?’

It was a short while later that he suddenly realised what had happened: Vincent’s cart had been seen by Peter outside Ralph’s shop only a short time before the discovery of the glover’s body. Only with difficulty could he stop himself bursting into delighted laughter.

Simon was staring at the grass as he walked a short distance behind Baldwin towards the Fissand Gate. ‘I don’t understand what is going on here at all,’ he said at last. ‘I thought we had a case of Peter’s poisoning, and that he died because of someone inside the Cathedral, yet now it seems it could have been anyone.’

‘It is not so complicated as it may appear, I think. No, not by any means. You have to bear in mind the sort of people we are dealing with. There are the city folk and the Cathedral, and the two don’t mix very easily. The city respects the Cathedral and is grateful for the money the Cathedral spends in the city, but does not truly like the Dean and Chapter. They are an alien race to the secular people who live outside the Close.’

‘But we have an appallingly tangled mess here.’

‘Perhaps – yet the more tangled this knot appears now, the more I am convinced that a small tug at the right point will unravel the whole thing.’

‘Two men dead; a third almost killed and two boys who have cause to hate him; outlaws attacking merchants… I don’t see how matters could get much worse.’

Baldwin gave him a sideways look. ‘Are you happy that Jolinde was innocent of the murders?’

‘I suppose so, since he admitted to buying the bread and meat with which Peter was poisoned.’

‘If he was. We have no proof that Peter was poisoned with the bread or meat. In fact, we have a lot of evidence that he wasn’t. Jolinde and Claricia said that they ate the food Jolinde had brought, which seems odd. And still more odd, if someone wanted to kill Peter, why should they poison food which Jolinde was buying?’

‘Why someone should want to kill Peter at all is still a mystery to me,’ Simon grunted.

‘What if the murderer intended killing another?’

‘Like whom?’

‘Jolinde, for instance.’

Simon stopped, frowning. ‘It would make sense.’

‘More than that, it would be logical. If you wish to poison a man, you poison the food he is buying. You don’t assume he’ll give it away to someone else.’

‘True. Yet the poisoner might have known that the food was to be eaten by Peter.’

‘It is possible, but what if that wasn’t known? Then we are left with the opposite perspective.’

Simon waited but his friend remained silent and the Bailiff was reluctant to break into his thoughts as they returned to the house where Adam lay recovering.

‘Has he confessed?’ Stephen asked.

Simon shook his head as he entered. He wasn’t even certain whom Stephen was asking about: Luke or Jolinde.

Adam lay on a palliasse on the floor, a rolled robe was his pillow and he was covered with a pair of thick blankets, although his shivering seemed to show they were doing him little good. Stephen had taken on himself the responsibility of nursing the boy and sat on a stool near his head. To aid Adam’s recovery, he had set a large crucifix on a table nearby, so that Adam could see it by turning his head.

Stephen had recovered greatly and now he could look upon the two law officials with a certain asperity. ‘What is it? This poor fellow needs to rest. He was almost killed.’

Baldwin took in the room with a glance. ‘We wish to ask him some questions,’ he said. ‘First, we understand you took a loaf from Luke last night. Is that correct?’

Adam glanced up at Stephen, but the Canon was telling his beads through his fingers and didn’t meet his look. ‘Yes, sir. I took it, but I didn’t touch it. He dropped it in some muck, and I threw it away.’

‘You didn’t eat any of it?’

‘No. Why should I? It had shit on it.’

‘What does this matter?’ Stephen asked.

‘Jolinde gave food to Peter. The bread was given to Luke by Peter. It is possible that the bread was poisoned.’

Adam blenched. ‘But I could have eaten it!’

‘Perhaps it would have been justice if you had,’ Baldwin stated unsympathetically. ‘Did you have a bottle of orpiment with you today?’

‘No.’

‘A bottle was found on the floor afterwards. It wasn’t yours?’

‘No.’

Stephen stirred. ‘It could have been Luke’s.’

Baldwin looked at him kindly. ‘No. I am convinced that he had nothing to do with this. I believe that while you and the Chapter were in the Cathedral someone went to your house and put poison on Adam’s bread, leaving the orpiment behind to make it appear that Luke or someone else in the room had tried to kill him. Anyone could have got in.’

Stephen sighed. ‘Oh, thank God!’

‘What is it?’

‘I had been convinced that my nephew had done this.’

Baldwin’s eyebrows rose. ‘Nephew? Earlier you told us about your brother…?’

‘I was the second son of Sir Ranulf Soth of Exmouth. My brother Thomas took the manor and I came here. When my brother’s wife died and he became an outlaw, I agreed to look after his son. That boy is Luke.’

‘And you thought that his father’s evil disposition could have led to his trying to poison Adam?’

‘I had heard that Adam had waylaid him last evening, yes, and thought my brother’s violent nature had been repeated in Luke. It wouldn’t have been the first time such things have happened.’

‘Well you may relax in the knowledge that Luke is most certainly innocent.’

‘And Jolinde took food to Peter?’ Stephen said. ‘I saw him once with something under his robe in the Cathedral. That must have been what it was. Bread and meat for his friend.’

‘You mean Luke is really Sir Thomas’s son?’ Adam cried suddenly.

‘Be quiet and try to rest,’ Stephen said.

‘Then it must have been Sir Thomas who tried to kill me! He wanted revenge for what I’d done to his son!’

‘Was he here today?’ Simon shot out.

Stephen wouldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I refuse to believe that my brother would have poisoned someone in my house. He is many things, but he would not risk harming me. And he would be more likely to use a dagger or sword – an honourable weapon. Not poison.’

‘I know little about him,’ Baldwin admitted, ‘but I do not think any knight would resort to poison.’ He looked at Adam. ‘Tell me: I hear you are responsible for the candles and chandlery in the Cathedral. Is that right?’

Adam nodded.

‘Is it true that Cathedral candles are being sold to a city merchant? Stolen from the Cathedral and Chapter and sold for your profit?’

Stephen gasped. ‘Adam, you wouldn’t!’

‘I had to get away! I can’t stay here and grow old as a candle-maker! What sort of life is that? I was only selling enough to make a little cash so–’

‘You evil little devil! You’re no better than that damned fool Peter!’

Baldwin smiled. ‘Adam, to whom did you sell these candles?’

After his brush with death, Adam was past caring. His belly and bowels felt as though they were on fire, his throat was sore from vomiting and he only wanted peace: he wanted Baldwin and Simon to leave him alone. But if he was to get rid of them by confessing, he wasn’t going to take the blame all for himself and leave his accomplice to escape.

‘Vincent. He sells the tallow, wax and wicks to the Cathedral and I make the candles. I asked him if I could clerk for him because I want some ready money, but he refused me, saying that if I wanted money he’d help me get it. All I had to do was write up the accounts logging how much wax he had supplied and understate the full weight. Then I could make more candles than the Cathedral needed, and sell the excess back to him. He split the profits with me.’

‘But why boy? You were safe here for as long as you wanted! Why steal from your home?’ Stephen asked.

‘You’ve seen what happens to Secondaries. We never last long. We’re either made into sub-Deacons or we’re out. Well, I’ll never get to be a sub-Deacon, that’s obvious.’

‘You were safe here for as long as you could have wanted!’

‘I think that clears up Ralph the glover’s suggestion that there was a theft going on,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Does this have to be bruited abroad?’ Stephen asked. ‘News of this would break the Dean’s heart.’

‘Come outside with us a moment,’ Baldwin said.

‘What do you want?’ Stephen said when they were out in the chill sunlight.

‘The truth. If you tell me the truth on two points, I shall swear to keep your secrets but I must know, just so that I can be certain that the killer is not escaping justice.’

Stephen drew in a breath. ‘Very well.’

‘First, Peter.’

‘His crime was foul. My brother told me categorically that he and Hamond had nothing to do with the robbery of Karvinel, yet Peter’s evidence helped condemn the man. I think Karvinel most cruelly and dishonestly forced Peter to lie for him. Perhaps – I cannot tell – but maybe Peter committed suicide realising his mortal sin. He had caused another man to be killed.’

‘I understand. And the other: Adam’s father. Who is he?’

Stephen gave him a hunted look. ‘Why do you need to know? That is not my secret.’

The Cathedral doors opened and people began to flood out onto the grassed precinct. Simon watched the folk pass by and heard Baldwin murmuring into Stephen’s ear.

The Canon nodded resignedly, then shook his head. ‘Yes. I fear you are quite right.’

Vincent le Berwe shook hands heartily with the thickset Breton and then sat back in his chair as his client left. It was hard to contain his glee. He had confirmed orders for wine, for lead and for dyes. All in all, a good day’s work. If he could keep up the momentum he would soon be able to cover his losses.

It had been a jolt to see Sir Thomas in the tavern, but the fellow had cleared off smartish, taking his half-wit with him, thank God. The dribbling weak-minded wretch repelled Vincent; how Sir Thomas could bear the creature’s proximity was beyond him. Still, the two had gone, and that was a relief. Vincent had no desire to be seen anywhere near his leading business associate, as he liked to think of Sir Thomas, in case he decided to talk to Vincent. Someone might have seen them together, which would have been disastrous. It was too risky. The man was a known outlaw, for God’s sake!

Vincent jerked his head at a serving girl for more wine.

That was the pleasantest aspect of the position of Receiver – the fact that he could expect respect from everyone in the city. Not least because he would become one of the richest men in the place. It would depend upon how the revenues went during his term of office, naturally, but provided that he could keep afloat for a few more months, he should be all right. And that meant pulling in every debt he owned.

As if on cue he saw Nick Karvinel appear in the doorway. Vincent motioned to the other merchant to join him. Karvinel hesitated, but then he pulled a wry face and crossed the room, sitting where the Breton had been only a few minutes before. ‘What are you after, Vincent?’

‘Come on, Nick. There shouldn’t be any hard feelings. All I want is the money you owe me. Do you have it yet?’

Karvinel took a mazer from the next table, glanced into it, then filled it with Vincent’s wine. He drank deeply, then met Vincent’s gaze with a firm eye. ‘I don’t think I care to pay.’

Vincent felt hot blood rush into his face. Karvinel’s tone was insolent, intentionally rude. It was not the voice of a man who owed respect, it was that of a man who owed nothing. ‘What do you mean, you “don’t care to”? I don’t give a shit what you do or don’t wish, Nick. You owe me money and I want it back – all right?’

‘Shut up, Vincent. I don’t like the tone of your voice.’

‘You don’t like my voice? I don’t–’

‘Where did all Ralph’s basan and Cordova leather go?’

‘What?’

Karvinel leaned back and cast a contemplative eye over the people in the room. None had so far noticed their altercation, and Karvinel was happy that it should remain that way. He smiled coldly at Vincent. ‘The fact is, I hear that you sold Ralph a load of basan and cordwain. It was witnessed by the Coroner, wasn’t it? Yet there’s none in Ralph’s shop.’

‘He must have sold it.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Vincent pulled his lips back over his teeth in what could have been a smile or a snarl. ‘Prove it! Do you realise I can have you arrested for such an allegation?’

‘I wonder what the City Freemen would think of a Receiver who took leathers from a dead man’s shop. And if he did that,’ Nick continued, now eyeing Vincent with a more serious expression as the Receiver went very still, ‘when did he do it? Did he take the stuff after his friend had been dead a matter of hours – or a matter of moments?’

‘What are you saying?’ le Berwe whispered.

‘Did you kill him, Vincent?’

‘I should stab your God-cursed body for that!’

‘I know you were there that day. So did my clerk; he saw your cart outside.’

‘Bollocks! Bring him here!’ Then Vincent’s face went white.

‘Yes, Vincent. That’s what I wondered too. How convenient that the only witness to your act was a man who is now also dead. My poor clerk Peter,’ said Karvinel pointedly. He rose. ‘I have to go now, but I think there’s no hurry in paying you. You may be in prison soon.’

Outside, Nicholas Karvinel felt justifiably pleased with himself. He had effectively called a halt to the threat of a demand for money while at the same time putting the fear of God into Vincent.

Of course he had no proof that Vincent was actually responsible for the murder of Ralph, but it would make sense, bearing in mind that Ralph was a possible competitor for honours; honours meant money, and Karvinel was sure that Vincent would not turn down any opportunity for increasing his wealth. Ignorant of the foundering of Vincent’s ship, Karvinel thought le Berwe’s demand for his debt to be repaid was motivated by pure greed. This unreasonable demand from one whom Karvinel thought to be rich was an insult.

Reaching his door, he paused a moment. Farther along the street he could see Coroner Roger. On an impulse he waved and shouted to him to let him know where he could find Vincent. Then, with a feeling of satisfaction, he watched as the Coroner hurried away, calling to the City Bailiff as he went.

He could remember the clear, alcoholically enhanced fantasy of killing Vincent from the tavern on Christmas Eve, and the vision rose before him again of Vincent le Berwe’s face as Nick shoved his dagger into the greedy bastard’s guts. It would be good to see the bastard squirm while spitted like a capon on a stick. But if he couldn’t do that, at least he could put the Coroner onto him. That might be even more enjoyable in its way.

The smoke above the city swirled, blown by a freezing blast from the south, and Karvinel saw the clouds scudding past at speed. It was getting dark now, and the weather looked as if it would break soon. It would be good to get inside and sit beside the fire.

Then a spirit of rebellion rose in his breast. What was the point of going home? His wife would be sitting sulking because of the loss of her maid and their bottler, and because of their financial problems. She would be waspish about any conversation he instigated, scathing about any new ventures he mentioned. Her companionship was the last thing he needed tonight.

He sniffed disdainfully and set off to an alehouse further up the street.

Coroner Roger saw Vincent le Berwe as soon as he entered the tavern. Nodding towards their quarry, the Coroner marched up to Vincent’s table and pulled up a stool without offering a greeting.

Vincent gave him a welcoming smile, but the Coroner’s face twisted into a mask of revulsion.

‘I wanted,’ he said in a low voice, ‘to see you to ask what sort of a man could do it.’

‘What?’ asked the baffled Vincent.

‘Pay his own son to perjure himself,’ the Coroner spat.

Vincent felt his face go chill, as if all the blood had drained in a moment. ‘Perjure? I… I don’t…’

‘Balls, you lying bastard! Your boy has confessed to his part in the fraud and theft from Ralph, and he’s told us how you bribed him to make sure that Ralph was conned. Were you proud to have perverted your own son?’

‘It wasn’t a perversion, it was the only way to protect him!’ Vincent snapped, stung into retaliation.

‘How?’

‘Ralph stood in my way: he was the only man who could have prevented my being re-elected as Receiver. I had to make sure that he was removed. Otherwise, how could I have built up my position in the City? If Jolly is to win my inheritance, I have to protect it. I couldn’t allow Ralph to get in the way.’

‘So you tried to ruin him?’

Vincent looked away. ‘It seemed the best thing to do,’ he muttered.

‘And when you failed, you had him murdered.’

‘No! I didn’t do that. I’ve never tried to have a man killed.’

‘Then who did? Everyone liked Ralph…’

‘What about Karvinel? He couldn’t stand Ralph, and Ralph was even more of a competitor to him, seeing both were glovemakers.’ Vincent’s brow cleared. ‘That must be it! Nick Karvinel knew that the Cathedral always ordered gloves from Ralph to be made for the Holy Innocents’ Day celebrations. If he could get rid of him, he thought he’d be able to win the contract to finish the job and earn himself some much-needed cash. So he murdered Ralph and took over that business, but he also stole all Ralph’s money.’

The Coroner eyed him with distaste. ‘So now you’ll put the blame onto another unfortunate? Karvinel is no kind of a threat to anyone, not in his present state.’ He frowned as he considered his words. Often in the past he had found that the most meek and humble people could turn to violence when they felt they had no alternative. Karvinel was moderately courteous and mild-mannered, it was true, but he also wore a dagger. He could have become so bitter that he had decided to take matters into his own hands.

‘Why should I have killed Ralph?’ Vincent said, holding both hands out, palms upwards. ‘He was no threat to me once I had put my little plan into operation. There was no point in my killing him.’

‘Maybe he realised what had happened,’ the Coroner said speculatively.

‘Not so far as I know. If I had to bet, I’d say Karvinel did it.’

Simon and Baldwin returned to their inn as dusk was giving way to full night. Jeanne met them in the crowded and smoke-filled hall, Edgar standing at her side to keep unwanted visitors at bay, glowering at any stranger who approached too close. Both appeared relieved to see the two men return.

Baldwin took his seat and motioned to the host to serve them. While waiting, he looked enquiringly at his wife. ‘Are you well? Did you enjoy your tour of the city?’

‘Yes, it was interesting enough, but not so fascinating as your enquiries. I heard another man was poisoned – is it true?’

‘I am afraid so. It was one of the Secondaries called Adam, although, thank God, he should recover. So long as the apothecary’s intervention does not put an end to him first!’

‘Who did it?’

‘There we have the difficulty,’ Simon grunted, throwing a leg over a bench and surveying the crowd in the bar. ‘Two folks have been suspected, but neither seem probable. One is only a child, while the other is le Berwe’s illegitimate son, who has no reason to want to harm Adam.’

‘I think I have news for you, then,’ Jeanne declared, and told them of Hawisia’s terrified appearance and her assertions about Jolinde.

‘She suggests that he poisoned them?’ Baldwin breathed. ‘My God. That would follow on from what the Dean told us.’

Simon nodded. ‘He said rumours suggested Jolinde had tried to kill his father’s wife and got the wrong woman – Ralph’s wife. Now Hawisia says she thinks he succeeded with poison. God’s bollocks!’

Baldwin agreed. ‘I loathe and detest poison. It is so cowardly. There is no courage in attacking someone with such an indiscriminate weapon. It is a tool used by the weak and feebleminded.’

Simon looked at him. ‘I have never heard you so scathing, Baldwin.’

‘The older I become, the more appalled I grow to see such foul behaviour. It is obnoxious to consider putting orpiment or somesuch in a man’s food or drink. A man should be able to trust that his food is safe no matter what.’

Jeanne put her hand on his arm. ‘Calm yourself, husband. Try to think of happier things.’

‘How can I, Jeanne?’ he snapped. ‘The murderer is in the city somewhere and could well strike again at any time. Perhaps it is Jolinde, perhaps it was truly the child Luke! How on earth can I relax when anyone picking up a lump of bread or piece of fruit could be poisoned? How many more will be dead by morning?’

Vincent himself was little happier. He was filled with a deep moroseness which lay heavily on his soul as he walked into his hall.

Hawisia sat waiting for him at their table, and seeing him enter she poured warmed wine into his favourite silver-chased mazer and brought it to him beside the fire. He smiled weakly at her before emptying it in one go. She took it from him and refilled it, passing it to him with solemn assurance.

‘Husband, you are troubled?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Troubled?’ He stared at her as if awoken from a slow lethargy and despair attacked him with renewed force. He shot nervous looks about him, agitatedly biting his nails. Standing, he strode over to the table and was about to place his mazer on it when the urge suddenly took him to smash it. He lifted it high as if to dash it on the floor in a rage; but as soon as the urge took hold of him, it left him, and he let his hands slowly fall to the table, setting the cup down.

In an instant she was at his side, an arm about his shoulder as he began to sob. ‘My love, my darling, what is it? Oh, tell me what has happened!’

He couldn’t speak for some while. The words felt as though they would choke him. After so much effort and work, after all his careful planning to recover from the disastrous loss of his ship, he would now be ruined. ‘The Coroner came to see me just now.’

‘Yes, he was here earlier while I was out. Apparently he was in a foul mood,’ Hawisia said.

‘Not so foul as when he saw me! He knows everything – how I had Jolly take Ralph’s money and jewels, how I had Jolly get the fool to sign his mark on the receipt so that Ralph could be shown to be a thief when the gloves were presented… everything!’

Hawisia didn’t know what to do or say. She kissed his cheek, murmuring soft words to ease him, but Vincent stood resting his hands on the table-top, his eyes closed. ‘We are ruined, Hawisia. There’s nothing else I can do.’

‘Why? He hasn’t arrested you. He obviously doesn’t think he has enough proof to present you before the King’s Justice.’

‘Christ alive, woman, it’s not only him! Karvinel came to see me as well. He said he would accuse me of being there when Ralph died; said he would allege his clerk saw me there.’

‘His clerk is dead,’ Hawisia pointed out.

‘True, but if he swore it, I could be lynched!’

‘A man must be alive to accuse you.’

‘But Karvinel could convince others. Oh, Christ!’

‘Darling, there is something you could try. I know you had your own men rob Karvinel.’

‘You mean my friend in the woods?’ He turned to her with a terrible understanding in his eyes. ‘You mean pay Sir Thomas to kill Karvinel?’

‘Why not? He has robbed the man and fired his house on your orders.’

‘I couldn’t,’ Vincent said. But he knew that he could. His eyes were staring into the distance as he wondered whether this could indeed provide him with a solution. And he knew the alehouse where Sir Thomas would be staying. He always chose the same low dive: the Cock.