The Riddle Of St Leonard's

Five

Comrades on the road, because they are thrown in such intimate company, are away from their regular business, and have time to while away, will oft talk of things they might not otherwise. As Richard de Ravenser dined with his uncle, Archbishop Thoresby, at an inn on their journey to York, the nephew plucked up the courage to ask, ‘What is the trouble between you and Mistress Alice Perrers? Do you- Had you hoped-’ The chill in his uncle’s eyes silenced Ravenser.

Thoresby speared a piece of meat, chewed, washed it down with wine, then at last leaned on the table with one elbow and looked his nephew in the eye. ‘As the Queen’s man, how can you ask? Every breath Perrers takes near the Queen poisons the air. It has killed her.’

‘But surely it is the King who-’

‘Hush, you foolish man! That is treasonous talk.’

Ravenser nervously looked round. ‘That is not in my heart.’

Thoresby pushed his trencher aside, handed his knife to the servant who stood behind him, and took in turn a linen cloth with which he thoughtfully wiped his lips. ‘Let us turn our minds to something more pleasant. Your troubles in York.’

‘I hardly consider them pleasant.’

‘Ah. But one might resolve them.’

‘How? The revenues from the Petercorn diminish every year. It is not only the bad harvests. The King releases more and more people from the debt.’ Ravenser felt his supper curdling in his stomach just thinking of the nightmare. ‘And then this year you had so generously offered the revenue from the Lammas Fair. Alas. The pestilence has killed that hope.’ He wiped his brow. ‘But worst of it are the corrodians. You know how long I have argued against the sale of corrodies. A quick and fatal source of money. And now my warnings are turned against me.’

‘An irony, to be sure. I fear you cannot count on the canons to assure people that you had warned them against corrodies.’

‘Hardly.’

‘How did such a rumour begin, Richard? Who spread the news of your financial troubles?’

The very question Ravenser dreaded. Not that he knew the original source, but he had a suspicion about who had kept the rumour alive. He did not find it easy to lie to his uncle. But he thought it best in the circumstances: the man was dead now; it was best forgotten. ‘Only the canons should have such knowledge.’

‘Indeed.’ Thoresby let the word resonate for a moment. Ravenser detected doubt in his tone. ‘Do you trust your canons? You have disagreed with them over the years.’

A deep breath, steady now. Ravenser would speak only truth. ‘I trust them to understand the importance of St Leonard’s good name. But tongues wag. A servant overhears. Or a corrodian. I have turned people away who wished to purchase corrodies. They do not always understand my position. But you know as well as I that if the people wish to believe rumours, no matter how absurd, there is little one can do to dissuade them.’

Thoresby signalled his servant to pour wine. ‘I thought perhaps this malicious rumour might have politics as its purpose. But you think not?’ He asked the question in a coaxing tone.

‘I wish I knew.’

‘Yes.’

Ravenser stared down at his cup. How did his uncle know he had not told him all? He wondered whether his uncle could hear his stomach churning.

He did not know why he was so hesitant to voice his suspicions, particularly to his uncle, a man of much more experience. The archbishop might suggest a remedy. Or reassure him that his sense of guilt was unfounded. Ravenser lifted his cup, drank. Unwise. He felt his bowels loosen. ‘You must excuse me.’ He rose.

Thoresby nodded towards the remnants of their meal. ‘Greasy meat. Do you wish for an escort? One of my men-’

‘There is no need,’ Ravenser said, and hurried out the back way.

The episode was enough to convince him he must tell his uncle about a ridiculous argument with William Savage, the late mayor.

Savage had arrived at their meeting dressed too warmly for the April day, in heavy mayoral robes and hat. A foolish formality in such weather, Ravenser had thought, so no doubt considered necessary to press some point.

‘Sir Richard.’ Savage bowed slightly. He was a fair-haired, blue-eyed man with a sanguine complexion, always looking as if he had stayed too long in the sun, even in winter. He was large, but not portly; a man who did justice to the elegant mayoral robes. Ravenser noticed that he clutched a linen cloth in his hand; it would be needed at his brow. ‘God bless you for agreeing to this meeting,’ Savage said. ‘I am most grateful.’

Had Ravenser had a choice? He had not considered the possibility. ‘Please, put yourself at ease.’ Ravenser indicated a chair by the window. ‘Sit and share some wine.’

With a flourish of musty robes, Savage sat and dabbed at his forehead.

When the wine had been poured and the servant dismissed and still the mayor had not declared his purpose, Ravenser inclined his head. ‘Do you come on official business, my lord mayor?’

Savage set down his cup, his hand and eyes lingering on it momentarily as he collected his thoughts. Then he met Ravenser’s curious gaze. ‘I come on a private matter, Sir Richard. My wife’s mother has recently been widowed, and although we are much concerned for her and wish to ease her through this difficult time, she is in need of more attention than we can give her from day to day.’ The mayor’s expression changed subtly, a raising of the eyebrows, lowering of the corners of the mouth, as if pleading. ‘We hope, indeed we pray that you will accept her as a corrodian of St Leonard’s-’ He held up his gloved hand as Ravenser opened his mouth to speak. ‘We shall pay a fair price, Sir Richard. We should not think of asking favours.’

Not asking favours. And yet Ravenser knew full well that the Savage house could accommodate another person, and its considerable staff could see to the dowager’s needs. The mayor simply did not wish his wife’s mother to burden them with a long illness. ‘Forgive me, Master Savage, but I must disappoint you. St Leonard’s is no longer selling corrodies.’

The mayor’s blue eyes narrowed even as his mouth expanded in a smile. He lifted his hands, palms upwards in supplication. ‘But surely, Sir Richard, in certain cases-’

‘Again, I must disappoint you. Even His Grace Our King has been refused corrodies for his retainers.’ Ravenser nodded at the surprise registered on his guest’s face. ‘Indeed, you see the firmness of my resolve. It is a matter of survival. The selling of corrodies once seemed a sound financial scheme, but it has proved disastrous. The quality of our care appears to prolong life, you see. And with a corrody being a fixed sum … Well, to be blunt, the corrodians outlive their subsidies and become a burden on the house.’ Even as Ravenser spelled this out he heard his uncle Thoresby’s voice warning him against explaining oneself. Thus is an argument twisted and prolonged.

Savage sat back, scratched a temple, all the while studying Ravenser with a hardened glint in his eyes.

Ravenser tried to recoup his loss of ground by declaring the discussion closed. ‘I am pleased that you understand. Was there anything else on your mind?’

A polite snort. Savage leaned forward. ‘But you are mistaken, Sir Richard, I do not understand. It seems to me there is ample room for one elderly widow who shows no signs of living so long as to burden you, God help her. And as I have said, I am willing to pay reasonably.’

Ravenser considered what to say. Were he to complete the explanation, and say that accepting one corrodian would open the door to petitions from all over, and, worst of all, would anger the King, and the only way to mend that would be to accept one of his ageing retainers as a corrodian, for which the King rarely paid a fee, though he often promised one, Savage would argue that the King would understand that the needs of the mayor of York should be met. William Savage had never met the King.

‘Sir Richard?’ Savage was waiting for more discussion.

Ravenser shook his head. ‘I cannot make an exception, Master Savage, even for you.’ And each year another mayor. The thought sickened him.

The mayor’s colour deepened. The musky scent intensified. His chin tilted up, he gazed down his long, bony nose at Ravenser. ‘I suspect that your reasons are not those you offer me.’

‘My reasons are not-’ Ravenser heard himself sputtering and shut up. But the audacity of the man! He fought to regain his calm, and in a much softer voice asked, ‘Surely you do not suggest that I am lying?’

Savage had the grace to squirm — slightly. ‘No. No, I could not in good conscience accuse you of that. But there is another matter that I had hoped to avoid discussing.’

‘And what might that be?’

Savage glanced round the room as if making sure he would not be overheard. ‘It is the matter of a woman you employ as a lay sister. A woman of questionable character. Honoria de Staines.’

A low blow. ‘Mistress Staines has performed much penance and is one of our best servants.’

‘Some would be quite puzzled by that claim, Sir Richard. Quite puzzled.’

‘You have reports of her?’

The mayor smirked. ‘In faith, you cannot be surprised. She has been seen. Even with some of your select number of corrodians.’ He rose, filling the air with musk, bowed slightly to Ravenser, who rose also.

‘Can you provide me with proof?’

Savage sniffed. ‘I shall not betray confidences.’

‘Lies, more like.’

Savage bristled. ‘Have a care, Sir Richard. I know that the hospital is in financial straits because of a shortfall in the Petercorn. If you seek the goodwill of the freemen of the city, you must earn it. By choosing those who work in the hospital with caution. By being a valuable member of the community.’

Ravenser was finding it difficult to control himself. ‘Would you be so kind as to tell me how you know about our finances?’

‘It is all over the city. One need only stand on the street and open one’s ears. I thought it common knowledge.’

‘I see.’

Savage shook his head. ‘I am left to conclude that your rejection of my mother-in-law has more to do with your dread that I might be privy to what happens at St Leonard’s.’

Ravenser could take no more. ‘Master Savage, it is widely reported that your mother-in-law is a tyrant. You wish to prevent her taking over your household, that is your motivation in trying to bully me into accepting her here.’

Savage had turned a frightening shade of crimson. ‘That is not my purpose in asking you to take her in!’

Ravenser had wagged his head. ‘Master Savage, now who is tripping on the truth?’

With a flourish of his mayoral robes, Savage had stormed from the room.

Thoresby listened to his nephew’s story in growing despair. ‘For pity’s sake, Richard, Savage was right. You are dependent on the freemen of the city. And you made an enemy of the man who might have defended you to them. Have you no control of your temper?’

A startled expression told him that Ravenser had expected sympathy.

‘And now the new mayor, Roger Selby, asks about her. What is so important about this lay sister? Why must you defend her? Why keep her?’

‘Did not Mary Magdalen find redemption as a follower of Christ?’

‘You would compare yourself with Christ?’

Ravenser groaned. ‘You are a man of God, uncle. Do you not see the goodness in what Cuthbert did?’

‘Cuthbert has earned his place in Heaven by his desire to do good, Richard, but he has done nothing for your career. You must see to it if you wish to climb any higher.’

Thoresby found his nephew a puzzle. His elaborate, colourful attire contradicted the naïve simplicity of his faith.