When he stood, he saw that there were few household articles to examine. Like many people of his rank, the craftsman established his affluence by quality of craftsmanship rather than quantity of movables. Master Larcher made sure that his prosperity was on display.
Atop a heavy oaken chest, there were two large and intricately designed pewter plates, in front of which rested several well-crafted goblets. Surely, Thomas thought, Larcher had made these items himself. There was also another pitcher, full of wine. This container was made of silver.
He sniffed. Although his experience of wine was limited, the monk noted that this vintage had a harsher odor and suspected the quality was more ordinary than the one near the corpse.
Ignoring the plate, he examined the goblets. One felt damp inside. He sniffed and caught a light scent of wine. Had Larcher invited the killer to drink a cup with him, hospitality that was repaid with murder? Afterward, the man must have poured his own wine into the rushes and replaced the goblet with its fellows on the chest. How odd, Thomas thought, and walked back to the corpse.
He pulled the body back into the chair. There was no blood, no knife in the chest, but Larcher’s face was contorted. Bending closer, he looked into the man’s staring eyes. They were dilated, and his cheeks bore red patches. Thomas had seen this before.
Master Larcher had been poisoned.
Dipping his finger into the wine still at the bottom of the goblet, he sniffed again. There was no particular odor, although he caught just a hint of something slightly flowery. He wiped his finger on his robe.
“What have you found, Brother?” Durant rose to his feet and shut the lid to the chest with a slam. He did not look pleased.
“This was not a robbery.” Thomas gestured around the room. “There is too much of value left, and I see no empty space where an item may have sat. I think the craftsman had a guest who did not want to be remembered,” he said. “Yet the evidence of his visit was poorly disguised.”
Durant went over to the corpse and did a quick examination. “Stab the servant. Poison the craftsman.”
“That knife thrust was skillfully directed into the servant’s chest for a swift death. The attacker may have stabbed him after he killed the master and as he was leaving. The servant was lying on his back, facing the chamber door. Surely Master Larcher would have been suspicious if the guest was not announced by the manservant.”
Durant frowned. “It was still a dangerous plan. What if one of the apprentices had a question for his master and found the servant’s body in the stairwell? Or the apprentice might have arrived after the craftsman was killed but before the servant was. If the servant caught him.”
“If the former, he still would have had time to flee. Even if the apprentice saw him, but had never met the killer, escape is easy in town streets. If the latter, both apprentice and servant might have suffered a quick death, although two would have had a better chance of apprehending one murderer. I do suspect the servant was killed last, yet I agree that either plan was imperfect. I doubt the slayer stayed here long.” Thomas pointed at the corpse. “That poison must have killed him quickly.”
Durant nodded.
“I suspect you know the type well. Lily of the Valley?”
The wine merchant smiled, then examined the contents of the pitcher. “I know the wine. It has a fine flavor but also a smooth texture. If Master Larcher had had more than one cup, he might have preferred the feeling of it more than the taste and swallowed without noticing the sweeter flavor.” He glanced back into the ewer. “Someone stewed a potent brew to kill him this swiftly.”
“There is another wine over there.” Thomas pointed to the jug.
Durant examined it. “A common vintage. I fear it will turn soon and find a better use in the kitchen as flavoring.” He nodded at the pitcher on the table. “His guest must have been a special one to be served that.” He glanced down at the stain on the floor, and his expression grew sad.
Thomas looked at the silver wine container on the chest, and then back at the more humble one made of pottery on the table. “Is it significant that the better vintage was in a common pot but the lesser in a finer pitcher?”
Durant chuckled. “I fear it means that our craftsman wished to hide the wine’s poorer quality by placing it in a very attractive container.”
Thomas glanced at the corpse and found he could not laugh at a dead man’s foolishness. “Surely now we may send word….”
“Soon.” The merchant walked over to an inside door, peered around it, and entered.
Thomas followed. The room was a bedchamber. “You have not found what you are looking for?”
Kneeling beside the bed, Durant started to peer under the mattress. “Nor what I feared I might.” He glanced up at the monk.
Thomas swallowed his impatience. “If you tell me what you seek, I could help. It would take less time.”
Durant sat back, lost in thought, and stared at his hands.
“The apprentices know we are in these chambers. To remain here longer without calling the king’s men would cast suspicion on one of us,” Thomas said. “My vocation protects me from many things, but I do not believe yours does. We both want the killer caught, even if our reasons might be different.”
“You ask as if you did not fear my cause,” Durant replied. His expression lacked all pretense, and his tone was firm as if he had just made an important choice.
“Should I?”
“I know who your father was.”
Thomas felt as if an icy hand had grasped his heart. He willed himself to stay calm. “It is not a secret.”
Durant got to his feet and waited for the monk to say more.
Thomas took a deep breath. Although he had chosen to remain silent about his parentage since his time in prison, the reasons for doing so no longer seemed relevant. Yet he had never spoken of it, fearing that he would still bring disgrace on the innocent and because he preferred the anonymity of being a simple monk with an ill-defined past. “I am not ashamed of my birth, sire or dam.”
“Does your prioress know the circumstances of your birth?”
“When I took vows, I was taken into God’s wider family. She is my sister and I her brother. That is the only kinship that matters in our priory.”
But Thomas began to feel uncomfortable. In truth, he doubted Prioress Eleanor did know and feared her reaction should she learn his story. What did this man want of him? Now he feared the merchant was jabbing at his soft spots for some malevolent reason.
“But she has not forsaken her earthly kin. Why have you?”
“Why ask these things? Of what merit are they that you take this time to pry?”
“I ask because I must, Brother, but my heart tells me to trust you. One matter more. Do you swear to answer honestly if I promise to leave you in peace even if your reply does not please me?”
Confused, Thomas hesitated and then nodded once.
“Do you follow your family’s loyalty to King Edward?”
The question was not what he feared the most-the one regarding his time in prison-but his immense relief shattered his self-control. He replied with a burst of fury. “You think I would admit to treason? You assume I would be fool enough to believe a man who says he would accept such an admission? I know you not, Durant of Norwich. I do not even know if you are a wine merchant. If you are a king’s man, prove it. If not, I shall depart now before I break my vows and crack your neck!”
Durant reached deep into his robe and pulled out a tiny document, tightly rolled. “Read this. Since I trust you enough to show it to you, you must trust me enough to believe it.”
Thomas unrolled it and read the brief note. His face paled. “If this is true, and the seal suggests it is, why trust me or anyone? You play a dangerous game.”
“I know your story, Brother. Not just your kinship but the reason you were imprisoned and your later service for the Church. I am in a position to guarantee you will not betray me.”