‘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.’
Chapter Fourteen
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.’
Dr Jibson nodded. ‘The food seems most likely.’
‘His pottage comes from the common cooking pot,’ Radwinter said. ‘I fetch it myself from the guards’ quarters, ’tis a menial task but I can ensure against anything being concealed in the food, like messages.’ His face set hard, and he turned to me. ‘What the doctor says confirms what I thought. I already have the answer to this. The guards’ cook. He used to cook for the monks at St Mary’s Abbey, and he has a shifty air about him. I have had him confined in the guardhouse.’
The physician looked between us, then spoke seriously. ‘I must warn you, this man is not out of danger. Some poison could still be in his system. He was weak enough before, from his treatment –’ he made a grimace of distaste – ‘and the poor rations he seems to have had, and confinement in this doleful place.’ He looked round the cell. Looking out of the barred windows, I saw dawn had come, the castle keep grey against the lightening sky. Something white moved there, Aske’s skeleton turning in the wind that moaned louder now against the tower.
‘It would help if Sir Edward were moved,’ Dr Jibson added. ‘Laid in comfort somewhere.’
‘He is too dangerous,’ Radwinter answered firmly. ‘He must be kept secure and chained.’
The physician looked at me. I hesitated. ‘He does need to be kept secure. But he should be given more blankets, and perhaps a little brazier put here to heat the room.’
The physician nodded. ‘That would help.’
‘Very well,’ Radwinter agreed. He gave me a nasty, sidelong look. Jibson’s comment on the prisoner’s poor diet would not have pleased him.
Broderick stirred, and I realized he was conscious. How long had he been listening? He looked at me and smiled bitterly. ‘Still careful of my welfare, master lawyer?’ he croaked. ‘Someone was less careful. They sought to end my pain.’ He sighed deeply. I looked into his eyes; the fire had gone out of them, I saw only a terrible exhaustion.
‘Do you know how this was done, Broderick?’
‘It was the King poisoned me,’ he said, breathing heavily.
‘You will tell us,’ Radwinter said threateningly.
‘Come, Master Radwinter,’ I said. ‘We should talk. Dr Jibson, will you call again later?’
‘Certainly, this afternoon.’ He smiled, and I reflected that on the King’s work he would get a handsome fee.
We left the cell, Radwinter locking it carefully. ‘Wait in my room, please,’ he said curtly. ‘I will see Dr Jibson out and lock the lower door.’
Barak and I descended the stairs to the gaoler’s quarters. The clothes from his bed had been thrown hurriedly to the floor but otherwise it presented its usual tidy aspect. I massaged my neck, which had begun to ache.
‘So that’s Radwinter,’ Barak said. ‘Professional inquisitor, by the look of him.’ He took up The Obedience of a Christian Man, which lay open on the chair. ‘A twopenny-book man too.’
‘Fancies himself an agent of the Lord.’
‘There’s enough of them these days. He doesn’t seem that frightening. Looked a bit scared himself up there.’
‘Wait till he starts trying to ferret into your mind. But you’re right, this has rattled him.’ I paced the room restlessly. ‘All these precautions are to prevent anyone trying to rescue Broderick; we couldn’t expect someone would try to kill him. Could this be tied to Oldroyd’s death, to those papers? Maleverer said there was some connection between Broderick and that name Blaybourne.’