He must find the money. That little purse with the filched cash could be produced to show that Peter was innocent, and could prove that he, Jolinde, had no intention of profiting from the theft.
Where the Hell could Peter have hidden it?
Justice was much on Henry’s mind. He had awoken with a backside still smarting from the lashing Gervase had given him the night before. The Canon had laid into him in front of all the other Choristers, taking a stiffened strip of bull’s leather and whipping Henry for all he was worth.
The memory made Henry’s eyes fill with tears of frustration. He had been made to look a fool and thrashed in front of all his friends and enemies when he was completely innocent! He’d not pushed Luke – he’d not even known the other boy was out there. No, he’d been working, keeping his head down, the sort of thing that Gervase kept telling him he should do, and look how he’d been repaid!
He wouldn’t be surprised if Luke had shoved his own face in the muck just so he could put the blame onto Henry. Henry was a fair-minded boy, and he accepted that there would be a certain justice in Luke getting his revenge like that, because after all Henry had made his life difficult often enough.
Henry cast a glance to his right where the cloisters lay. A naughty smile crossed his features as he recalled putting that beetle down the back of Luke’s neck. And then when he’d hit him with dung; it had been deeply satisfying, hearing that damp slapping noise. Brilliant! He had fled Luke’s justifiable rage, hurrying into the cloisters and out the other side, to the works where he had his refuge.
It was a small gap in a wall in a cellar, near where the new workings met the old Cathedral tower. He had found it the previous summer in an idle moment, wondering what lay behind, and when he squeezed his way inside, he discovered that a wall had been knocked down, and beyond was a shaft going down. A ladder was propped, and he descended into a large, airy tunnel. He had no idea what it was for, but as soon as he discovered it he knew it was a perfect place to conceal himself. After any attack on Luke he would scurry down the shaft, dragging the ladder after him, and stay there, listening with beating heart and eager ears, feeling the thrill of the chase, even if from the prey’s perspective, mingled with the delight of the battle he had instigated.
Yes, he decided, if Luke wanted revenge, the easy approach would be to mess himself up, then pass the blame on to Henry. But hang on! That couldn’t be right. Luke wouldn’t even have known Henry was there. And his cry sounded genuine – really terrified. Henry shook his head doubtfully. It was very confusing.
He shuffled idly along the path that led around the Cathedral up towards the Choristers’ hall where he intended doing a little more work before attending his next service. That reminded him of his yellow orpiment. Someone had taken it. He’d known something was missing. The thought made him glower. He hadn’t finished with it.
He soon found the bottle on Luke’s desk. Henry picked it up and noticed how low the level had sunk. Huh! Typical of Luke to splash the stuff all over his pages. He was just lucky that his daubings always seemed to turn out to look so good. He put the orpiment back on Luke’s desk. There was no point in keeping it.
Even if he couldn’t draw and paint as well as Luke, he could at least take pleasure in the fact that he was going to be the boy-Bishop – and he could enjoy running about the streets with other boys.
Going to the door, he glanced out. The weather looked cold, but bright. There were several clouds, but at this moment the sun was beaming down on the city. Henry smiled. His arse was still bruised from the lash, but that happened yesterday, and Henry was nothing if not sanguine. Today was a new day, with new opportunities for fun. He stepped out.
He had only gone five paces when he heard a noise behind him. Henry was not so slow as Luke. In a split second he had darted to one side and ducked behind a tree.
There was a chuckle, and when he peered around the trunk, he saw Adam standing and rocking with mirth. ‘You should have seen the way you hurried off! Like a startled rabbit, you were, with a slingshot up the backside.’
Henry kept his mouth shut. There were loads of Secondaries and other clerks who enjoyed beating or bullying the Choristers. They largely got away with it, because they held out the threat of even more punishment if their victims told a Canon or Gervase. And even if Gervase was told, that was no guarantee that the perpetrator would be punished.
‘You’re lucky. I thought you were Luke. If it had been him, I’d have ducked his face in the shit again,’ Adam said comfortably. ‘Obnoxious little bastard that he is.’
Henry watched him with narrowed eyes as Adam walked to the Choristers’ hall, looking in through the doorway. ‘More candles here,’ he said, and walked inside.
Chewing his lip, Henry stood scowling at the shut door reflectively. He could go and tell Gervase, but the Succentor probably wouldn’t believe him. He’d think Henry had invented the story to make Gervase feel guilty, or perhaps to work off a grudge against Adam. No, Henry couldn’t go to Gervase. But there must be someone he could tell.
Yes, if no one else, at least Luke would be interested. He might not believe Henry at first, but Henry was prepared to forgive that. All he wanted was to make sure Luke realised Henry himself was innocent.
Anyhow, he couldn’t have picked up Luke and thrown him into the crap.
Luke was far too fat and heavy.
Chapter Twenty-One
Coppe grunted as he eased his position. The cold was affecting his big toe. The toe of the leg he had left in the sea near France.
It was the same with the scar that so transfigured his face. The scar could predict with unerring accuracy when the weather was about to change. Now, looking up and snuffing the air, he could distinguish, over the scent of the woodsmoke, horse dung, dogs’ urine and mud, the metallic tang of the cold. There would be snow soon, he told himself with a grimace.
Snow was an additional burden to him. Not only would he freeze his arse off, sitting on the ground as he must, but he’d not see many folks either. They’d prefer to stay inside rather than pass by his station here.
A shadow passed over him and he looked up to see Janekyn. The old man was cupping a drink in his hands. ‘Want some?’
‘Thanks,’ Coppe said, taking the steaming wooden mazer from him and sipping. ‘You won’t believe this,’ he said, sadly contemplating his legless stump, ‘but I can feel the heat going all the way down to my toes.’
The older man chuckled. ‘We’re a pair of wrecks, you and me, John. You’re all cut to pieces, and me, I’m so old I’ve got little time left to me.’
‘You’ll probably see me out, Jan. In fact, I’d be glad if God would take me right away. I’ve had enough of this. It’s no way for a man to live, begging for alms all the time.’
Janekyn looked down at Coppe. He’d known the cripple for most of his time as porter, for he had only taken on the role three years ago. The thought of standing here without the cripple huddled by the wall was strangely upsetting. It would leave a horrible gap in Janekyn’s life. He enjoyed his occasional arguments with the old sailor. Abruptly he turned and walked back inside, calling for a clerk.
Jolinde was hurrying past the entrance as Janekyn disappeared, and Coppe looked up brightly. ‘Come, Master, a coin or two for wine to warm my veins?’
‘I have nothing.’
Coppe was surprised at the snarl in Jolinde’s voice. ‘There’s no shame in that, Master. No need to be angry. At least you haven’t run into anyone like your friend did with Ralph that morning.’