‘True, but I can speak to his father, and arrest the sod if I can find any evidence – and I bloody will! Are you coming along?’
Baldwin set his head to one side and considered, ‘I should like to join you, but I have another investigation which has been given to me. Before you go, however, we should tell you something we learned this morning.’ Baldwin told the Coroner all that they had heard from Coppe, finishing with the discovery that the basan and cordwain were missing.
‘Thank you for that. Not that I see how it can help us,’ the Coroner grunted.
‘It may be easier than you imagine. Basan and cordwain could be used for glovemaking, bagmaking, or any number of other products – but Vincent trades in such things. He sold them to Ralph in the first place. Ask whether he has heard of any for sale. Ask Karvinel too. Someone would be likely to offer him that sort of stuff. And now I suppose I should seek Adam’s poisoner. I cannot believe his wild allegation, but he gave us a suspect: the Chorister Luke.’
Luke sat numbly in the chamber before his desk and tried to make sense of Adam’s sudden collapse. Gervase had left him in the care of the Clerk of the Lady Chapel while he ran to see how he could help Adam, but now he had returned and was standing behind the Chorister. It was a relief for both to see Baldwin and Simon.
They entered without knocking and Simon nodded his head reassuringly to Gervase, trying to convey a little of his conviction that the child was innocent. Baldwin walked straight to Luke, taking up a stool en route and seating himself before the boy.
Luke found himself gazing into the darkly intense eyes of the knight from Furnshill. It was disconcerting. The man appeared to be looking through Luke’s own eyes and into his soul. ‘Sir?’
‘Luke, Adam has made a dreadful allegation against you,’ Baldwin said slowly and distinctly. ‘Do you know what it is?’
‘He said I had poisoned him. Gervase told me.’
‘That is quite right. Now you are too young to be accused in a court, and even if you were, you would be safe because you are within the Cathedral, so you fall under Canon Law. I want you to speak the truth to me. Have you ever tried to poison someone in the precinct?’
‘No, sir,’ Luke responded immediately. ‘I wouldn’t know how to.’
‘Luke, this was on the floor in the room,’ Gervase said and passed Baldwin the little flask of orpiment.
‘Arsenic?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Luke, do you recognise this bottle?’
‘Yes. It’s like the ones we use here,’ he said, looking up at Gervase for confirmation. ‘I had been using some for a picture. Look!’ Luke said and showed Baldwin his work. The golden-yellow tints gleamed even in the meagre light of the hall. ‘But I didn’t have it with me at the meal.’
‘So you didn’t put any of this upon Adam’s food?’
‘No,’ said Luke, adding with simple honesty, ‘although I would have if I had thought of it. He’s always bullying me.’
Behind him, Gervase rolled his eyes heavenwards. The little devils always had to make some sort of lunatic comment. He saw the Bailiff cover his mouth with a hand, trying to smother the chuckle.
‘Anyway, sir,’ Luke said, ‘wouldn’t someone see if their food was covered in yellow stuff?’
Baldwin nodded. ‘I rather think they would, Luke.’
Gervase heard a certain conviction in his voice that made him peer doubtfully, but before he could say anything there was a light knock at the door. He sighed and went to open it.
In the doorway stood young Henry. ‘What is it?’ Gervase demanded. ‘We’re busy.’
‘Sir, it’s about Adam.’
Sir Thomas waited in John Renebaud’s tavern until Hob returned. The place suited Sir Thomas’s mood. Dark, crowded and evil-smelling, it fed his bitter and vengeful spirit.
He knew that Hob and Jen had a touching faith in him. On Hob’s part it was solely due to his simpleness, but Jen was a more complicated soul. She professed her love for him – but then she would. He was her protector. It was little more than the affection due to a lord and master from one of his serfs; it was the duty of a woman to her mate. No more. Probably when he, Sir Thomas, was dead, she would easily slip into another man’s bed.
Early death held no fears for Sir Thomas. He was well into his middle age already at thirty-four; he had lived longer than many of the folks with whom he had grown up. The men had died of disease or fighting; the women from childbirth or starvation since when there were famines the men were favoured with food in order that they might produce more. Women and children must starve.
Sir Thomas had lost everything. The small wars about his manorial demesne had wasted his whole fortune. There was nothing left but a few people, none of whom stayed with him anticipating riches, but from a sense of loyalty and their duty. Hamond, who had been of the same age as Sir Thomas, had been his most devoted friend and servant. Hamond, his longest-serving companion, had grown up with him, and yet he was dead now. Chivalry demanded payment. There was a responsibility lying upon Sir Thomas to honour the debt; Hamond had served him faithfully through his life, and now Sir Thomas must repay that death with blood. The blood of the man who had willed his execution.
He knocked back the last of his mazer of wine and wiped at his lips with the back of his hand. The merchants of any city were a corrupt set of pirates, out to steal whatever they could from anyone with less money and fewer opportunities to protect themselves, but the men here had surprised Sir Thomas with their avarice and brutality. It didn’t matter to him particularly if another man should die in order that he should survive the richer, but he was amazed that merchants should decide whether a man should live or die purely upon the basis of a potential benefit to them. It was unpleasant, an inversion of legitimate behaviour. It was one thing to travel abroad and fight Frenchmen or Moors, taking their wealth, but doing the same with Englishmen seemed wrong.
As he sat mulling over the black thoughts that chased themselves around his head, he noticed a figure standing near the fire. It was him again: Vincent le Berwe. The two men caught each other’s eye and Sir Thomas nodded slightly. His paymaster acknowledged him with a slow smile, nervous that someone else might witness it.
Before Sir Thomas could go over and speak to his client, he saw a cowering shadow slip through the doorway. ‘Hob! Over here, lad!’ he growled.
‘Master, I have seen him,’ Hob said expectantly. His face was like that of a dog, Sir Thomas thought, a dog whipped daily but still eager to be welcomed.
‘Where?’
‘At the Cathedral. He was going there alone, Master.’
‘Good,’ Sir Thomas muttered. He rose. At the door, while Hob waited patiently, a vacuous smile on his face, Sir Thomas considered his options. It was always dangerous to go to the Cathedral, but he must question Karvinel. A bell tolled and Sir Thomas glanced up. It was the signal for Mass – which meant Karvinel’s woman would be alone. Smiling grimly, he set off to Karvinel’s house, Hob scampering at his side like a hound out for a walk.
It was one of the reasons why Sir Thomas had been prepared to allow Hob to remain with him, this happy-go-lucky attitude. He never moaned, never tried to blame others for things, and provided he was occasionally praised he remained content. It took little to please him. If it hadn’t been for Jen, Sir Thomas would not have considered keeping Hob at his side, but Jen made it clear that the price for her body was that her brother should also be looked after. Sir Thomas had thought to point out to her that she was already his, and should he decide to rid himself of her half-witted brother, there was little she could do to stop him, but he knew that the threat was empty. He enjoyed Jen as a willing bed-mate, and if her fee was board and lodging for Hob, Sir Thomas was happy to accept.