‘I know little about him,’ Baldwin admitted, ‘but I do not think any knight would resort to poison.’ He looked at Adam. ‘Tell me: I hear you are responsible for the candles and chandlery in the Cathedral. Is that right?’
Adam nodded.
‘Is it true that Cathedral candles are being sold to a city merchant? Stolen from the Cathedral and Chapter and sold for your profit?’
Stephen gasped. ‘Adam, you wouldn’t!’
‘I had to get away! I can’t stay here and grow old as a candle-maker! What sort of life is that? I was only selling enough to make a little cash so–’
‘You evil little devil! You’re no better than that damned fool Peter!’
Baldwin smiled. ‘Adam, to whom did you sell these candles?’
After his brush with death, Adam was past caring. His belly and bowels felt as though they were on fire, his throat was sore from vomiting and he only wanted peace: he wanted Baldwin and Simon to leave him alone. But if he was to get rid of them by confessing, he wasn’t going to take the blame all for himself and leave his accomplice to escape.
‘Vincent. He sells the tallow, wax and wicks to the Cathedral and I make the candles. I asked him if I could clerk for him because I want some ready money, but he refused me, saying that if I wanted money he’d help me get it. All I had to do was write up the accounts logging how much wax he had supplied and understate the full weight. Then I could make more candles than the Cathedral needed, and sell the excess back to him. He split the profits with me.’
‘But why boy? You were safe here for as long as you wanted! Why steal from your home?’ Stephen asked.
‘You’ve seen what happens to Secondaries. We never last long. We’re either made into sub-Deacons or we’re out. Well, I’ll never get to be a sub-Deacon, that’s obvious.’
‘You were safe here for as long as you could have wanted!’
‘I think that clears up Ralph the glover’s suggestion that there was a theft going on,’ Baldwin noted.
‘Does this have to be bruited abroad?’ Stephen asked. ‘News of this would break the Dean’s heart.’
‘Come outside with us a moment,’ Baldwin said.
‘What do you want?’ Stephen said when they were out in the chill sunlight.
‘The truth. If you tell me the truth on two points, I shall swear to keep your secrets but I must know, just so that I can be certain that the killer is not escaping justice.’
Stephen drew in a breath. ‘Very well.’
‘First, Peter.’
‘His crime was foul. My brother told me categorically that he and Hamond had nothing to do with the robbery of Karvinel, yet Peter’s evidence helped condemn the man. I think Karvinel most cruelly and dishonestly forced Peter to lie for him. Perhaps – I cannot tell – but maybe Peter committed suicide realising his mortal sin. He had caused another man to be killed.’
‘I understand. And the other: Adam’s father. Who is he?’
Stephen gave him a hunted look. ‘Why do you need to know? That is not my secret.’
The Cathedral doors opened and people began to flood out onto the grassed precinct. Simon watched the folk pass by and heard Baldwin murmuring into Stephen’s ear.
The Canon nodded resignedly, then shook his head. ‘Yes. I fear you are quite right.’
Vincent le Berwe shook hands heartily with the thickset Breton and then sat back in his chair as his client left. It was hard to contain his glee. He had confirmed orders for wine, for lead and for dyes. All in all, a good day’s work. If he could keep up the momentum he would soon be able to cover his losses.
It had been a jolt to see Sir Thomas in the tavern, but the fellow had cleared off smartish, taking his half-wit with him, thank God. The dribbling weak-minded wretch repelled Vincent; how Sir Thomas could bear the creature’s proximity was beyond him. Still, the two had gone, and that was a relief. Vincent had no desire to be seen anywhere near his leading business associate, as he liked to think of Sir Thomas, in case he decided to talk to Vincent. Someone might have seen them together, which would have been disastrous. It was too risky. The man was a known outlaw, for God’s sake!
Vincent jerked his head at a serving girl for more wine.
That was the pleasantest aspect of the position of Receiver – the fact that he could expect respect from everyone in the city. Not least because he would become one of the richest men in the place. It would depend upon how the revenues went during his term of office, naturally, but provided that he could keep afloat for a few more months, he should be all right. And that meant pulling in every debt he owned.
As if on cue he saw Nick Karvinel appear in the doorway. Vincent motioned to the other merchant to join him. Karvinel hesitated, but then he pulled a wry face and crossed the room, sitting where the Breton had been only a few minutes before. ‘What are you after, Vincent?’
‘Come on, Nick. There shouldn’t be any hard feelings. All I want is the money you owe me. Do you have it yet?’
Karvinel took a mazer from the next table, glanced into it, then filled it with Vincent’s wine. He drank deeply, then met Vincent’s gaze with a firm eye. ‘I don’t think I care to pay.’
Vincent felt hot blood rush into his face. Karvinel’s tone was insolent, intentionally rude. It was not the voice of a man who owed respect, it was that of a man who owed nothing. ‘What do you mean, you “don’t care to”? I don’t give a shit what you do or don’t wish, Nick. You owe me money and I want it back – all right?’
‘Shut up, Vincent. I don’t like the tone of your voice.’
‘You don’t like my voice? I don’t–’
‘Where did all Ralph’s basan and Cordova leather go?’
‘What?’
Karvinel leaned back and cast a contemplative eye over the people in the room. None had so far noticed their altercation, and Karvinel was happy that it should remain that way. He smiled coldly at Vincent. ‘The fact is, I hear that you sold Ralph a load of basan and cordwain. It was witnessed by the Coroner, wasn’t it? Yet there’s none in Ralph’s shop.’
‘He must have sold it.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Vincent pulled his lips back over his teeth in what could have been a smile or a snarl. ‘Prove it! Do you realise I can have you arrested for such an allegation?’
‘I wonder what the City Freemen would think of a Receiver who took leathers from a dead man’s shop. And if he did that,’ Nick continued, now eyeing Vincent with a more serious expression as the Receiver went very still, ‘when did he do it? Did he take the stuff after his friend had been dead a matter of hours – or a matter of moments?’
‘What are you saying?’ le Berwe whispered.
‘Did you kill him, Vincent?’
‘I should stab your God-cursed body for that!’
‘I know you were there that day. So did my clerk; he saw your cart outside.’
‘Bollocks! Bring him here!’ Then Vincent’s face went white.
‘Yes, Vincent. That’s what I wondered too. How convenient that the only witness to your act was a man who is now also dead. My poor clerk Peter,’ said Karvinel pointedly. He rose. ‘I have to go now, but I think there’s no hurry in paying you. You may be in prison soon.’
Outside, Nicholas Karvinel felt justifiably pleased with himself. He had effectively called a halt to the threat of a demand for money while at the same time putting the fear of God into Vincent.
Of course he had no proof that Vincent was actually responsible for the murder of Ralph, but it would make sense, bearing in mind that Ralph was a possible competitor for honours; honours meant money, and Karvinel was sure that Vincent would not turn down any opportunity for increasing his wealth. Ignorant of the foundering of Vincent’s ship, Karvinel thought le Berwe’s demand for his debt to be repaid was motivated by pure greed. This unreasonable demand from one whom Karvinel thought to be rich was an insult.