A Shrine of Murders

by Paul Doherty

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Luberon smiled falsely. ‘A collegium near the city wall next to Queningate.’

  ‘There’s no crime in that,’ Darryl murmured, his dark eyes watchful. ‘What are you implying? In London it is common practice for doctors to share their skills and pool their monies.’ He laughed nervously and pointed to his father-in-law, Newington. ‘Even our good alderman has some share in our profits.’

  Chaddedon leaned forward. ‘Master Luberon, Alderman Newington and’ – he glanced sharply at Colum and Kathryn – ‘your companions.’

  Thomasina was ignored. She sat at the far end of the room on a window-seat, idly staring out through the panes of glass, though Kathryn knew she was listening to every word.

  ‘Master Luberon,’ Chaddedon continued, ‘you have described our affairs, there is no crime in that. Unlike others in the city or on the council, we did not espouse the Lancastrian cause in the recent war, so why are we here?’

  Colum abruptly stood up and went to the edge of the table, tapping noisily on it with his fist, and for the first time Kathryn glimpsed the strange Celtic rings on his fingers. She was sure he had not worn those the previous evening. The Irishman rapped the table-top again.

  ‘You are all here,’ he declared, ‘to be questioned.’

  ‘About what?’ the physicians chorused.

  Colum tapped the table-top again. ‘About murder and sacrilege, crimes as sordid as any treason!’

  Chapter 6

  It took a great deal of table-rapping and shouting to subdue the clamour which broke out. Darryl and Straunge sprang to their feet, shouting and yelling at Luberon and Newington. Cotterell sat back open-mouthed, eyes staring, though Brantam looked a little relieved and Kathryn glimpsed the half-smile on his face. She watched the Irishman, however: he was a different man from her guest of the previous evening, utterly devoid of any gentleness or good humour, as if he resented these soft, wealthy men and was pleased to bring them to book. Chaddedon made to rise, gathering his cloak about him as if preparing to leave.

  ‘Don’t go!’ Colum threatened. ‘If you go out of that door, Sir, I shall arrest you for treason! Now’ – he raised his voice to a shout – ‘all of you will sit down!’

  Colum kept banging the top of the table until all the physicians had resumed their seats. Kathryn winced at the clattering noise. Colum glared at her, then at a puce-faced Luberon. Newington, however, just sat staring serenely into the middle distance, as if embarrassed by the fracas.

  ‘There have been four murders here,’ Colum began.

  ‘Five,’ Luberon interrupted.

  ‘You did not tell me!’ Colum accused.

  ‘I had not time!’ the clerk snapped. ‘Yesterday afternoon a merchant, Philip Spurrier, was poisoned in the cathedral itself.’ The clerk leaned his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers, enjoying the power and consternation caused by his announcement. ‘The King’s Commissioner,’ he continued smoothly, ‘Master Murtagh, now knows that five pilgrims. Five,’ he repeated, ‘have been poisoned whilst visiting the shrine of Saint Thomas à Becket.’ He stilled the gasps and cries with his hand.

  ‘Let us not act the innocent,’ he mocked. ‘You have heard the rumours and now you shall know it all. This assassin, this limb of Satan, knows Canterbury well. He has an easy supply of potions and poisons and actually announces who his next victim will be by pinning up doggerel verses on the cathedral door.’ Luberon quickly went through the names and professions of the first four murders.

  ‘The fifth?’ Colum interrupted.

  ‘Early yesterday afternoon,’ Luberon answered. ‘A lay brother brought this to us.’ He picked up a greasy piece of parchment from the desk, and read:

  ‘A merchant to Becket’s shrine, did go.

  And I to Hell his soul did show.

  ‘The merchant Spurrier was part of a group who visited the sacred shrine yesterday. They were later taken to the sacristry for refreshment. Spurrier drained his cup, and a few minutes later fell dead at the feet of his comrades.’

  ‘And the murderer went unnoticed?’ Kathryn’s quiet voice stilled the clamour.

  They all looked at her, rather surprised.

  ‘Of course!’ Luberon exclaimed. ‘No one saw anything amiss. Oh, yes, the merchants did notice a stranger who joined their group, hooded and cowled, but they did not object. They thought he was another visitor who had paid a special fee. By the time Spurrier took his first sip from the cup, this man had gone.’

  ‘And the body lies where?’ Kathryn asked.

  ‘In the death house at Saint Augustine’s. The infirmarian claims Spurrier was killed by a strong infusion of hemlock.’

  ‘A costly poison,’ Straunge murmured.

  ‘And these merchants?’ Colum enquired.

  ‘The merchants are at the Chequers Inn in Mercery Street,’ Newington replied, smoothing his hands together. ‘But, Master Luberon, we are not the coroner’s court; the corpse does not concern us.’

  ‘No, we are not.’ Colum seized the initiative. ‘But His Majesty the King and the Lord Archbishop have ordered me, Special Commissioner in Canterbury, to investigate, track down and hang this murderer before he desecrates one of the greatest shrines of Christendom.’

  ‘And so, why us?’ Straunge asked.

  Colum smiled. ‘There is no doubt that our murderer is an educated man, even though he scrawls doggerel verse. He knows the city of Canterbury and can flit like a shadow through the alley-ways and lanes and no one sees him. And he is someone with a deep-set grudge or grievance against the shrine, hence the murders. But most important, he is a doctor or a physician.’ He tapped the table to still the shouts of protest. ‘Only a doctor, a physician, someone with jars full of deadly potions and poisonous herbs could perpetrate these murders.’

  Brantam leaned forward and tapped the table as if mimicking Colum.

  ‘Master Commissioner, Lord of the Isles, or whatever you wish to call yourself. We are loyal subjects of the King, men of standing in our community. Are we suspect before the law? And if we are, why is this matter not being investigated by the sheriff or the coroner or’ – Brantam looked accusingly at Newington – ‘the Council of Aldermen?’

  ‘Because,’ Newington replied, ‘we have no sheriff, no mayor, no coroner, no Council of Aldermen! Thanks to Faunte and others of his ilk, the liberties of this city have been suspended. Master Murtagh acts for the King in this matter.’

  ‘Come, come,’ Luberon added tactfully.

  Kathryn sensed the shift in mood. Previously Newington had appeared as the tactful, withdrawn one, but the little clerk had begun to impress her with his mastery of purpose and sharp reminders.

  ‘Look, gentlemen.’ Luberon pointed to the list on the table. ‘I agree that in Canterbury there are other physicians and herbalists.’ He spread his hands. ‘Well, we have had to draw lines through many names on our list: those who are sick; those who are too old; those who do not have the means; those, like our good sister here, Mistress Kathryn Swinbrooke, who do not fit the description of the man we are hunting. Also, the sweating sickness has dealt a savage blow to your numbers. Thus, so far, you are the only ones who can be included in our list of suspects.’

  ‘What about our good sister, Mistress Swinbrooke?’ Darryl scoffed. ‘She’s a physician and an apothecary.’ He smiled sourly. ‘Well, that is, until her husband returns.’

  ‘Mistress Swinbrooke,’ Luberon asked gently. ‘Would you like to answer your colleagues?’

  ‘I need not,’ Kathryn replied. ‘But I will. Master Darryl, my father was a physician; he is dead, God rest him. My husband has gone to the wars, and God knows where he lays his head now. My father trained me and I have letters of licence from the Corporation. May I remind you, Master Darryl, that there is, as yet, no Guild of doctors or apothecaries in Canterbury, and I have the liberty to do as I think fit. Finally, like other brothers and sisters in our profession, I hold a key to the postern gates of the city, so I can leave and enter as I so wish
to tend the sick and care for those patients beyond the city wall. To put it bluntly, Master Darryl, I am as good a physician as you are, but I am also a woman and therefore not on the list of suspects.’ She rested her elbows on the high-backed chair and leaned forward. ‘The Corporation, the King’s Commissioner, and His Grace the Archbishop have hired me to help in this matter. I am no more pleased than you are about a killer stalking the streets of Canterbury and murdering pilgrims according to their occupation.’

  Kathryn paused and licked her lips. She felt surprised at her own anger. These men were not like her father. He had been so gentle; they were arrogant and patronising. She glanced sideways at Colum. He was chewing the corner of his mouth in an attempt to hide a grin. I’ll settle with you later, Irishman, she thought and fleetingly wondered if she should announce how she had discovered the method the murderer used to select his victims. However, Newington and Luberon were becoming distracted and beginning to sift amongst their papers.

  ‘I have no doubt,’ she concluded quietly, ‘that this murderer is a burgess of Canterbury and a physician. Who else has access to poisons and knows how to dilute them in wine? If any lay person bought these, it would arouse suspicion. And they are costly, even more so now, for the trade has been hampered by the recent war.’

  She was pleased to see Chaddedon, even Straunge and Darryl, nod solemnly at her words.

  ‘The Corporation, the King,’ Luberon added quickly, ‘have drawn an indenture up with Mistress Swinbrooke.’ He smiled fleetingly at her. ‘Which will be given to her later.’ He spread his hands. ‘So, gentlemen, you now know as much as we do for your presence here.’

  ‘But anyone,’ Straunge interrupted heatedly, ‘anyone with a good herb garden could concoct such fusions. Even you, Master Luberon. Are you not a lover of flowers? Indeed, the Archbishop himself, so I understand, has entrusted his rose garden to you. You are also a herbalist, well-known for your enquiries amongst the apothecaries and physicians of the city.’

  Luberon’s mouth opened and closed as Straunge’s remark struck home. Colum moved restlessly and Kathryn felt a prickle of fear at the nape of her neck. Straunge was right. The murderer might still be anyone with a knowledge of herbs and physic, but then she remembered the foxglove mixed in the dead doctor’s white wine.

  ‘Master Straunge, you may be correct,’ she spoke up. ‘A child can collect foxglove or deadly fungi, but to grind them to make the powders, to know the measure and how to mix them? You must agree that requires great skill.’

  The tension drained from Luberon’s face. Straunge shrugged and smiled.

  ‘Concedo,’ he said. ‘Master Luberon, I meant no offence. I was simply making a point.’

  ‘You, we,’ Kathryn spoke up swiftly, ‘could all be innocent. I am sure,’ she lied, ‘you all are. Nevertheless . . .’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Colum interrupted harshly, ‘you must answer certain questions. We have little evidence about the other murder victims except how they died. Master Cotterell, I believe you tended one?’

  The pompous physician, who had now lost his arrogance, nodded quickly. ‘I was simply nearby,’ he squeaked.

  ‘We shall leave that death for now,’ Colum continued. ‘But I will question you all about your movements and business yesterday afternoon, when Spurrier was poisoned in the cathedral. I am the King’s Commissioner and, on your allegiance, you must answer truthfully. Mistress Swinbrooke, with her knowledge of physic, will assist.’

  Suddenly Brantam rose nervously to his feet.

  ‘Sit down!’ Colum ordered.

  ‘I need to speak to Mistress Swinbrooke,’ Brantam stuttered. ‘But privately.’ The anxiety in his face was apparent for all to see and his hands kept clutching his costly coat with its lining of dyed lamb’s-wool. ‘Please! Please!’ he begged. ‘Mistress Swinbrooke?’

  Before Colum could intervene, Kathryn stood up.

  ‘Does this have any bearing on this matter?’ she asked.

  Brantam nodded.

  ‘Gentlemen, you will excuse us?’

  She led Brantam out of the room; Thomasina made to rise, but Kathryn gestured at her to remain.

  Outside in the passageway, Brantam walked up and down.

  ‘What is it, Sir?’ Kathryn asked.

  Brantam just shook his head, then opened and shut his mouth. Kathryn ignored him for a while, distracted by a fierce discussion farther down the passageway. A group of swan-uppers in their dirty jerkins, leather breeches and mud-encrusted boots were shouting at an official about payment for looking after the royal swans on the river Stour.

  ‘Master Brantam, shall we return?’ Kathryn asked.

  The young man shook his head. ‘I can prove,’ he began, ‘I can prove that until two days ago I had been out of the city for ten days. I journeyed up to London.’

  ‘But you were in Canterbury yesterday when Spurrier died?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I was.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I was in Canterbury, so to speak, but yesterday, from noon until the burghmote, well . . . until the burghmote horn sounded in the market to end the day’s business’ – Brantam licked his lips – ‘I was in Master Cotterell’s house.’

  ‘And he was with you?’

  ‘No, I was with his wife in their bedchamber.’

  Kathryn tightened her lips to hide her smile. Now she could see why Brantam had been so nervous. The young physician looked pleadingly at her.

  ‘Can’t you see, Mistress? I have proof where I was, but if Cotterell finds out, he might kill both her and me!’

  ‘What proof do you have?’

  Brantam looked shamefacedly away.

  ‘If you go to the Cotterell house’ – he looked fleetingly up at Kathryn – ‘and I know you might; in the bedchamber, the bolsters are made of red silk with two white turtle-doves entwined in a circle of blue Canterbury bells. Mistress Cotterell, her stockings were red, yellow-clocked. Ask her! She has a mole on her right thigh near . . .’ Again Brantam wetted his lips. ‘Near her secret parts.’

  Kathryn now had her lower lip firmly between her teeth. She felt sorry for the man but couldn’t ignore the humour of the situation.

  ‘I swear this. I’m always there, whenever I have the chance. I love her!’

  The door suddenly swung open and Colum came out.

  ‘Mistress Swinbrooke, what is the matter?’

  ‘Go home, Master Brantam,’ Kathryn said quietly.

  Colum shouldered past her. ‘Sir, you will not!’

  Brantam’s eyes beseeched Kathryn.

  ‘Master Brantam,’ she repeated, ‘you will go home, and if this gentleman stops you, I will go with you. Go on!’

  Brantam turned and almost ran down the corridor. Colum seized Kathryn by the arm, his dark face a mask of fury. She hid her fear at the chilling look in his eyes. His lips were tight in a snarl and she could see the muscle flicker high in his cheek.

  ‘I will say,’ he grated, ‘who comes and who goes!’

  ‘Irishman, let go of my arm!’

  ‘I will!’

  ‘Sir, let go of my arm, you’re hurting me!’ Kathryn stepped closer. Colum’s hand fell away. Kathryn rubbed where his vise-like grip had made her muscle ache. ‘I’ll have a bruise there,’ she said. ‘For God’s sake, man, Brantam’s no murderer. An adulterer, yes, in Master Cotterell’s bed!’

  Colum’s face changed. The anger disappeared and he looked tired, blinking furiously, as if disassociating himself from the fury of a few seconds earlier.

  ‘By the rood!’ he muttered. ‘Come back, Kathryn. I’m sorry!’

  They rejoined the rest of the group, Colum shamed-facedly declaring that Mistress Swinbrooke had information which prevented further questioning of Master Brantam. He then asked a few more questions, establishing that the rest of the physicians had been in Canterbury when Spurrier’s murder had taken place. Finally Colum nodded at Newington, who stood up and gestured for silence.

  ‘This matter will be kept secret,’ t
he alderman declared. ‘It has begun without any grace or favour, even my own son-in-law, married to my beloved daughter Marisa, is under suspicion. Indeed, we all are, for these murders threaten the shrine, the pilgrims and the trade of a city already labouring under its false allegiance to the House of Lancaster. The King’s Commissioner and Mistress Swinbrooke will undoubtedly question each of you.’ Newington wiped his sweat-soaked hands on the front of his robe. ‘You are not to leave the city but continue on your own affairs.’ He beamed around. ‘That not only includes the skill of physic but all other matters.’ He smiled down the table at Kathryn and Colum. ‘My son-in-law, indeed, all the others here, are Masters of the Guild of Jesus’s Mass. We are preparing the Corpus Christi play at Holy Cross Church in Westgate. When it is ready and these matters are finished, you must join us there.’

  ‘I will question you all,’ Colum repeated, ignoring Newington’s pleasantries. ‘But for the moment, Sirs, you are all dismissed.’

  The physicians rose and hurriedly left, though Chaddedon lingered to smile and sketch a courteous bow at Kathryn.

  ‘Mistress Swinbrooke,’ he offered, ‘for my part, you will always be a most welcome guest in our house.’

  Kathryn smiled, choosing to ignore Colum’s furious glare at the physician’s retreating back.

  Once the door had closed behind them, Luberon went to a table in the corner and poured out five goblets of wine, serving Newington, Kathryn, Colum and finally Thomasina. For a while, after such a heated debate, they just sat reflecting on what they had learnt. Luberon asked about Brantam but Colum smiled and murmured how the young doctor had worries of his own.

  ‘What happens now?’ Kathryn asked, rising to ease the cramp in her legs. She felt slightly elated. For the first time since the death of her father she was no longer floating like some leaf on a stream but responsible for what was happening around her. Luberon smiled and Kathryn glimpsed the genuine humour in the little clerk’s eyes.

  ‘You enjoyed that, Mistress Swinbrooke, interrogating your colleagues?’