The Merchant's Tale

by Ann Swinfen

  ‘A long knife or a slender dagger. Difficult to say. Either would be effective, going in there, at that angle.’

  ‘That was what I thought. It’s a narrow wound, under all that blood, but he knew just where to drive it in.’

  ‘Are you become an expert on killing, Nicholas?’

  I shuddered. ‘I hope not. It is no more than common sense. And I studied a little of Galen as a student. Medicine never appealed to me.’

  ‘Well,’ Walden said, ‘like you, I think the murderer knew what he was doing. He has killed before, I would say. I wonder which of our Oxford villains had listened to Master Belancer’s complaints about Guyenne once too often.’

  ‘I do not think it was one of our Oxford villains,’ I said quietly.

  I glanced aside to where the two officers were waiting, somewhat impatiently, I thought.

  ‘Could your men remove the body to the castle? It need not remain here, surely, to upset the neighbours.’

  He took the hint. The men brought in a simple litter which they had left propped up against the wall outside. Since it was not quite dark, and the identity of the body would be visible to everyone in the streets, I found a blanket from the bedchamber and laid it over Hamo once they had lifted him on to the litter.

  ‘No talking to anyone on the way,’ Walden warned. ‘I want no rumours flying round the town. Keep your tongues behind your teeth. Not even his name. An unfortunate death. At the moment we can say nothing about who it is. Or how. Or why.’

  They both nodded as they picked up their burden. I saw that the insolent fellow had less to say for himself when the sheriff was by. I did not think he remembered our previous encounter.

  ‘Now,’ Walden said, taking a seat when they were gone, ‘what is it you know, that you did not wish to speak of, except to me.’

  ‘First,’ I said, pointing, ‘these wine cups. Hamo Belancher’s finest. The wine in the flagon is finished, but the scent of it lingers. I would say that is from the last precious store imported from his French vineyards. He did not sell it. He would not serve it to me. Perhaps to you. But perhaps not.’

  ‘So Belancer had an important guest,’ Walden said, humouring me. ‘Are you saying that this important guest was also his murderer?’

  ‘Almost certainly. There is no sign that either the shop or the house was broken into. Nothing has been disturbed or stolen, as far as I can see. Also, the dog was shut away in a storeroom.’

  ‘That is significant?’

  ‘It’s an old, familiar dog. Quiet. He knows all Belancer’s acquaintances.’ I paused, thoughtfully. ‘He had not many friends, but all the neighbours, all the shopkeepers in the High, all his customers, knew him and knew his dog. He would not bother to shut the dog away if one of them came visiting. Nor, I think, would he bring out his finest wine and his best wine cups. His father brought those cups from France. He boasted of them.’

  ‘So.’ Walden tapped his teeth with his fingernail. ‘You are saying that Belancer had a guest who was a stranger – he did not know the dog – and he was important enough for him to bring out this wine and these cups.’

  I nodded.

  ‘And this man was also his murderer? I suppose you are now going to tell me who he is.’

  I smiled. ‘Not quite. But I think I know what manner of man he is.’

  I rested my folded arms on the table and told Walden about Alice Walsea’s warning of a dangerous criminal from France, a man for hire, who would certainly have the skills to kill quickly, efficiently, and silently. Then I recounted all the events of the previous night, what Peter Winchingham had seen and heard, and how he had been attacked. I also explained how I had arrived at a rough idea of the time when Hamo Belancer was probably killed. He listened without interrupting me, only nodding from time to time.

  ‘That is all very convincing, Nicholas,’ he said, ‘and I agree you are probably right, but until we know which of the French vintners Belancer knew, and whether it was the same man who visited him last night, we are still floundering. I believe there are about eight of them.’

  ‘I realise this,’ I said. ‘I came here this afternoon to try and discover the name of the vintner he knew.’ I gave a shrug. ‘I came several hours too late.’

  Walden drummed his fingers on the table and I sighed. I had been here for hours now. I was tired and hungry, and I could not quite rid my mind of that sight of Hamo Belancer lying cold on the floor, in his own blood.

  ‘Have you ever heard anything of a secret way into St Frideswide’s Priory?’ I asked. ‘As I said, that was what Master Winchingham heard them discussing.’

  He shook his head. ‘I have not. I cannot see how there could be such a thing. And why would that be of any interest to the French vintner, who has every reason to come and go there as he pleases?’

  ‘And why,’ I said, ‘the most unfathomable question – why would the Frenchman want to kill Belancer? They were friends, or at least acquaintances.’

  ‘That,’ Walden said, ‘I cannot even begin to answer.’

  I got up and began to pace restlessly about the room.

  ‘A sudden quarrel? Were they planning some crime together, some trick to pass off cheap wine as the best vintage, and then fell out about it? It’s possible, you know. Belancer could claim he had bought some fine French wine from the other man, and then pass off his poorer stuff for a high price.’

  ‘Surely his customers would notice?’

  ‘There are some men will pretend they have a great knowledge of wine, but is it not often no more than talk? How many true experts in the quality of wine do we have here in Oxford? Very few, I should guess. Hamo could buy one barrel of the best quality from the Frenchman, and offer that as samples, then substitute the inferior wine to his customers.’

  Walden grinned. ‘I see you have the makings of a fine criminal mind. Such a scheme might well be tried, but I cannot see how a falling out over a devious plot to cheat customers could lead to murder. Everyone knows that it goes on all the time. That is why we have assessors for the quality of bread and ale, the accuracy of a merchant’s scales, and the length of his cloth yard.’

  ‘You are right.’ I flung myself down on the stool again. ‘And in any case, what could such a cheating scheme have to do, in the first place, with Alice Walsea’s information about the man she is looking for, and, in the second place, with a secret way into St Frideswide’s Priory? Nay, it will not do.’

  ‘I think we can do no more here.’ Walden got up and began closing and barring the shutters.

  I extinguished all but two of the candles.

  ‘I will have discreet enquiries made,’ he said, ‘into the group of French vintners who have come to the fair. As you know, the management of the fair is not really my business, it is handled by the priory through their steward and their lay servants, and they may call upon the parish constables if they need help.’

  ‘Did you hear about the fighting this morning? One man was stabbed.’

  ‘Aye, but it was nothing to worry us. The combatants have been locked up till tomorrow to cool their tempers and learn restraint. It was never serious enough for me to intervene.’

  ‘And I will continue to try to discover the identity of the man Master Winchingham glimpsed last night,’ I said. ‘A man of Provençal appearance, it seems. There surely cannot be more than one such amongst the French merchants. I shall keep my eyes open, and I shall also ask the cellarer at the priory to describe the man who supplied the wine for the prince’s dinner.’

  Walden dropped the bar across the last shutter, leaving us in the gloom lit only by the two remaining candles. ‘The prince is still here, so unless he dines with the mayor, Prior de Hungerford will be obliged to provide more dinners, and therefore to buy more wine.’

  ‘Very true.’ I realised I had not told the sheriff about the thefts from the priory and the steps taken by Sub-Prior Resham and the canons to move all the treasures and books to the safety of the high altar, but it seemed I had burdened h
im enough already.

  I blew out the candles, and we groped our way to the door, which still stood open. A chill wind was getting up, with the bite of autumn in it. Once we were outside, Walden felt in his scrip and drew out a bulky lock, which he clamped around the latch of the door.

  ‘The shop door is barred on the inside, as well as locked, and this should deter any sneak thief, once word gets about that the place is empty.’

  We walked up the alley together.

  ‘This place is worse than a pig run,’ Walden said, ‘and your poor friend, the merchant from Flanders, was lying in this?’

  ‘Aye, face down and half smothered.’

  We had reached the High Street and I noticed that Walden’s horse was hitched to a ring in the wall. Across the way, I saw that light was shining from my own house. My stomach was hinting that it was long past the hour for supper.

  Walden mounted and nodded toward the cobbler’s house, from which we could hear the shouts of his children.

  ‘At least they should have peace tonight.’

  How wrong he was proved to be.

  Chapter Eight

  When at last I reached home, I found the children abed, and Margaret half asleep in her chair by the fire. I crept into the kitchen as softly as I might, but the hinges of the door creaked and she started awake.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb you,’ I said.

  I crouched by the fire, holding out my hands to the blaze. I had suddenly realised how cold I had grown in that bleak fireless room across the road. ‘I have been all this time at Hamo Belancer’s house, and Sheriff Walden has but this moment left.’

  Margaret got up and lifted a pot which had been staying warm by the fire.

  ‘I have kept you some of the leek and barley pottage,’ she said. ‘There is bread under the cloth on the table.’

  With some reluctance, I left the fire, but I was very hungry. It was hours since I had eaten that meagre rabbit pie at the fair. When I was settled with a steaming bowl of pottage and had cut several slices of bread, Margaret sat down opposite me and poured us both a cup of ale.

  ‘This venture of Mary Coomber’s was a fine idea, no doubt, and we shall all have earned some chinks to lay aside, perhaps for a new winter cloak, or shoes for the children, but by St Frideswide herself, I shall be glad when this fair is over. My feet and my back have never ached so much.’

  I smiled at her over my spoon. ‘I am sure you work every bit as hard about the house.’

  ‘Perhaps, but it is different, standing in a stall all day long, keeping a polite smile on your face while customers taste first one thing and then another. And then, like as not, walk off without buying anything! I have some sympathy, now, for you shopkeepers.’

  I laughed. ‘Most of my customers behave better than that, although sometimes it is difficult to remain polite, with such as Lady Amilia. Comfort yourselves that there are only three more days of the fair. And you are not there tomorrow, are you?’

  ‘Nay, ’tis Emma and Mary tomorrow, with Juliana coming in the afternoon, so that Mary may be away in time for her milking.’ She cut herself a slice of bread and nibbled at it. ‘I give you due warning that Alysoun is fretting to go to the fair.’

  ‘Perhaps I may take them tomorrow. I have an errand in the morning, but after that I will take them both, and you may have a quiet day.’

  She smiled. ‘That would be good. Now, what is this matter that Johane Brinley brought word of? I was not here when she came, but heard it from Walter. Hamo Belancer has met with an accident?’

  ‘A severe accident,’ I said grimly. ‘He is dead. He was murdered.’

  Margaret pressed her fingers against her lips, then stretched out her hand to me.

  ‘Nicholas, you are not being caught up again in dangerous affairs, surely? If Hamo Belancer has been murdered, it is no concern of yours.’

  I reached across and patted her shoulder. ‘No need for you to worry, Meg. I am concerned only because Cobbler Brinley and I discovered his body, I sent at once for Sheriff Walden. It was some time before he could come, and then we put our heads together over what may lie behind it. I told him about what Peter Winchingham had heard, and how he was struck down. He needed to know everything I could tell him. And there was also Alice Walsea’s information about the Frenchman, since it was certainly a Frenchman Master Winchingham overheard.’

  ‘So now you are free of it?’ She took a sip of her ale, and eyed me narrowly over the rim of her cup.

  I returned to my meal and kept my eyes on my bowl.

  ‘I have said only that I will try to learn from the cellarer at St Frideswide’s which of the French vintners has supplied the priory with wine. That is my errand, first thing tomorrow morning. Walden is a good man, but the fellows under him are little help, I would guess, in seeking out the truth of a crime. The killing of Belancer seems senseless. Yet it must have been the Frenchman, since there was no sign of a break-in at the shop, and the Frenchman was certainly with him last night. Unless–’

  I paused, tapping my spoon against the bowl.

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless someone else visited Hamo after the Frenchman left. It must have been someone he knew. Someone for whom he would open the door readily at night. But he had not let the dog out of the storeroom, so it needs must have happened immediately after the other man left.’ I shook my head. ‘Nay, I think not.’

  ‘The dog? What dog?’

  ‘That old dog of Hamo’s.’

  I explained how the dog had been shut away, and so had alerted Brinley and me that something was amiss.

  ‘However much we may wish to complicate the matter,’ I said, ‘the finger points clearly at the Frenchman, but why should he have any reason to kill Belancer? They were planning something together. Something involving this secret way into the priory.’

  ‘Nicholas, you are making my head ache, as well as my back and my feet. You are starting to repeat yourself. Finish your meal, then let us get to bed before we fall asleep over the table.’

  She was, of course, as always, perfectly right. I scooped up the last of the pottage, which had banished my slight feeling of dizziness, and wiped up the final drops with the heel of my bread. We took our candles and went quietly up the stairs, although I paused for a moment at the children’s room. Rowan was sprawled over most of Alysoun’s bed, leaving her hardly any room, while Rafe, as so often, was hanging over the side of the truckle bed, in danger of rolling on to the floor. I set down my candle and tucked Rafe more firmly in place. The dog, who was not supposed to sleep on Alysoun’s bed, I shoved over to the far side. She woke and licked my hand in a forgiving manner. Alysoun muttered something in her sleep, but did not wake, as I took possession of a larger portion of the bed for her from the dog. Probably before morning Rowan would have spread herself across it again.

  Once in my own bed chamber I was too tired even to change into my night shift, simply kicking off my shoes, dropping my cotte on the floor, and rolling myself in the feather bed. Yet despite the fatigues of the day, I could not sleep at first. The image of Hamo Belancer, sprawled on the floor, his neck bruised and the front of his cotte soaked in his life’s blood, kept pressing on my mind. I thought I could hear the old dog’s puzzled whine. And my brain would not abandon its attempt to sort out the confusion of ideas – a French vintner supplying wine to the priory, town youths firing the gatehouse, the king’s intelligencer masquerading as a merchant, books and silver stolen from the priory, Winchingham struck down, the fight on the jetty, a secret way into the priory, and Hamo dead in his own kitchen.

  There seemed to be no connection between them, apart from the priory, and I wished I could silence the chatter in my head. In irritation I flung myself on to my side, then on to my back. Having earlier in the day wanted to avoid the lures of Morpheus, now I longed for him to throw the comforting blanket of sleep over me.

  In the end, I must have slept.

  Until a clamour penetrated even through my sleep-dulled ea
rs.

  In Oxford we are a city of bells. Some say that there is a church on every corner, but that is an exaggeration. Yet it is true that there are many churches within the small circle of the town walls, and many of the colleges have built their own chapels. At all the canonical hours, the bells ring out their discreet summons to prayer, although here in the centre of the secular town we are mostly out of earshot of the bells that rouse the ecclesiastical orders from their beds at midnight, to celebrate the coming of the new day with Matins and Lauds. They may whisper at the edge of our hearing, but we have learned to shut our ears to them.

  This was different.

  A single bell, tolling over and over again, as if it rang for the funeral of some centenarian. Nay, it was not so measured, so sober. This was a shout, a clamour, an alarm.

  I threw off the covers and sat up. When there is a fire in the town, or if the flooding in the outskirts begins to creep too near for safety, the church bells ring out a warning. But this was one bell, one church, and even in the dark I guessed that it came from St Frideswide’s. Had the fire-raisers returned there? Was this why a secret entrance was needed?

  I fumbled until I had lit my candle, pulled my cotte over my head and pushed my feet into my shoes. It seemed like a repetition of the other night, only there had been no bell then. This time the danger must have reached the priory itself.

  Margaret was already at the top of the stairs as I emerged carrying my candle, and Alysoun stood in the doorway of the children’s bed chamber, white-faced and frightened.

  I leaned down and hugged her. ‘Nothing to worry about, my pet. It is something at the far side of the town.’

  ‘Is it another fire?’ she whispered. She was shivering, and her bare feet were turning blue with cold.

  ‘Never you worry,’ Margaret said briskly. ‘I’ve looked from my window and there is no sign of a fire. No doubt some mischievous novice playing a prank. Get you back into your bed before you wake Rafe.’

  I did not think there were any novices at the priory, but I did not contradict her.

  ‘Aye, Alysoun, back to your bed. I am sure Aunt Margaret will stay with you until you go to sleep again.’