by Mel Starr
“’Twas Arnaud.”
“Fetch him,” the prince commanded.
The marshal turned and disappeared into the screens passage. William Blackwater, who all this time was kneeling over the corpse, stood and spoke.
“’Twas an excess of black bile. Travel in the rain yesterday surely brought it on. Was he poisoned, his wine would surely stink from the toxin.” Blackwater then took the cup that I had replaced upon the table, and held it to his nostrils. “Nothing,” he said. The physician then lifted the cup to his mouth as if to taste it. Before he could do so I reached out a hand and swatted the goblet from his lips. He glared fiercely at me.
“If ’twas poison which ended Sir Giles’s life I believe hemlock the toxin. Plato records the death of Socrates, how after he drank from the fatal bowl first his legs, then hands went numb and cold. Within a few minutes his breath was stopped and also his heart. Sir Giles’s death seems much like that of the great philosopher. If so, the slightest few drops might kill you. Men have been known to die from consuming a dozen leaves crushed to a juice.”
“Bah. Hemlock has a bitter taste,” Blackwater said. “If some man put enough of the stuff into Sir Giles’s wine to slay him he would have tasted it. His complexio was unbalanced, causing his heart to fail him.”
“Indeed,” I said. “Hemlock and monkshood, we are told, have an objectionable, pungent flavor. But this may be disguised in spiced food or strong wine. M’lord prince would serve Sir Giles only the best burgundy. Such wine, I think, would cover the bitter taste of poison. No man I know of has survived the consumption of such adulterated wine to report if ’tis so.”
From the corner of my eye I saw the marshal appear at the opening to the screens passage. He held his hands out, palms up. “No man has seen Arnaud these past few minutes. He was to serve hypocras at the high table, but is now nowhere to be found.”
Did the valet know that the wine he served to Sir Giles was poisoned? Why else would he not be found? Did he flee the palace after serving the fatal draught? Hemlock and monkshood may kill within an hour if the dose is large enough, and a thimble can contain a dose large enough. The fellow would have an hour, perhaps less, to escape the palace and discovery if he delivered the poison.
“Seek him in the valets’ chamber,” Prince Edward said. “Perhaps he also is ill.”
The marshal hurried away to do his lord’s bidding.
It occurred to me that if Sir Giles’s wine had been poisoned it would be wise to keep the offending ewer at hand, in case something might be learned from it. What this might be I could not say. I spoke to the prince.
“And lest any further harm be done, may I suggest, m’lord, that you instruct your butler to keep separate all of the wine and the ewers it was served in at dinner until they might be examined?”
Prince Edward turned to a valet and said, “See to it.” The man hastened to the screens passage and disappeared.
No man or woman in the prince’s hall seemed eager to resume a seat and consume hypocras and the void. All of those standing near to me had heard the word “poison.” And those who had not heard it from our lips heard it from others as people whispered the word among themselves. In a hall where a man lies dead perhaps of poison few folk will feel themselves hungry or thirsty.
I could think of no way to know for certain that Sir Giles had died of poisoning. But his behavior as he died suggested it was so. The disappearance of the valet who had poured his wine lent credence to the conjecture. And Arnaud had indeed disappeared. The marshal reappeared and announced that the valet was not lying ill in the valets’ chamber, nor was he to be found anywhere in the palace.
Chapter 3
Prince Edward directed his chaplain to see to the corpse: to have Sir Giles washed and prepared for burial and set before the altar of the prince’s chapel. He then turned to me and said, “Come with me.”
I followed the prince as he crossed the hall to a circular stairway built into the east wall. I was not alone. William Blackwater and most of the prince’s retainers who had dined at the high table did likewise.
Prince Edward stopped at the base of the stairs and turned to see a confused throng in his wake. Perhaps when he spoke the words “come with me,” the others assumed he spoke to them. Perhaps he did, and I had wrongly supposed he addressed only me.
Not so.
“I wish Master Hugh to attend me. No other,” the prince said.
Prince Edward climbed the stairs slowly, and his breath was labored when he reached the last step. I followed, and feared he might weaken and topple back. I prepared to catch him if this happened.
Three steps up the incline I glanced back over my shoulder and saw more than a dozen open-mouthed faces staring up at me. What the prince had in mind for me was a mystery – to me and his puzzled retainers.
At the top, the stairs opened into a great chamber lit on one side by colorful stained-glass windows. On the far side of this chamber I saw a set of oaken doors where two liveried valets stood watch over the prince’s private rooms. Prince Edward pushed through these doors, motioned for me to enter, then peered out at the great chamber as if to be assured we were not followed. Satisfied, he swung the doors shut.
We had entered the privy chamber. Valets had kept a fire burning upon the hearth, so the room was warm. The walls were of a light grey stone, cut so cunningly that the joints were all but invisible. Four tall windows illuminated skillfully embroidered tapestries with silken scenes of battle and the hunt. Diamonds of glass as clear as water made up the lower half of each window. The upper halves were of stained glass illustrating saints and tales from Holy Writ.
Climbing the stairs had taxed the prince. He walked slowly to a chair, sat heavily upon an embroidered cushion, and indicated that I should likewise sit. All this time, since his commands to the others at the base of the stairs, he had not spoken. Now he did.
“This is an ugly business.”
I did not reply. No words were necessary. I was in agreement.
“Arnaud has gone missing for a reason, I think,” Prince Edward said. “He placed poison in Sir Giles’s wine. Perhaps Sir Giles slighted him in some fashion, or he is now not to be found because he was paid to do this and has fled with his coins. Or mayhap the man who paid him for the deed has slain him, and his corpse will be found if we seek it.
“I remember two years past, at Limoges, you discovered who had slain… what was the knight’s name?”
“Sir Simon Trillowe.”
“Ah, just so. Sir John’s lad.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
“As I remember the matter Sir John charged you with the felony, did he not?”
“He did, m’lord.”
“You found out the felon and suggested to him he might prefer to die in battle a hero, rather than at the end of a hempen cord. Is this not so?”
I nodded agreement.
“I brought you to London to advise William Blackwater as to my affliction, but now I would have you also deal with this death.”
I had hoped, even planned, to suggest helpful herbs to the prince as I had done before at Limoges, then after a day or two bid farewell to London and return to my family. How long might it take to discover who had slain Sir Giles? And was he indeed murdered? I thought so, as did the prince, but this conclusion was not a certainty. Men’s hearts do fail them.
Prince Edward saw the consternation on my face. “I require this of you because I cannot trust other men. Sir Giles made enemies. I might select one of them to oversee my constables and serjeants in this matter and it might be that the man I choose is the felon.”
“How did he make enemies?” I asked. I had not been long enough in Sir Giles’s presence to know the man well. What I had learned of his character during the journey from Bampton had not impressed me, but I had seen nothing in three days which would have created in me a desire to slay him.
“If there was a way to make an enemy of some man Sir Giles would find it. You are perplexed at thi
s. I see it in your eyes. Why then did I keep the man near? Because he supported me when I was in dire need. At Crécy my father the king put me in command of the center, awaiting the French attack. I was but sixteen. When the battle commenced our line held firm, but King Philip’s force outnumbered us and we were hard pressed. Sir Giles was but three years older than me, and fought like a demon at my side. Together with Sir John Chandos, Thomas de Beauchamp, and the Duke of Oxford we rallied the center, held fast, then threw the French back down the hill.”
I remembered the tales told of the fight, how when King Edward learned that his son was badly put upon he chose not to send men to bolster the center, but rather said, “Let the boy win his spurs.” The prince did so, and has done so many times since. But unless his health can be restored he is unlikely to lead men to battle again.
“So although Sir Giles was oft ill-natured I would not desert him, as he did not desert me. Someone must take word of his death to Lady Juliana.”
“His wife?” I said.
“Nay. His lady died, what” – the prince drew upon his beard – “ten or eleven years past. Lady Juliana is a widow and the banns are to be read soon. His behavior has been so often repugnant that few women would have him.” Prince Edward shook his head, then continued. “Lady Juliana did not need to wed for wealth, I think. Sir Henry left her and his son a castle and lands in two shires.”
“Perhaps his behavior to the lady has been more solicitous than to other folk,” I said.
“Must have been. Most folk were surprised when they learned of the match, and some others disappointed.”
“Disappointed? The lady had other suitors?”
“Hah! A beautiful widow of twenty-seven years with lands in two shires?”
“Oh, aye. I see. A full purse never lacks friends, nor a wealthy widow suitors.”
Once before I had been required to seek a felon who had slain a man with many enemies. I did not relish the thought of being required to do so once again. And this time ’twas likely that the killer was a man of rank who, with his noble friends, would place every possible impediment in my path. I explained this to Prince Edward.
“Ah, you speak true. Most of my knights are irascible fellows, especially if called upon to yield to an inferior. Well, they must submit to your investigation. I will make this plain to all of my household, pages and grooms, gentlemen and knights. Sir Giles did not leave me when I needed him, and I will not leave him now, even so he is but a corpse. You are to be my chief constable and discover what befell him.
“Now, upon my other matter. You named some herbs when with the army before Limoges which you said might cure me.”
I did not wish to contradict the man who would, unless his malady ended his life, one day be my sovereign. But neither did I wish to set false hope before him. “Not cure, m’lord. Relieve.”
“Relieve? Is that not what a cure does?” The prince frowned. This was not a good sign.
“Indeed, m’lord. A cure will relieve, but relief does not necessarily cure. I suggested herbs which I thought might give you some relief.”
“Are there no physics which will effect a cure? Blackwater says that if my complexio is adjusted, and the humors of my body are put right, I will be cured of my affliction.”
I did not immediately reply, and the prince continued.
“But you do not believe it so. Your silence betrays you.”
“I am but a surgeon. I do not wish to contradict a learned physician.”
“Go ahead. Contradict him. He has me eating boiled roosters, may the Lord Christ have mercy on him. If his tough old fowl work no improvement he will soon seek his living elsewhere.”
Certainly Blackwater would do all to avoid that eventuality. I had heard that the prince paid the physician forty pounds each year. A princely sum indeed.
“Dr. Blackwater believes your improvement before Limoges two years past due to his changes to your diet,” I said.
“So he tells me. Regularly. I am too hot and must consume cold stuff. Or I am too cold and must change to a warm diet. Or my complexio is moist and I must consume drier food. I asked him once, if ’tis a fowl I must have for my dinner, why a roasted squab or two would not serve.”
“What did he say?” I asked, curious myself about the distinction.
“Couldn’t tell you. ’Twas all prattle to me. But the end of the matter is I have not roasted squab upon my trencher. What were those herbs?”
“Tansy, thyme, cress, and bramble leaves crushed, and an oil made from the root of fennel. These should be mixed with wine.”
“Blackwater says this potion should be spread upon my belly. That’s all ’tis good for.”
“Time will tell. Drink two or three cups of the concoction every day.”
“This is no cure, you say. If not, what is? What is your opinion of boiled roosters?”
“As for roosters, I think they will do you as much good crowing at dawn as boiled and on your trencher. If there is a cure for your affliction I do not know of it. I am a surgeon. If you were to fall upon the stairs to your hall and break an arm I could deal with the fracture. But your illness requires the attention of a learned physician, which I am not.”
“Bah. I have the attention of a learned physician. Blackwater tells me so daily. Little good it has done me. I gnaw upon boiled roosters and waste away, my humors no more balanced than ever.”
“Will you continue his advice and consume a boiled rooster each day?” I asked.
The prince pursed his lips and said, “What else am I to do? I’ll require of Blackwater that he prepare the physics you recommend, and consume them as well as the roosters.” Prince Edward stood. “But for now we will return to the hall, and my household will be told of your warrant.”
I bowed to the prince as he passed, and followed him through the doors leading to Kennington’s great chamber. The two valets stood guard at the doors, bowed as the prince passed, and stared at me quizzically. There will be gossip in the servants’ quarters this night, about the commoner who spent time with Prince Edward after the death of Sir Giles at dinner.
The prince made his way cautiously down the stairs. He knew that his weakened condition might cause his legs to collapse under him and send him plunging to the flags of his hall. Although this slow descent was quiet, those who remained in the hall heard, and these knights and ladies hurriedly gathered at the base of the stairs, bowing as the prince approached. I followed him at a respectful distance.
The hall had been cleared in our absence, tables dismounted and stacked against a wall, and benches drawn to one side. Musicians stood at the far end of the hall with their sackbuts and gitterns, awaiting Prince Edward’s return and his command to blow and pluck upon their instruments. The order never came.
The prince halted upon the second step, where he could gaze out over the upraised faces surrounding him. I cannot guess what they expected their lord to say, but I’m certain ’twas other than what they heard.
“Sir Giles may have been poisoned,” he began. “Within my hall. Such a thing is a grievous sin, if poison it truly was which took his life. If Sir Giles was slain I intend to see the felon rooted out. Behind me stands Master Hugh de Singleton. He did me good service before Limoges, discovering a murderer and easing my bellyache. I have this day made him chief constable of Kennington Palace and given him warrant to determine the cause of Sir Giles’s death and find who has slain him, if indeed murder was done.
“Likely Master Hugh will wish to ask questions of those who dined in my hall this day,” he continued, “as well as others not present. You are instructed to provide him with whatsoever aid he requires of you.”
This last sentence the prince spoke in a low voice, slowly emphasizing each word. No man or woman present could mistake his meaning. The knights and gentlemen standing in the hall cast surreptitious glances at each other, perhaps wondering who the felon might be, or if they might be the next to imbibe a fatal draught, and one lady smiled behind a lifted hand.
I wondered if ’twas me or my warrant she found amusing.
Her smile was warning enough that the inquiry laid upon me would not be well received by those whose station in life made them intolerant of lesser folk. Most men, regardless of rank, seem intolerant of lesser folk. Especially lesser folk who might seek from them information they would prefer not to divulge.
“You will keep me informed of your investigation,” the prince continued, turning to me. This was a command, not voiced as a question. When he had spoken he turned and began to laboriously climb the stairs. A valet saw and leaped past me to follow his lord at a discreet distance, but close enough that he could arrest a fall should the prince stumble and topple back.
Sir Giles had enemies, Prince Edward had said. I thought it likely that his squire would know of these, and the reason for the enmity between his master and those who were his foes. From my vantage point on the stairs, behind Prince Edward, I had seen Sir Giles’s squire, Randall Patchett, standing at the fringe of those assembled to hear the prince’s announcement. I approached the lad. “We will walk in the privy garden,” I said, and led the way through the hall to doors that opened onto a walled enclosure filled with walks and hedges and beds of flowers, of which Lady Joan was fond. As we crossed the hall I saw Arthur standing apart with several other grooms, and motioned for him to follow. He had been an observer of events and I thought to enquire later of him of any remarkable occurrences he might have witnessed while I was with Prince Edward in his privy chamber. Grooms, when in the company of gentlemen, learn to keep eyes and ears open and mouth shut.
Chapter 4
The afternoon was cool and cloudy. A light mist dampened the grass. Randall shivered, and I wondered if the cause was the chill or the death of Sir Giles.
“What will you do now that Sir Giles is dead?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Haven’t thought much on it. Mayhap there are knights at Kennington who will have me. I could serve Prince Edward,” the lad said hopefully.