Prince Edward's Warrant

by Mel Starr

  I told the skinner that if he learned anything of his brother’s whereabouts he should send his apprentice to Kennington Palace with the news. He promised to do so, and seemed genuinely worried about what might have become of Arnaud.

  Chapter 7

  Arthur, the valet, and I made our way through London’s crowded streets, the journey to London Bridge being somewhat entertaining when, near to the stocks market, a pig, perhaps aware of its destination, ran helter-skelter through Lombard Street scattering pedestrians like dandelion seeds in a gale.

  ’Twas well past time for dinner when we reached Kennington Palace. The other searchers, I discovered, had returned at the chiming of the noon Angelus Bells throughout the city, and now, with full bellies, awaited me and further instructions. They would have to wait a while longer. I had no thought of what I should do next to find Arnaud Tonge.

  The corpse hauled from the Thames was before the chapel altar. Perhaps an examination of the dead man and his garments would provoke a new theory. I did not relish the thought of such a study on an empty stomach. Of course, there is little pleasure either in enquiring of the dead on a full stomach.

  A table was laid for us near to the screens passage and we ate our fill of eels in bruit and crispels. I was in no hurry to finish my meal, for after I must inspect the corpse. ’Tis a delight when a man’s duty brings him pleasure. My duties, as surgeon and bailiff and now as constable to Prince Edward, bring me woe as often as joy. Although when I succeed in patching an injured man whole I feel much satisfaction.

  There are few windows, and therefore little light, in Prince Edward’s chapel. Candles and cressets would not provide illumination enough for a thorough examination of the man. The dead – Sir Giles and the drowned stranger – were laid out upon biers side by side. The knight would have disdained the presence of his unkempt companion in life. In death these distinctions evaporate. A corpse is a corpse, whether gentleman or commoner.

  I directed that a table be set outside the door to the kitchen garden and the drowned man placed upon it. I had entertained the thought that the tunic and badge upon the dead man were counterfeit. Not so. The tunic was of finest wool, and the embroidered badge matched those worn by others in Prince Edward’s service. The chauces were another matter. They may at one time have been of quality, but were no longer. At the ankles they were frayed and the seat was worn thin.

  Beneath the tunic and chauces the dead man wore a filthy kirtle and braes, and as I watched, fleas abandoned the folds of these garments, escaping the sunlight and their cooling host.

  The corpse now lay naked before me. I saw no indication of violence on the emaciated form, but ran my fingers through the man’s thinning hair to learn if he had suffered a blow to his skull. I found lice, but no bruises. If the fellow had drowned, there would be no sign of the cause but for water in the man’s lungs. Folk who are slain, then pitched into a river, will not inhale the water, having their breath stopped before they can fill their lungs.

  Twice before I had sought the cause of death of a man plucked from a stream. Arthur had assisted in one of these examinations, so guessed my request before I made it.

  “You want me to press upon ’is chest, see if water flows from ’is mouth?”

  “Aye.”

  It did, in copious amounts. The man had indeed drowned, but was it mischance or felony which put him in the Thames? And where had he come by Prince Edward’s livery and badge?

  One of the prince’s constables had accompanied me to the examination. I released the corpse to him. The man would be taken, no doubt, to the nearest churchyard and buried without fanfare. I doubted his bearers would even pause in the lychgate for the priest to pray over him.

  Did the man find Prince Edward’s livery and badge discarded, or did he steal the garments? If he was a thief, he must have overpowered Arnaud. I thought that unlikely. His wizened frame would have been too frail to subdue a robust, well-fed man. And the livery must have belonged to Arnaud. No other of Prince Edward’s servants or their garb had gone missing.

  What if he had happened upon Arnaud in some inn, where the valet drank too much wine celebrating his newly fattened purse? Even a feeble man might vanquish a fellow in his cups.

  Prince Edward did seemed not to enjoy his supper that evening. Perhaps he would have enjoyed it even less had he known of the second corpse now resting in his chapel. He learned of it soon enough. After the meal I followed him and Lady Joan to his privy chamber and told him of the day’s events. He nodded but had no comments, nor had Lady Joan.

  There was music and dancing again that evening in Kennington Palace hall. My Kate would have enjoyed the spectacle and delighted in the gowns the ladies wore. She would also have delighted in the dancing, I think, but not in the competence of her partner.

  The music and swirling dancers became an abstraction as I considered what I had learned this day, or rather, what I had not learned.

  Had I discovered anything at all that could lead to Sir Giles’s murderer? I thought not. But how to know? Until the felon was found I would not know what information led to the guilty and what did not.

  Here was a conundrum. I sought knowledge. Some discoveries would lead to the felon. Others would not, and may even mislead. How to know beforehand what would assist and what would impede the investigation of Sir Giles’s death? I may waste time enquiring of matters which would bear no fruit, and fail to seek understanding that would. There were things which I knew not, and did not need to know. There were other matters which I needed to know of, but how might I understand which was which? What knowledge must I seek, and what might I discard? I did not yet know what I needed to know.

  Was it important to find Arnaud Tonge? He must, I thought, be found if he lived. But what if, when he was discovered, the find proved of no value in identifying a murderer? I would know that only when I found the man. I had to learn many unimportant things before I could discover the few important matters. The path before me seemed strewn with obstacles, but a path with few obstructions may not lead to anyplace important.

  Early next morn, as Arthur and I broke our fast with wheaten loaves and ale, Prince Edward’s chaimberlain found me with news that the prince wished to speak to me. I hurriedly finished my ale and climbed the steps to the great chamber and beyond to the privy chamber. A man must not keep his future sovereign waiting.

  The valets attending the doors to the privy chamber had been told to expect my arrival. One opened the door and stepped aside. The other announced my arrival to the prince as I drew near.

  Prince Edward sat alone, and I immediately discerned why he was solitary and also that the herbs I had advised had not yet been effective. Perhaps they never would be. A fire blazed upon the hearth to counter the cool morning air entering the chamber through an open window. The need for ventilation was acute. The prince had been passing foul wind which had made the privy chamber objectionable even to him.

  I believe he saw my nostrils twitch in protest, although I certainly would not speak of the matter. One must not tell the Duke of Cornwall that he stinks. To do so would be unnecessary. To his chagrin, the prince knew this. So the issue was not addressed.

  “The day before yesterday,” he began, “I made you my constable and charged you to discover what caused the death of Sir Giles Cheyne. What have you learned?”

  I was compelled to admit that I had found more questions than answers since the previous day. I told the prince again of the drowned man garbed in his livery, wearing his badge, and of discovering Arnaud Tonge’s brother.

  “This brother knew nothing of Arnaud’s whereabouts?”

  “Nay. The man had just returned from purchasing fox skins to make a fur coat on commission.”

  “So he said,” the prince remarked. “Who is this coat to be for?”

  “Sir John Relyk.”

  “Hmmm. Aye, Sir John would wear a new coat, I think. Likes his garments new and of the latest fashion, does Sir John.”

  “Where d
oes Sir John reside?” I asked.

  “His manor is Coulsdon.”

  My blank expression told the prince that I was unfamiliar with the place.

  “Ten or so miles to the south. That you ask this tells me you may doubt the skinner’s word. Will you go to Sir John and learn if this commission is false?”

  “Bailiffs are hired and paid to be mistrustful of others. But ’til now I had not thought to doubt the skinner.”

  “Believe only what can be proven true, eh? A safe policy for princes as well.

  “I have a tunic for you,” the prince continued. “So long as you are in my service you should don garb which proves it so, else men may resist your authority.” He pointed to a bench where a black tunic lay neatly folded.

  I departed the privy chamber with the tunic and the thought that I had perhaps been too eager to believe the skinner and his wife when they claimed not to have seen Arnaud for many months. Someone had scraped a chair or bench across the floor of the upper story of the skinner’s house while I was within the place. Why did I not then ascend the stairs to learn if indeed the skinner’s elderly parents did share the upper floor? And even if ’twas so that Alan’s aged parents shared the dwelling, might there not have been a third person there?

  The beasts Arthur and I had ridden from Bampton to London were stabled in the Kennington Palace marshalsea. I went directly there and told a stable groom that I would need the palfreys saddled and ready for travel immediately after dinner, then went to the chamber assigned me, took off my cotehardie, and donned the prince’s tunic. I felt already the authority the garment represented. ’Tis no wonder that knights in maintenance feel unconstrained in their dealings with common folk.

  At dinner this day I watched as Prince Edward and others at the high table consumed ravioles, longworts of pork, and cyueles. The prince seemed pleased with his dinner. I saw no boiled rooster flesh.

  I and those who dined near to me were served a porre of peas and ravioles. Those who dined at the foot of the long tables, however, contented themselves with beans yfryed and barley loaves. Arthur was one of these, and I glanced his way once. His fare did not seem to dismay him.

  Coulsdon, the prince had said, was nearly ten miles south, and the days were growing shorter. If Arthur and I wished to visit the place, question Sir John, and return before the twelfth hour we must make haste. But I could not leave the hall while Prince Edward was at his meal. When the prince stood from the remains of his meal, all in the hall stood also. I caught Arthur’s eye and indicated to him that we would depart. He crammed the remains of a barley loaf into his mouth, took a final swig of ale, and followed.

  The marshalsea had our palfreys ready, and knew the roads we must travel to find Coulsdon. We urged our mounts and two hours later we saw the spire of the village church rise above a forest where men were pannaging pigs, and fields under the plough where men readied the soil for planting rye. In their tofts other men of the village were occupied threshing wheat.

  Seeking the lord of such a manor is a simple matter. Identify the grandest house and rap upon the door. Occasionally the village bailiff will possess a fine house. This will depend upon how much coin the lord has permitted his bailiff to extort from manor tenants and villeins. What I took to be the bailiff’s house in Coulsdon was pleasant but not grand. There was no mistaking Sir John Relyk’s residence. Other than the church ’twas the only stone building within the village.

  A servant answered my knock upon the manor house door, saw my badge, and tugged a forelock while asking how he might serve me. I asked for Sir John and was invited to await him in the hall. The servant trotted off to locate the knight.

  The man who soon appeared was tall, wore a neatly trimmed beard tinged with red and speckled with silver whiskers, and had not suffered hunger for many years. Here was a knight who would be of small benefit in battle against the French. Or against the Scots or Welsh, for that matter. Armed with a knife, however, I doubted not that he could acquit himself well in combat against a haunch of venison.

  Sir John peered quizzically at me. Perhaps he had recently been at Kennington Palace and did not recognize me as being in service to Prince Edward. But the badge told him this was so.

  “Good day… how may I serve the prince?” he began.

  “I am Hugh de Singleton, bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot in Bampton, and constable to Prince Edward in the matter of a man slain in Kennington great hall.”

  “A man slain? In the hall? Who?” Sir John asked. “How?”

  I explained as much of the matter as the knight needed to know, then came to the reason for my visit.

  “The man I seek, who likely delivered the poison to Sir Giles, has a brother who lives in a lane just off the Shambles, near to Greyfriars Church. Alan Tonge by name. A skinner by trade. He told me that on your commission he was collecting fox skins to make for you a winter coat. Is this so?”

  “Hmmm. Aye and nay. I did commission a fox fur coat from the man. Would you care to see it? ’Tis a fine garment and will warm me well this winter.”

  “The coat is already delivered?”

  “Aye. A few days after Lammastide. Alan Tonge did gather skins for my coat, but if he does so now ’tis for some other man’s coat, not mine.”

  Alan Tonge had departed London with a cart and returned with two packs of skins. Some of these were fox. So he said. Did he leave the city with an empty cart, or was a man hidden in it? I saw the bundles carried from the cart yesterday, when he returned to London. What, I wondered, was in those bundles? Fox skins? Not for Sir John Relyk. Why would the skinner lie about such a matter? Probably because he knew Sir John resided in Coulsdon and I was not likely to travel that far to learn of something so innocuous as the purchase of a fur coat. And also because there was some truth about his travel from London which he did not want known. I resolved to know it.

  But not this day. Sir John bid us linger for a cup of ale, and would have had us refresh ourselves with a hastily laid on meal – so influential is Prince Edward’s livery – but I protested that we must be away so as to reach Kennington before darkness and thieves descended upon the road.

  Chapter 8

  Next morning, as Prince Edward’s grooms and valets broke their fast, I selected six of the stoutest to accompany Arthur and me to the skinner’s house.

  London Bridge was again clogged with folk desiring to cross the Thames and enter the city. Woe betide any man who at that hour wished to leave London rather than enter. However, seven men wearing Prince Edward’s badges, six of them robust fellows – and Arthur – had little trouble opening a path across the bridge, dividing the throng. Men garbed in some lord’s livery are a common sight upon London’s streets, but seven men wearing Prince Edward’s livery and apparently upon some business of importance to the prince will gather attention and raised eyebrows. Although few men wished to be caught openly staring as we passed.

  Again I halted our group at Greyfriars Church and assigned duties to each. I told two men to pass behind the church, so that their livery would not be seen from the skinner’s house, and set themselves at the north end of the lane to block any man who might escape that way. Two others I assigned to wait where we stood, for the same purpose.

  Another man I sent with Arthur, to creep through the alley to the rear of the house. A place with which Arthur was now familiar. The last of the fellows I required to accompany me to Alan Tonge’s door.

  The skinner’s wife answered my knocking and stepped back, her mouth open, when she saw me. Perhaps she had not expected to see me again. Or perhaps men garbed in Prince Edward’s livery startled her. When such men in service to a great lord take notice of a man or woman of the commons ’tis usually because that man or woman has drawn attention they would prefer to avoid.

  Mary composed herself and greeted me. “I give you good day, Master… Hugh. You seek Alan? He is at his work. Shall I fetch ’im?”

  “Aye. I’ll not take him from his labor a long while.”


  The woman so forgot herself that she offered no hospitality but left us standing at the threshold. She disappeared into a passageway and I heard her call to her husband. His response was curt. The woman spoke again, this time in a voice so soft I could not hear.

  Alan appeared a moment later, wiping his hands upon a leather apron. “How may I serve you?” the man said. His manner suggested that he could not decide whether he should be worried that he had attracted my attention for a second day, or exasperated that he was interrupted while at his trade. “Have you found Arnaud?” he continued before I could reply. The man did not seem hopeful.

  “Nay. I have discovered a few things since we last spoke, but your brother’s whereabouts is not one of them.” Prince Edward’s badge made me bold. “Why did you lie to me?” I said with as grim a tone as I could muster. I did not specify the lie in question. I thought the skinner might, if he had prevaricated about matters other than Sir John’s fox coat, incriminate himself regarding them. So he did.

  I watched Alan’s adam’s apple bounce as he considered a response. Perhaps he had spoken numerous falsehoods and was wondering which I might have found out. Or mayhap the skinner was alarmed that Prince Edward’s man had accused him of being untruthful. Such an accusation would frighten even an honest man, which Alan Tonge was not.

  Tonge swallowed deeply and protested my accusation. “Nay, I spoke truth.”

  “Not all of your words were truthful. This I know. Will you tell me which were deceitful and which were honest, or must you meet with Prince Edward’s serjeants?”

  I needed to say no more. Even a man with little imagination would understand the implication.

  “I did not return from my journey with fox skins for Sir John Relyk’s coat.”

  I said nothing. Alan would not know if this was the lie I had discovered if there was another falsehood from his lips.