by Mel Starr
I found Randall Patchett where I had left him, at bowls. I believe he had lost a few coins at the sport, for as I watched he lined up a toss with lips pursed tight. His ball did not come close to the target, and he threw up his hands in disgust. Some of his companions chuckled.
Randall turned from his bowling, a scowl embedded upon his face. Again I motioned for him to approach, and again we walked from the bowlers. Arthur followed.
“Who is Thomas Poer?” I asked when we were out of earshot of his companions. “Is he among the bowlers?”
“Aye, the large lad just about to take his turn… him in the russet cotehardie and the bluish cap.”
Thomas was indeed a strapping fellow, nearly as robust as Arthur and a hand taller. He would have little trouble turning a man upside down into a barrel.
“What do you know of him? Who does he serve?” I asked.
“Sir William Vache.”
I knew Sir William to be one of Prince Edward’s household knights, a man who wore a large cap with a liripipe draped about his neck, but nothing more of him. Thomas Poer wore a light blue cap. At a glance, or in the dark, perhaps it might be mistaken for light grey.
“The cap that Thomas wears – have you seen him wear the same cap in the past, or is it new?”
Randall shrugged. “Don’t recall. I think he’s worn it before. Don’t pay much attention to the color of caps. ’Tis a little soiled, I noticed.”
Light blue and light grey might be confused. And a cap might become soiled if it was struck from a man’s head by a blow which left him senseless and the cap in the mire.
“Who are Thomas Poer’s friends among the squires?” I asked.
“He’s thick with Robert Waynflete and Stephen Corbet.”
“No others? What of Sir Geoffrey Paget?”
“Oh, aye. You could say they’re close. Thought you wished to know only of the squires.”
“Any others?”
“Simon Ewes, perhaps.”
“Any enemies?”
“Nay. Thomas is a good-natured sort. Look at him. Sturdy as a castle wall, but not clever. A simpleton, actually, but do not say I said so. I’d not like to face his wrath, although, truth to tell, I’ve never seen him angry. Come to speak of it, Roger de Clare would often make sport of Thomas. Wouldn’t say they were enemies, though.”
“About his friends: does he lead them, or do they lead him?”
“Thomas is a follower. And faithful to his friends. There are those who will ridicule him behind his back, like Roger, and he knows that. So those who will not do so have his loyalty.”
Would the robust young man be so willing to please a friend that he would assist him in a murder? I thought back to the afternoon when four horsemen pursued Arthur and me. Were any of the four as large as Thomas Poer? No, I thought not. If Roger de Clare was one of the four, he was not accompanied by Thomas Poer.
“A simpleton, you said.”
“Aye.”
“In the past day has his behavior seemed out of place?”
“Now that you mention it, when we heard of Roger’s murder and how it happened Thomas shed tears. He was not fond of Roger, and surely knew Roger poked fun at him behind his back. And weeping before other squires is not a weakness to which even Roger’s good friends would succumb.”
Would a man of gentle disposition and weak mind be sorry for the part he had played in the death of another, even if ’twas a man he had no reason to care for? I thought it possible.
Sir Geoffrey Paget did not appear at supper. Amabil was present and if she was concerned that her intended husband was absent she did not give evidence of it. She showed joy, interest in her table companions, and took much pleasure in the interest of a young knight assigned to her left side. But Amabil was like the moon, I thought. There was a dark side that she showed to no one. I wondered if her father had glimpsed it.
As always my supper companion was William Blackwater. I believe he thought he had put me on the defensive at dinner, so was now determined to seal his victory.
“What will you do when the king learns that his son and heir nears death because of your stupidity?” he said with a mouthful of mushroom tart.
“We are all near death. You are nearer heaven’s gate now than you were this morning. Although whether or not St. Peter will admit you is another matter.”
“He will. And as I am older than you, when I greet him I will warn him of you.”
“I’m sure,” I said, “that the Lord Christ has advised His apostle concerning me. St. Peter will need no advice from you, and nor do I.”
“Prince Edward must scorn your herbs and oils if he wishes to return to health.”
“Do you serve as a physician to others, or only to the prince?” I asked.
“I serve only my prince.”
“Before you came to his service did you attend other men, adjusting their humors and measuring their physics by their sign when born?”
“Indeed,” Blackwater said pridefully. “Great men sought my knowledge and skill. ’Tis how the prince heard of me. Sir Thomas Ryland told him of my ability.”
“Sir Thomas is dead, is he not? Three years past, I believe.”
Blackwater said nothing.
“Did you mistake his sign, or assign foods for heat when he required cold? Wet, mayhap, when he should have consumed dry? How many others that you treated are now under the tiles of their manor church?”
“No man lives forever,” Blackwater growled, “but he will live longer if he does as I say.”
There was no way to counter that claim, or for Blackwater to prove it. But I did have a last rejoinder. “No man has perished from consuming the herbs I set before him, and when I sew up a man’s wound or set a broken bone aright, I can prove that what I have done has improved the man’s life. Show me your proofs of humors and signs in the heavens.”
“The ancients knew that the planets and stars have great influence over men. Are you so vainglorious that you would challenge them?”
“The ancients also worshipped Thor and Athena and Poseidon. Do we not know better now?”
Blackwater swallowed deeply. He was readying a rejoinder, I believe, but thought better of it, took a bite of wheaten bread with honeyed butter, and turned from me to his other supper companion. We spoke no more that evening.
I had not noticed, but while the physician and I had jousted, a groom on the opposite side of the hall was watching. A man would have to be a dolt not to see that we were contending over some matter. The groom was Adam Trinkle, Blackwater’s assistant and apprentice. He sought me after supper, as tables and trestles were being cleared for dancing. He glanced about the hall and over his shoulder as he approached, then looked back again as he came near. I followed his gaze and saw Dr. Blackwater in conversation with a lady, but his eyes followed his young assistant. Trinkle saw this also, and walked past me without ever looking in my direction. He had intended to speak to me, I was sure of it, but disregarded me when he saw Blackwater’s eyes upon him.
After walking nonchalantly past me, Trinkle ended up against a wall of the great hall where other grooms and pages made chat. Arthur was among this cluster, and I watched as Blackwater’s assistant sidled toward him. Trinkle seemed innocent of intention, but I thought appearances deceiving.
Blackwater no longer gave attention to his assistant, preferring his female companion. Trinkle leaned against the wall, his back to the physician, facing toward Arthur. He began to speak as the musicians launched into the first galliard. I saw Trinkle’s lips move, but Blackwater was too far away to hear his words, and would have been even without the music. But Arthur heard him. I saw Arthur cock his head toward Blackwater’s assistant and frown. A moment later Trinkle moved away and gave his attention to the dancers. I saw Blackwater glance at him, but he quickly returned to his conversation with the lady.
A short time later Arthur left his place along the wall with other grooms and sauntered toward me. When he reached me he stood silent for a tim
e, hands clasped behind his back. When he did speak, he was careful to have his back to Dr. Blackwater, although this was likely an unnecessary precaution, as the physician was paying us no attention.
“That lad what serves yon leech – ’e says to tell you his master ain’t doin’ as you asked. ’E’s not puttin’ them herbs into the prince’s wine like you asked. Hasn’t been for four days. Said you ought to know.”
Indeed I ought. No wonder Prince Edward was unwell. He consumed neither herbs nor boiled roosters. I wished to speak directly to Blackwater’s assistant and considered how I might do so.
Beyond the screens passage lay another short corridor at the end of which was the small chamber given to me and Arthur. Two doors before that chamber was a larger room, much like the chamber where the squires made their abode, for the use of grooms who served their lords while at Kennington Palace. Blackwater would not think it strange if he saw his assistant make for the screens passage to go to this grooms’ chamber.
I moved slowly clockwise about the hall, staying close to the wall, all the time giving attention to the dancers as if nothing that might happen that evening could be so diverting. When I reached the opening to the screens passage I halted my perambulation and tried to catch Adam Trinkle’s eye without causing Dr. Blackwater to become curious about my behavior. After a few minutes beside the opening, the musicians struck up a new tune. This time the physician joined the dancers, accompanying the lady with whom he had been in conversation. He paid me no attention, but his assistant soon did.
Trinkle looked at me from across the hall. I tilted my head toward the screens passage, entered, and made my way to my own chamber, past the grooms’ door. I waited at my door to discover if the lad had rightly interpreted my sign. He had.
Blackwater’s assistant peered around the dark corner into the corridor and saw me, illuminated by a single cresset. The light was dim, but enough that Trinkle could see I was alone in the passageway. He hurried to me.
“I saw how Prince Edward’s health began to improve after he consumed the herbs you advised,” Trinkle said. “Dr. Blackwater required of me that I visit the fields around Kennington and collect what I could, and go to an apothecary for those I could not gather.
“I did so, and for several days I saw Dr. Blackwater put the physics into the prince’s wine after I had pounded the leaves and roots to powder or an oil. But I began to notice that the stuff I had prepared was as great a pile in the evening as in the morning, when I readied the herbs for the prince’s wine.”
“You pounded fresh herbs each day?”
“Aye.”
“Has Dr. Blackwater spoken to you of this?”
“Aye. He saw me this morning at the work of pounding more thyme leaves, and told me to prepare no more. The herbs were not effective, he said, so there was no reason to continue the physic. But this was not so. I saw Prince Edward grow stronger for a time.”
“Did you say this to Dr. Blackwater?”
“And lose my position?”
“Nay. Of course not. I thank you for telling me of this.”
“What will you do?” the assistant asked with some anxiety in his voice. “You’ll not speak of this conversation to Dr. Blackwater?”
“Nay. Should I do so he would know ’twas you who told me of his iniquitous behavior. Bring me the herbs which are unused. I will prepare them myself. If your master asks what has become of them, tell him you disposed of them as he had no use for them. This will be no falsehood. Go now to his infirmary while he is dancing, get the pouches, and toss them beside the porch. I will go there before dawn and find the discarded herbs.”
Trinkle did so, and before daybreak I searched in the darkness beside the porch and found four small leather pouches, and one large pouch for the fennel root.
I had no mortar and pestle, but I knew where they might be found. The cook and baker were at their work as light came to the eastern sky, and Kennington’s cook supplied me with the instruments I needed. From the butler, also just from his bed and rubbing his eyes, I asked a ewer of wine.
The herbs and wine I took to my chamber and awakened Arthur with the grinding of tansy and thyme, cress and bramble leaves. I had lighted a single cresset to better see the work, although enough light now penetrated the window that doing so might not have been necessary. Arthur rolled upon his pallet, blinked, and saw what I was about.
“Thought that was the leech’s work,” he mumbled.
“It was, but he will not perform it.”
“Hmph. That why Prince Edward’s so wan?”
“I believe so. Blackwater’s assistant told you of the doctor’s perfidy, so now I must see to the prince’s dose myself.”
I finished pounding enough of the herbs for one day’s remedy, stirred the powdery stuff into the ewer of wine, then left Arthur and our chamber.
I walked through the dim, empty hall, my footsteps echoing upon the tiles. No valet guarded the base of the stairs leading to Prince Edward’s privy chamber, but I knew there would be two stalwart fellows at the privy chamber door. There were, and they were unsmiling.
Prince Edward, they said, was with his chamberlain, preparing for the day. I was about to ask one of the valets to announce me, and say to the prince that I was at his door upon an urgent matter, when one said, “Likes his bread and cheese alone in the morning, does the prince. John Chamberlain always brings this to the prince, then helps him with his attire an’ grooming for the day.”
“Please say to the prince, as soon as you may, that Master Hugh must speak to him. Without delay. I will await the prince’s summons in my chamber.”
’Twas more than an hour before Prince Edward called for me. John Chamberlain appeared at my open door to announce that the prince would see me.
“He is unwell?” I said.
The chamberlain shrugged. “No worse than has been.”
“Did he break his fast with good appetite?”
“Nay. A few bites of bread and a small fragment of cheese. He’s had little desire for food these past days. Lady Joan fears for his life.”
I took the ewer of wine and mixed herbs from my chamber’s small table and set off with the chamberlain for the stairs to the privy chamber. We were expected, and the valets at the prince’s door pushed it open as we approached. Prince Edward was not alone. Sir William Vache was present – he of the large cap and imposing liripipe.
Prince Edward looked from me to the ewer I carried, a puzzled expression upon his face. Perhaps Dr. Blackwater’s custom was to bring the prince his wine and herbs in a similar vessel each morning. His words confirmed this supposition.
“Where is Blackwater? Is he ill? I see you have prepared my potion for this day.”
“Dr. Blackwater is hale,” I said, “so far as I know. But I have decided to administer the physic myself. Dr. Blackwater is a busy man dealing with the ailments of your household.”
“Is he? I suppose so. Well, pour some of the wine into the cup on yon table.”
I did so, after swirling the wine about the ewer so to be sure the herbs were well mixed. Prince Edward drank the mixture, coughed as some particles of pounded herbs caught in his throat, then said, “Dr. Blackwater made a finer powder of the herbs. They did not chafe my throat as yours do.”
I did not reply. The prince looked into the empty cup and tilted it for better light from the row of windows which now blazed with morning sunshine. He extended a finger into the cup and withdrew a few tiny flakes of pounded herbs. He stared at his fingertip, and as I watched, his expression became one of deep puzzlement.
“I saw nothing like this in the dregs when Blackwater served the physic. Why are you unable to make the herbs into such a fine powder as Blackwater?”
I was unsure as to how I should respond. As it happened I was not required to do so.
“Your potion has not been so effective as at first, and as at Limoges. And when Blackwater prepared the mix I saw nothing in the dregs as I do now. He has not done as he was charged
, has he?”
“I have doubts, m’lord.”
“Doubts! Ha, I have none.”
Then, to one of the valets who guarded his door the prince shouted, “Richard, fetch Dr. Blackwater. Immediately.”
The valet turned and I heard his running footfall as he disappeared through the corridor and down the stairs to the hall. I thought for a moment I might be called upon to set the fellow’s broken leg when he tumbled upon the stairs. He did not.
Sir William Vache had stood silently during this conversation. Prince Edward seemed suddenly to remember his presence, turned to him, and spoke. “I am no king. Not yet. If my father’s touch will not relieve you, mine surely will not.”
The King’s Evil! No wonder Sir William wore his liripipe wrapped about his neck. He suffered from a scrofulous sore, which folk do believe may be cured by the touch of a king. Evidently Prince Edward had sent the knight to his father, and there had been no good result.
“Perhaps Dr. Blackwater will suggest some remedy,” the prince said. “He will be here soon, and is a competent physician even though he will not obey my commands. Well, he will do so in the future or he will seek other employment.”
As if in response to these words I heard footsteps approach the chamber door, and a moment later Dr. Blackwater entered. His demeanor was that of a man confident of his place and value. Then he saw me and guessed, I believe, my knowledge of his transgression. He removed his cap and bowed deeply to his prince. “How may I serve m’lord?” he said.
“You may explain this,” Prince Edward said, and again swept a finger through the dregs in his wine cup. Once again a few flecks of crushed herbs adhered to the finger. He held the finger before Blackwater’s eyes. “What do you see?”