Prince Edward's Warrant

by Mel Starr

  “You travel to Hornsey again?” he asked.

  “Aye, and I do not wish to be overcome upon the road.”

  “Eight armed men should be enough to persuade malefactors to turn their attention elsewhere. I’ll be one of them. You wish to depart soon, before mass?”

  “Aye. The journey to Hornsey is not far, but I may be detained there seeking information from those unwilling to part with it.”

  The marshal wolfed down his wheaten loaf, swallowed his ale in one gulp, and hurried to the stables. He advised me that he and his constables would be ready shortly.

  Prince Edward breaks his fast in his privy chamber. I went there with a cup of wine from the buttery, laced with the herbs I hoped would ease the prince’s ailment. The valets attending the privy chamber door announced my arrival, and from within I heard, “He may enter.”

  The prince’s chamberlain was about the business of preparing him for the day. But when he saw the cup of wine in my hand the prince waved the man away, took the cup, and drank it down.

  “Dr. Blackwater,” he said, “is angry.”

  “I am sorry to hear it.”

  “Bah. Let him rage. What will he do? Leave my service? Where else will he find a man willing to pay him forty pounds each year to sniff his piss? This wine – had it more of your herbs?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  “Good. I am somewhat stronger already, I think.”

  “I am setting off for Hornsey,” I said. “Your marshal and six others will accompany me.”

  “No more surprises upon the road, eh? Unless it be a surprise for those who seek to do you evil. You think the answer to the wickedness overspreading Kennington may be found in that village?”

  “It may be so.”

  “Report to me immediately upon your return, even if the journey is a waste of time. You may tell me then of what you learned, or of what you hoped to learn but did not.”

  I thought as I left the privy chamber that ’twas likely I would do the last rather than the first. Most of my investigation into the death of Sir Giles Cheyne had involved matters I had hoped to learn but had not.

  I left the palace porch and hurried to the marshalsea. Sir Harold’s promise was kept. He and Arthur, along with five constables and serjeants, stood ready at the main stable door. The beasts were saddled and bridled, casually flicking their tails. Arthur held the reins of two beasts and I was pleased to see that one of these was one of Prince Edward’s best amblers. The journey to Hornsey would not be as unpleasant as it might have been, and although the day had dawned overcast and dim, the sun was beginning to regard the realm through breaks in the clouds.

  The marshal and three of his constables had swords dangling from their side. The Lord Christ commanded that His followers were not to recompense evil for evil. This is a difficult charge. I seek to do no man evil, but is it evil to bring felons to justice, or to employ a sword or dagger to prevent an evil which has not yet occurred, but which will if not forestalled? I must ask Master Wycliffe of this when next I see him.

  As always London Bridge was thronged with those whose business took them into the city. We eight were an hour on our journey before we passed through Aldersgate and departed London. The road was nearly dry and the sky bright when we came to Hornsey. Along the way men and oxen were at work in fields, plowing fallow ground for planting rye. Swineherds guided their charges in forest pannaging. All peered at our party with suspicion as we passed. Four swords were visible, and when men so armed travel the roads it usually means no good thing.

  I raised my hand to halt my companions when our party reached the priest’s dwelling. A priest generally knows all there is to know of folk in his parish, although he may not wish to share the knowledge if the lord of his manor has the power to appoint his priest, or if the information came at the confessional box. His housekeeper answered my rapping upon the rectory door and said that her employer had gone to a village house where a grandmother lay dying, there to administer Extreme Unction. The woman provided directions to the house, but I was loathe to break in upon so solemn a matter. I would first seek Sir Thomas Jocelyn.

  The lord of Hornsey was at home, and when his servant announced that I and Sir Harold and six others stood before his door he appeared quickly. The marshal to a duke will have such an effect on men.

  We were invited into the hall and provided with ale before Sir Thomas’s curiosity drove him to ask our business.

  “The death of Prince Edward’s valet in the road before this house vexes me,” I began, “as it does the prince. He will not rest ’til the matter is resolved.”

  “I told you all. The man was discovered doing hamsoken and when pursued he turned on my man who then slew him.”

  “Have you or your wife a silken tunic or cotehardie?” I asked. “Or perhaps a silk-lined coverlet for your bed?”

  Sir Thomas stared open-mouthed at me, startled at the change in the conversation. “Why would you ask such a thing about my domestic arrangements?”

  “There is a reason. Answer my question and I will make the matter clear.”

  “Aye. Lady Beatrice owns two silken gowns. In winter my bed is provided with a fur coverlet lined with silk, and my wife also has such a coverlet.”

  “Was the silk purchased in London?” I asked.

  “Aye. Where else would a man find a mercer who deals in silks?”

  “Where indeed. From what mercer did you buy the silk for your wife’s gowns?”

  Sir Thomas’s puzzled expression remained. He could not understand this interest of mine. “From Thomas Gryce. The Pagets always took their custom to Thomas, so when I wed Beatrice we continued to give our business to Thomas.”

  “Your wife was a Paget when you wed?” I said. “Is she sister to Sir Geoffrey Paget?”

  “Cousin,” the knight replied, and seemed to grow red in the face. Here was an interesting connection, but likely of no consequence. If Sir Thomas had purchased no silk from Richard Rowell he would have no debt to the man. So my journey this day to Hornsey also appeared to be of no consequence.

  We were silent on the return to London and Kennington. Those who accompanied me knew that the journey had not been fruitful, even if they were unsure why this was so. Richard Rowell may have seen his apprentice hanged, and he may be furious about Sir Giles’s unpaid debt, but I could not tie him to Sir Giles’s murder, nor to any other felonies. This did not mean he was innocent of the slayings. But if he was guilty I had not the wit to discover it.

  The journey to Hornsey and back caused we who had traveled there to miss our dinner, even though the distance to the village is not great and our stay there was brief. I had seen no reason to question Hornsey’s priest before leaving the place, and he was yet occupied at the hovel where the crone was fighting the approach of death.

  Prince Edward had demanded that I report to him directly upon returning from Hornsey, so I left Sir Harold and the others at the marshalsea and went to the privy chamber. I found the prince seated at a table before the window, reading from his Book of Hours. This was a magnificent creation, as befits the possession of a great lord.

  “Come… What have you learned this day?” Prince Edward asked when I was announced, raising his eyes from his book.

  “Very little. I believe Sir Giles’s death had not to do with his debt to the mercer Richard Rowell, but this I cannot prove. ’Tis mere supposition.”

  “Have you exhausted your list of suspects? Are there yet men you believe might have hired Arnaud?”

  “Sir Giles was not much admired. There are surely men I have not considered who might have wished him dead.”

  “And perhaps women also,” the prince said, pulling upon his beard. “A wife who has seen her husband maligned or who believes him cheated might consider murder.”

  Here was a thought which had not occurred to me. I realized in that moment that the list of suspects – those who would be pleased to see Sir Giles Cheyne receive what they viewed as his due punishment – had
become longer. A woman may as easily employ one man to poison another as any man. But what woman?

  Sir John and Lady Ardith Pedley were dead, slain in their chamber. Was some other man, unknown to me, also seeking whosoever had slain Sir Giles? And did that man learn that Sir John, or Lady Ardith, had hired Arnaud? Was the slayer correct? If so, he had surpassed my feeble attempt to discover Sir Giles’s killer. And Sir John had had good reason to be satisfied that his antagonist was in his grave.

  But who would have reason to seek revenge for Sir Giles’s death? He was disliked. Who would take up his cause? His daughter? Her suitor? I could think of no other. And, if revenge against Sir John or his lady wife was sought, why also slay Roger de Clare? Did the squire have to do with Sir John’s death?

  These thoughts flashed through my mind as the prince spoke.

  “Kennington has become a nest of vipers. You and Sir Harold must clean it out. I have confidence you will do so.” I felt grateful for his patience as the stain of violence spread through his household.

  Roger de Clare had been among the four who had attempted to slay me and Arthur upon the road from Hornsey. Of this I was confident. If Sir John or Lady Ardith had paid Arnaud Tonge to slay Sir Giles ’twould make sense that – if they thought I was near to finding them out – they would assign Roger to find three others who could accost me returning to London. For the proper fee. But before I could find evidence of their guilt some other had done so, and had all three put to death.

  Who could that man be? And what had Hornsey and its lord to do with the matter? Lady Beatrice was a Paget. What, if anything, did the relationship have to do with murder?

  But yet, why had Arnaud traveled to Hornsey? What was there that he should seek the place after fleeing London? And, when he was pierced, why had Arnaud’s slayer said “Here’s what is owed you”?

  I left Prince Edward to his book and descended the stairs to Kennington’s hall. Valets and grooms were setting tables upon trestles, readying the hall for supper. As I crossed the room scents from the screens passage came to my nostrils and my stomach growled in response. How many dinners had I and Arthur missed in Prince Edward’s service?

  During the meal, I could not keep from glancing to Amabil Cheyne and Sir Geoffrey Paget. The hall grew dark as the removes were presented, but candles and cressets gave light enough to see that Amabil enjoyed her meal and, as before, Sir Geoffrey did not.

  The man was to wed a wealthy heir to a sizeable estate. If she was not the most beauteous lass in the realm she was near so. Amabil was a shrew, but Sir Geoffrey knew that before the banns were read. If he thought her character so unpleasant that he could not enjoy his supper in her presence, why seek her as a wife? The estate she now possessed! A man will endure much for gold crowns in his purse. And why would Amabil be content with Sir Geoffrey? Was his estate so great that she would overlook his faults and weaknesses?

  If Sir John Pedley or Lady Ardith had employed Arnaud to poison Amabil’s father, the couple had set Amabil on her way to wealth. Did she now seem pleased with life because of the inheritance, or because she had discovered who slew her father and seen them punished for the deed? Or both?

  I chose not to remain in the hall for the music and dancing which followed, seeking rather my bed and sleep, which I hoped might clear my head for the next day. Arthur followed, and joined me in slumber. For the first time I can remember when sharing a chamber with Arthur I fell to sleep before he did. Whether or not this influenced my thoughts the following day I cannot tell.

  Prince Edward had assigned his marshal to organize a stag hunt on Saturday in the deer park to the south of Kennington Palace. I awoke before dawn to the sound of barking hounds and the conversation of their fewterers. Neither Arthur nor I would have business with the hunt, but curiosity drove me to observe preparations. I took with me a pouch of pounded herbs for Prince Edward’s morning dose.

  Knights and ladies were served loaves fresh from the bakehouse ovens slathered with parsley butter, and cups of wine, before they mounted their steeds and departed the palace yard. The sun was not yet above the forest to the east, the riders in shadow, but I thought as I watched the hunting party depart the palace that one rider lagged behind and turned away to the east as all others thundered on to the south and the prince’s deer park. The baying of the hounds was soon lost to my ears and I decided to seek one of the fresh loaves. I would not accompany the loaf with Prince Edward’s malmsey. Ale would suffice. But it was fresh-brewed.

  For want of anything better to do I wandered to Kennington’s chapel while Arthur sought other grooms to discover if some might be willing to risk a few pennies at Nine Man Morris.

  Sir John, Lady Ardith, and Roger de Clare were gone, their corpses removed from before the altar and transported to their respective village churches for burial. I was alone in the quiet place, the only movement being the flickering of candles. Multi-hued light penetrated the chapel through stained-glass windows. ’Twas a place where a man might lose himself in meditation.

  Does the Lord Christ wish malefactors brought to justice? The apostle wrote that He came not into the world to condemn men, but that they might be saved. Men must not be punished unless they have first been judged and condemned. But if the Lord Christ will not condemn a felon, what man may do so?

  But the Lord Christ also said that the way to destruction is broad, whereas the path to salvation is narrow and few find it. If He does not wish to condemn men, yet they are bound for ruin, it must be that they condemn themselves. Here is another question for Master Wycliffe.

  Chapter 17

  Perhaps my post as bailiff to Lord Gilbert Talbot at Bampton has instilled within me a suspicious nature. Seated there in Prince Edward’s chapel, I could not forget the horseman who, an hour before, had galloped from Kennington Palace with the hunters, then fallen behind and turned away. Had the fellow so little interest in chasing the hounds that he would seek some other entertainment? Did he ride to Southwark and the stews? A man could do this any time. He would not need the subterfuge of a hunt to do so. Perhaps he wished others to believe he was doing one thing when he was doing another. Few knights or their ladies would concern themselves about who was riding beside them. If the man said later that he had enjoyed the chase, who would gainsay him?

  I departed the chapel, found Arthur at his game, and told him we would seek our palfreys at the marshalsea. I explained why. We would seek to follow the track of a man who wished to seem at one place when he was at another.

  With many beasts gone from the stables our palfreys were soon saddled and we set off in the direction the hunting party had taken. The lone rider had turned aside at a place where a wood came near to the disturbed meadow grass where three dozen or so horses had galloped. We looked for his track, but saw nothing, so with only conjecture as my guide we turned our beasts into the wood where I thought the single rider might have gone.

  I guessed correctly. A hundred or so paces into the wood Arthur spotted a pile of fresh dung. A few paces beyond was a place where last year’s oak leaves had been newly turned, and two hundred paces beyond that we departed the wood and found ourselves upon the road between Kennington Palace and London Bridge. Perhaps the fellow was bound for Southwark and the stews after all.

  Many horses had traveled this way, and if we came near to the bridge we would find even more hoof marks in the mud. The mysterious absconder could not be followed farther. I told Arthur we would return to the palace and there await the return of the hunters. And dinner.

  The hunt was successful. Prince Edward appeared in the palace yard with a broad grin splitting his face. I saw nothing of the weakness he had displayed after hawking. William Blackwater would not be pleased, I thought. Weary hounds and mud-spattered knights and ladies followed Prince Edward, and lastly came two grooms, a pole stretched between them, resting upon their shoulders. Suspended from the pole was a fine stag. There would be venison for dinner next week, for some, after the flesh had been allowed to age
properly in the larder.

  I watched as the hunting party dismounted and dispersed, but could not identify any man of the palace missing from the group. Perhaps, I thought, he had rejoined the hunt and my curiosity was foolish. Other, much more weighty, matters should be occupying my time and thoughts.

  ’Twas not ’til dinner that I learned who was absent from hunt and hall.

  Amabil Cheyne occupied her bench alone. Sir Geoffrey was absent. What grave matter would persuade him to miss his dinner, and the pleasures of the hunt? I had been required to serve Prince Edward and in so doing missed several dinners. I would not have chosen to do this, but important matters required it be so. What great business took Sir Geoffrey from the hall this day, I wondered?

  Always before at dinner or supper Amabil had exhibited a light heart, even when her future husband did not. But I noticed this day that the young woman was subdued, not seeking conversation with those who sat on either side of her, and answering their chat with brief comments. Nor did she consume her meal with enthusiasm, as she had done in past days. Something was amiss. Could it have to do with her father’s murder? I thought not. This behavior was new to her. Perhaps, I thought, Sir Geoffrey had tired of Amabil’s biting wit and tiresome character and retreated to his own manor, content with his bachelor’s life and his income, if to remedy any lack of funds meant a life with Amabil.

  I have been wrong before.

  Wherever Sir Geoffrey went this day he returned for his supper. The journey must not have been pleasant, for his long face matched Amabil’s at dinner. And his return did not seem to bring her joy. She was as morose as she had been earlier. They spoke little during the meal, and did not remain for dancing, but departed the hall immediately after supper.

  My mind was becoming fixed upon the idea that Sir John Pedley, perhaps with the help of his squire, had slain Sir Giles, and that Amabil and Sir Geoffrey had discovered this, while I had not. If this was so they had surely sought aid against Sir John and Lady Ardith, and Sir Geoffrey alone could not, I thought, have placed Roger de Clare in the herring barrel.