The Colour of Evil: A Sebastian Foxley Medieval Murder Mystery

by Toni Mount

  The next door to the right led into the shop. Nothing untoward was apparent there. I checked the bar on the door to the street. It was firm in its hasps. The shutters were likewise in their proper place.

  There came a sudden clatter and a smashing of pottery vessels. The intruder was in our workshop to the left of the passage. I reached for the latch, lifted it and pushed the door wide, the fire-iron raised high.

  ‘Show yourself!’ I cried. ‘No, no!’

  Something burst forth, straight into my face. I swung the iron in defence and felt it hit a target but I dropped the candle, plunging us into darkness. I stumbled back from my unseen assailant and fell on my backside. My heart was pounding fit to break my ribs and something tickled my face, causing me to sneeze.

  Gawain tore into the room, courageous of a sudden, barking madly.

  Adam was striking tinder and groping on the floor for the candle. When he relit the flame and it steadied, he began to laugh.

  ‘By the saints! All that for a bloody chicken. You did for it, Seb: broke its neck by the look of it.’ He picked up a sorry bundle of feathers from the floor, pushing Gawain aside when he would have it. More feathers floated around. ‘A chicken dinner for us tomorrow.’

  I clambered to my feet, wiping feathers from my mouth and nose, sneezing again.

  ‘Must be Caldicott’s birds have escaped again.’ I spat out more filaments of feathers. ‘It must have come in afore I closed up and wandered into the workshop… then was unable to get out.’

  ‘His loss is our gain. Seems only right, Seb, after the consternation and trouble it’s caused us. Look at the smashed pots! ’Tis fortunate it didn’t break any precious pigments but the pounce and sand have made a mess indeed.’

  ‘We can clean it up in the morn,’ I said, turning as Rose and Kate appeared in the doorway, clad in their night robes.

  ‘We’ll all help,’ Rose said. ‘But you’re bleeding, Seb.’ She wiped my forehead with soft fingers.

  ‘Am I? The bird came at me, aiming its beak straight at mine eyes. Mayhap, I be fortunate it pierced my forehead and did not blind me.’ I felt chilled and shaken of a sudden and slumped upon the nearest stool.

  ‘We heard Gawain making such a din; thought we were to be attacked in our beds.’

  ‘Aye, our great protector…’ I fondled Gawain’s soft ears. ‘Our brave knight be naught but a silly coward. Be that not so, Gawain, you foolish creature?’

  ‘Come back to the kitchen,’ Rose said, taking charge of the situation. ‘I’ll make mulled ale for us all and for you a posset as a restorative. I’ll put some salve on that cut, it looks sore.’

  In truth, I hardly felt the hurt, for the present, leastwise, but I was most certainly shaken. Though I dared not admit to it, knowing Adam would laugh right heartily at me, if I did, I had been much affrighted by that wretched bird and was all unsteady.

  A posset cup of hot milk, honey, cinnamon and nutmeg, whipped together to a froth, settled me well enough.

  Chapter 8

  Thursday, the seventeenth day of June

  The Foxley House

  Right early, afore Prime, Rose aided me in cleaning up the mess in the workshop, sweeping the spilt fine sand and ground chalk into separate heaps, in the hope that some of each might be saved for use. We hoped in vain. I needs must purchase supplies of both anew. I was much displeased at the unexpected expense, and yet more so when I discovered chicken droppings splattered upon my desk, stool and our precious collating table. This last, I ever kept pristine and its present condition was demoralising indeed. I knew chicken dung clung like glue and would take a deal of effort to scrub off.

  ‘I’ll do it after we have broken our fast,’ Rose said. ‘Hot water, lye and sand should get it off. I’ve cleaned stickier things from the kitchen board before now – usually little Dickon’s honeyed pottage or egg yolks. As for your stool, why not use one from the kitchen until this one is scrubbed and dried.’

  I nodded.

  ‘And I shall make use of Kate’s desk,’ I said. ‘I cannot work upon damp wood. The lass can serve in the shop in the meantime. Oh, no. Look at that, Rose. The wretched bird must have roosted upon that shelf there.’ I pointed to where I kept my brushes and quills upright in pots. ‘’Tis all soiled with dung and feathers. And my best squirrel-hair brush… ruined.’ I sighed and rubbed my brow only to recall, belatedly, the injury there: another score I would have to settle with my neighbour concerning his accursed bird. ‘I shall have this matter out with Jonathan straightway.’

  ‘Why not wait until after we’ve had our bread, bacon and ale?’ Rose said, resting her hand upon my arm.

  ‘You think to distract me?’

  ‘Nay, but your humours are hot, that gash on your forehead looks red and angry and… Besides, Seb, you know full well Jonathan is never the first man from his bed. Likely, he’s yet sleeping.’

  ‘Well, his unholy cockerel gets us up and to our work right early. Why not our neighbour also? I should drag the rascal from his pillowed rest. I know not why I put up with him and his chickens. Why can he not keep them safely housed, as we do ours? And the damage done will neither be cheap to repair nor swiftly put to rights. My most favoured brush… I doubt Giles Honeywell will have another just so and I was using it to paint the miniature yesterday. ’Twill not be easy to replace it.’

  As Rose suggested, I held my peace until after we had eaten. She soothed my forehead with a cooling salve and advised – should Jonathan vex me further – I breathe deep and count to five afore giving him answer. That such sage advice was needed demonstrated how I was becoming a fellow quick to anger these days, since Em’s passing. God rest her dear soul. I know not why it should be. ’Tis a trait I must endeavour to curb.

  I rapped upon my neighbour’s door, somewhat hopeful that he might be still abed and my racket rouse him untimely.

  ‘Jonathan Caldicott!’ I cried, hammering on his door once more so hard that I hurt my knuckles. ‘Get your idle carcass from betwixt the sheets. I have matters to raise with you.’ I sucked at my scraped skin. ‘Come. I do not have the day to waste upon you.’

  The window above the street was flung open.

  ‘Then come back tomorrow.’ Caldicott’s shout was followed by the flood of night soil emptied from a chamber-pot.

  I hopped back in haste as the unsavoury deluge nigh doused me. My shoes were splashed and some misbegotten passerby laughed aloud.

  Adam came out to join me.

  ‘Leave it, Seb,’ he said loudly, speaking so our neighbour must hear. ‘We’ll take the bastard to law instead. See how he likes the fat fines he’ll have to pay.’ His ruse proved successful.

  Jonathan stuck his sleep-dishevelled head out of the window.

  ‘I don’t owe you devils a penny. What’s this about fines, eh?’

  ‘Compensation!’ Adam yelled back. ‘Your bloody hen wrecked our workshop last eve. You owe us for the damages done and the things that must be replaced. I’ve written a list here.’ He unrolled a lengthy strip of paper and read aloud: ‘Twelve sheets of finest calf vellum, a new collating table, two ounces of gold leaf, lapis lazuli, vermilion, dragon’s blood, saffron, rose ochre, gum-tragacanth, four sable-hair brushes, a half dozen of squirrel, two of badger…’ He named the most expensive items any stationer might have. Being a stationer himself – if not one of note – Jonathan knew the value of such things.

  ‘We do not possess dragon’s blood, saffron, rose ochre nor sable-hair brushes,’ I said to Adam.

  ‘Shhh, cousin. He doesn’t know that. He deserves to have to pay.’

  I saw then that Adam’s paper was blank.

  ‘I don’t believe you. You’re a lying scoundrel, Armitage.’ Jonathan shook his fist at us, leaning precariously from the window above.

  ‘You should keep your hens safe. One of your chickens attacked me. See here.’ I pointed
to the gash on my forehead. ‘I should also be compensated for the mess and breakages it caused.’

  To my dismay, Jonathan began to chuckle.

  ‘Poor ol’ Seb: hen-pecked as ever. No doubt, it was defending itself, knowing you for a fox. Ha, ha.’

  ‘’Tis no laughing matter, Jonathan.’ I regretted mentioning the injury and it now throbbed the more.

  ‘So where is my hen you say did so much damage?’

  ‘In the cook-pot, where it belongs,’ Adam told him, grinning in anticipation of a tasty dinner.

  ‘You have no right. That’s my wife’s bird. If you killed it, you should give it back to us.’

  ‘It was self-defence… a lawful slaying,’ I said, sounding lame. Self-defence against a scrawny bird? It was humiliating.

  ‘I’ll take you to the law over it. You owe me for the hen: a fine layer, that one.’

  ‘You dolt! You don’t even know which one is missing,’ Adam said, clenching his fists.

  ‘No. Well, I’ll take you pair of thieves to the law over it, all the same.’

  Heaven be thanked; at that moment, afore we found ourselves become the miscreants in the matter, Bailiff Thaddeus Turner arrived.

  ‘The law is here,’ he announced. ‘What’s amiss, masters? ’Tis early in the day for fiery tempers, unless last night’s over-indulgence of ale is still to blame.’

  ‘Foxley killed our chicken.’ Jonathan determined to speak first.

  ‘I knew not what it was in the dark. And such chaos it has caused in my workshop.’

  ‘No doubt there are arguments on both sides,’ the bailiff said, ‘But I have more heinous crimes to investigate than your dead bird, Master Caldicott. If it was in someone else’s workshop, ’tis a case of trespass. One of my constables will deal with that later. For the present, I need to speak with Master Foxley.’

  ‘Oh, aye, and take his part… harken to his tale but not to mine,’ Jonathan shrieked. ‘I know you, Turner: always ill-favouring me because we’re not friends, like you and Foxley. I’ll complain to Lord Mayor Gardyner about you, failing in your civic duties, so I will.’

  The bailiff shook his head. His usual upright stance was slumped.

  ‘You be weary, Thaddeus, at so early an hour? Come, take ale with us.’

  He nodded and came with Adam and me into our shop.

  ‘That’s the way of it, is it?’ Jonathan went on. ‘Currying favour as ever, Foxley, you filthy arse-licker.’

  I turned my back upon my neighbour with his foul words. Thaddeus must surely have come with some purpose other than peace-making in Paternoster Row.

  ‘You have something to say, Thaddeus?’ I prompted as we shared ale but the bailiff remained silent. ‘You have uncovered some clue concerning Philip Hartnell’s murder, mayhap?’

  ‘Mayhap. Aye. But ’tis ill-tidings, Seb.’ He drank long and sighed, easing his shoulders as though they ached and troubled him. Bearing over-much responsibility upon them? ‘There’s been another man slain in much the same way. I was called to his workshop soon after first light. His journeyman found him when he arrived to begin work.’ He paused, staring down at his well-worn boots. ‘You know him, Seb, so his journeyman informed me. He visited you here just yesterday. The journeyman said he returned in sorrowful wise, distraught, so he said.’

  ‘Guy Linton? Do you speak of him?’ My first thought – one that I would have to confess and do penance for – was of such relief it came close to being pleasurable: that the portrait of the vintner’s family was no longer a cloud upon my horizon. It could be forgotten as though Guy had ne’er asked me concerning it. But then alarm flooded through my veins, my heart’s pulse hastening. Did Thaddeus think I had to do with his murder?

  ‘I’m sorry to tell you so plainly of your friend’s death.’

  ‘Friend? Nay, Thaddeus, I hardly knew the fellow. We were apprentices together for somewhat less than a twelve-month serving with Master Richard Collop. Guy Linton was my elder by a number of years. Master Collop alone made the link betwixt us. Otherwise, we had naught in common and I had not spoken with Guy until this week past.’

  ‘Why did you meet up again of a sudden?’

  ‘’Twas not my choice,’ I said. The conversation was proceeding upon a path I did not want to tread: the act of subterfuge with the original portrait was best kept hidden. ‘Guy was in need of assistance with a particular commission. He believed I might render him aid in the completion of it.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘I offered advice.’ Which was true enough but certainly not the whole truth. I hated deceiving Thaddeus.

  ‘That was yesterday?’

  ‘Nay; a few days since. Yesterday, he came to request that I do more than give advice. I told him I had not the time. That be all. We have a commission of our own to complete for King Edward that must take precedence above all else. I could not assist Guy, even had I wished to.’

  ‘Did you realise how greatly your refusal upset him, as his journeyman reports?’

  ‘He seemed dismayed. I would not think he was so much distressed. Mayhap, some other greater problem had arisen?’

  The bailiff looked downcast.

  ‘May I have more ale?’

  ‘Tell me in all honesty,’ I said, refilling his cup. ‘Do you suspect my involvement in Guy’s death? I would rather know how the matter stands.’

  ‘What! Of course you’re not a suspect, Seb.’

  ‘That be good to hear, indeed.’ I felt the tautness in my body melt away like snow in sunlight.

  ‘Since I already know of your royal book – of which we spoke in full already –’

  ‘Oh, forgive me. It does fill my every thought of late.’

  ‘– and having learned that you were acquainted with Guy Linton, I am reluctant to ask… but would you be able to spare an hour, cast your knowledgeable eye over the scene of the crime? ’Tis a great imposition, I know, but you’re the best man in London for the task, elsewise I wouldn’t make so onerous a request of you…’

  Guy Linton was not my friend. I could hardly care any less about him in other circumstances, but every man was entitled to live his span of years, as allotted by the Almighty, and not have it curtailed by some felonious act. Guy deserved justice like any victim and since Thaddeus had need of me to help bring that about, my conscience would give me no rest, if I refused.

  ‘Aye, I shall come,’ I said, fetching my cap down from its peg. ‘Permit me to fetch my scrip. Adam, if you will continue with the Vegetius text…’

  ‘You don’t want me to come with you and take notes?’

  ‘The book cannot be abandoned. And have Kate go to Giles Honeywell’s stall in St Paul’s to purchase what we need to replace: pounce, sand and whatever else was spoilt last eve. Rose promised to scrub my desk and the collating table, so they will be unusable for a while. They will dry whilst I be gone.’

  ‘You want the lass to buy you some new brushes as well, since they were ruined?’

  ‘Nay. Those I must select for myself, to suit the way I work and make use of them.’

  ‘Is all this down to your neighbour’s chicken invading your workshop?’ Thaddeus asked.

  ‘Aye, it caused a deal of trouble and affrighted us.’

  ‘Not to mention the damned expense,’ Adam added, ‘And we’re far behind as it is. Don’t keep Seb away too long, Thaddeus, else you’ll have the king himself to answer to, if his book isn’t finished in time.’

  Guy Linton’s Workshop in

  Gracechurch Street

  We entered Guy’s workshop ’neath its tiled porch. This day, there was no striped awning erected to shield the counter-board, which had not been lowered. Thaddeus went through into the workshop. If, upon my previous visits, it had been a place much disorganised, now it was a scene of chaos. One of the constables guarded the mess. The air was befouled with
the metallic tang of blood and something else besides.

  The grey-haired journeyman – Ralf, I recalled – sat upon his stool as afore but was not working. Why would he when there was no longer a master to pay his wages? I knew naught of the relationship betwixt them but Ralf looked to have shed tears, dabbing his eyes upon his sleeve.

  ‘You’ll want to question him. Ralf Reepham,’ the bailiff said, nodding towards the aged fellow. ‘He found the body. Gave him a nasty shock.’

  ‘Reepham? Once a Norfolk man, mayhap? I shall speak with him directly, then he may leave; go home or to the tavern. It seems a cruelty to have him stay.’

  I went to him. Since his bent back made looking up at me an impossibility and there being no other vacant stool, I had to crouch. This questioning then must be brief, else my hip would complain.

  ‘Ralf. Your loss must grieve you and I apologise for having to question you at this time.’

  ‘If you think I weep for him, it’s not so, Master Foxley. He was mean spirited, worked me hard but paid me little. He only kept me on because I came cheap. Yet it was the means of earning my bread. Since my back went awry, nobody else wants a twisted up journeyman, though my fingers work as well as ever. How will I earn a livelihood now? That’s what worries me.’

  Now that I knew his name, I could hear a faint echo of Norfolk lingered in his voice.

  ‘For the present, Ralf, I would have you turn your mind to the matter of Master Linton’s death. How were things arranged here when you first arrived this morn?’

  ‘As now. I haven’t touched anything. Didn’t want to, what with all that blood. Then I sent an urchin to fetch Bailiff Turner and when he came, he told me not to move anything or try to clear up. As if I would. Why should I care about this shambles?’

  ‘Why, indeed. I thank you for your time, Ralf. Unless Bailiff Turner has questions, you may go home. Where be your house, if we should need to speak with you again?’