The Colour of Evil: A Sebastian Foxley Medieval Murder Mystery

by Toni Mount

  I told myself that I did not care.

  Little Dickon was howling. He hated disharmony as much as I and I lifted him from his chair, hushing and rocking him, comforting him, comforting myself, mayhap?

  Having said Rose was no servant, I felt obliged to assist her and Nessie in clearing up the mess Jude had caused in his anger. However, as I encouraged Gawain to devour the edible scraps, the situation gave me pause. I wondered how Rose’s place in our household should be described; how outsiders regarded her: not quite sister nor mother nor wife nor mistress of the house, yet somewhat of all those things. How did Rose see herself?

  It being Saturday and a half-day of labour, the shop was closed for the afternoon and the others were at leisure, to do as they pleased. But my labours could not end so readily. Disconsolate and out of humour, I determined to engross myself in my work, applying gesso to another miniature. But matters did not proceed so well.

  The afternoon was hot and the gesso began to set in the bowl afore I had finished. Once hard, it was of no use, yet such a small area remained to be covered, it was not worth mixing a new batch. Another nine miniatures remained to be done but were, as yet, undrawn. I would have to leave making more gesso until I had sketched out further images. But that meant the miniature in hand would not be ready for painting upon the morrow – or rather, on Monday, if I dared to rest upon the Lord’s Day as I ought. Gesso must be left to dry overnight afore laying on the gold leaf. That could not be done once painting began, for fear of spoiling the colours whilst burnishing the metal to a high shine. All this was further delaying the king’s commission.

  Then, as I sorted through my scrip, in search of a sketch done a few days earlier, when I had espied a man in the street with a face well suited, as I thought, to be that of Julius Caesar, I found my notes made at Gracechurch Street. I had promised a fair copy of them to Thaddeus as soon as I might. And I recalled the information gleaned from that strange creature, John Rykener, at the Sun in Splendour tavern last eve. I had quite forgotten all that concerned the murders.

  Could this day be any worse? Could anything else be required of me? Might one more straw be added to my burden of responsibility without breaking me? It seemed the Devil himself determined to find out.

  As I put aside my half-painted miniature and covered the pigments with a damp cloth against drying out, I heard a knocking at the street door. Whoever it was, I had not the time to spare and ignored the summons. Let Adam or Rose deal with it. Yet, though I took up my pen to copy out the notes made in haste previously for Thaddeus, the hairs upon my neck prickled.I headed the page Notes made at Guy Linton’s Place in Gracechurch Street and began to write.

  ‘Seb, I apologise for interrupting your work but a clerical gentleman awaits in the parlour,’ Rose said.

  ‘Can Adam not deal with him, lass? I have that much here to do.’

  ‘Adam has gone to visit Mercy Hutchinson in Distaff Lane; said not to expect him back for supper.’

  I sighed and laid down my pen, having written but a sentence or two. It seemed events conspired against me at every turn. Afore any task was completed, Fate added two more to my ever-lengthening list. I began to wonder what would happen if the king’s commission was not finished in time: the possibility grew hourly.

  ‘Oh. I see I have no choice in the matter, then. I trust the cleric’s business will not take long, else my mixed pigments will spoil. Did he say what he wanted?’

  ‘No, Seb, but he asked for you by name and said he comes on Bishop Kempe’s behalf. Shall I serve ale?’

  ‘It would be a courtesy, but I fear to encourage him to linger. What can the bishop want of me? If he wishes me to sing for some visiting dignitary, he must find another chorister. I have had no time e’en to practise the new anthem of the precentor’s devising, in readiness for the Feast of St Paul, which comes hard upon us.’

  ‘I’ll wait a while then.’

  ‘Aye. I thank you, Rose.’

  I went into the parlour in trepidation, I know not why. I could recall having committed no offence against Holy Church of late. I did not recognise the visitor. A tall man of erect bearing, he wore the scholar’s plain garb, rather than clerical vestments. His grey hair suggested middle age but his eyes were keen as he looked me up and down, as a horse-trader might assess a palfrey for sale.

  ‘Sebastian Foxley,’ I said, making my bow. ‘You would speak with me, sir?’

  ‘Permit me to introduce myself, Master Foxley. I am Geoffrey Wanstead, currently in the service of His Grace, the Bishop of London.’ He returned my bow in courteous wise. ‘There is a matter that the bishop would have me explain to you and ask your advice upon.’

  I realised then that I had little choice but to gesture him towards the cushioned settle, sensing this matter was going to consume a deal of precious time.

  ‘How may I be of service to Bishop Kempe?’

  ‘It has been brought to the bishop’s notice, Master Foxley – and to mine – that you have considerable experience in certain aspects of scribal hands, parchment, inks and such like. In short: the historical uses of these things.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘I heard tell that you were able to distinguish betwixt certain documents for the lord mayor’s office, to determine which were legal and which were counterfeited.’

  ‘Oh, aye. That was a few years since, during Robert Bassett’s term. I had forgotten.’

  ‘Well, others have not. Your skills are remembered by both the Stationers’ Guild and the City Council. Your knowledge saved the latter a deal of money, avoiding the excessive expense of lawyers, as well as a loss of income, had you not been able to show certain documents to be false. You are a man of considerable abilities, Master Foxley.’

  ‘I was content to be of service, sir.’ My face flushed hot at his words of praise and I wished I had not asked Rose to delay serving the cooling ale. I was much in need of a sudden.

  ‘And now Bishop Kempe would likewise make use of those same talents. The matter is become of such urgency that, if you be at liberty now, I have permission to explain the situation to you directly, although the documents in question are in the keeping of the bishop’s librarian. You will have to come to the bishop’s palace to view them, when convenient. Do you have the time, at present, to hear of these troubling concerns the bishop would have you look into?’

  What could I say? Honest man that I be, I yet had not the courage to speak the truth. How could I tell the bishop’s man that I had work enough and to spare upon the king’s behalf? The king must surely take precedence above a bishop but the king’s man was not seated on the settle in my parlour, pinning me with a sharp eye.

  ‘Aye, sir. Please explain the problem. I shall listen well. But first, let me ask for ale. Explanations be ever thirsty work.’

  Geoffrey Wanstead remained for an hour. We drank a jug of ale. A second hour passed and still he talked. I asked Rose to bring another jug. With every word spoken, my spirit sank lower.

  The bishop’s man departed at last. I bade him farewell at the street door.

  ‘No! No! No!’ I cried as I shut it behind him. ‘I can do no more! Jesu take pity upon me. Ask not more of me.’ My clenched fists came away from my head with handfuls of hair entangled. My heart pounded as though rabid wolves pursued me. I knew not what I was about.

  ‘Hush. Hush, dear one. Calm yourself.’ Rose murmured soft words as she held me close.

  There in the passageway, I unburdened the weight of tears and distress upon her sturdy shoulder.

  Rose understood. She ever did.

  Chapter 11

  Saturday eve

  The Foxley House

  I forced myself to finish copying out the notes for Thaddeus and added a few lines concerning what John Rykener revealed to me the day before. It was not the neatest piece of writing but it must serve as it was. Only Rose’s sage advice to me:
‘You can but do one thing at a time, Seb’, enabled me to get it done at all. ‘One thing at a time’ would be my watch-word from now on, else I should drown ’neath the weight of work.

  I knew Thaddeus was not one to work upon a Saturday afternoon – much like everyone else – but Saturday eve was oft a busy time for the City Bailiff, what with too much ale flowing after the week’s wages being paid. Therefore, I half expected my friend might be at his post at Guildhall, in case of trouble arising. I was glad to leave the house for a while, taking Gawain along for company.

  The air felt heavy, storm-laden, and thunder rumbled around the skies. As yet, I saw no lightning and the rain held off. I took my cloak, though I hoped not to have to wear it – the heat of the day lingered still.

  Guildhall

  At Guildhall, I proved correct in my assumption. Thaddeus was there, organising the evening’s duties with the Sergeant of the Watch and the constables.

  ‘Greetings, Master Foxley,’ he called to me. ‘I’ll be with you shortly, Seb. Did you bring the notes?’

  ‘I did, Bailiff Turner,’ I replied formally, seeing he was in company with those under his charge. But what you will make of them, I know not, I thought.

  ‘What’s this?’ he said when, at length, I gave the papers into his hand. ‘Crossings-out? This isn’t like you, Seb. Not your usual immaculate work.’

  ‘Forgive me. I hope they be legible enough.’

  ‘What’s amiss, eh? You want to tell me over a cup of ale?’

  ‘’Tis so plain as that, then? I did not mean to make it obvious. This day has been fraught, indeed.’

  Over the ale jug in his chamber, I told my friend of Jude’s return. Thaddeus knew Jude of old and sufficiently to realise that turmoil was like to follow wherever my brother came. This could well mean additional work for the bailiff. I did not tell him the details of the ill-conceived elopement of the foolish couple but I mentioned that in the near future – if it had not come to pass already – the Baldesi family in Lombard Street would likely hear of it and find some way to make their grave disapproval known. To my brother’s cost, no doubt. It could mean trouble and it seemed wise to forewarn Thaddeus of the likelihood.

  ‘I’m grateful for the timely information, Seb. I’ll have my constables keep a subtle watch upon Lombard Street and suggest you tell your brother to behave unobtrusively and keep away from that part of the city.’

  ‘You think Jude will take the least notice of my advice? I may as well advise the sun to stand still in the heavens or the tides to cease flowing in the Thames.’

  ‘Aye. I know you’ll have a hard task there but tell him, all the same. More ale?’

  ‘A little, if it please you. I shall do what I may concerning Jude.’ I took a sip. ‘But of other matters… last eve I had speech with that strange one: John Rykener. You recall him? Calls himself – herself – Eleanor upon occasion.’

  ‘I remember. He would seem odd company for you to keep, Seb.’

  ‘’Twas not my choice, I assure you. He approached me, having learned that I be involved in the attempt to unravel the mysteries of two murders. It seems John knew Philip Hartnell well. I did not enquire too closely regarding the nature of their companionship but I have included what John revealed to me at the end of the notes I gave you. ’Tis not much but it seems Hartnell was greatly indebted to the very family I mentioned afore: the Baldesis.’

  ‘A coincidence, you think?’

  ‘I know not.’ I stood, pushing my stool ’neath the board. ‘I must go home, Thaddeus, and thank you for your time and ale; your listening-ear. I needs must work upon the King’s book afore dark, although it seems the sun has departed afore its time.’

  ‘Aye. I suspect you’re going to get wet, my friend. May God keep you and yours this night.’

  ‘And you, Thaddeus. Come, Gawain. Make haste, lad, else we shall be drenched.’

  Beyond the door, in Guildhall courtyard, the rain began tumbling from clouds as black as the Devil’s soul. Lightning split the heavens and thunder crashed, sending Gawain cowering into a corner of the building, his tail betwixt his legs, whimpering.

  ‘Come, you great coward.’ I had to shout above the noise of lashing rain and the next deafening drum-roll of thunder. But my dog refused to obey. I could not leave him there nor could I carry the great foolish creature. Angered at the thought of being compelled to waste precious time, I dragged him from his corner and pulled him back within the building to shelter and wait out the storm. There, he huddled so closely upon my feet, he nigh toppled me.

  ‘Still here?’ Thaddeus said, seeing us – a most bedraggled sight we must have been.

  ‘Aye. Gawain will not brave the storm. He fears thunder so.’

  ‘Well, I doubt there’ll be light enough for you to work until the clouds clear, anyway.’

  ‘Mm. You be correct.’

  ‘More ale?’

  ‘Why not.’

  ‘We shan’t be disturbed, I’m sure. Malefactors, felons and mischief-makers tend to stay home in such weather. Come, I’ll find you a towel to dry off.’

  The Foxley House

  Upon our belated return home, Rose – bless her – had delayed supper until our coming. However, my brother was there afore me, as was his wife, ready seated at the board.

  ‘We’ll be staying here, of course,’ Jude was telling Rose as I entered the kitchen from the yard, trailing water across the flagstones, for it was yet raining, though the thunder had passed. Emily would have scolded me; Rose said naught of it. Neither did she comment upon my brother’s assertion. ‘We’ll sleep in the master bedchamber at the front. Seeing you’re a bachelor once more, Seb, you can share my old chamber with Adam.’

  I did not trouble to point out that Ralf now slept there also. It would be somewhat crowded with three of us in that chamber. Jude would not be bothered by the inconvenience caused to others.

  ‘So be it,’ I said, with a shrug. I fetched a towel to dry my dripping hair afore doing my best with Gawain’s sodden fur. He rewarded my efforts by giving a thorough shake and spraying us all with water drops. Most laughed but Chesca began to berate me, the dog and the company for wetting her gown. Being of silk, it showed the damp splashes.

  ‘Stop that, you stupid wench!’ Jude shouted. ‘I told you to watch your bloody manners. You want I take my hand to you?’

  Chesca shook her head and began to weep. Of a sudden, she was but a child, not a woman grown.

  I felt sympathy for her, aye, and discomfort at my brother threatening a lass. ’Tis the law that a man may chastise his wife, by deed as well as word, but I loathed such actions. I had ne’er laid a hand upon Em, unwilling to countenance any such cruelty. I could not harm her, whatever her shortcomings, and never had. Now Jude threatened violence ’neath my roof.

  ‘Not in this house, brother,’ I said. ‘No one suffers beatings here and that stands for visitors also.’

  ‘Visitors? We’re not bloody visitors; we’re family. And if my wife deserves punishment, I’ll do as I think fit and it’s none of your business.’

  ‘Not under my roof.’

  ‘Your roof? I own half this bloody place.’

  ‘You did once but not any longer. You took your share in coin when you left to go upon your travels, remember?’

  ‘I never did.’

  ‘You signed the document to prove it. It had to be thus, else the guild would not let me resume business here. You were forbidden; your name struck from the guild roll, if you recall? ’Twas your one gesture of recompense afore you departed. I have the deed safe, if you would see it?’

  ‘I don’t care.’ He thumped the board with his fists, causing the cups to jump, the full ones to spill ale upon the white cloth. ‘I won’t have you telling me how to treat my damned wife, here or anywhere else. If she needs a beating, she’ll bloody get it.’

  ‘And your
welcome here will end upon the instant. I mean it, Jude.’ I noticed then that Chesca’s cup had spilt red wine. Rose must have troubled to purchase some to please her, following the tantrum at dinner.

  My eyes met my brother’s across the board; grey and azure. He looked away first.

  ‘Did I tell you of the carnival in Venezia on Shrove Tuesday?’ he said, diverting everyone’s attentions from his moment of defeat. ‘No? Well, there were water pageants and everyone wore masks, so you can guess there was a lot of things going on, all bloody secretive… cut-purses were the least of it. Alessandro – I spoke of him, didn’t I? He lost his purse. Two local families involved in a feud for years seized the chance of attacking each other under cover of the mask-wearing and milling crowds. Knives flashed and then came some tremendous blast and a gout of flame and two of their number fell. One died in a blood-splattered heap. I thought it must have been a cannon shot but Alessandro said no, it was some new devilish contraption: a gunne so small two men could carry it, set it up and fire it. On the street! Not a siege engine nor defender of the town walls. It killed folk enjoying the day without warning. With such a thing secreted under their cloaks, felons might waylay any fellow just going about his business and blow him to pieces. No need to accost him; simply blast him as he passes by. Is that not Satan’s very own accursed invention?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be very secret, though, if it made such a noise,’ Adam observed. ‘A bow and arrow could do as much and silently. I can’t see a weapon of that kind being used in London… or Norwich come to that. Every true Englishman would choose the bow, if he had to.’

  ‘Maybe so, but there are Frenchmen, Italians, Flemings and Bohemians here too. Those buggers might well take to hand-gunnes, content that the racket would put the fear of God into every innocent. It scared you half to death, didn’t it, Chesca?’