The Colour of Evil: A Sebastian Foxley Medieval Murder Mystery

by Toni Mount

  The Foxley House

  My escort home was oddly assorted. Adam remained at Cutpurse Yard, awaiting Jack’s return with the bailiff. Bennett Hepton went off to his fishmongering business and Stephen to his carpentry shop. Jonathan Caldicott disappeared into some tavern or other along the way, so I was assisted to Paternoster Row, blood-stained and disgusting, by two of the most finely clad fellows in London: my brother and John Rykener, one on either arm. They feared I would fall, most like, for I was not entirely steady on my feet. Rykener chattered like a monkey all the while, chuckling at his own jests and hailing every other passer-by by name. It seemed he knew more folk in person than I had e’er met. Many folk stared at the state of me whilst others preferred to avert their gaze hastily and no blame to them.

  Jude said naught to anyone but muttered under his breath. His brow was drawn down in a savage scowl; his mouth set straight as a bar. It did not bode well for me. Undoubtedly, I should suffer the full force of his anger soon, may Jesu aid me.

  Rose flew to embrace me as I stepped into the kitchen. Her eyes were moist.

  ‘I feared for you so, Seb. When Adam said what he thought your note truly meant, I was frightened of what might happen to you. Ralf told us what a monster this Hamo fellow is.’

  ‘Was. Hamo is no more. There, lass, trouble yourself no longer.’ I stroked her back as she held me.

  ‘Oh, but what am I about?’ She stood away from me and saw the stains, now drying rust-coloured. ‘Are you hurt, my poor dear one? You look pale, indeed. Sit. Sit and let me pour ale for you. All of you,’ she added, seemingly noticing Jude and John Rykener for the first time.

  ‘I have taken no hurt, Rose, but I apologise for my pitiful state, my clothes…’

  ‘No matter, so long as you are whole.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. I did not continue to voice the thought, the relief, the difference betwixt Rose’s greeting and the way Emily would have berated and scolded me for my ruined hose. My wife used to have the greatest care for my attire and little to spare for the man who wore them.

  Ralf and Kate joined us at the kitchen board, wanting to see for themselves that I was uninjured.

  ‘I don’t want to lose another master,’ was Ralf’s comment when I assured him I was well.

  John Rykener made himself at home, admiring the well-organised kitchen, the freshness of new rushes strewn upon the floor and the absence of dust and cobwebs on the beams – such womanly remarks. A strange creature he that could fight as a man but consider aspects of housewifery as a woman.

  Jude had yet to speak at all. I thought this an ominous sign. Like a weir holding back floodwater, he would burst forth at some point and, doubtless, I should be the soul engulfed in the tide of his anger, whether deservedly or no.

  Thaddeus arrived after dinner – his timing gone awry this once – but it meant I was washed clean and presentable to greet him.

  ‘There was a deal to do,’ he explained, ‘What with the coroner and the surgeon and the body. You might have spared me the note-taking, Seb, you heartless fellow.’

  ‘You still do not have a clerk to serve you?’

  ‘I’ve asked but the mayor’s secretary says there is no allowance to pay for such a post. What’s an over-worked bailiff to do but rely upon his friends? As you did this morn, so I heard, with half of Farringdon and Cheapside wards hastening to aid you. Adam told me what he knows of it whilst we were at the scene but I need your side of the tale too, Seb. I’m sorry but it has to be.’

  ‘Then let us talk in the garden. There be ears I should spare the hearing of the details.’

  The air in the garden plot was scented with mint, thyme and lavender. Bees hummed and the hens scratched with little enthusiasm, too hot to labour in their feathered coats. Gawain flung himself down, panting in the shade ’neath the apple tree, having chosen the coolest spot afore we could. I sat upon the grass beside him and Thaddeus joined me, having removed his heavy tabard of office. Rose brought us a jug of elderflower cordial, fresh made and cold from standing in the water trough. In so pleasing a place, it seemed wrong to speak of such matters as I must.

  ‘What came to pass, Seb?’ Thaddeus asked when the moment could be delayed no longer. ‘Adam said you went back to consult that old woman yesterday?’

  ‘I did. She gave me more ways whereby I might be sure of finding the correct tunnel, which I did this morn right early, as soon as there was light to see. I wanted it over and done.’

  ‘But you went alone. That was foolish, was it not?’

  ‘I intended only to find the right place and be certain of it. Then I would fetch you, once I knew. I never meant to confront him.’

  ‘So you found the yard, the passageway, the hovel. Why did you go into the tunnel?’

  ‘I yet had no firm evidence that the forge was there within until I saw it. I smelled smoke but that could have come from a cooking fire. Once I had seen the truth of it – the furnace still hot and glowing – I turned to leave. But then I heard it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘A man groaning in pain. I held the torch high. It was hard to make out anything in that gloomy, smoky lair.’ I breathed deep, sipped the refreshing cordial and described to Thaddeus what I had found – every ghastly detail.

  At some point, Jude came, bringing a cup and a stool from the kitchen to avoid grass stains upon his hose. He helped himself to cordial but did not interrupt.

  ‘Could the fellow speak?’ Thaddeus asked. ‘Did he say anything to you before he died?’

  ‘A few words. Naught that made sense.’

  ‘Anything may help us find these damnable killers, Seb. Tell me what he said.’

  ‘He said “bastards.” That word seemed clear enough but does not help. Then he repeated it, or near enough, saying “baldsters” or “butchers” or some such, for butchery was what they did, most certainly. But he was fading. Likely he was slurring his words and meant “bastards”, as afore. Then he repeated the word “venison” twice over, making a plural of it the second time: “venisons”. I asked him what he meant but he was gone. I fear I cannot see that this assists us in any way, Thaddeus.’

  ‘I believe it does,’ Jude said, finding words to say at last. ‘Not “venisons”; he meant Venetians. And not “baldsters”, or whatever you think you heard, little brother. Baldesis is what he said.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’ Thaddeus asked him. ‘You weren’t there. How would you know?’

  ‘Because it makes bloody sense; that’s why.’

  Chapter 19

  Saturday eve

  The Foxley House

  Thaddeus stayed to supper forwhy our discussion concerning Hamo’s last words continued at length.

  Jude told us of things he had learned in Firenze and Venezia in Italy – terrible things. Italy, he said, was run by the great banking families: the de’ Medicis and the Frescobaldis in Firenze, the de’ Medicis and their cousins, the Baldesis, in Venezia. Those who defaulted on their debts owed to these families went in fear of being ‘nailed by the hand’ and, if payment was not forthcoming after that, they could expect to be gutted like a Martinmas pig and left to die.

  ‘So that’s what they did to this damned fellow that you found, little brother,’ Jude went on. ‘And trust you to kneel in his spilled guts and ruin a perfectly good pair of hose. You’ve been in more scrapes than a parchment skin and, as usual, I have to rescue you. Don’t know how you bloody survived in my absence.’

  ‘I knelt in… Oh, merciful Jesu, spare me.’ I felt the blood drain from my face but I would not swoon again. ‘It was dark in there… I did not see…’ So that was how this most recent murder differed from the others. I was glad I had not seen this detail.

  Thaddeus spared me the worst of the moment by enquiring of Jude:

  ‘Why don’t the authorities stop them? I thought Venice had a duke or someone to gove
rn there.’

  ‘The Doge, aye. They elected Giovanni Mocenigo to office last year, for life, and if he wants it to be a long one… Who do you think chooses and governs the Doge? The Baldesis. Money is power there, as anywhere, and the money lies in their hands. The Doge is in debt to them, like all the rest. He does as he’s bloody told; else he’ll suffer the same.’

  ‘And you believe the Baldesis have committed these murders, here, in our own fair city?’ My friend sounded both incredulous and affronted. ‘How dare those devilish foreigners?’

  ‘The nail in the hand is their mark of trade, as we have the Fox’s Head. But you said, didn’t you, little brother, the others were tortured?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Well, they likely got the information they wanted and traced a path back to the smith.’

  ‘Mm, so they may have but they didn’t get the man behind this counterfeit coin business. We did. Clement Mallard is in custody, telling all in the vain hope of saving his scrawny neck.’

  ‘Thaddeus? You ne’er told me,’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t have the chance, did I? Yestereve, he confessed his guilt concerning the false coin, all the while declaring he had naught to do with the murders. I believe he speaks truly. He admits that he lent sums of money to Hartnell, Linton and others he refused to name but, in each case, about one-third of the coin lent was counterfeit. Then he would demand payment of the sum wholly in true sterling, making a great profit. My investigations reveal that both victims had also borrowed money from others, often as not, simply to pay off debts elsewhere.’

  ‘If they had borrowed from the Baldesis also,’ I said, my wits sharper now, ‘They may well have been repaying those debts, in part at least, with Mallard’s false coin. The bankers would be losing money, finding their coffers refilling with counterfeit. They would likely know who had repaid them falsely and want to punish the offenders, torturing them to learn the source.’

  ‘Almost doing my task for me but in the most brutal and criminal fashion.’ Thaddeus tugged at his earlobe. ‘We cannot let them continue in this way yet on what grounds can I arrest them? I have no evidence that the Baldesis are committing murders within my jurisdiction.’

  ‘I doubt they are,’ Jude said. ‘They wouldn’t do their own dirty work. They’d employ lesser folk to get their hands bloody. I wouldn’t waste my time trying to prove them guilty, if I were you.’

  ‘But Hartnell and Linton deserve justice. As does that wretch, Hamo, in truth,’ Thaddeus protested.

  I agreed with him. Such outrages should not go unpunished.

  Jude did but shrug.

  ‘That’s how it goes in Venezia,’ he said. ‘Naught you can do about it. It’s the way it is with the likes of these banking families. I should know; being bloody married to them.’

  ‘Then, mayhap, you could find out more… get proof of their involvement in these crimes.’

  ‘Do I look like a bloody fool? Or a man eager to embrace an assassin’s blade? Unlike you, little brother, I have more sense. You have to learn to let matters lie. Not every wasp nest needs poking. Not every midden has to be disturbed so you can test its foulness. You’re a bloody idiot, Seb. Always were; always will be. That you’ve lived this long is a miracle.’

  ‘By Jesu’s mercy, I have. But you say, Jude, that the de’ Medicis in – where was it? – Firenze? They do like the Baldesis?’

  ‘So I’ve heard. Not that I’ve seen for myself. Why do you ask?’

  ‘’Tis just that the king’s book, our great commission, be intended as a royal gift to a certain Lorenzo de’ Medici in Florence. Is it the case that we be making so fine a piece for a murderer?’

  Jude laughed and clapped me heartily upon the back.

  ‘Does your delicate conscience prick you, if you are? What do you care who has your work, so long as you get paid for it?’

  ‘If, indeed, we do… get paid, I mean.’

  ‘The king will pay his bloody reckoning, surely? Duke Richard always does, as we well know. If the king doesn’t settle his accounts, then why should anyone else ever feel obliged to?’

  ‘Ah, now, Jude, ’tis you who be the innocent. Ask of any London merchant who supplies the Crown. They all complain in like wise: delayed payment, reduced payment, or sometimes naught at all. King Edward seems to think that royal favour be good enough; the honour of doing him service be sufficient recompense, though how that might put food upon a man’s board or a shirt upon his back, the Exchequer does not explain. I hope for payment but my expectations be small.’

  ‘If he doesn’t pay you, then you must refuse ever to work for him again: no more royal commissions.’

  ‘Refuse the king? You think I would dare?’

  ‘I bloody would. Work for nothing? Why should I? Why should any right-minded man? You must turn down any future royal commissions, at least until the full cost of the present work is settled, else you’ll be the one in debt to bloody usurers and bankers. I don’t want to find you nailed to your desk in the workshop, your guts strewn on the floor.’

  I cringed in horror at the prospect and felt my blood run chill. Mayhap, Jude was correct, this once.

  ‘Well!’ Thaddeus brought our morbid deliberations to an abrupt end and got up off the grass, brushing down his breeches. ‘I don’t think I need detain you further, Seb. If you could oblige me by putting all this in writing, I shall be grateful.’

  ‘How much do you pay my brother for his services as clerk?’ Jude asked, unexpectedly.

  ‘I, er…’

  ‘Even bloody tight-arsed Coroner Fyssher used to pay us sixpence a day for our note-taking and report writing.’

  ‘I do it as a favour for Thaddeus as my good friend, gratis, when he be hard-pressed. I do not expect coin for it,’ I said, hastening in defence of the bailiff.

  ‘Then no wonder your damned purse is ever empty, little brother. You’re the biggest bloody fool in Christendom.’ Jude also rose. ‘However, I’ve got more important matters for a Saturday eve: wine jugs to drink dry and a wife to fuck. So, if you need me, you can likely find me at the Sun in Splendour, but only if it’s a matter of life and death. Any lesser reason and you’ll suffer my great displeasure and a soundly kicked arse. You have been duly warned.’

  ‘The Sun in Splendour? Have you lodged there this while?’ I asked. ‘I was searching all over for you… all your haunts of old. And there you rest in the newest place.’

  ‘That’s where Adam found me and Rykener breaking our fast this morn and dragged us off to save your bloody skin – again. Me and Chesca will be there for another week or so yet, I dare say.’

  I struggled to my feet to bid farewell to Jude and Thaddeus. Gawain did likewise.

  ‘Give my kind regards to Mistress Foxley,’ I heard Thaddeus say to my brother as they both left by way of our side gate.

  It sounded strange: a reference to Mistress Foxley who was not Emily.

  ‘I intend to give the wench a deal more than that,’ Jude replied and laughed.

  I gathered up the discarded cups and the empty jug and returned them to the kitchen.

  ‘Nessie, there yet be a stool ’neath the apple tree. If you would please to fetch it in when you go shut up the henhouse for the night.’

  She grumbled at my request. No precise words but a muttering and a sullen look, as though I had demanded some great unreasonable labour of her.

  I said naught concerning her discourtesy but set down the cups and jug upon the board and returned to the garden to accomplish the task myself. Emily would not have done so but rather taken her broom to Nessie’s behind. As I set the stool in its place by the board, Rose came down the stair, smiling.

  ‘Little Dickon is sleeping like an angel, if you wish to go kiss him and bless him, Seb,’ she said.

  Seeing her sweet, gentle face, of a sudden, I felt a longing to kiss, not my son’s cheek but h
er lips. Fool! Fool! I berated myself. You cannot. ’Tis not seemly for a widower of hardly two months standing.

  It was as well that Nessie was there in the kitchen, a presence to temper my sinful desire.

  Instead, I mounted the stair and went into the back bedchamber, Rose and Kate’s room, where my son slumbered in his cradle in the corner. I sat upon the end of the bed and watched him sleep. So innocent. So dear. Rose cared for him lovingly, as if he were her own child. She cared for me, also, as I now realised. And I for her. Might we e’er be more than simply members of the same household, living ’neath the same roof? Could we be a true family some day? Were my growing feelings for her true? Or did I just want someone to fill the hole in my life left by Emily’s passing and to be a mother to my children? Was it too soon to know for certain? So many questions whirled in my head.

  ‘I would have your opinion, little one, if only you might speak.’ I stroked his dark hair from his brow, ran my finger down his perfect cheek. ‘What would you have Papa do, eh? You have a fond affection for her, as I do, I see that. But could it be more? Could you love her as your mother? Could I…’

  I sighed and shook my head, then leant over the cradle and kissed his forehead. ‘Think on it, my dear son. I would know your wishes. Sleep sound, little one.’ I made the sign of the Cross over him. ‘May the Lord Jesu bless you and keep you in safety through this night and always.’ I blew out the candle and left him to his dreams.

  I had another matter to attend, one I had nigh forgotten: choir practice. And I was late. The precentor would be wrathful. He be a hard man to please. We had two events of importance: the morrow, being the closest Lord’s Day to the feast of the martyred saints, Peter and Paul, the latter being the cathedral’s own patron, a special High Mass would be celebrated in the presence of Bishop Kempe. And then upon Tuesday next, the feast day itself, another High Mass and, so rumour ran, King Edward himself was to attend.