The Colour of Evil: A Sebastian Foxley Medieval Murder Mystery

by Toni Mount

  The precentor had instructed me a few weeks ago as to the pieces he required of me, insisting my attendance at practices was in no way to be shirked. Yet I had missed one or two, mea culpa. He would ne’er forgive me if I missed this day’s final rehearsal. Thus, I made haste across the street to Paul’s, at once cheered at the prospect of singing but wary of the precentor’s ire.

  Sunday, the twenty-seventh day of June

  St Michael le Querne Church

  Jude brought Chesca to St Michael’s for Low Mass. I was pleased to see that he made the effort, if only to avoid the fines and penance that might be due, if he did not.

  Dame Ellen and her fellow matrons made much of Chesca, welcoming her to the parish as the goodwife of Jude Foxley. I believe they hoped my errant brother was tamed at last. Father Thomas said the like to me as I craved his blessing at the porch upon leaving after the office was done.

  ‘She’s very young, this Francesca-Antonia,’ Dame Ellen said, coming to join me as I paid my Lord’s Day’s respects at Emily’s graveside. She nodded approval as I lay a posy of rosemary and lavender at the foot of the wooden marker. ‘You think she’ll do him any good, Sebastian? Where did he find her? She’s not English born, is she? Where does she hale from? Not France, I trust? I wouldn’t want their sort as my neighbour.’

  ‘Fear not, good dame. She comes from Venezia – Venice, as we say. But, aye, I agree she seems over young but a determined lass nonetheless. She knows her own mind, I assure you.’

  ‘She’ll need to, to keep your brother in good order. Do you think she’ll succeed? Of course, if he’d had any sense of honour and decency, he would have wed Rose a twelvemonth since. Now she would make any man a worthy wife. But this mere chick… what’s she to do with a wayward arrow like him? Does she have a craft of her own? Can she cook, sew and keep accounts?’

  ‘I be certain she can do the last, being a banker’s daughter, if e’er there be any money to keep account of.’

  ‘Ah! So that’s the way of it, then.’ Dame Ellen sounded as one who had received a great revelation. ‘I bid you good day, Sebastian.’ With that, the elderly woman bustled off to find her friends and advise them of this new intelligence.

  No matter, I had made known neither privy secrets nor confidences.

  ‘Go with God’s grace, Dame Ellen,’ I called after her afore resuming my contemplation and soul-searching at my wife’s grave. But I received no better answer from my departed spouse than I had from my little son last night.

  Mayhap, I should enquire of Jude. After all, it would be courteous to ask of him who had once been Rose’s intended, though he had relinquished all rights to her by his marriage to Chesca. In truth, Adam might better advise me but Jude was still my brother, more fully my flesh and blood. Was I thus obliged to consult with him? I supposed that was the case.

  I looked about the churchyard for him. Was this as good a time as any to discuss such a delicate matter with him? Everything was questions, questions, questions. But I saw him stepping into the street with Chesca on one arm and his new friend, John Rykener, upon the other. I determined that this was not the time, not with such company close by. I should have to maintain my patience a while and seek out my brother later. Upon the morrow, mayhap? I could not be easy, fretting so. I had to talk to someone.

  St Paul’s Cathedral

  At home, I donned my chorister’s gown and kerchief and scurried to St Paul’s. The precentor was already shouting at the youngsters, bewailing their poor efforts at the scales to warm their voices on this special day.

  ‘The Bishop wants to hear music, not this dreadful caterwauling.’

  I looked at the lads’ scrubbed faces: some angelic – like Will Thatcher that we had rescued not so long ago - others full of mischief. In either case, none were much put out by the precentor’s complaints, they being accustomed to the tradition. I joined them, receiving a scowl for my tardy arrival but no comment.

  We went in procession leading the ageing Bishop of London, his gold-trimmed vestments sparkling in the sunlight as we made our way across the precinct, through the crowds in their Sunday best but as dull as sparrows in comparison to his bejewelled mitre and flowing cope. The nave was thronged with congregants for this celebration of London’s own saint, hot and wreathed in the blue smoke of incense. Their chattering stilled as we processed up the central aisle, led by the great gold Cross and acolytes. First, the young choristers, then the canons; I followed behind them, the precentor after me with the dean and chapter at his back. And lastly came Thomas Kempe in all his glory. Arthritic and creaking as he was, nonetheless, he knew right well how to put on a magnificent show.

  In due course, my moment came when I stood in the chancel beyond the rood screen and sang my Jubilate with all my heart and soul. None in the congregation in the nave could see who sang but they would hear me and, I hoped, rejoice in the wondrous anthem as I did. After my opening solo, the rest of the choir joined in, like the angelic Host of Heaven, praising God. But the high point, literally, was my opening of the Gloria, a difficult piece with its rising crescendo to a top note that I doubted myself every time I could reach. But I did, confounding the precentor’s expectations and fear of my failure. It was well done, though only I say so. The precentor would ne’er admit as much.

  As we recessed, I caught sight of Adam above the heads of others, grinning at me. And Jude also. The rest were likely there but hidden from view, being not of so tall a stature. I hoped Rose had heard me. Rose. I confess, my singing had been for her as much as for the Almighty. I should beseech forgiveness for my sin.

  Smithfield

  When dinner was done – I complimented Rose upon a fine repast but, in truth, I do not recall what I consumed nor how it tasted – I took little Dickon to the Horse Pool at Smithfield. I sat him upon my shoulders. To hear him chuckling there on high was a joy, despite the handfuls of hair I might lose to his tight grasp.

  Adam came with me, his longbow in hand. He had archery practice to attend at the eastern end of Smithfield by Aldersgate but, for some cause, he chose to accompany me by way of Newgate instead, although it made for a longer walk.

  ‘What’s amiss with you, Seb?’ he asked, pulling at my sleeve.

  ‘Amiss? Naught at all. Why?’

  ‘Forwhy I’ve been speaking to you all this time, complimenting you on your fine voice earlier, and you ignore me like a deaf man. Clearly, your mind is elsewhere, upon other things. So, what’s amiss, I ask again.’

  ‘I have much to think on is all.’

  ‘Not still worrying at those murders like a wormed tooth, are you? We’ve done our best with that business. Leave it to the bailiff now.’

  ‘I was not thinking of that at all.’

  ‘What then? It fills your head to the banishment of all else, whatever it is.’

  ‘I cannot speak of it, for the present, at least. When I have determined my own heart, then I may tell you. But not yet.’

  ‘Your own heart, eh? Well, the rest of us know full well where that lies.’

  ‘You do not. I hardly know myself.’ I made to stride away in protest but he caught me.

  ‘Seb, dear cousin.’ Adam turned me to face him and refused to allow me by. ‘When that blind and witless heart of yours finally realises it belongs to Rose and hers to you, then we can have a sensible conversation concerning it.’

  ‘You know? But I ne’er said a word about…’

  ‘You don’t have to. It’s writ plain enough in your every glance and gesture towards her. For pity’s sake, kiss her, embrace her and spare us all the suspense. You know you want to.’

  ‘But does she? Besides, Emily be so lately departed. ’Tis too soon to be seemly.’

  ‘Rose would wed you tomorrow, you know that.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘She loves you, Seb. I’ve known that since I came to dwell with you. At first, I hoped that she
might think I would make a fine husband but swiftly realised my mistake. She would rather remain unwed than leave you.’

  ‘But she was supposed to marry Jude.’

  ‘And you think she was distressed when that didn’t come to pass? Not at all. She was much relieved, cousin. And now you are no longer tied to Em, well… I can guess at her thoughts, if you can’t.’

  ‘Is it that you believe Rose loves me?’

  ‘Always has, by my reckoning. She’s likely waiting for you to realise the same.

  ‘But…’

  ‘No buts, Seb. I’ve got archery to attend and you’ve got the little fellow to entertain now we’ve straightened out the great matter that bewildered you so. Go to, cousin, enjoy your afternoon.’

  And I did so with a light heart and a smile so broad it caused my jaw to ache. But I cared not.

  The Sun in Splendour Tavern

  They insisted that I went, Adam and Ralf, though I protested our purses could hardly bear the cost of an evening of drinking and wassail. And upon the Lord’s Day ’twas improper, if few concerned themselves for such proprieties these days.

  I discovered we had been invited by my brother – yet replete with coin by some means it was better not to investigate too nearly – and he was buying both the wine and ale for his guests. This generosity was so unlike Jude, I suspected some other reason beyond apparent conviviality. I was not mistaken.

  I had consumed but half a cup of ale when that reason was made clear.

  ‘Give us a song, little brother. I had almost forgotten your solitary saving grace, that you’re the finest songster in London. Come now. Chesca wouldn’t believe that it was you, doing the Gloria and the rest behind the screen. I promised her you’d sing to us in person and prove it. What will you give us? Something lively, eh?’

  ‘I should have known you had some sly motive.’

  ‘Now, Seb, you know you love to show off your talent. Look at the audience you have.’ He swung his arm, gesturing to the tavern’s legion customers. ‘I told everyone you would entertain us this eve. You don’t want to bloody disappoint them, do you?’ He nudged me and whispered: ‘I’ll pass your cap around, earn us some silver and we can share the profits.’

  ‘Not working on the Lord’s Day! Jude, you cannot.’

  ‘I’ll keep it all then, if you’re so fearful of offending. What will you sing? Stand on that bench so everyone can see you.’

  ‘Jude, do not use me as your dancing bear, your performing monkey…’

  ‘Oh, just get on with it and sing, damn it.’ He turned to face those gathered. ‘Harken all!’ he cried. ‘My little brother, whose fine voice sang the anthems in Paul’s this morn, is eager to give you an evening of song. What say you? Shall he sing for you?’

  ‘Yea! Yea!’ The word rang out.

  I was sore reluctant and about to refuse but then I saw Rose come into the tavern and find her place with Adam and Chesca. Oh well, mayhap, if I did not approve of earning money on a Sunday, I yet could sing solely to please the dearest of women with an easy conscience and if others heard, then so be it.

  ‘Sing The Nut-brown Maiden, that always goes down well,’ Jude said in my ear as he assisted me up onto a firm bench.

  ‘Nay, not that. ’Twas my song to Emily. I shall not sing that again.’ I steadied myself and breathed deep.

  ‘The Chaste Wife, then. Everyone loves that.’

  ‘Too lewd for the Lord’s Day.’

  ‘What of it. For Christ’s sake, sing something. I promised them.’

  So I sang of The Wandering Minstrel whose harp was his only love. A plaintive air and naught bawdy about it. The applause was sincere but muted.

  ‘Sing us the one about the ploughman ploughing his fine furrow,’ someone shouted.

  I thought on it a moment. It was a seemly ballad. So I sang of the fellow who impressed his sweetheart with the straightest furrow, ploughed so deep, and his good seed sown abroad, fertile and sprouting. Why did they laugh and cheer so? I could not see why a hard-working husbandman toiling in his fields was a cause for such mirth. But the company loved it, clapping and stamping their feet in approval. Who was I to argue?

  Jude handed me a cup to refresh myself.

  ‘Thought you disapproved of such songs on a Sunday.’

  ‘Such songs? The Ploughman’s Lay be decorous enough.’

  My brother burst out laughing and turned back to the audience.

  ‘What shall you hear next?’ he asked, still chuckling. My brother’s humours oft eluded my understanding.

  As I was singing a merry song about a foolish cobbler who dreamt he was a king, standing on the bench, I could see over the crowd towards the tavern door. It stood open to the warm twilight airs and beyond, outside in the street, I thought I saw shadows moving. Three dark shapes outlined against the paler stone of the building across the way. They did not behave like respectable citizens going home. I could but say they lurked. But I forgot them right swiftly in the loud cheers and cries of ‘More!’ and ‘Sing another!’ ringing out as I ended and reached for the ale cup.

  The evening ended and I was much wearied with all that singing and would go home to my bed. But Jude had other concerns in mind.

  ‘Come up to our chamber, Seb. Chesca will be sleeping soon enough. We can talk. I have things that need to be said. We haven’t had the time ’til now. We can share wine, if the taverner will oblige at this hour.’

  ‘I be that tired, Jude. Can it not wait until the morrow? As it stands, I shall be walking home in the dark and without a torch, risking the Watch questioning me, taking me for a hedge-breaker up to no good.’

  ‘Then stay the night. We’ll find you a pillow. After all, what’ve you got to go home to but a bloody empty bed, now the Moody Mare’s not there, waiting to scold you at every turn? I’ll wager, you’re secretly pleased at your release from the serfdom of husbandhood.’

  ‘How can you suggest it… and do not call her so.’ Jude could rouse my anger as none else ever did and, perhaps, the more so forwhy there was an element of truth to his words, though I hardly dared admit it, even to myself. ‘I shall leave now.’

  But Jude took my arm in a strong grip.

  ‘Come, little brother. I need your aid.’

  ‘If ’tis money you want, do not ask. My coffers, my purse and the aumbry be all empty, as you know full well. I have naught left to live by, thanks to you. Let go my arm.’

  But he kept hold, such that to pull away might tear my sleeve.

  ‘Please, Seb. Please stay.’

  It was a rare word indeed upon my brother’s lips but ’twas rather the look in his eye that persuaded me. Desperation.

  Chapter 20

  Sunday eve, late

  The Sun in Splendour Tavern

  So I stayed as Jude had asked. The chamber above the taproom at the Sun in Splendour was newly appointed with crimson hangings. It had two window casements and both stood open to the star-studded night. We sat over a wine jug by one window, without troubling to light a taper, the stars giving light enough for conversation. Whilst Chesca slept in the canopied bed, we talked of this and that, as brothers do. It had been a long time – years, mayhap – since we last spoke together in this manner. He told me more of his travels to distant lands. I told him of doings in London and our business prospects since his departure at the end of summer last. Yet none of these were the weight upon his mind.

  ‘What did you wish to speak of to me, truly?’ I asked, for the drink and weariness pressed upon my eyelids and I feared to fall asleep afore he said his piece.

  ‘Oh, not much.’ He shrugged as if he could hardly recall so small a matter now that he had the opportunity to tell of it.

  ‘In which case, I have a subject to raise with you, Jude. It concerns Rose… she who was once your intended.’

  ‘I bloody know who she is. And if you�
��re going to tell me you fancy bedding her yourself, I say go to, little brother. It’s about time you fucked a good woman. You don’t need my permission.’ Jude grinned hugely and poured yet more wine.

  Outside, in the yard below, a dog barked and was swiftly silenced.

  ‘’Tis not like that. Why do your thoughts ever take the most sordid path?’

  ‘Human nature. A man’s natural urges.’

  ‘When my twelvemonth of mourning be done, I would ask Rose to be my wife. I thought to tell you out of courtesy.’

  ‘Can you wait so bloody long? I know you’re more a monk than a man but…’

  ‘’Tis expected.’

  ‘Must you do as everyone expects? You can swive the lass before you wed her, surely? But, is it that you’re not certain she’s of a like mind? Does she fancy a skinny pea-stick like you for a husband? Or has she a line of other handsome fellows queuing at the door? Is that it, little brother? You fear your bloody rivals will get in her bed before you? You want me to fend them off, chase them away for you?’

  ‘Nay, Jude. My life be not as yours – ’

  There came a crash, a splintering of wood, then another. A man leapt through the open window, flinging me aside, overturning wine cups, stools and everything. The other window was likewise ill-used.

  The two men seized Jude, wrestling with him just as a third barged through the door. Jude yelled and kicked out.

  Chesca woke up, screaming.

  I picked up a stool and swung it at the man who was twisting Jude’s arm and dragging him against the shattered casement. The stool caught him on the shoulder and he let go of my brother and came at me, snarling, wielding a hammer. I brandished the stool and lashed out again, missing. He advanced, the hammer held high. As it came down, aimed at my head, I thrust out the stool, which took such a blow, the seat cracked and my arm shuddered with the force of it. I stumbled and fell. He advanced. The hammer rose again, his face flooded with murderous intent. I saw my death reflected in his eye.