TEN

Saturday, 17 October

Crispin watched the shadow pass by the high barred window in his cell for the third time. His hand went to his empty dagger sheath, and he made a sound of disgust. The sheriff had his dagger. Thank God his sword was at home. But he was ready for whatever it might be that lurked at his window; bat, bird, rat …

He startled slightly at the sudden appearance of a cat’s face popping through the bars.

He peered closer. ‘How the devil do you get way up here?’

The cat blinked at him, mewled, and then leapt down. Immediately the black and white cat slid its sinuous body against his shackled leg. ‘Tart,’ he grumbled and bent to pick him up. He looked into its black mask with its white blaze, its large yellow eyes. ‘Just what brings you here, Gyb?’

The cat purred, and Crispin absently pressed it to his chest and stroked its soft head. ‘You’re not supposed to be breaking into prison, my friend, but out of it. But I’d welcome you if you free this place of rats.’

The cat suddenly bounded from his hands and dove under the cot. A scramble, and then it emerged again with a twitching brown rat in his jaws. Crispin chuckled. ‘Never have any of my requests been so smartly obeyed.’

The cat found a place on the hearth and proceeded to disembowel his prey, eating most of the center of the creature and leaving the head, feet, and tail behind. Once done, he sat, carefully licking and grooming its white paws.

‘At least someone’s eating their fill.’ He kicked the remnants into the fire, wincing at their smoldering smell, and crouched before the feline. ‘Whatever brought you into my den, puss?’

It looked up once from its grooming, blinked, and returned to swiping its head with its dampened paw.

Crispin rose, stretching his back. ‘Well, I don’t suppose I mind a little company. It does get dreadfully dull here.’

He glanced at his own barren plate on the table. His belly growled from its emptiness. He’d protested when the gaoler wanted to charge him for his meals. He had already paid a mainprise. Surely that should cover it, he had argued.

And still he starved. He had thought those days were over. Well. For the most part.

Besides their arguing over his surety, Melvyn had been particularly obstinate and delayed bringing him his meals, when he deigned to do so. Little wonder after Crispin had hit him on that first day he was brought in. Melvyn had made a most inappropriate and rude comment that Crispin would not allow. He got in one good hit before the other gaolers took Crispin down. Still, it had been worth it.

He turned with surprise when the prison door opened again. But it was not Melvyn or any of the sheriff’s men pushing their way through and threatening him but that lawyer again, Nigellus Cobmartin. Crispin greeted him with a nod.

‘Master Guest, I trust you are well.’

‘As well as one can be in Newgate.’

The lawyer formed a conciliatory smile on his lips. ‘Forgive me for not returning sooner. I was delayed. Do sit, Master Guest. May I call you Crispin? It is such a worthy name, is it not? The name of a humble saint and martyr.’

‘I am no saint, sir, and, hopefully, no martyr. “Crispin” I am. It is my name. You have my leave, Master Nigellus.’

‘Good, good.’ He busied himself with his papers, trying to keep them tidy … and failing.

‘Has there been any word from Jack?’

Nigellus frowned. ‘We met just the other day. And though the circumstances were abominable, it might serve you. Two women were found strangled.’

The horror of it struck home. ‘God’s blood.’

‘Yes, though it is a tragedy, it proves you were not the culprit. There appears to be a devil loose in London who likes to strangle young women.’

‘Or likes to hire someone to do so.’

‘Hmm.’

‘What has Jack to say about it?’

‘Well, that is the trouble, Master Crispin. Sheriff Walcote likes Jack as the culprit, and the boy is currently in cognito.’

‘The damned fool sheriff.’

Nigellus shook his head. ‘Yes. But I think your apprentice is quite resourceful, and so I would not fear for his whereabouts.’

‘I don’t. Jack can care for himself.’

‘Someday I should like to hear how you acquired the lad.’

Crispin offered a lopsided grin, remembering. ‘It’s a long tale, Master Nigellus. And I hope fervently to have the time to tell it.’

‘The trial starts today, Master Crispin. Noon.’

The cold words clutched his heart with equally cold fingers. His breath left him for a heartbeat before it returned.

‘Forgive me,’ said Nigellus. ‘That was abrupt.’

‘No, for it is the truth. Why so soon? I have known many a trial to take a year or more to be seen at the King’s Bench or Common Pleas.’

‘Your Jack seems to think that the sheriffs are most hasty on the matter in order to convict you, for surely with enough time Tucker can solve the crime on his own.’

Crispin nodded. ‘It never ceases to amaze me the diligence with which the sheriffs fervently labor for my disposal. I shouldn’t be surprised and yet I am. Do you think a bribe would do me any good?’

‘If these are the circumstances I should think not.’

‘Not that I have the funds. And so we start today. I do not see that we have much more than what we started with.’

Nigellus laid a hand on Crispin’s arm. It was strange comfort from a man he did not know. ‘We will do what we can. Since I have not heard from Master Jack I must resort to my first tactic, that of delay. The trial will begin, you will begin to speak – and make it lengthy, Master Crispin. Spare no lexicon. And I will put forth new writs that must be addressed. In this, we will gather more time for the witnesses we desire and the story that we want told.’

Crispin rubbed his jaw and looked down at the cat who was now dedicating himself to rutting his head against Crispin’s calf.

‘What have we here?’ said Nigellus. He bent down to pet the cat. ‘Oi, Gyb. You are here for good luck, eh?’

‘Good luck would be an interesting change of pace,’ said Crispin.

‘But you have good luck, sir. For I am on the case! And I am already forming a tale of these strangled women. Remember, my good Crispin, that I need only inject doubt into the minds of the jury. They must know you to be guilty, not think it. With doubt, there will be room for them to question their own facts. Now, I should like to hear in your own words what you intend to say.’

‘Now? Recite my testimony?’

‘Yes. Since I cannot speak for you at the trial it is best we rehearse your speech now. Now is better than later.’

‘So I see. Well then.’

Crispin launched into his speech, but Nigellus stopped him from time to time to help him clarify this point and blur that one. Crispin began to feel a certain level of confidence in the man that he just might know what he was doing.

After Crispin seemed to satisfy him, Nigellus looked around. ‘Have you no meat and drink? This is insufferable.’ He moved to the door and called for the gaoler through the grille. ‘Gaoler! Food and ale for this prisoner. He needs his strength for the trial ahead.’

It took some convincing – and a coin or two – but the gaolers brought Crispin some actual meat, cheese, bread, and a jug of ale.

Nigellus took the cat from Crispin’s arms and insisted he sit to eat and Crispin did. The meat was cold, but that didn’t matter. The cheese had a skin of mold on it, but he trimmed it off with Nigellus’ knife. He ate and drank heartily of the ale. They had only given him water for all that silver he had surrendered to the sheriff, and the ale tasted good to him.

‘Will you be in the courtroom?’ asked Crispin, mouth full.

‘Yes. I must observe and be on hand to submit my writs, to keep my eye on the witnesses and jury, and to question witnesses myself. If there is anything amiss with the jury, I can usually spot it and take that as well to the recorder.’

‘Is it to be the one judge or several?’

‘It is hard to say. You are on the cusp, Crispin. You are an important personage, enough to warrant several judges, while at the same time … of little importance these days, if you understand me.’

He snorted and tore off a piece from the loaf, stuffing it in his mouth. ‘Yes, I get your drift.’

‘In any case, we might do better with the one judge. John Tremayne has always been a fair-minded man. You could do worse.’

‘Indeed I could.’

The bells from the nearby church tolled, and Crispin paused in his eating. He set the scraps down and wiped his hands on the cloth provided. ‘Sext, Master Nigellus. Should we make ready to depart?’

He nodded, looking toward the door. And it was then they both heard the footfalls. ‘The Guildhall is half a mile from here. I shall be with you the whole way.’

He gave a half-smile and bowed to the man as the door whined open. Crispin moved forward, and the cat followed. He turned toward the cat as he stood in the doorway. ‘You are free to go, Gyb. No one’s keeping you here.’

The cat, with tail raised high, strolled out the door and trotted down the stairs in the opposite direction. Well, there’s one prisoner freed, he thought. Perhaps it’s a good sign.

Crispin followed the sheriff’s serjeants down the stone stairs with difficulty. The iron shackles weighed heavily on his steps. Nigellus followed close behind him. As he came out into the sunshine of Newgate’s arch, an assembly of people stood out in the street. Strangely silent, they watched as he did his best to keep up while Sheriff Loveney mounted an awaiting horse and trotted ahead. The serjeants surrounded Crispin and marched him down Newgate Market. The people, still silent, turned and walked with them, serving as a noiseless retinue, until one woman called out from the crowd, ‘God’s blessings on you, Crispin Guest!’

His head snapped sharply in that direction. Another shouted from behind, ‘Me and mine are praying for you!’

That set the crowd to murmuring with other calls for God’s blessings upon him. The sheriff twisted on his saddle and scowled at the crowd, telling them to disperse, but it only seemed to gather more people as they traveled toward Milk Street and made the turn.

Crispin lost his breath. ‘God’s blood,’ he murmured. This crowd. They weren’t out for his blood as he suspected they might be. They were here for him! In support. His eyes tracked the people, faces he did not know. Men, and women carrying babes or dragging their children beside them with clasped hands. They offered their silent gazes. It was an entirely different sensation from those crowds from court some twelve years ago. They had jeered him then, truly out for his blood and he had expected to give it. Yet these humble people … where did they all come from? Who were they? Surely he had not touched this many lives in the nine years since he had turned to his present occupation.

He memorized the worn faces, the cheeks pressed against wimples, the beards, the razor-stubbled chins, the dark and weary eyes. They were the ordinary folk of London. They were the lowly. He had been far above them once, but now he was one of them. And they knew it, too. They had accepted it far earlier than Crispin had done in all his years of foot-dragging. He couldn’t deny it any longer. He was one of them. And if die he must, at least the crowds would be on his side. A generous mercy from on high.

The sheriff and his men turned down another lane and found a grand structure, half-timbered with a stone arched portico and a wide square. The Guildhall. The sheriff’s horse clopped over the cobblestoned courtyard. The crowd widened to cover the courtyard’s edges, leaving a wide berth around the sheriff’s men. Sheriff Loveney dismounted, his scowl deepening. ‘Keep these people back,’ he growled at one of his serjeants.

‘Yes, my lord,’ he said, clasping his pike tightly and lowering it at an angle.

The sheriff flicked a glance back at Crispin. ‘I don’t know how you managed to stir them up, Guest, but there had better not be trouble.’

Crispin said nothing. He shook his head in disbelief, taking in all the people and wondering if he was worthy of such patronage.

The sheriff led the way through the entry arch. Crispin followed, felt the footsteps of Nigellus behind him. They walked through a corridor until it opened into the great hall.

The sheriff announced, ‘Crispin Guest, the accused, coming into court!’

The blood surged within him. Crispin longed to do something, to fight. But his only weapon would be his voice. He surveyed the room. The recorder of London, John Tremayne, sat on a raised dais on a great bench with a high back. He was alone.

Before him, a wooden rail, or, Crispin supposed, a bar.

Across the room were nine men, two rows of them on long benches. The jury.

The serjeants marched Crispin to the center of court just below the dais and pushed him up against the bar with the jury behind him. He faced the judge even as Nigellus slipped into court and stood a moment with the others who had managed to get inside to watch the proceedings, until his lawyer made his way through the crowd to find a seat at a desk next to the clerk.

Scanning further, Crispin noticed the eel monger, Hugh Buckton, standing uncomfortably, wide eyes looking about. He wrung his tunic hem in his hands. And not far from him, Regis Croydone the roper, searching the room curiously. And Alison Keylmarsh, the other witness.

But no Helewise Peverel nor Walter Noreys.

There were others there as well, no doubt waiting for their own trial today. Crispin’s was not to be the only one before the senior circuit judge. But how to stall his trial and his sentence?

Crispin took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. This was significantly different from his treason trial. For there, it was plain what was to happen. He had said nothing. He had not wished to implicate any others and knew he was guilty. He greatly feared the grim punishment – that of drawing and quartering – but he well knew he had no choice. Not until Lancaster spoke up and spared his life. At that trial, he had been exhausted from days of torture that could not extract the other names in the conspiracy. He had expected his execution to happen immediately, set his mind and aching body to it. He had not expected the reprieve that had come like a wash of rose water.

Today, however … today, in all truth, he did not know what to expect.

The sheriff took the seat at the right side of the recorder and settled himself in.

‘Let us commence,’ said the voice of John Tremayne. Crispin stopped his musings and turned his attention to the man on the dais. ‘Will the clerk read the indictment from the sheriff’s calendar? And I must say, this shortened calendar perplexes me.’ He sent a glance toward the sheriff, who merely resettled himself on the bench.

The clerk took up a parchment and read in a loud voice: ‘The information given to John Charneye, Coroner, and to John Walcote and John Loveney, Sheriffs of London, that a certain Elizabeth le Porter lay dead of a death other than her rightful death in the Bread Street Ward, in the parish of St Anthonine. Thereupon they proceeded thither and having summoned good men of that Ward, they diligently enquired how it happened. The jurors say that Crispin Guest of the Shambles did enter the rent of Elizabeth le Porter and the following day she was discovered dead. The witnesses Hugh Buckton, eel monger, and Alison Keylmarsh, widow, chandler, say on their oath that when on Wednesday, after the Feast of St Calixtus, fourteenth October, after the hour of curfew the said Crispin did enter the rent of le Porter and she was found dead the following day, Thursday fifteenth October. Being asked if they suspected anyone else of the said death besides the said Crispin, the witnesses say no. The corpse was viewed, and the neck appeared blue and inflamed.’

Crispin had heard trials before, but to hear his own circumstances told in such stark language even gave him pause.

He straightened when the recorder said, ‘You have been accused of the crime of murder of Elizabeth le Porter of Watling Street, London. How do you wish to plead?’

In a loud, clear voice, Crispin replied, ‘Innocent.’

The crowd murmured, some even tried to cheer, but Tremayne stared them down.

‘And how do you wish to be heard, Guest?’

‘By jury.’ He glanced across the hall to the seated jury who had, no doubt, already made up their minds.

‘Very well,’ said Tremayne. ‘Let it be known that today, on the seventeenth day of October, the twelfth year of the reign of our sovereign King Richard, the trial of Crispin Guest commences. Before the witnesses speak, does the prisoner have ought to say in his defense?’

Crispin discreetly cleared his throat and bowed to the assembly. ‘If it pleases the court, my lords, jurymen, I do.’

‘Then speak, Master Guest.’

His eyes tracked over the jury again. ‘On Wednesday night, I was approached by an unknown person and was delivered a message and a pouch of coins—’

‘How late Wednesday night?’ interrupted the sheriff.

Crispin glared at him. ‘Late. Near Vespers.’

‘And in what state were you in, Master Guest? Would you say you were cognizant of your surroundings?’

‘I was drunk,’ he answered harshly. The jurymen mumbled.

He took a breath and raised his chin. ‘I was drunk,’ he said softer. ‘But I was aware. Aware enough that when this person made his heinous proposal to me, I was stunned and felt suddenly responsible for its consequences. I—’

‘What did this … alleged … person ask you, then?’

If you would stop interrupting me I’d get on with it! He breathed slowly. ‘He told me he was hiring me to murder Elizabeth le Porter.’

The gasps from the jurymen and the audience told him that he should have parsed out that particular phrase better than he had. He flicked a glance toward Nigellus perched at a desk beside the clerk. They both furiously took notes.

‘And you took the money and that’s what you did,’ said the sheriff. ‘You murdered her.’

‘No! That is not what I did. He thrust the money pouch upon me and before I could rise to challenge him, he departed. When I found the name and address of the woman inside the pouch, I thought the only course was to warn her that someone had contracted for her demise. She needed to be notified, protected.’

He wiped the sweat from his upper lip and continued.

‘I immediately set out for Watling Street. I found the door to the private stair, encountering the eel monger. I knocked, but he told me to go up, which I did. I knocked again and this time Mistress le Porter answered. She bid me enter and I told her my tale. She did not seem frightened by this aspect—’ And even now he wondered at it. Did she not take it seriously? No, it seemed she expected it. Or treated the threat like a naughty prank. She knew this person then. Knew them and did not fear them. But she was wrong. If anyone but Crispin had been hired … wait. What if the man had deliberately chosen Crispin, knowing he would go to her to warn her? What if that was the plot all along? She would know this man who hired him. It was merely a threat that the man well knew would never be carried out.

Yet she was murdered just the same …

Suddenly Crispin looked up. He had stopped talking in his musings and the sheriff and the recorder were both glaring. He cleared his throat again.

‘She, er … she felt no fear at what I related to her. Instead, she was most hospitable. Offering me wine.’

The sheriff leaned forward and with a scowl asked, ‘Did you have relations with her?’

The audience gasped again and murmured. Damn the man.

‘I … I was seduced by her charms. And I … soon fell asleep.’

The sheriff sat back, a self-satisfied smile on his face. ‘I see.’

Crispin had not meant to mention that part. Nigellus had instructed him not to, but thanks to the sheriff, Crispin’s shaky reputation was that much more tarnished.

‘My Lord Sheriff,’ said Tremayne, cocking his head toward Loveney. ‘Perhaps it would be more expeditious to simply let the accused speak. His testimony will, after all, be corroborated by the witnesses.’

Loveney snorted, settled in his chair, and waved a hand at Crispin to proceed.

‘When I awoke the next morning, I found her dead. Strangled. It was not I who did it. I had slept through her murder, God help me. I cannot forgive myself for that. But it happened as I said.’ He took a deep breath. He knew the next part would tarnish him further in the eyes of the jurymen, but against Cobmartin’s judgment, Crispin opted for the entire truth. ‘And … because of my former difficulties with the office of the lord sheriff, I … stole away. Without saying anything, without alerting anyone. For the simple reason,’ he said louder over the murmuring of the crowd and the jury, ‘that I wanted to investigate the crime myself before turning myself in. Nothing would be gained by incarcerating me before I could help. Before I could find the knave that did it. Alas. I had not the time before I was nabbed by the sheriffs and was forced to abandon my pursuit. My apprentice has picked up the gauntlet and is investigating even as I speak, and I have no doubt that soon the true criminal will be found. And yet here I am in this unusually speedy trial. One wonders why it made it to the calendar rolls so quickly.’

The sheriff leaned forward again. ‘It is on the sheriff’s calendar, Guest. You have no business questioning that. But that is beside the point. You were the last person to see her alive. All the witnesses say so.’

‘Clearly not, Lord Sheriff. For surely that was the real murderer.’

The audience laughed and all the sheriff’s sneering could not make them stop.

‘But I contend you are guilty,’ said Loveney loudly over the crowd. ‘And further, I contend that your apprentice perpetrated two more murders merely to hide the scent of your own, for two women were also found strangled in London, not too far from the first.’

The crowd gasped and the rumble of murmuring grew louder.

Crispin glanced at Nigellus. It had been the lawyer’s plan to submit a writ, claiming Crispin couldn’t have done the crime so similar to the other murders, and here was the sheriff destroying that very tactic.

Nigellus wore a stunned expression. But he soon shook it off, sent his parchment to the floor, and furiously wrote on a new sheet.

‘My lords,’ said Crispin above the rising voices, ‘what cause would I have had to kill that woman? She was in the other room, I was in the bedchamber. I was not angry with her. On the contrary. I worried over her wellbeing. To have strangled her would have taken great strength and determination, both of which I did not possess at that hour. And further, she fought her assailant. Under her nails was blood and hair. I haven’t any marks upon me.’

Tremayne leaned forward. ‘What’s that you say, Guest? What about her nails?’

‘I inspected her as I am used to doing at the scene of a murder. I go through similar motions to try to detect who the assailant might have been. You might call it a routine inspection. If, for instance, a man is stabbed to death, I look at his hands and arms to see if he resisted, to see if there are cuts to his skin, defensive wounds. If he did not, then there might be cause to believe his assailant was someone he knew and trusted. Or that he was surprised from behind. Or a few other factors. If someone is strangled, they fight. They strike their assailant. Dig into him. His face, his arms. She fought. The evidence was beneath her nails.’

Tremayne huffed, but he blinked, looking thoughtful. ‘What does John Charneye say?’ He waited but the room remained silent. Looking around, his face appeared puzzled. ‘Where is the coroner?’

The bailiff bowed. ‘He … doesn’t appear to be present, my lord.’

‘What sort of trial is this? I should like to ask him if he has ever heard of such a method.’ He sighed impatiently. ‘We shall have to adjourn this trial while we wait. The accused is to remain here. Someone fetch some food and drink. You jurymen may wait here as well. Lord Sheriff, best call for the next trial on the sheriff’s calendar so that no time will be wasted.’

Loveney’s face contoured to an unusually meek expression. ‘The next is also a trailbaston trial.’

Tremayne screwed his lips tightly. ‘Then … the next on the calendar.’

‘And that one, too.’

‘For the love of … Lord Sheriff, know you not that it is your sworn duty to make certain the coroner is present for a felony trial of violence?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Do you realize that we should have finished at least ten trials today alone? And by this delay you postpone justice for all and sundry?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Ah, well, as long as you know!’ He paused before all but lunging at the sheriff. ‘Then go get him!’

‘Yes, my lord.’ He signaled to a serjeant who ran from the hall to comply.

‘Then I suppose,’ sighed Tremayne, ‘we wait. This is obviously going to take longer than it should.’

Crispin glanced at Nigellus who seemed satisfied and gave Crispin an encouraging nod.