Monday, 19 October
Bound and gagged, an enraged Richard Gernon was shoved down the lane by Crispin, John Rykener, Jack Tucker, and Nigellus Cobmartin. His bloody nose soaked the rag covering his mouth, and though it was an unusual sight, by virtue of Crispin’s presence no one seemed inclined to stop them. Crispin was surprised, in fact, by the show of support when the townspeople even waved at him.
He had no time to consider it. They were in a hurry to secret Gernon at Grays Inn, but Crispin was wondering at the wisdom of it when the inn was yet so far away.
He pressed them to cut down a narrow lane to an inn on Old Fish. He reckoned no one would bother them, especially at the disreputable inn he was thinking of.
Old Fish was busy today. Yet as he suspected, no one paid them any heed. The fish mongers were busy selling their wares, and Crispin caught a snatch of one such fish seller’s swiftly moving hands with the deft slice of his blade as he fileted. Crispin stopped. The others stopped with him.
‘No,’ he told them. ‘Don’t wait for me. Jack, you make certain to get a room for our guest. I’ll be there anon. We’ll have a long night ahead of us, keeping watch of him before the morn.’
Jack looked back quizzically at his master, and Crispin was surprised Jack did not voice his curiosity aloud, but perhaps the boy was used to Crispin’s ways.
Crispin watched the workers in their shops for a good long time when it clicked into place like the pins in a lock once the key is turned. Of all the damned things …
He took a deep breath before he hurried to catch up to his companions and prayed that tomorrow would come swiftly.
Still bound and gagged, Gernon was marched into the Guildhall the next morning behind Crispin and John Rykener, who was attired for the occasion in his men’s clothes.
Jack had a determined look on his face. ‘Soon, master. Soon you’ll be free. We’ve got the churl at last!’ He shook the rope tied to Gernon in emphasis.
Crispin leaned over toward Jack and whispered in his ear, ‘Unfortunately, he didn’t do it.’
Jack pulled back. ‘What? Master Crispin …’
‘No time to explain now, Jack.’
Crispin pulled the rope away from Jack. The boy froze, staring at him with lips parted. Someone behind the boy shoved him, and stumbling, Jack had no choice but to make his way toward the clerks with Cobmartin, questions stuck fast to his lips, while Crispin yanked his prisoner forth.
When Tremayne saw who it was, he nearly choked on his wine. He leapt from his seat, cast his goblet to the ground, and stormed down the dais.
‘Guest, I thought I told you …’
‘And so you did, my lord. But a funny thing happened yesterday. We caught him in the act. And my lawyer suggested I question him in court.’
Tremayne blinked, mouth open impotently. But in the end, he could do nothing but stomp back up the dais and take his place. The sheriffs were equally dumbfounded, though it was soon giving way to rage.
Crispin shoved Gernon into the bar, where he bounced off it and spun ungainly before righting himself.
Tremayne tensed back against the bench. ‘The third goddammed day of the trial of Crispin Guest commences,’ he snarled. ‘Untie and ungag that man at once, Guest!’
Crispin drew his dagger and swiftly cut Gernon’s bonds. He took his time sawing the gag from his mouth.
Gernon grabbed the gag in his fist and heaved it to the floor where he proceeded to spit. ‘My lords!’ he cried. ‘Is this how an alderman of the city is treated! I was abducted, snatched out of my own home, and kept against my will in the hands of Crispin Guest until forcibly brought here today. I ask you. Where is the justice for London’s honored citizens?’
‘Where indeed,’ Crispin answered. ‘I told you, my Lord Recorder that there were witnesses who told me and my apprentice in confidence about the deadly doings of Richard Gernon. And you further told me that unless I had hard, irrefutable evidence against him, that he may not be detained. Well, my lord, I do have that evidence. May I proceed?’
Tremayne was staring at Rykener and finally tore his gaze away. ‘I … very well.’ He slumped back against the bench and snatched the goblet that a clerk retrieved for him, newly filled with wine. He drank a long, deep draught.
‘First, my lord,’ said Crispin, eyes sweeping over his beaming lawyer, ‘I should like for the witness John Rykener to testify.’
The recorder watched John move from his place in the crowd to the bar. He squinted at him, and when John began to speak, he shrank back.
‘Your name is John Rykener,’ said Crispin.
He cleared his throat. And with a still slightly raspy voice replied, ‘Yes.’
‘And your occupation?’
‘Well, that is a little more complicated. You see, I sometimes serve as an embroiderer. But I am also a, well … a harlot.’
The crowd murmured. The sheriffs shifted to the edge of the bench.
Crispin looked at him sternly. ‘How can you, a man, be a harlot?’
‘Because I wear the clothes of a woman when I am plying that trade. I use the name Eleanor …’
Tremayne coughed, choking on his wine. He hacked for several moments. Sheriff Walcote slapped him on the back until he recovered. He sat back in his chair, red-faced and staring at John anew.
John turned to the sheriffs. ‘I know it is wrong to do so, my lords. But a man has to make a living. And embroidering is slow work with an even slower pay day.’
‘What happened yesterday?’ Crispin looked on gently but spared an eye for an ever nervous John Tremayne.
‘I was dressed as Eleanor,’ said Rykener. ‘And I sought some new needles, for my trade, you see, as an embroideress. And there I met Richard Gernon in his shop. He’s a needle maker. Oh there were some fine needles there. Metal, bone, and lovely cases for them, too. Master Gernon was most solicitous to me, him thinking I was a woman. You see, my lords,’ he said, addressing those on the dais, ‘most men don’t know I’m not a woman. Even when we … well …’ He paused to scan the room and the fascinated faces of the crowd. He edged closer to the dais right up against the bar. ‘Even when I ply my trade as a whore. There are tricks one can do, you see.’ He gestured vaguely. ‘And so. It didn’t matter what manner of man I encountered. If they found me pleasing, we can get on with it. And Master Gernon was interested in more than my trade as an embroideress, if you get my meaning.’
‘We get it,’ Tremayne nearly barked. ‘Make haste with your testimony, Master … Master Rykener.’
‘Well, there I was. Making a purchase and minding my own business when Master Gernon propositioned me.’
‘That’s not true!’ cried Gernon. ‘She propositioned me! I mean … he …’
Rykener waved his hand back and forth. ‘He propositioned, I propositioned … it matters little when there is the same result. In the end, he invited me up to his room. He proceeded to kiss me and make the noises men make when they are trying to soothe and cajole a woman; soft murmurings and promises of this silly thing or that. But then he asked me if I wouldn’t play a game with him. He would see how hard he could squeeze my neck while we were, er … captus in medio. I didn’t see the harm and I’ve had clients ask for stranger things, believe me. And so I agreed. He squeezed harder and harder. At first I could endure it. It seemed little enough to withstand for the promised silver. But it came to the point where he squeezed too tight, too tight for me to speak, to breathe. I could not stop him. I was falling into a faint. And if it weren’t for the timely arrival of Master Guest and his apprentice Master Tucker, I should no doubt be dead.’ He opened his cloak and showed the court the bruises on his neck, turning so that all could see.
The crowd gasped, as did Sheriff Loveney.
Tremayne raised his face to Gernon. ‘What have you to say for yourself, Master Gernon?’
‘I have nothing to say to this farce.’
‘Do you admit taking this man … er … this, this …’
‘Eleanor,’ John supplied.
‘Him to your rooms,’ said Tremayne, studiously ignoring Rykener.
Gernon sniffed. ‘I don’t deny it.’
‘And this game you play. Do you play it often?’
‘It is merely a game. If the woman faints, I stop. It’s simple. There’s nothing wrong with it.’
Crispin eyed the jury. Plainly, they thought there was something wrong with it. However, Gernon was no judge of the crowd. He could not seem to see that they were not with him. Yet Tremayne seemed to know it.
‘One plays a little game with a wench and offers them extra silver for their trouble,’ said Gernon with a toss of his hand.
Loveney gripped the edge of the bench. ‘Master Gernon, are you aware that three women were killed in the Bread Street Ward just this past sennight? And that the office of the sheriff has more records of deaths other than their rightful deaths of women similarly strangled?’
Gernon didn’t bother looking at the sheriff as he brushed off the sleeves of his houppelande. ‘I know nothing of that.’
The court fell into silence. Tremayne’s brows danced over his eyes. He was plainly deciding and Crispin hoped that the final decision would be toward the cause of justice rather than a political one.
At last Tremayne spoke. ‘Lord Sheriff, I implore you now to arrest this man for murder.’
Gernon’s face snapped upward. ‘What? You dare!’
‘It is plain to me that more investigating in this matter – and in past situations – must be delved into more deeply. Master Guest, we thank you for bringing in this man for examination. It seems to me, though I am not a member of the jury, that this man is guilty of the murder of Elizabeth le Porter.’
Crispin stepped forward. ‘Er … not quite, my lord.’
Tremayne’s resigned expression mutated to sputtering rage. ‘What the devil, Guest! Is that not why you dragged this man here against my express orders?’
‘Well … yes, my lord. But upon examination of the facts, I do not think him guilty. At least not in this case. For the others he is abundantly so.’
Cobmartin was desperately trying to get Crispin’s attention but he ignored the man.
‘If I might clarify,’ Crispin went on, ‘by calling back another witness.’
Tremayne threw up his hands again. ‘By all means, Guest. Take your time. It is your neck, after all. And these jurymen have all the patience in the world.’
Crispin glanced their way, and many did wear scowls. They had been away from their jobs for far too many days, far more than any other jury in his memory. He bowed to them. ‘Masters, this will not take long.’
He waited as the serjeants hauled a struggling Richard Gernon away before he announced, ‘Will Hugh Buckton please come forth to testify?’
Buckton seemed surprised to be mentioned, and he stood dumb for a moment before one of the men in the crowd tapped him on the shoulder. He seemed to awaken and walked slowly to the bar. He wore his rustic cotehardie, his hood and its long liripie, his belt, knife, and scrip. His eyes never left Crispin as Crispin walked around him.
‘Master Buckton, you told us before that you knew Elizabeth le Porter.’
‘Aye. She was a neighbor.’
‘And a pretty thing.’
He flushed. ‘Aye.’
‘So pretty, in fact, that she cajoled you, as she had many men in the ward.’
He blinked stupidly and shook his head. ‘I don’t know your meaning.’
‘She cajoled you into loaning her money. Money, I daresay, you could ill afford to lose. And now, of course, you’ll never get it back.’
He ran his hands down his coat. ‘It … it was charity. She needed it.’
‘But so do you. Rent, bait for the eels. There is upkeep and whatnot. Expenses in any business.’
‘It was a kindness,’ he said in a harsher voice.
‘You asked her for it back.’
‘She couldn’t pay.’
‘But she had money. Her rent was paid, she had fine clothes, much finer than yours. And men. More men paying her way for her. Men like you. Silly, misled men.’
Buckton shifted but said nothing. He gnawed on his lip. Crispin decided on another tack. ‘You sought to help my apprentice find the killer, did you not?’
The eel monger lifted his chin. ‘Aye. It … it seemed the proper thing to do.’
‘But you weren’t helping, were you? You were trying to get information out of him. You were getting in his way.’ Crispin reached carefully into his scrip and removed the burnt knife. ‘I retrieved this from my former lodgings. I call it “former” because it was burned down by an arsonist.’
The crowd gasped. But Tremayne was losing patience. ‘Good Christ, Guest. What does this have to do with aught?’
He sighed. ‘If you will allow me to go on, my lord, you will see the relevance.’
Tremayne glanced at the window and the slant of the sun. ‘Make it fast. I have more trials to sit through, you know.’
‘The shop below me that belonged to my landlord was a tinker’s shop,’ said Crispin. ‘All his goods were destroyed. But I found this in the rubble.’ He lifted the knife so that all could see. ‘My landlord, the tinker, did not recognize it. He repairs many goods on the Shambles; butchering hooks, knives of all stripes, cooking pots and kettles. But he did not recognize this. And it certainly didn’t belong to me. It’s unusual, isn’t it?’ He turned it, showing off the long slender blade, its curve like a scythe. ‘And I wondered why it should be there. The only explanation was that it belonged to the arsonist.’ He squared with the now sweating eel monger. ‘Can we see your knife, Master Buckton?’
His hand slapped to his sheath. ‘Why?’
‘I should like to compare.’
Buckton turned to Tremayne, appealing to him. ‘M-my lord, I was asked to give testimony and I did that. May I go now?’
‘No. Give Guest your knife.’
His wild eyes lit from face to face. He made a half-hearted laugh as he reached for his own blade. Slowly he withdrew it. ‘It’s a common knife. Any fishmonger is bound to have one. It’s for fileting.’ When he pulled the blade free, all and sundry could see it matched the burned one in Crispin’s hand.
‘And yet this one is yours. You left it behind when your torched my home, hoping to kill or hurt Jack Tucker, my apprentice, because he was getting too close to the truth.’
‘I never did!’
‘You did. That knife in your hand is brand new. See how the handle is still smooth and oiled. The blade not nicked or even marked by much sharpening. You needed to replace the one you accidently left behind.’
‘No, no. It … it just needed replacing, my old knife. My lord …’
Crispin tossed the burned knife to the floor. It clanged and startled Buckton. ‘You went to Elizabeth le Porter’s rooms that night. You thought I’d left. You went to her at night, pleading with her, demanding that she pay back the money she borrowed. Did she laugh at you, poor sorry fool that you are? Did she tell you to wait, always wait? Or did she tell you to get out? Whatever she said, it enraged you. You grabbed her by the throat and you throttled her. And perhaps you would have done something to dispose of the body, but you then happened to notice me, still there, dead to the world, but a witness nonetheless. You fled.’
‘No! I did none of that. I don’t know who killed her. That man that was just here.’
‘Richard Gernon is a callus turd who strangles women for the thrill of it. He strangles whores whilst he swives them. But Elizabeth la Porter was not his victim. She was not playing the harlot for him that night. She already had someone abed with her. Me. What happened to Elizabeth le Porter was a random act by a desperate man. And while you strangled her to death, she fought. She fought so hard that bits of the skin and hair from her killer were still beneath her fingernails. And that surely left scars behind.’
He lunged for Buckton, grabbed that ubiquitous hood and snaking liripipe, and yanked it away. The eel monger’s neck was covered in deep, reddened scratches, some so deep they had begun to fester.
Crispin turned to Tremayne. ‘Hugh Buckton is your killer. Not I.’ He tossed down the hood. ‘Will you arrest him and charge the jury to acquit me?’
Walcote surged forward, feet planted as he balanced on the edge of his seat. ‘But what of the Tears of the Virgin? What of the Noreys household?’
‘A distraction. A false path.’
‘But the Tears were stolen. Did the Noreyses—’
‘I stole the Tears,’ said Crispin.
The crowd erupted. Tremayne stomped his foot, and the serjeants moved forward, threatening with their clubs.
Once they had quieted, Crispin went on. ‘I stole the relic when you showed them to me in your chamber. I palmed the phial from the monstrance. And then I took it to the abbot of Westminster Abbey for safekeeping. But since they are false, there is no need to guard them any longer.’
‘False?’ asked Tremayne. He looked as if his head were spinning.
‘Yes.’ He bowed toward Helewise Peverel. There was nothing for it. He couldn’t let the deception go on. ‘The real relic was destroyed some years ago.’
The crowd still softly murmured in anxious susurrations while Tremayne absorbed it all. He glanced again at Rykener and seemed to come to a decision. ‘Jurymen, I urge you all to acquit Crispin Guest from all wrongdoing. What will you decide?’
To a man, it was ‘not guilty.’