A Play Of Heresy Part 12

The friar bowed his thanks in return and made to leave, only paused by the crowner's hand on his arm as he pa.s.sed for Master Grevile to say something quietly in his ear. The friar gave him a startled look, crossed himself, and said, "The Virgin be praised for her mercy."

"But keep it to yourself, I pray you, until we choose to give the word out generally. For this while, the bailiffs will want it kept quiet."

"As you say, sir," the friar said and left.

"Ned's family," Burbage said. "They're beyond doubt in misery over this. They have to be thinking he's d.a.m.ned. His body won't even be let into a church while it's thought he did away with himself."

"They'll have a longer misery if his murderer is never found," Master Grevile returned. "They'll know soon enough it was murder. Just not yet."

He filled the waiting bowls himself and bade them sit. They did and so did he and so did his clerk who shortly joined them, although his place was out of the way in a corner where a small table would serve him for desk if need be. To fill the time Master Grevile asked about the plays, particularly drawing Joliffe out with questions. That was sharp of him, Joliffe thought. Burbage and Master Waldeve were of Coventry; there would be no trouble learning their reputations if the crowner did not already know them. Joliffe was the one from outside who had to be found out about, his part in all of this needing to be better understood. As if he did not know what the crowner was doing, he answered easily and readily about Ba.s.set's company and the play he was in and the ones he had helped with and more about Ba.s.set's company, making certain the crowner understood they had Lord Lovell for their patron. The questions and answers filled the time sufficiently until the servant who had been sent for the bailiffs appeared in the doorway, said, "I've brought Master Fylongley," and stepped aside to make way for the bailiff who had come to the yard last night.

Another man plainly a clerk, writing materials in hand, came in after him, going aside to the table where Master Grevile's clerk was willingly clearing out of his way, while Master Fylongley gave a sharp-eyed look around at all their faces, saying to Master Grevile as he did, "Master Purefey is gone to handle a fight near Spon Gate. He'll come when he can. Meantime, what's toward here? It wasn't simple self-murder, I take it?"

Master Grevile had brought another bowl to the table from a shelf along one wall and was filling it as he answered, "No. We're all agreed on that. Do you want to read what we have before going further?" He nodded at his clerk, who held up the several pages of parchment on which he had been writing this while.

"Surely." Taking the bowl and the parchment, the bailiff sat on the bench beside the hearth to read and drink. He made quick work of both, set the bowl aside, and still holding the parchment, looked at the three jurors. "Master Waldeve I know. You must be Master Burbage then, because you"-with a forward jerk of his head at Joliffe-"don't look like a townsman and must be the player."

"I am, sir," Joliffe granted respectfully. Ba.s.sett had always lessoned the players that it was better to start with respect when having to deal with anyone holding authority over them, it being easier to leave off respect if it was not warranted than crawl up out of a hole dug for oneself by ill-judged disrespect.

Maybe because the Corpus Christi plays were presently so much to the fore in Coventry, Master Fylongley gave no sign of the too-often scorn and suspicion given to players, merely nodded acceptance and turned his heed back to the matter at hand, saying, "Now. Master Waldeve, how did you happen to be there to find the body?"

"We were purposing to move the wagon into the yard today. One of the men was saying there was wear on an axle should be looked at afore we did. Guildmaster told me off to do it. To have look at it, see if it needed seeing to this year or could wait." He startled. "I haven't done it yet."

"So you went into the shed and saw-" the bailiff prompted.

"Him hanging there. I could tell he was dead. You can't mistake when they look like that."

"That was why you didn't try to bring him down?"

"Aye. I knew, too, someone else should see him. That I had to get help and someone to go for the crowner."

"Why did you go for Master Burbage?"

"He's a girdler. They have their pageant in the same yard, so we cross ways there every once in a while. He's someone I know, and I knew he was just along the way at the weavers' place, doing their play. I wanted someone as soon as might be, without I left the place too long. Didn't want to chance anyone else coming in, like."

"The rope. Is it the one that would have been used to hang Judas this year?"

"Yes. I mean, I suppose so," Master Waldeve said miserably.

"You'll need a new one now," Master Burbage muttered.

Master Waldeve sent him an ungrateful look but finished, "I mean, rope is rope. It would be hard to tell one from another if they're the same kind, but ours isn't in the box anymore. The rope we use. So I'm supposing it's the same. I looked this morning before I came."

"That was well thought to do," Master Fylongley said. "By what you say, though, the rope should have still been in its box, was not already hanging in place."

"It's kept with other things needful to the play, stored the rest of the year in someone or other's loft. The box and all was s.h.i.+fted to the pageant house a few days ago."

"Do you store it knotted or not?" Joliffe asked.

"Knotted. That way there's never bother about the loop's size. It's always right for going over Judas' head with slack enough to catch in the harness." Master Waldeve turned his explanation to the bailiff and crowner. "There's a harness used under Judas' doublet, so when he swings, he doesn't really hang." He went on, explaining about the harness and the demons and how it was all done safely.

"Understood," Master Fylongley said, stopping his a.s.surances. He looked from one man to another. They all looked back at him. After a silent moment he said, "So the rope was in the shed with other things for the play, but it was not up yet. You found Eme hanging there and went for Master Burbage because he was close and had place in the same yard. He came because he knows you." The bailiff s.h.i.+fted his look to straight at Joliffe. "And you came-because?"

Joliffe felt like answering "Because I'm an idiot," but did not; instead he said evenly, "I'm in the same play as Master Burbage. We're at a place where everyone is needed when we practice. Last evening we were already missing Ned Eme . . ."

"He was in this play with you both?" the bailiff asked.

"Aye," said Burbage. "Although I don't know Master Waldeve knew that when he came for me."

"I didn't, no."

"Had there been any trouble with him?" the bailiff asked. "Among others in your play, I mean."

"None," Burbage and Joliffe said almost as one. Joliffe went on, "He was being the angel Gabriel." He closed off thought of what Sendell was doing about that today-desperately trying to find someone else, undoubtedly. "He did it well and made no trouble." Except sometimes goading his brother Richard, but Joliffe decided against saying aught about that because, after all, what else did brothers do?

"So when you heard Eme was found-" the bailiff prompted.

"I didn't know it was him until we were already going. I went simply because Master Burbage looked sharply upset by whatever Master Waldeve had said to him and went without telling our playmaster why. Since I'm aiding our playmaster in most things, I wanted to know what was toward. If whatever had happened meant we might be losing Master Burbage, the sooner we knew, the better. Then Master Waldeve said who it was and after that there was no going back."

That was full of enough truth to suffice, Joliffe thought. Master Fylongley seemed to accept it anyway, because he nodded, again looked at them one after another, and asked of them all, "Do any of you know of anyone with reason to have killed this Edward Eme?"

Joliffe joined Burbage and Master Waldeve in shaking their heads that they did not. That was, unfortunately, altogether true on Joliffe's side. He had no thought at all of who would have killed Ned. On the other hand, he had no doubt that Sebastian would be at him to find out. Oh, yes, Sebastian indeed would, just as soon as Sebastian heard about it.

Joliffe had some hope the bailiff was done with them then, for a time at least. As first finders and therefore jurors, their first duty had been to determine whether a death was by accident, mischance, or crime. If they had determined there had been no crime, they would have been released from further duty. Having determined otherwise, they were now charged in law with finding out all they could about the matter. Witnesses to a crime, should there be any, were supposed to testify only to what they saw and nothing more, but jurors were supposed to gather all they could and bring their knowledge with them to the trial, should the matter come to that. If it should, more than three jurors would be wanted of course, and Joliffe's present hope was that Master Fylongley would let him, Burbage, and Waldeve go for now.

But after sitting for a few moments, contemplating the floor boards in front of him, Master Fylongley looked up and said, "The morning is well along, and we need our dinners, I know, but I'd rather keep our questions going while our murderer still thinks we think Eme's death was self-murder. So . . ."

"I have one of my men waiting to bring in food and drink," Master Grevile said. "We can dine briefly and go about whatever you want next."

The bailiff beamed at him. "That's very well bethought. You'd best take care, Master Grevile, or you'll be sheriff one of these fine years."

"Mary and all the saints forbid," Master Grevile said, sounding as if he meant it, and went to the door to call his man to come.

They ate a light meal of a warm lamb pottage and fresh-baked bread. Joliffe kept warily silent throughout it, leaving the talk to men who, despite they did not all know each other, all knew other men each knew, so that all in all, Joliffe heard deeper talk about Coventry than he had yet been able to gather from anything overheard in taverns or streets.

That none of it seemed to have aught to do with anything he needed to hear and held not even pa.s.sing mention of Lollards or Lollardy was pity, but who knew what would prove of use or interest to Sebastian? Burbage's trade as girdler put him nowhere so to the fore in city life as Master Waldeve's smithcraft or the crowner's or bailiff's offices had them, but he had things to say, too, when it came to talk about repairs needed to the Earls Mill bridge and whether the new spire on St. Michael's was going to prove too costly after all and especially about Corpus Christi being almost on them and how all was shaping with the plays. When Master Waldever jibed at him for being in the "Babe Jesus" play, Burbage called on Joliffe to witness with him that it was going to be far better than ever it had been, that they would not know it for the same play of other years.

Unhappily, that reminded them both that it was not even going to be the same play they had thought they had this time yesterday.

While Master Waldeve was taking a last long quaff of Master Grevile's good wine, Master Fylongley said, "We must to work, then. I must ask you three gentlemen"-graciously including Joliffe in that-"to come about my questioning with me. At least I suppose you want to."

Joliffe's acceptance came willingly enough. To his mind, there could hardly be better chance of learning more than by going with the bailiff investigating the matter. Master Waldeve's and Burbage's acceptance was more a grudging acknowledgement of the inevitable. Master Grevile, his duty done for now, bade them all an easy farewell, saying in parting to Master Fylongley, "If I hold the body here until evening, will that be long enough? Can you let his family know by then it was not self-murder and they can have him carried to church after all?"

"By then I suspect our questions will have let folk know it's murder we're asking about," Master Fylongley said. "So, aye, whenever his family sends for him, you can let them have him."

As the five of them-the bailiff's clerk coming with them-set off along the street, Master Waldeve said, "You're going to need a few more of us for jurors if it comes to trial."

"I will that," the bailiff agreed. "But it would give too much warning just yet to gather more than you three."

"Where are we bound?" Burbage asked. "Ned's family first?"

"I'm not minded to start with them, no. I have to make this seem I'm looking for the reason why he killed himself. Better to ask around to those who knew him. It almost surely must have been someone he knew who did it."

"Because how otherwise did they persuade him to put the noose around his neck if it wasn't someone he trusted," Joliffe said.

Master Fylongley gave a sharp nod. "Just so."

As if this thought was altogether new to him-and possibly it was, given the odd way people had of refusing to look straight at a thing they did not want to see-Burbage muttered, "G.o.d have mercy," and he and Master Waldeve both crossed themselves.

Master Fylongley, to whom the thought was plainly not new at all, said, "Therefore we'll begin with the woman Master Eme was wooing of late. And her family. To see what they have to say."

As they came to the corner of Much Park Street, Joliffe thought he caught glimpse of Sebastian among the flow and interweaving of folk and carts but was not certain. Given that talk of the death was probably spread widely through Coventry by now, Sebastian must know of it, but did he know yet how deeply Joliffe was wound into the business? Probably, knowing Sebastian, and Joliffe had no comfort in knowing that when the bailiff was finally done with him for the day, Sebastian was surely going to find him out and demand to be told everything he knew about Ned's death.

Chapter 18.

The Byfeld household might almost have been waiting for them, but more likely they were all gathered in the kitchen and around the table only because they were just finis.h.i.+ng the mid-day meal when Cecily, having answered Master Fylongley's heavy knock at the front door, brought him, the others, and his clerk along the pa.s.sage. At either end of the table, Herry Byfeld and his mother rose together, Herry to slightly bow to the bailiff, Mistress Byfeld to slightly curtsy to him before she said to Cecily, "Bring ale for the men," at the same time Herry said to Master Fylongley, "You've come to ask us about poor Ned Eme."

"That I have, sir." And to Mistress Byfeld, "Thank you. A cup of ale won't come amiss. The day is warm for walking about."

"Clear place for the gentlemen," Powet said, giving d.i.c.k an elbow to the side and standing up from their bench along the table. On the other side, beside the empty place where probably Cecily had sat, Mistress Deyster was likewise rising, murmuring she would see to opening the shop again while they talked.

"Nay," Master Fylongley said easily. "By your leave, this won't take much time and will be quickest done if we do it all together."

She sat down again. At the bailiff's encouraging nod so did Herry and his mother. Only Powet and d.i.c.k s.h.i.+fted from their bench, going around to sit with Mistress Deyster, leaving their bench for the bailiff. He sat down as if there for no more than comfortable talk, crowding to one end to make room for the other men, who duly sat, except his clerk who withdrew to a joint stool beside the hearth, not far from Master Kydwa slumped in his chair and seeming to note nothing that was happening.

As Cecily, moving briskly, set out the cups of ale in front of them, Master Fylongley said, "Aye, it's about poor Master Eme I'm here. All's seen to but determining what was the set of his mind that brought him to his death. Before I trouble his parents, I thought to ask among those who knew him."

That was as well done a slide around a matter as Joliffe had ever heard. All the bailiff had said was the truth without the full truth-that he was looking for a murderer.

"You've heard he was courting Anna," Herry said in flat acceptance.

"And that she was refusing him, yes," Master Fylongley said. "There's been talk."

"There's always talk," Mistress Byfeld said bitterly. "If he was fool enough to kill himself in despair at her refusing him, that's no fault of hers. G.o.d have mercy on him," she added, crossing herself.

Everyone else did likewise before the bailiff said, still easily, "I'm not looking for fault, only for reasons. If there can be *reason' in doing self-murder," he added as if mostly to himself before taking a sip of the ale. "This is good ale. Thank you for it. So, yes, he had been asking you to marry him, Mistress Deyster, and you have been refusing him. When was the last time you talked with him and, I presume, refused him?"

Anna Deyster looked down and aside, as if her answer had somehow escaped her wits and could be found by searching outward for it. Then she looked up again and answered, firmly enough, "Not yesterday of course." She shuddered and crossed herself. "No. Three days ago. It must have been three days since he was here. Cecily, you remember?"

Cecily, who was tending to wiping her father's chin, said without looking around, "Three days ago. Yes. In the afternoon while your mother was out."

"I remember," d.i.c.k put in. "Uncle Eustace and I came in as he was going out. You were both angry. You and him. Not Cecily. She's never angry. Only she wasn't here." He sounded momentarily confused as that came to him.

"She'd taken Master Kydwa out to the necessary," his sister said. "She came back with him as Ned was leaving, remember. And it wasn't that I was angry at him." She gave her younger brother a disgusted look. "He was angry at me."

"You'd refused him again then?" Master Fylongley asked.

"Yes," she said sharply. "But I wasn't angry. I was irked. I had told him not to ask me anymore, that it wasn't any use." And now she was living with the thought that he had after that gone and hung himself in his despair.

"Two days ago," Herry said with the suddenness of just remembering. "You met him in the street in the morning the day before yesterday, just when you were setting out to the shops."

"Oh." His sister looked at him, startled. "Did I? Yes, of course I did. I'd forgotten. We pa.s.sed greetings, nothing more. No, that's not true. He asked if he could come here again. I told him it would be best if he simply stayed away."

"It was despair," Powet said. "The young fool despaired, when what he needed was to be patient."

"Patience or none would have made no difference!" Anna snapped, glaring at her great-uncle. "I would never have married him!"

"Is that what you told him?" Master Fylongley said quietly.

She startled around to stare at him. Joliffe saw both anger and tears in her eyes in the moment before she immediately dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap and said as if smothering on the word, "Yes."

Master Fylongley nodded sagely, as if all were explained. He looked along the bench at his jurors. "Do you have any questions?"

Joliffe joined Burbage and Master Waldeve in saying they did not. Or, on Joliffe's side, not ones yet fully formed enough in his mind for asking.

The bailiff gave their thanks to everyone, and everyone rose to his and the jurors' departing, delayed only by Anna suddenly saying, "About when Ned was last here. That afternoon. d.i.c.k said we were angry, but I wasn't. Ned was, but all I wanted was for him to leave me alone. I wasn't angry."

"Very good, mistress. Thank you," Master Fylongley said with a respectful bow of his head.

Herry saw them to the outer door on his own way to open the shop for the afternoon. On the threshold, Master Fylongley paused to ask him if he could recommend who else, besides the Eme family, they might do well to ask about Ned.

Herry shrugged. "Our families have never had much to do with each other, save for Ned's interest in my sister. When we were children we ran together some, but that was long ago." Herry being all of in his middle twenties, Joliffe thought dryly. "Best you ask the Emes who his friends were, likely."

"You were at one time interested in perhaps a marriage with his sister, I believe," the bailiff said smoothly.

A tinge of pink moved up Herry's face from under his doublet's collar. "I was. But only briefly and some time ago."

"The Emes did not favor your suit? Or the young lady did not?"

"It was unsuitable on many fronts," Herry said, stiff with a dignity that made him seem much younger than a few moments ago. "I did not pursue it."

"She's quite a beauty," Master Fylongley said lightly enough to give no offense and turning away as he said it, sparing Herry any need to answer. Joliffe saw that did not keep Herry from going a deepening red as they left him.

"We're going straight to talk to Ned's family?" Master Burbage asked as they went. "You don't mean to ask more folk about Ned?"

"Afterward," Master Fylongley said. "But I've kept his family in misery long enough. I'll ask my questions there after I've told them."

They made their way through the early afternoon bustle to Gosford Street. Master Fylongley knew the house so they did not need to ask for it. The serving man who answered the bailiff's knock at the Emes' door beside their shuttered shop started to say the family was seeing no one, but Master Fylongley said who he was and who the men with him were, and the man let them all into the pa.s.sageway, then asked them to wait while he went to tell the family. "They're above," he said as he went. "In the parlor."

Accordingly, it was to the parlor he shortly led them-the bailiff, jurors, and clerk-a small procession of officialdom into the heart of the grieving for Ned's death. The parlor was a pretty room, with a wide window facing toward the street. The white-plastered walls were pargeted with swirls and cross-patterns. Cus.h.i.+ons, some brightly embroidered, some of richly woven cloth, were on the bench beneath the window and another beside the hearth of the small fireplace. Thick rush matting covered much of the wooden floor, and a small carpet of Italian weave was laid over a square table set with well-polished pewter pitcher and goblets on a tray now splashed with wine, as if the hand pouring it had been unsteady. It was the one thing in the otherwise bright and well-kept room that went with the black-clad knot of people gathered at the hearthside bench in a grieving huddle, holding to each other for what comfort or strength they could find among themselves.

The center of it was a woman who had to be Ned's mother. She had probably once been plumply pretty, but her face in the tight surround of her wimple was now soft, sagging, and tear-marred, so that Joliffe's eyes went more readily to the girl sitting beside her, her hands clasped with her mother's in her mother's lap. She was as gowned in black as her mother but without the wimple, her golden hair pulled back but only partly hidden by a simple black veil and, yes, even reddened with weeping as she was, she was as lovely as Joliffe had gathered from talk.