‘Ugh. It’s like shit, only worse.’
I reached out again, and plucked a couple of the little mushrooms. I held them in my palm.
‘This is Broderick’s poison,’ I said quietly. ‘And the smell in his handkerchief was the stuff from the pipe. This is where he got it. He then ate the fungus, hoping it would poison him.’
‘Jesu!’ The guard’s face wrinkled in disgust. ‘What manner of man could do such a thing?’
‘A man of great desperation. And courage. He was in a state when he would try anything.’
‘He wouldn’t know what the mushrooms would do,’ Barak observed.
‘No, but he knew it would be nothing good. That perhaps it could kill him.’
‘And he kept it in a handkerchief stuffed up his arse,’ Barak added, making the guard cringe even more.
‘As I said, desperate. What courage it must have taken to make that plan, collect that stuff and actually force oneself to swallow it, stomach heaving, hoping but not knowing if it would poison you to death. Well, that is one mystery solved. No one else was involved in his poisoning.’
‘How did you know?’ Barak asked.
‘I didn’t. But I knew he had to get it from somewhere and I thought, what if he got it from outside the window. It was the only possible place left.’ I smiled. ‘There is as always an answer if you look hard enough.’
We left the cell and returned to the courtyard. I watched the leaves skittering over the courtyard in the wind. ‘I’ll tell Maleverer,’ I said. ‘This will let Radwinter off the hook.’ I laughed softly. ‘I wonder if he’ll be grateful?’
‘I should think he’ll hate you worse than ever.’
‘Poor Broderick. I suppose he thought anything was better than what he faces in the Tower.’ I shook my head. ‘Well, I have ensured he is safe for that now.’
‘He would never have died. That filth was so strong his body just rejected it at once.’ Barak looked at me. ‘You sound as though you admire him.’
‘In a way I do. Jesu, that stink reminds me of the smell that came from the King’s leg.’ I laughed. ‘Mould from the Mouldwarp.’
THE AFTERNOON WITH ITS succession of petitioners passed much like the morning. There was one case, though, which troubled me, and brought me as close as I had come to a disagreement with Giles. It was a petition from a supplier of wood to St Mary’s, which had gone into the building of the pavilions. He had provided the materials months ago and according to the terms of his contract with the Council of the North he should have been paid long before. He invoked the King’s justice in seeking payment now.
‘This is a difficult one,’ Master Waters said uncomfortably as we studied the papers before the petitioner was admitted.
‘Why?’ Giles asked. ‘It seems clear enough Master Segwike’s payment is overdue. I know him, his business is small, he cannot afford to continue unpaid.’
The young official shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘The problem is, if his petition is granted, the council will be deluged with demands for payment. Our clerks have had some difficulties in managing the – er – flow of cash.’
‘You mean they’ve made a mullock of things, ordering more than they can pay for?’
‘Sir Robert Holgate is in discussions with the King’s treasury.’ Waters looked between us. ‘I have been generous on other matters concerning the council. I am instructed to continue to be: provided this petition is dismissed. Master Segwike will be paid, and the others, but we need time.’
Giles nodded and smiled softly. He looked at me.
‘We are here to do justice,’ I said. ‘We should not be subject to pressure from a member of our panel on individual cases.’
‘When was justice ever divorced from politics?’ Giles asked quietly.
‘Under the constitution of England, the answer to that is “always”.’ I knew it sounded priggish, but I would not let this go by unchallenged.
‘Then I will be less accommodating with other petitioners,’ Master Waters said. ‘I’m sorry, but those are my instructions.’
‘We are stuck with this, Matthew,’ Giles said. I shrugged angrily, but said no more. Justice for this one man would mean less justice for others. The woodsman was called in. An elderly fellow, nervous to be before us, stated his case haltingly.
‘But you cannot doubt the Council of the North will meet its debt,’ Giles said when he had finished. ‘They are the King’s representatives.’
‘But when, sir?’ the old man asked. ‘I have debts to meet myself.’
Giles raised his eyebrows at Waters, passing the problem over to him.
‘Soon, fellow,’ he said reassuringly. ‘It is in hand.’
‘But my creditors –’
‘Must wait a little too,’ Giles said in a grave voice. ‘Then all will balance out. You can tell them this tribunal has confirmed payment will be made –’ he paused – ‘soon.’
The woodsman was dismissed. I watched him go, his shoulders slumped in dejection. Giles took a deep breath and looked at Waters. ‘I hope it will be soon, sir,’ he said.
‘It will be. We can’t afford to have York full of discontented traders for too long. Not with the mood as it is.’
I looked at Giles. ‘You overawed the poor fellow.’
He shrugged. ‘Lawyers must ever be good actors and play their part boldly for the greater good.’ Yet he frowned, and was sharp with the petitioners who followed. The cases came and went, while outside the wind had risen to a gale. We heard shutters banging around the castle keep.
‘Well, that is done,’ Giles said when the last petitioner had gone. He looked at Waters. ‘Another day should finish matters.’
‘You have proceeded with admirable dispatch, sir,’ Waters said. ‘If we meet at noon tomorrow, that should be enough time to finish the business.’
I found myself thinking sadly of my arbitration of the Kent land disputes, and the injustice that had been done to Sergeant Leacon’s family as a result. ‘Barak will draw up the orders for us,’ I said. ‘Shall we send you copies, Master Waters?’
‘Ay.’ He stretched out his legs. ‘How goes it at King’s Manor? I hear Sir William Maleverer is in charge of the King’s security.’
‘Yes. Do you know him?’
‘No, I work in the administration. But he is known as a fierce fellow. All fear his swaggering ambition.’ He smiled maliciously. ‘But men are often like that where there’s a taint of bastardy.’
‘I heard that story.’
‘’Tis said he has decided not to marry till he has accumulated so much land people will not care about his origins. They say he was much in love with a Neville girl when he was young, but she would not have him. With their Yorkist blood they are a proud old family. She turned him down because of that whiff of bastardy.’
‘Really?’ It reminded me of Maleverer’s comment when I had mentioned Cecily Neville’s name on that family tree. ‘Everything starts with Cecily Neville,’ he had said.
‘That would make him bitter,’ I observed.
Waters nodded. He looked at me. ‘Sir William’s mother and father – well, his supposed father – went as part of the train that accompanied Queen Margaret to Scotland, when she married the Scotch King’s father forty years ago. Sir Martin Maleverer had to return early. His wife came back with the ladies many months later with a baby, and he doubted it was his. Not even born in this country.’
I sat up, for Waters’ words had rung a bell. What the Titulus had said about Richard III: ‘Ye be born within this land; by reason whereof you may have more certain knowledge of your birth and filiation.’ I drew a sharp breath. That must mean one of his siblings was not. Someone had a taint of bastardy. I tried to remember how the lineage ran.
‘Brother Shardlake?’ Waters asked. ‘Are you all right?’