She returned to observing her guests. All were important people in their own way; she had been careful about whom she should invite. It was quite a coup to have succeeded in getting Sir Baldwin to attend. The way people spoke of him, he was respected highly in the city. His was just the sort of friendship her husband must foster. Friends of influence and power were necessary to a man.
The Bailiff, Puttock, she was less sure of. He was important over on Dartmoor, but Vincent had no interests so far to the west. It was such wild, dangerous land out there, not the sort of place that Hawisia had any desire to visit. But it was said that Simon Puttock was a rising star, well looked upon by the Abbot of Tavistock. She would have to be careful to listen out for any comments which passed down to her about the Bailiff. If he was soon to be in the ascendant, she wanted her husband to make his further acquaintance.
He was talking to that foolish wench Juliana. Hawisia maintained her smile but couldn’t help it becoming more than a little brittle. Juliana Karvinel was still an important woman in the city, someone with whom she, Hawisia, must deal, but that didn’t mean Hawisia had to like her. Vincent’s henchman had overheard women in the city whispering about Juliana, saying that she was tempting all the men hereabouts. Perhaps the stupid woman thought she could tempt Puttock with her doltish wit, or more likely with her heaving breast, Hawisia sniffed. The way the woman was thrusting her tits at the Bailiff was outrageous.
Not that Nick Karvinel, right at her side, seemed to care much, she thought. Nicholas was roaring loudly with laughter, his nasty little piggy eyes narrowed with amusement, his mouth wide to bellow his pleasure, pounding the table with his fist. Yet it was not genuine. His face never quite lost its haunted aspect. While he laughed, his eyes flitted over the other people in the room. Assessing who would and who wouldn’t be a threat to him. He knew that his future was uncertain. If his luck didn’t change, he would be ruined before long. It was bad enough that he had been robbed, his house burgled, his status within the city reduced, but Hawisia knew that Karvinel had more concerns. Men to whom he owed money were asking for it back, including her own Vincent. If he couldn’t find enough to cover his debts, he would be utterly destroyed.
It was an important consideration, Hawisia acknowledged. If everyone went to Karvinel and simultaneously demanded that their loans be repaid, the money he owed to her husband might never be recovered.
She suddenly caught a glimpse of Juliana’s hand patting Simon Puttock’s thigh before lifting his cup and pressing it into his hand. It was no accident, Hawisia was convinced of that. And of course she knew full well that Juliana was as aware as any other of the serious nature of her husband’s finances. How could she not be, with such a series of terrible disasters? Juliana almost looked as if she was practising her flirting, reminding herself how to win a man, preparing to find a lover to run away with.
The concept was an idle one, not a rational thought at all, but it snagged on a barb in Hawisia’s mind and made her catch her breath with delight. It would be the final embarrassment for Karvinel. If his wife were to run away with a different man – especially a younger man like the Bailiff here – he would be distraught. He might even decide to throw himself upon the adulterer.
What would be in it for Juliana? Hawisia recalled the shame heaped upon Earl Thomas of Lancaster when his wife Alice left him. He had been the butt of jokes up and down the kingdom. Surely if he had been a mere gentleman like Karvinel, he would have been shattered by the discovery of his wife’s unfaithfulness.
Karvinel was almost wrecked as a threat to Vincent now, but Hawisia could not forget that he had until recently been Vincent’s leading competitor for all positions of importance in the city, and he could return to take up that rôle once more. But if his wife should leave him, he would be finished. It could be desirable, even if it meant Vincent didn’t recover the money he was owed. Perhaps Hawisia should warn him, advise him to collect Nick Karvinel’s debt sooner rather than later?
There was a speculative look in Hawisia’s eye when she next glanced in the direction of Simon and Juliana and it was with an almost absent-minded gentleness that she rested her hand once more upon her husband’s and softly stroked it.
Chapter Fourteen
Gervase the Succentor closed the door behind him and crossed the grassed pathway to the cobbled street that led up to the western door. He had need of peace and an opportunity for thought, now that poor Peter was dead. The lad’s horrific demise in the Cathedral had appalled all the Canons and Chapter. It was as if a demon had intruded upon their devotions and mocked them all – and God. It was deeply unsettling. Some had murmured that the place should be reconsecrated, although others pointed out that it would be, since the Cathedral was being rebuilt. It was good to find some peace and quiet where he could think without the pall of gloom sinking into his bones.
Peter had been a good fellow, a companionable sort, but that wasn’t the reason why Gervase had valued him. Peter was no great scholar, and his memory was poor – the two main reasons why he had not progressed beyond his position as a Secondary. He had a great skill with numbers, which was always useful, but for Gervase Peter had an infinitely more important rôle. Peter was one of his Rulers, or Rectors, a special clerk who knew the music and orders of service for all special events. While his memory regularly failed him when he tried to recall Biblical events or the correct services to hold on specific Feast Days, he could be entirely relied upon to carry a full sequence of songs and prayers, leading the choir in all the more fiddly ones. Gervase wasn’t sure how he could fill the place left by Peter. He had wondered about using young Jolinde, but it wouldn’t do. He had no interest in the music or services.
Peter had been a capable singer, if no better than that, but in terms of arranging the services, he was more talented than Gervase himself. He would have been an ideal replacement for Gervase – in fact the Succentor had been going to suggest that he should be allowed to go to University. It might have helped him develop. Everyone needed education.
Gervase himself had been to Oxford. Some years ago Bishop Walter had generously sent him away to study, and he had not only enjoyed his theological and astronomical studies, he had also been fortunate enough to meet and later be tutored by a man who had known the great ‘Doctor Mirabilis’, Roger Bacon. From this teacher Gervase had acquired some Arabic, and he had looked over many of the same Saracen documents which Bacon himself had read.
There he had learned about poisons which could be used to kill a man. Some were rare, curious mixtures of strange roots and leaves, which could gradually make a man fade without his knowing why. Others were more simple and crude. Putrefying flesh from a long-dead animal smeared upon a knife or arrow could be effective, but as Gervase knew, the more common a powder or liquid, the better for a poisoner.
Gervase shook his head and frowned. Peter’s death had affected the whole Cathedral. It was a dreadful thing to happen at Christmas. But there was no need for people to assume that Peter had been poisoned. So many died from food poisoning of one form or another – surely the young man’s death was the same, a tragic accident.
In years to come, Gervase might have a suitable replacement in Luke, he thought, not that he honestly believed he would be able to claim Luke for the next Succentor.