Brewer's Tale, The (87 page)

‘And Betje?'

‘She's crushed, mistress, God's truth. But she's staying strong — for you. She worked in the brewery till late. We both did. Till Sir Leander arrived, anyhow. He is looking after her, me and Adam too. And, before you ask, Adam and the twins are fine. The twins know nothing, which is the way you'd want it.'

‘It is, Harry, it is.'

‘Everyone is praying, mistress, and those who can are writing too. What they're doing that for, God knows, but if it'll help …'

‘Aye.'

‘You're also to let me know if there's anything you need. Goody Alyson, Betje and Cook sent these for you.' Retracting his arm, he began to push a skin of ale through the bars. I caught it in my cupped hands. Next, he shoved through a linen napkin tied with string. I could smell the bread and chicken. It made my mouth water.

‘Thank you, Harry. Bless you. Please, tell Sir Leander, I won't —' Damn my tears. ‘I won't lose heart. And tell Betje and everyone else, I'm fine. I am well. I'm not harmed.'
Not yet.

Harry pushed his face close, trying to look down and see me. ‘It's dark in there, mistress.'

‘That's what I'd like, Harry, some light.'

‘I'll bring it tomorrow.'

‘Is it safe for you?'

‘For now. Sir Leander said no-one pays attention to lads on the street. He's right.'

Reaching down to me, he waggled his fingers. I stroked the tips.

‘Bless you, Harry Frowyk, bless you.'

There was loud sniff, then Harry pulled his arm away. The grey light brightened before I heard a faint, ‘God bless you,' and he was gone.

I sat down heavily, my back against the wall, my treasure-trove of fare in my lap. So, Roland had summoned a court to convict me. The penalty for murder was swift and harsh — death by hanging. But if the coroner could arrive in time and prove my innocence, I might yet be spared the noose. Leander made sure I knew the king was still alive so I'd understand the weakness of le Bold's case against me. Though not if he could prove my ale killed those monks.

Whether I was accused of killing king or pauper, death was death; the one great leveller regardless of birth or wealth.

Movement to my left reminded me of the rats, who had caught the scent of food, and I remembered how hungry I was. Pulling the stopper out of the skin, I drank. This was no small ale, but a full-tasting brew. How ironic if it was the same that killed the monks. Though I knew it wasn't my drink that ended the monks' lives, but Roland's callous intervention. That such hate could lie in the soul of a man of God unnerved me.

Unwrapping the linen, I picked up the bread and chicken and began to nibble. There was a lump of cheese as well which I first thought to save till morning, but hearing the scratching of the rats and their chittering, I changed my mind and, casting crumbs to the other side of the chamber, finished everything I'd been given. Turning the linen inside out, I spread it on the straw and, exhausted and overwhelmed by the events of the last hours, lay down. It would be for but a moment …

Eight days later, I was taken from the cell. Every night since I'd been incarcerated, Harry and, one time, Betje and Alyson, had come to the window and given me news and provisions. The day after I was interred, they'd bribed the gaoler to give me a chamber-pot, light, food, water and other essentials, but while he'd taken the money, nothing manifested. That Betje braved the streets, albeit with Alyson and Harry, despite my reassurances, revealed that Harry's reports must have failed to proffer sufficient reassurance. Upon peeking into the cell, lit as it was by the weak glow of a cresset lamp and inhaling its pungent smell, she'd cried. She tried to reach me by putting her arm between the bars like Harry, but she wasn't tall enough.

For the first few days, Leander tried to use coin to gain access to me, but it had been refused. Alyson said the only reason for that was because the bishop was paying the gaoler more.

‘Or threatening him,' I added.

‘Or both.'

From Alyson I learned that Master Fynk and his constables had questioned every single person at The Swanne. ‘They got nothing out of me, mind, nor Adam or Master atte Place, but some of the girls and young Ralph and Hodge came back mighty sore. They broke Emma's arm …' Her voice petered out. ‘Threatened to hurt the twins.'

‘Oh God. Alyson …'

‘Captain Stoyan has taken them and Constance to the Stilliard, to Captain Geise.'

Thank God.

Alyson squeezed her plump arm through the bars with much difficulty. Twining my fingers through hers gave me such comfort as I'd not believed possible. Resting my head against my arm, I too cried.

‘Sir Leander got word from your brother, chick, and I'm to tell you he's left Southwark. Adam is with him.'

My heart plummeted and my tears fell faster. ‘Sir Leander has gone? Adam too? Why?'

‘He wouldn't say lest he gives us false hope. But he has a plan. He says when he returns, he'll have the key to your freedom.'

I prayed he was right. We all did.

So when they came for me, I left the cell without protest, escorted by two guards, the old gaoler locking the door behind me.

Taken from The Clink, I was led through a passage and into Winchester Palace next door. Conscious of the state of my clothes, how matted and dirty my hair had become, I would appear a right and proper slattern. The men escorting me remained silent, though the guard on my left shot me glances, whether hostile or sympathetic, I was uncertain. I tried to keep my chin up, my eyes focussed only on what lay ahead, but as each step brought me closer to the jury that would try me, my mind and eyes wandered into some dark spaces.

I was ordered to wait before a pair of large wooden doors, polished to a high sheen which complemented the gleaming metal of the pikes of the soldiers standing on either side of them, and took some deep breaths to try to steady my racing heart. A lump blocked my throat, as if I'd swallowed something solid. Perhaps that's what it was, my fears all bundled together in a sphere, which I must consume lest it consume me.

Finally, after a considerable length of time, the doors opened and a short man dressed in the bishop's livery commanded me to enter.

Sitting on a dais were a great many men, decked out in their finest garments, their brows beetling, their eyes narrowing as they watched me approach. In their middle was Bishop Roland le Bold.

Adorned with the accoutrements of his office, he looked the part of a bishop. The expression of triumph on his face was only matched by the features of the man standing at the end of the table, Master Lewis Fynk. To my left were benches for ordinary folk. Seated in the front row were Alyson, Betje (God help me), Harry, Captain Stoyan, and at least half the girls from The Swanne. All of them nodded and smiled, but their eyes widened as they regarded my state. Only the look on Betje's face revealed how pathetic, how doomed, I must appear.

Behind them was Father Kenton and some of his parishioners whom I knew well enough to greet at mass. There was the miller, the water carter, some of the mercers who patronised The Swanne, our local fishmonger, his wife and son, as well as many of our neighbours. At the back stood Captain Geise from the Stilliard, along with four Flemish sailors. But where were the Southwark nobles? Surely, for such a serious offence, the murder trial of a local woman would have had them filling the seats? And yet, nobody represented the peers of the realm.

Returning the nods and smiles of those I knew, my gaze lingered upon first Betje, then my other companions, trying to tell them without words that I wasn't beaten, despite my appearance. That there was fight and faith within me yet.

I glanced to my right and the benches there held a strange assortment of folk. Some I recognised. There was Emma, her arm bandaged, her face puffy and bruised, and next to her were Rose and Golda, both staring despondently at the floor. Golda's lovely brown locks had been shorn and Rose wore a swollen lip. The rest I didn't know, but an aura of hostility and guilt surrounded all of them. Were they here to witness the trial as well, or for another purpose?

I glanced back towards my friends, my brows raised in a question.

Recognising that a communion of sorts was taking place, Bishop le Bold barked an order. Stepping forward, Master Fynk unlocked my chains, though the manacles remained around my wrists. As the sluggish, heavy coils slithered to the floor, I shook my head, flexed my hands and then tidied my tunic to the best of my ability, locating grit and straw that I slowly removed and allowed to fall to the floor. It was all I could think to do that would not make me appear like a cornered animal, a trembling quarry. Pretending an indifference I by no means felt, I raised my head and, as a lawyer rose from a desk in the corner and began to read the charges, met the eyes of every man who sat facing me. Some had the grace to look sorrowful, others guilty. Most, however, appeared irate and restless. At first I thought it was because they felt there were better things to be done with their time but, as the trial began and they rested their forearms on the table and whispered and grinned among themselves, I understood they were here not to see justice served, but a woman they already assumed to be guilty, punished.

Finished, the lawyer scuttled back to the desk that he shared with one other of his profession and three scribes.

Rising to his feet, Roland smoothed his robes then twisted the ring on his right hand, never taking his eyes from mine. Nodding gravely, he glanced at the papers spread out before him.

‘Murder,' he began in his deep melodious voice, ‘is the most serious of offences. But, to murder, in cold blood, two men of God and in their house, is the most heinous sin on God's earth. You brazen hussy, you viper within the Godly breast of Southwark —'

There were a few sniggers.

‘— within the liberty of my manor, did strike down two good men, my men, God's men as well, and by the most invidious means possible. You did it by poisoning their ale.'

The public benches released a roar at this and there was much muttering and some shouts for justice. I remained silent, still. Each breath was an ocean in my ears; my heart an instrument playing a discordant tune.

Roland went on to summarise the rest of my crimes. According to him, I was a murderer, a harlot, a false brewer and a felon of the highest order.

Commencing with a list of the fines levelled against me and the number of times I'd been forced to tip out my brew (which was met with protests so loud from the benches, Master Fynk shouted them to be quiet or they'd be ejected), he went on to explain my living situation, how while I brewed during the day, I lay with men at night.

‘That's a lie,' shouted Alyson. ‘Does she not wear the apron?' She gestured to the soiled one over my tunic.

‘Merely another ploy,' said the bishop, ‘to fool those who do deal with her. The evidence is clear; this is not a respectable woman. After all, what respectable woman would lie with not only her brother's master, but —' he paused and his eyes scoured the room, ‘her brother's father.'

There were gasps of horror and shock. Clutching my heart, I stared at Roland in disgust and disbelief.

‘You lie.'

‘Nay, mistress, you do — with a member of your own family.'

I stumbled as my head filled with wild thoughts that careered into each other before exploding into fragments that cohered into one solid image — Leander and Tobias side by side.

Dear God. How could I have been so blind? All along, the truth was before me. The resemblance between them was uncanny, but assuming them half-brothers, I'd been able to dismiss it as part of their shared paternity. And it was — though not in ways I'd ever imagined, ever foreseen. Why did Sir Rainford allow me to assume he was Tobias's father? Why did Leander?

Sweet Mother Mary. The church judged Leander's and my relationship harshly, for certes, but believing that the consanguinity went only so far as Leander being Tobias's uncle, I was able to receive pardons from Father Kenton. I glanced at where he sat behind Alyson. Clutching his cross, his lips moved. I willed him to look at me, wanting to convey that I knew naught of this. If I had … oh dear lord, if I had, then I never would have allowed myself to love in the first place.

Leander was Tobias's
father
? Could it be true? It would explain the strange way Lord Rainford had responded to me when I said my mother had confessed. Disingenuous, there had been something he was hiding, but I dismissed it, believing the worst was revealed. God forgive me that I hadn't insisted on a full explanation. Of course, that was why Tobias was squired to Leander, his father, a role well beyond what our station deserved.

I felt sick.

Betje buried her face in her hands; Harry tried to comfort her. Alyson was pale. Only Captain Stoyan met my gaze. His strong face and steely eyes displayed only contempt — not for me, but for the bishop.