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Authors: Paul C. Doherty
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and the Regent, ‘all meats and all drinks were served to His Grace the King and my Lord of Gaunt first, then to everyone else. If any servitor had returned for more wine or meat by the time he had reached Sir Thomas, I would have remembered.’
‘Can the servants be trusted?’ Goodman jibed.
The steward glared furiously back. ‘How could any of us,’ he retorted, ‘while serving meat and drink with both hands, stop to sprinkle or pour poison with others, including Fitzroy, watching?’
‘I only asked!’ Goodman smirked.
Cranston made a rude sound and walked over to Athelstan. He towered above the friar and glared down at him. ‘You’d better be right!’ he hissed.
‘Don’t worry, my good Coroner.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Ah, here comes the physician.’
Theobald de Troyes, swathed in a voluminous cloak, strode into the room, eyes heavy with sleep and face angry at being disturbed so late. Adam Clifford arrived at the same time, his riding boots covered in mud, the spurs still attached, clinking and jangling. As the physician went to crouch beside the corpse, Gaunt signalled Clifford away from the rest and stood whispering. Athelstan watched Clifford’s face and knew that not only was he right about Fitzroy but, from the look of surprised anger on the Regent’s face, this second murder was a major blow to Gaunt’s political dreams.
Clifford asked the Regent a question. Gaunt drew back his head sharply and shook his head. Clifford strode forward, pushing his way through the group of Guildmasters. Without a by-your-leave, he curtly ordered the physician to stand aside whilst he searched the dead man’s wallet, ignoring cries of protest from the others. At last he found what he was searching for and, with a key in his hands, beamed triumphantly at Gaunt. ‘We have it, My Lord!’
‘Good!’ The Regent sighed with relief. ‘Keep it for a while.’ He turned. ‘Master physician, can you determine the cause of death?’
‘Oh, yes.’ De Troyes got to his feet, wiping his hands on his robe. ‘Oh, yes,’ the physician repeated sarcastically. ‘First, Sir Thomas is dead. Second, the cause is murder. And third, the means is probably white arsenic administered to his food and drink.’
‘Impossible!’ Goodman shouted, his bulbous eyes glaring at the doctor. ‘How do you know he didn’t eat or drink something before he came here?’
‘Now, now.’ The physician held up his slender fingers. ‘I am merely the physician, not the poisoner.’ De Troyes turned, choosing to ignore Goodman. He smiled and bowed at Sir John and Athelstan. ‘My Lord Coroner, Brother Athelstan, so we meet again?’ The physician enjoyed seeing Goodman’s bubbling fury at being snubbed. ‘You are the city Coroner, Sir John. I have been summoned here to determine the cause of death and have given it. May I now ask a question of my own? How long were you feasting here before Fitzroy collapsed?’
‘About three hours,’ Cranston replied. ‘Why?’
‘Well, white arsenic would take about an hour to strike at the humours. The patient would feel some discomfort but perhaps dismiss it as wind or a piece of food stuck in the stomach. Death, however, follows rapidly after.’
‘Well, he did complain,’ Sir James Denny spoke up. ‘He mentioned some discomfort but, as is well known, Fitzroy liked his food and ate like a pig.’
‘Sir John,’ the physician continued, ignoring the Guildmaster, ‘you have my verdict: Fitzroy was poisoned here. Now, do you need my assistance any further?’
‘Yes, we do.’ The young King, who had been conversing with his tutor, Sir Nicholas Hussey, tapped his boots until he had everyone’s attention. Richard’s voice was surprisingly strong. ‘We have established certain matters, have we not, dearest Uncle?’ He smiled at Gaunt’s sullen expression. ‘First, Sir Thomas Fitzroy has been murdered by poison. Second, the poison was administered here. Yet, third, Sir Thomas Fitzroy ate
‘Can the servants be trusted?’ Goodman jibed.
The steward glared furiously back. ‘How could any of us,’ he retorted, ‘while serving meat and drink with both hands, stop to sprinkle or pour poison with others, including Fitzroy, watching?’
‘I only asked!’ Goodman smirked.
Cranston made a rude sound and walked over to Athelstan. He towered above the friar and glared down at him. ‘You’d better be right!’ he hissed.
‘Don’t worry, my good Coroner.’ Athelstan smiled. ‘Ah, here comes the physician.’
Theobald de Troyes, swathed in a voluminous cloak, strode into the room, eyes heavy with sleep and face angry at being disturbed so late. Adam Clifford arrived at the same time, his riding boots covered in mud, the spurs still attached, clinking and jangling. As the physician went to crouch beside the corpse, Gaunt signalled Clifford away from the rest and stood whispering. Athelstan watched Clifford’s face and knew that not only was he right about Fitzroy but, from the look of surprised anger on the Regent’s face, this second murder was a major blow to Gaunt’s political dreams.
Clifford asked the Regent a question. Gaunt drew back his head sharply and shook his head. Clifford strode forward, pushing his way through the group of Guildmasters. Without a by-your-leave, he curtly ordered the physician to stand aside whilst he searched the dead man’s wallet, ignoring cries of protest from the others. At last he found what he was searching for and, with a key in his hands, beamed triumphantly at Gaunt. ‘We have it, My Lord!’
‘Good!’ The Regent sighed with relief. ‘Keep it for a while.’ He turned. ‘Master physician, can you determine the cause of death?’
‘Oh, yes.’ De Troyes got to his feet, wiping his hands on his robe. ‘Oh, yes,’ the physician repeated sarcastically. ‘First, Sir Thomas is dead. Second, the cause is murder. And third, the means is probably white arsenic administered to his food and drink.’
‘Impossible!’ Goodman shouted, his bulbous eyes glaring at the doctor. ‘How do you know he didn’t eat or drink something before he came here?’
‘Now, now.’ The physician held up his slender fingers. ‘I am merely the physician, not the poisoner.’ De Troyes turned, choosing to ignore Goodman. He smiled and bowed at Sir John and Athelstan. ‘My Lord Coroner, Brother Athelstan, so we meet again?’ The physician enjoyed seeing Goodman’s bubbling fury at being snubbed. ‘You are the city Coroner, Sir John. I have been summoned here to determine the cause of death and have given it. May I now ask a question of my own? How long were you feasting here before Fitzroy collapsed?’
‘About three hours,’ Cranston replied. ‘Why?’
‘Well, white arsenic would take about an hour to strike at the humours. The patient would feel some discomfort but perhaps dismiss it as wind or a piece of food stuck in the stomach. Death, however, follows rapidly after.’
‘Well, he did complain,’ Sir James Denny spoke up. ‘He mentioned some discomfort but, as is well known, Fitzroy liked his food and ate like a pig.’
‘Sir John,’ the physician continued, ignoring the Guildmaster, ‘you have my verdict: Fitzroy was poisoned here. Now, do you need my assistance any further?’
‘Yes, we do.’ The young King, who had been conversing with his tutor, Sir Nicholas Hussey, tapped his boots until he had everyone’s attention. Richard’s voice was surprisingly strong. ‘We have established certain matters, have we not, dearest Uncle?’ He smiled at Gaunt’s sullen expression. ‘First, Sir Thomas Fitzroy has been murdered by poison. Second, the poison was administered here. Yet, third, Sir Thomas Fitzroy ate
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