what was expected. His people are still smarting and muttering at how Warwick saw to Bermingham getting back his manor from Chetwynd last year and are ready to back any moves Stafford may make toward bettering his power his side of the shire. He’ll have to watch himself, though, because if he pushes too far, he’ll come up against Lord Ferrers who doesn’t look like being behindhand in gaining what he can while my lord of Warwick is out of the way. Neither of them has done much overtly yet, but there’s shuffling in plenty going on out of sight. I won’t venture a guess how long it will be until it’s not out of sight anymore.”
Sebastian accepted all that with a nod, showing ready, brooding comprehension. “You’re done with that, then. You’ve made report, and you’re bound for Coventry now.”
“Yes,” Joliffe said. “And so are you. Have you been shifted to there?”
“Me? No. I’m still centered in Bristol for this while. I’m only here because someone from Coventry failed his meeting with me in Bristol. I had to finish something there that couldn’t wait. Now I’m bound to find out what became of him.”
“He found something better to do?”
“He’s a mercer. He was to be in Bristol to deal over something that would have turned him a profit if he’d been there when he was supposed to be. No mercer misses a chance for profit without at least sending word why he’s delayed.”
“Things happen,” Joliffe ventured.
“Aye,” Sebastian agreed glumly. “With him, though, whatever happened, it happened after he’d left Coventry.”
“How do you know he left Coventry?”
“Asked a passerby, surely. Bristol to Coventry, there’s always men back and forth, and mercers always know what each other are doing. You ought to know that well enough.”
Joliffe let the jibe pass. Sebastian knew he knew it well enough. Coventry town was growing richer by the year on its ironworking and the weaving of fine cloth from Cotswold wools. The cloth mostly went southwestward to Bristol whose sea-trade spread down the Atlantic coast to Gascony, Portugal, and Spain. Coventry cloth went; dried fruits, oil, wax, leather, and other goods came back, to be traded out across the whole middle part of England. The iron for the widely traded ironwork came mostly out of the Forest of Dean beyond Gloucester, then by the same Bristol-Coventry road. All of that meant there was constant travel of mercers and other merchants between Coventry and Bristol. The hearing of Coventry news in Bristol would have been no great trouble for Sebastian, but Joliffe asked, “So who did you ask and what reason did you give for wanting to know?”
“A Coventry mercer’s journeyman, come on his own on some business that didn’t need his master and grateful for someone willing to show him the ways of Bristol’s worser taverns and better flesh-houses.”
“And when the evening was well enough along that he likely wouldn’t remember what you talked of, you asked him about your man.”
Sebastian touched a finger to the tip of his nose, then pointed it at Joliffe. “You have it. The fellow knew Master Kydwa was gone to Bristol but didn’t know quite when. I finally made out he must have left Coventry about the time he should have if he meant to meet me in Bristol when he was supposed to. Since he didn’t meet me, where is he?”
“Likely he had a servant with him,” Joliffe offered. “Maybe the servant robbed and killed him.”
“I’d be happy if I could think that were it, but Kydwa wouldn’t have enough in the way of money to make him worth his servant killing him.”
“A poor mercer?” Joliffe said as if that were a jest.
“It happens,” said Sebastian gloomily.
“Maybe he’s a bad master, and it was for anger, not money, his man killed him.”
“I’ve met with Kydwa twice before this. I’d not say he was a choleric man. His servant, too, had been with him a long while, was an older man, not likely to want
Sebastian accepted all that with a nod, showing ready, brooding comprehension. “You’re done with that, then. You’ve made report, and you’re bound for Coventry now.”
“Yes,” Joliffe said. “And so are you. Have you been shifted to there?”
“Me? No. I’m still centered in Bristol for this while. I’m only here because someone from Coventry failed his meeting with me in Bristol. I had to finish something there that couldn’t wait. Now I’m bound to find out what became of him.”
“He found something better to do?”
“He’s a mercer. He was to be in Bristol to deal over something that would have turned him a profit if he’d been there when he was supposed to be. No mercer misses a chance for profit without at least sending word why he’s delayed.”
“Things happen,” Joliffe ventured.
“Aye,” Sebastian agreed glumly. “With him, though, whatever happened, it happened after he’d left Coventry.”
“How do you know he left Coventry?”
“Asked a passerby, surely. Bristol to Coventry, there’s always men back and forth, and mercers always know what each other are doing. You ought to know that well enough.”
Joliffe let the jibe pass. Sebastian knew he knew it well enough. Coventry town was growing richer by the year on its ironworking and the weaving of fine cloth from Cotswold wools. The cloth mostly went southwestward to Bristol whose sea-trade spread down the Atlantic coast to Gascony, Portugal, and Spain. Coventry cloth went; dried fruits, oil, wax, leather, and other goods came back, to be traded out across the whole middle part of England. The iron for the widely traded ironwork came mostly out of the Forest of Dean beyond Gloucester, then by the same Bristol-Coventry road. All of that meant there was constant travel of mercers and other merchants between Coventry and Bristol. The hearing of Coventry news in Bristol would have been no great trouble for Sebastian, but Joliffe asked, “So who did you ask and what reason did you give for wanting to know?”
“A Coventry mercer’s journeyman, come on his own on some business that didn’t need his master and grateful for someone willing to show him the ways of Bristol’s worser taverns and better flesh-houses.”
“And when the evening was well enough along that he likely wouldn’t remember what you talked of, you asked him about your man.”
Sebastian touched a finger to the tip of his nose, then pointed it at Joliffe. “You have it. The fellow knew Master Kydwa was gone to Bristol but didn’t know quite when. I finally made out he must have left Coventry about the time he should have if he meant to meet me in Bristol when he was supposed to. Since he didn’t meet me, where is he?”
“Likely he had a servant with him,” Joliffe offered. “Maybe the servant robbed and killed him.”
“I’d be happy if I could think that were it, but Kydwa wouldn’t have enough in the way of money to make him worth his servant killing him.”
“A poor mercer?” Joliffe said as if that were a jest.
“It happens,” said Sebastian gloomily.
“Maybe he’s a bad master, and it was for anger, not money, his man killed him.”
“I’ve met with Kydwa twice before this. I’d not say he was a choleric man. His servant, too, had been with him a long while, was an older man, not likely to want