A Feast of Poisons Read online

  A Feast of Poisons

  Paul Doherty

  Copyright © 2004 Paul Doherty

  The right of Paul Doherty to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2013

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN: 978 0 7553 9567 5

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Letter to the reader

  About the Author

  Also by Paul Doherty

  Praise for Paul Doherty

  Dedication

  List of Historical Characters

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Historical Note

  History has always fascinated me. I see my stories as a time machine. I want to intrigue you with a murderous mystery and a tangled plot, but I also want you to experience what it was like to slip along the shadow-thronged alleyways of medieval London; to enter a soaringly majestic cathedral but then walk out and glimpse the gruesome execution scaffolds rising high on the other side of the square. In my novels you will sit in the oaken stalls of a gothic abbey and hear the glorious psalms of plain chant even as you glimpse white, sinister gargoyle faces peering out at you from deep cowls and hoods. Or there again, you may ride out in a chariot as it thunders across the Redlands of Ancient Egypt or leave the sunlight and golden warmth of the Nile as you enter the marble coldness of a pyramid’s deadly maze. Smells and sounds, sights and spectacles will be conjured up to catch your imagination and so create times and places now long gone. You will march to Jerusalem with the first Crusaders or enter the Colosseum of Rome, where the sand sparkles like gold and the crowds bay for the blood of some gladiator. Of course, if you wish, you can always return to the lush dark greenness of medieval England and take your seat in some tavern along the ancient moon-washed road to Canterbury and listen to some ghostly tale which chills the heart . . . my books will take you there then safely bring you back!

  The periods that have piqued my interest and about which I have written are many and varied. I hope you enjoy the read and would love to hear your thoughts – I always appreciate any feedback from readers. Visit my publisher’s website here: www.headline.co.uk and find out more. You may also visit my website: www.paulcdoherty.com or email me on: [email protected].

  Paul Doherty

  About the Author

  Paul Doherty is one of the most prolific, and lauded, authors of historical mysteries in the world today. His expertise in all areas of history is illustrated in the many series that he writes about, from the Mathilde of Westminster series, set at the court of Edward II, to the Amerotke series, set in Ancient Egypt. Amongst his most memorable creations are Hugh Corbett, Brother Athelstan and Roger Shallot.

  Paul Doherty was born in Middlesbrough. He studied history at Liverpool and Oxford Universities and obtained a doctorate at Oxford for his thesis on Edward II and Queen Isabella. He is now headmaster of a school in north-east London and lives with his wife and family near Epping Forest.

  Also by Paul Doherty

  Mathilde of Westminster

  THE CUP OF GHOSTS

  THE POISON MAIDEN

  THE DARKENING GLASS

  Sir Roger Shallot

  THE WHITE ROSE MURDERS

  THE POISONED CHALICE

  THE GRAIL MURDERS

  A BROOD OF VIPERS

  THE GALLOWS MURDERS

  THE RELIC MURDERS

  Templar

  THE TEMPLAR

  THE TEMPLAR MAGICIAN

  Mahu (The Akhenaten trilogy)

  AN EVIL SPIRIT OUT OF THE WEST

  THE SEASON OF THE HYAENA

  THE YEAR OF THE COBRA

  Canterbury Tales by Night

  AN ANCIENT EVIL

  A TAPESTRY OF MURDERS

  A TOURNAMENT OF MURDERS

  GHOSTLY MURDERS

  THE HANGMAN’S HYMN

  A HAUNT OF MURDER

  Egyptian Mysteries

  THE MASK OF RA

  THE HORUS KILLINGS

  THE ANUBIS SLAYINGS

  THE SLAYERS OF SETH

  THE ASSASSINS OF ISIS

  THE POISONER OF PTAH

  THE SPIES OF SOBECK

  Constantine the Great

  DOMINA

  MURDER IMPERIAL

  THE SONG OF THE GLADIATOR

  THE QUEEN OF THE NIGHT

  MURDER’S IMMORTAL MASK

  Hugh Corbett

  SATAN IN ST MARY’S

  THE CROWN IN DARKNESS

  SPY IN CHANCERY

  THE ANGEL OF DEATH

  THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS

  MURDER WEARS A COWL

  THE ASSASSIN IN THE GREENWOOD

  THE SONG OF A DARK ANGEL

  SATAN’S FIRE

  THE DEVIL’S HUNT

  THE DEMON ARCHER

  THE TREASON OF THE GHOSTS

  CORPSE CANDLE

  THE MAGICIAN’S DEATH

  THE WAXMAN MURDERS

  NIGHTSHADE

  THE MYSTERIUM

  Standalone Titles

  THE ROSE DEMON

  THE HAUNTING

  THE SOUL SLAYER

  THE PLAGUE LORD

  THE DEATH OF A KING

  PRINCE DRAKULYA

  THE LORD COUNT DRAKULYA

  THE FATE OF PRINCES

  DOVE AMONGST THE HAWKS

  THE MASKED MAN

  As Vanessa Alexander

  THE LOVE KNOT

  OF LOVE AND WAR

  THE LOVING CUP

  Kathryn Swinbrooke (as C L Grace)

  SHRINE OF MURDERS

  EYE OF GOD

  MERCHANT OF DEATH

  BOOK OF SHADOWS

  SAINTLY MURDERS

  MAZE OF MURDERS

  FEAST OF POISONS

  Nicholas Segalla (as Ann Dukthas)

  A TIME FOR THE DEATH OF A KING

  THE PRINCE LOST TO TIME

  THE TIME OF MURDER AT MAYERLING

  IN THE TIME OF THE POISONED QUEEN

  Mysteries of Alexander the Great (as Anna Apostolou)

  A MURDER IN MACEDON

  A MURDER IN THEBES

  Alexander the Great

  THE HOUSE OF DEATH

  THE GODLESS MAN

  THE GATES OF HELL

  Matthew Jankyn (as P C Doherty)

  THE WHYTE HARTE

  THE SERPENT AMONGST THE LILIES

  Non-fiction

  THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF TUTANKHAMUN

  ISABELLA AND THE STRANGE DEATH OF EDWARD II

  ALEXANDER THE GREAT: THE DEATH OF A GOD

  THE GREAT CROWN JEWELS ROBBERY OF 1303

  THE SECRET LIFE OF ELIZABETH I

  THE DEATH OF THE RED KING

  Praise for Paul
Doherty

  ‘Teems with colour, energy and spills’ Time Out

  ‘Paul Doherty has a lively sense of history…evocative and lyrical descriptions’ New Statesman

  ‘Extensive and penetrating research coupled with a strong plot and bold characterisation. Loads of adventure and a dazzling evocation of the past’ Herald Sun, Melbourne

  ‘An opulent banquet to satisfy the most murderous appetite’ Northern Echo

  ‘As well as penning an exciting plot with vivid characters, Doherty excels at bringing the medieval period to life, with his detailed descriptions giving the reader a strong sense of place and time’ South Wales Argus

  Dedicated to the memory of

  Tatiana Faye Micallef

  ‘returned untainted to God’s bosom’

  List of Historical Characters

  THE HOUSE OF LANCASTER

  Henry VI: Henry of Lancaster, son of the great Henry V, regarded by some as a fool, by others as a saint, by a few as both. His weak, ineffectual rule led to vicious civil war between the Houses of York and Lancaster.

  Margaret of Anjou: French Queen of Henry VI and the real power behind the throne; her hopes of victory were finally quashed by two outstanding defeats at the hands of Yorkist forces at Barnet and Tewkesbury in the early months of 1471.

  Beaufort of Somerset: Leading Lancastrian general and politician; reputed lover of Margaret of Anjou, killed at Tewkesbury.

  Henry Tudor: Last remaining Lancastrian claimant. By 1473, in exile at the Courts of France and Brittany.

  THE HOUSE OF YORK

  Richard of York: Father of Edward IV. Richard’s overweening ambition to become King led to the outbreak of hostilities between York and Lancaster. He was trapped and killed at the Battle of Wakefield in 1460.

  Cecily of York (née Neville): ‘The Rose of Raby’; widow of Richard of York; mother of Edward, Richard, and George of Clarence.

  Edward IV: Successful Yorkist general and later King.

  Edmund of Rutland: Edward’s brother, killed with the Duke of York at Wakefield.

  George of Clarence: The beautiful but treacherous brother of Edward IV; a Prince who changed sides during the Civil War.

  Richard of Gloucester: Youngest brother of Edward IV; he played a leading part in the Yorkist victory of 1471.

  ENGLISH POLITICIANS

  Thomas Bourchier: Aged Archbishop of Canterbury.

  William Hastings: Henchman to Edward IV.

  FRANCE

  Louis XI: King of France, the ‘Spider.’

  Charles: Duke of Burgundy, Louis’s foe.

  And when a beest is deed he hath no peyne;

  But man after his deeth moot wepe and pleyne . . . .

  —Chaucer, ‘The Knight’s Tale,’

  The Canterbury Tales

  In the Middle Ages women doctors continued to practise in the midst of wars and epidemics as they always had, for the simple reason that they were needed.

  —Kate Campbell Hurd-Mead,

  A History of Women in Medicine

  Chapter 1

  The Carl spak oo thing, but he thoghte another.

  —Chaucer, ‘The Friar’s Tale,’

  The Canterbury Tales

  Louis XI, by the wrath of God, King of France, was busy fishing. Louis was content. He’d journeyed up and down the Loire Valley stopping at his royal residences to check his menagerie, in particular, his elephant and a rather clumsy camel, not to mention the leopards, ostriches, and other beasts. Louis himself was a spider in human flesh. Paris was the centre of his web but he’d spun it so the web now covered every city and province in France. Louis was content. He had outfoxed and outmanoeuvred his enemies but, although he loved his country, he did not trust it. Its narrow, winding forest trackways had flourished long before the time of Caesar. Rebels could lurk there, plan ambushes, plot treason, and carry out regicide. So Louis, who could never keep still, continued his restless journeys more by water than horse or carriage. He sailed the great rivers of France on boats of his own design. Splendid affairs, great barges on which he built wooden houses furnished with chimneys, glass windows, and all the comforts of a palace.

  Louis loved hunting, be it the quarry of the forest or some great noble or merchant who would not accept his rule. He had recently crushed a rebellion on the borders of Burgundy. A barge farther down the river carried cages in which he’d placed his principal prisoners. He would use them as he would the animals in his menagerie, show the people that he was King. No force of man or nature could escape his grasp. On the prison barge he’d erected poles to carry the severed heads of other traitors; one of them he’d hooded and lined with fur so as to distinguish it from the rest. Now Louis was resting. He stared up at the blue sky and gripped his fishing rod. The previous night a firebreak, a burning comet, a ball of flame, had cracked through the heavens. Was that a warning, he wondered? But did it matter? ‘Alea iacta, the die is cast!’ he murmured. Whatever dangers threatened, he must confront them. He’d sent money to the nearest shrines and churches, ordering hundreds of special masses to be said to ward off any danger. He’d also promised St. Martin of Tours, the patron saint of France, to buy a shiny metal trellis to enclose his tomb. A veritable work of art, the trellis would be made of eleven thousand pounds of the finest silver. He’d also sent messages to Amboise, where his infant son, the Dauphin Charles, was kept in strict seclusion, far away from would-be kidnappers as well as the grisly effect of any of the legion of diseases that prowled the roads and haunted the cities of his kingdom.

  Louis was glad to be away from such places, especially Paris; the clanging of its bells was a constant source of irritation, its crowded, narrow streets an ever-living threat to his own power, a place where ideas and new fears teemed like weeds on a dung heap.

  ‘Your Majesty?’

  Louis turned his head.

  ‘Your Majesty?’ the young squire repeated. ‘They say a church spire was attacked by Satan last night, burnt to a cinder. The demon’s claw marks can still be seen up and down the walls.’

  ‘Is that correct?’ Louis muttered. He turned back as the rod jerked. Was it a demon, he wondered, or just lightning? That was what a scholar had once told him, how buildings, which pointed to the sky, always attracted heaven’s fire. Nevertheless, he had to be sure. Louis always took precautions. He’d told the envoys dispatched to check on his son that an iron knife must always be hung over the child’s cradle and pots of salt placed in every corner. Iron and salt, not to mention the many saintly relics hanging from the beams of the nursery, would keep away demons. Louis grimaced with annoyance. He thought he’d lured a fish but the rod was now slack, like so many things in life. The King moved restlessly, spurs jingling on his boots. He stared across the river. The mist was lifting. The day would prove fine even if the seasons were changing. Already he could glimpse the gold through the green. The morning breeze was cold but this would fall as the sun rose. Nevertheless, the King was warm enough. On either side of him glowed capped braziers, their fiery charcoal red and crackling, now and again hissing as drops of river water splashed through the grille.

  Louis flexed his fingers. He was booted and spurred, ever ready to leave his barge and ride to face any danger or confront some rebel. He was dressed in his usual grey gown, furred with white lambskin, over his head a monk’s cowl. On top of this Louis wore a large broad-rimmed hat, which weighed heavily due to the many silver medallions, all depicting his favourite saints, closely stitched there. Louis picked up a piece of cheese and munched noisily. He’d spent the previous day plotting, before travelling to a nearby castle where envoys from Spain had brought red-skinned pigs for him to look at, not to mention a host of goldfinches, magpies, turtle doves, as well as two greyhounds wearing collars of Lombardy leather and leashes of dried wolfskins. Louis breathed out, the steam hanging in the morning air. In the mist farther down the river were barges packed with his bodyguard and, on either bank, troops of Norman cavalry kept pace with the royal barge, The Glory of
the Lilies. Louis heard shouts, a slight thump as a boat came alongside the barge. He smiled. His visitors had arrived. He passed the rod to a valet. ‘Hold it firm,’ he ordered. ‘If the fish bite, draw in quickly.’

  Louis, spurs jingling, the mother-of-pearl rosary beads around his neck clicking and glittering, walked up the leather-rimmed steps into the royal cabin. The chamber boasted a window high on each wall, the walls themselves covered in thick draperies woven in a series of eye-catching colours – fiery reds, deep blues, glittering golds – all depicting the life of the King’s saintly ancestors. The floor was of polished wood and covered against the cold with the skins of bears and wolves. A royal scribe was seated on a high stool copying out the letter Louis had dictated just after he had attended his third Mass. The King took off his gloves and spread his fingers over a dish of smouldering charcoal. It was still cold in here.

  ‘Take a letter,’ he ordered, ‘to the Treasurer – tell him to bring me an animal skin, like that the Bishop of Valence gave me. It covered my back completely, and could spread out over my horse’s rump.’ Louis’s finger tapped the end of his pointed nose. ‘When it rained,’ he continued, ‘I had no need of a cloak, while in the hot weather it was as good as a cooling breeze. You understand that?’

  The scribe nodded.

  ‘Good!’ The King clapped his hands. ‘Then get out and bring my visitors in.’ Louis crossed to the throne on the small dais, set against the far wall under a blue awning, displaying the golden fleur-de-lys. He made himself comfortable, pulling across the lambskin coverlet. He’d spent too much time fishing, he was freezing! The door opened and three men entered. They gathered in the shadows before coming forward. All were booted and spurred, heavy woollen military cloaks across their shoulders. They approached the dais, pulled back their cowls, and sank to one knee. Louis let them remain so while he studied them. The rather short, redheaded man in the middle, the Vicomte Sanglier, was Louis’s personal envoy to England.

  ‘My Lord Vicomte!’ Louis leaned forward. ‘You had a good journey?’ The envoy lifted his pale face, the green eyes red-rimmed, russet moustache and beard neatly clipped. Louis noticed how the Vicomte used his beard to hide his pitted cheeks, the ravages left by the pox.