Tags
1321, Andrew Gaddes, book review, England, heresy, hero without flaws, historical fiction, inquisitor, King Edward II, Lincoln, manipulative villain, murder, mystery, no and furthermore, strong plot, weak historical background
Review: Those Who Go By Night, by Andrew Gaddes
Crooked Lane, 2018. 287 pp. $27
It’s 1321, and the bishop of Lincoln has received disturbing news from the village of Bottesford: a man has been murdered and left on a church altar in an apparent grotesque parody of the Crucifixion. Worse, the bishop has heard that a papal inquisitor has been dispatched to Bottesford to probe the heresy that lies behind that revolting crime—and when papal inquisitors look for heresy, they don’t care how they find it.
Consequently, the bishop asks Thomas Lester, a former soldier and son of a disgraced knight, to investigate. If he can settle matters before the inquisitor can sink his talons into the townsfolk and the manor, much suffering will be avoided. However, Thomas doesn’t want the job, which smells of politics and therefore repels him.
It’s hard to blame him. Edward II, whom history has judged among the lesser Plantagenets (which is saying something) has bankrupted England through ruinous wars in Scotland and France and prompted rebellion among the barons. Hugh Despenser, the king’s favorite, has seized woman after woman and fortune after fortune; should the inquisitor find heresy in Bottesford, Hugh may decide to add those lands to his holdings. This is similar historical background to Robyn Cadwallader’s novel, Book of Colours, recently reviewed.
But Thomas accedes to the bishop’s demand and duly reports to Sir Mortimer De Bray, the sickly lord of Bottesford Manor, to look into the murder. And sure enough, the inquisitor, the Dominican Friar Justus, has gotten there first. When Thomas manages to speak to De Bray without the Dominican being present, the lord grabs his wrist and orders him to protect Bottesford and his family from the inquisitor.
It’s a terrific premise, and the novel tells a gripping story, as much about the nature of truth and belief as the uncovering of a criminal. Thomas constantly has to correct the local constable, who makes assertions based on whim or rumor rather than observed evidence; and of course no heresy exists, despite what Justus maintains. “No—and furthermore” flourishes here, and the narrative takes many satisfying twists and turns. Even when you think you know what’s going on, you may not.
That said, the novel takes liberties with credibility, characterization, and historical background, and the storytelling and writing can be uneven.
Thomas has no apparent flaws, unless you count a somewhat quick temper that leads him to disadvantage in dispute with Justus, and a weakness for a pretty face. Said faces number three, most particularly De Bray’s daughter, Lady Cecily. She talks like a twentieth-century feminist and moves into a first-name basis with Thomas without batting an eyelash, though she’s well above him socially. Not sure about that one.
Then there’s her Welsh maid, Hunydd, who takes a shine to Thomas much as her mistress has. For a while, I feared I was reading a male fantasy of the action hero who has all the women fainting with desire, but Gaddes redeems this situation cleverly, turning it on its head.
I also wonder at the historical details that have no direct bearing on the story, and which appear in information dumps. Despite that, I find a glaring omission: the 1320s were a time of failed harvests, cold and wet weather, and famine, yet the narrative never shows this. Overall, I have a hard time believing I’m reading about that era; phrases like up tight and reach out to don’t help.
Aside from the plot, then, what makes the novel work is the villain. I wish Friar Justus had a redeeming trait or two, because cardboard villains usually turn me off. But there’s more to him than just about anybody else:
Already above average in height, he contrived to make himself taller yet by standing stiffly erect with his hawk-like nose held proudly aloft. And although he was clothed in the simple white woolen tunic and black mantle of his order, he wore those clothes regally, and along with them an air of condescension quite at odds with the humility and quiet grace usually to be found among mendicant friars. . . . Here was a man, thought Thomas, who believed he stood apart, whose pursed lips and sour expression suggested that he was all too ready to be displeased with everything and everyone he saw before him.
But it’s not that unsubtle portrait that makes Justus interesting. Rather, he’s a superb actor, capable of switching roles at a moment’s notice to deflect criticism or win over a skeptic whose support he requires. He can thunder righteously, cross-examine with surgical precision, or play the ingratiating courtier, as needs be. It’s that talent that makes him a formidable enemy and provides force behind many a “no—and furthermore.”
Those Who Go By Night, despite its drawbacks as a historical mystery, offers its pleasures.
Disclaimer: I obtained my reading copy of this book from the public library.