The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

‘Or to wait until you and he were on the road in a quiet place, and take ’em, eh? Well,-’ the coroner shrugged- ‘can’t blame you. Would’ve done the same meself. Blasted pardoners are a menace.’

‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said. ‘But the deed has not been committed. He is innocent. However, I am intrigued. Why did you not take them before? As you say, you travelled all the way here with him. There must have been dozens of places where you could have knocked him on the head and recovered them.’

‘I didn’t wish to kill him,’ Huw said simply. ‘I was in his company, but… well, John was a most engaging companion. I did not want to hurt him too close to Exeter at first, and then I decided not to hurt him until I had seen the bones in his possession, and he didn’t get them out until he reached Crediton. And by that time it was too late.’

‘You mean you didn’t want to kill him?’ Baldwin said.

‘How could I? He was such a friendly, open, amiable man. I couldn’t willingly stick a knife in him. He was a real, flesh-and-blood man, while… they were only bones, when all was said and done.’

Baldwin looked at the coroner. ‘I believe him.’

‘You sure? He could easily have broken into the room at Hob’s. Anyone could, even a Welshman. And there’s the thing about the hand. Surely returning the favour, when he’d stolen the bones from the abbey.’

‘But if Huw did that, he would today be at Exeter or beyond. Why return here? And where are the bones he venerates?’ Baldwin asked flatly. ‘No. He is innocent. Which begs the question: who was responsible?’

‘Baldwin! Sir Richard!’

And Baldwin felt some of the burden of anxiety fall from his shoulders as he recognized the voice of his old friend Simon.

Agatha was keen to leave the vill and return to her home, but her curiosity wouldn’t let her go straight away. She passed her reins to her servant and dropped elegantly from her mount, making her way into the tavern. The serving maid was there, but Agatha went to Hob to ask for a pot of wine.

‘What’s happening here?’

‘Murder, mistress. A pardoner was killed here last night. The coroner and the Keeper are asking about him. It’ll cost us all a pile of silver.’

There was no need to elaborate. All knew how expensive a body could be. There was the fine for the death of a man who wasn’t known locally, the murdrum. An ancient fine, it was imposed at the height of King William’s reign, when the resistance to Norman rule meant that murder was commonplace. If a body was discovered and no one could assert its ‘Englishry’, it was assumed to be a Norman, and a crushing fine was enforced on the locality.

She winced. ‘What of that fellow they’re questioning?’

‘Him? He was friend to the pardoner, he says.’

‘He’s an unpleasant little man,’ she said. ‘He accosted me in the market yesterday. If it wasn’t for a few locals coming to my rescue, I don’t know what might have happened.’

As she spoke she peered through the window. The man with whom she had ridden here was greeting the two knights with enthusiasm.

‘Tavern-keeper, bring more ale!’ the taller, heavy-set knight, whom she knew only as the coroner, bellowed, and Hob hissed to the girl to hurry.

‘Has he seen you?’ Agatha said quietly when they were alone.

‘Don’t think so,’ Hob replied. He chewed his inner cheek fretfully.

‘Let’s hope, then,’ she murmured.

‘Hope what?’ Baldwin asked.

Agatha shot a look at Hob. ‘Nothing, Sir Knight.’

‘That is odd. You see, your maid just told us that she thought you had seen this man outside in Crediton, that he was being a nuisance to you.’

‘Yes, he was pestering a number of people, trying to sell his potions.’

‘Would you come out here, then? You could identify him, and that would be useful.’

‘Why?’

Baldwin lifted an eyebrow. ‘If you saw him in Crediton, that would begin to validate his story. If he was in the town when you saw him, perhaps we can find others who also saw him and who can vouch for his being there later. That would mean it wasn’t him who later came here to kill the pardoner, wouldn’t it?’

She reluctantly nodded and followed Baldwin outside.

‘Is that the man you saw?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Yes.’

Huw gaped. ‘I did nothing to the lady! I was only selling some medicines, and she and her companion refused even to listen. I only urged them to listen to my words, nothing more.’

She reddened. ‘I had no companion, churl. How dare you say such a thing?’

‘But-’

‘There was no one with me, other than my servant,’ she said with emphasis.

Huw followed her gaze to where the servant squatted on his haunches near the horses. It wasn’t the man he’d seen, he thought.

Baldwin saw his look and smiled. ‘Mistress, it is all too easy for a man to mistake one man for another when he meets different people all day, just as it is hard for a woman not to feel pressurized when a hawker is only trying to bring a new sweetmeat or pie to her attention. No doubt this man was only being polite in his own way.’

She nodded, and with a curt nod to Simon she left them, striding to her horse. Soon she was mounted, and she and her servant made their way from the vill.

‘Well, you didn’t make a friend there, Master Triacleur,’ the coroner said, eyeing the two as they rode away. ‘So who could have stolen these bones, then? Someone who wanted to take on the pardoner’s trade?’

‘If it were only that, surely the thief would have taken the vellum as well? A pardoner is no pardoner who does not possess pardons,’ Baldwin said.

‘I must try to find them,’ Huw said. He sat, disconsolate, his face drawn into a picture of complete misery. ‘I should have knocked him down and taken the bones when I first found him, rather than trying to persuade him to give them up. If I’d just taken them, he could still be alive.’

‘Don’t waste your feelings on him,’ Sir Richard said kindly. ‘Worry more about yourself. While no other man appears, you are our most likely fellow for dancing a jig from a rope.’

Baldwin was more interested in Agatha’s reaction to Huw. ‘She was very certain that she was alone when you saw her.’

‘I don’t care what she says. There was a man with her in Crediton,’ Huw said.

‘Do not change the subject by accusing an honest woman of infidelity,’ the coroner said sternly.

‘You don’t understand. I saw him today at the inquest: it was the tavern-keeper.’

The coroner exchanged a look with Baldwin. ‘Well, adultery is not the same as murder,’ he said with a shrug. ‘What of it?’

‘It is one more thing to consider,’ Baldwin said. ‘No more, no less.’

It was a little while later, once Baldwin and Sir Richard had given Huw to a couple of sturdy peasants for safekeeping, that the three repaired to the chapel at the top of the vill to speak to the priest about the pardoner.

‘He’s not here, sires,’ the man in the church told them after they had all bent the knee and crossed themselves at the cross.

‘Who are you?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Me? I’m Peter the Pauper, lord. That’s what they call me, anyways. I keep the church clean for Father William.’

He was a little old man, wizened and with a skin that was tanned deep brown by the elements, with pale grey eyes set in a thin face. His right hand was claw-like from some ancient injury.

‘He is a senior priest for a chapel like this, isn’t he?’ Sir Richard asked, eyeing the altar speculatively. ‘Thought he looked quite an elderly man for such a posting. Why does a chapel this size merit his presence?’

‘Not all priests wish for ever larger congregations, I suppose.’ The man shrugged. ‘And some come to a place like this because it is convenient.’