The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

‘We shall need to speak to him,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘Boy, what else can you tell us?’

‘Hob gave the pardoner as much ale as he could drink in exchange for the parchment, but others there wanted his aid as well.’

‘The priest is clearly against the sale of pardons here. Why would he allow this fellow John to sell them?’

‘I don’t know. But he was with the pardoner before he started to sell them. I saw them.’

‘It is an odd thing,’ the coroner said. ‘Why would the priest allow the sale to go on, if he is as vehement against the whole principle as he says he is?’

‘There are some who will rail against a thing, but when money is given to them, suddenly their antipathy is turned to quiet reflection,’ Baldwin said.

‘He maybe took money and regrets it now,’ Simon said.

‘Perhaps,’ the coroner said. ‘What of this man at West Sandford though?’

‘I don’t know who he is,’ Simon said. ‘Still, it couldn’t have been him if he was in Exeter like his wife said, could it? And I fail to understand why he would want to kill a pardoner.’

‘The man sold a pardon to his wife’s ravisher,’ Sir Richard pointed out.

‘I think most men would seek the death of the adulterer rather than the pardoner,’ Baldwin said gently.

They were outside the tavern now. The boy had been sent on his way, with a half-penny from Baldwin for his information, and now they were staring at the figure of Hob as he toiled up the hill towards them.

‘Masters! Can I fetch you more ale? Some food?’

‘No, Master Taverner, you can explain yourself to us,’ Baldwin said with some harshness. ‘You have lied to us, master, and we wish to know why.’

Instantly the man’s face fell. ‘Lied? My lords, I wouldn’t-’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘It is no good, man. You will have to speak.’

‘I don’t know what you want.’

‘Try telling us the truth,’ Coroner Richard grated, ‘if you wouldn’t test the comfort of the gaol at Crediton! Do you still say you had nothing to do with the murder of the man in your tavern?’ he demanded.

‘No! Why would I seek his death!’ Hob protested.

‘Perhaps he saw you with your woman, just as Huw did,’ Baldwin suggested shrewdly.

‘No – I swear it on the Gospel.’

‘What of others? Last night, did you see anyone who could have had something against the pardoner?’

Hob looked up at all their faces, then down again. ‘One man, yes. When I opened the doors and threw out the others, I did see one – or so I thought.’

‘Where?’

‘Over at the edge of my house. But I never thought it would be him. He had nothing to want to kill this pardoner for…’

‘Who?’

‘Agatha’s husband, Henry of Copplestone. I thought I saw him over at the side of my house. That was why I made sure I locked the door carefully before going up to my bed. I thought he could try to enter to kill me. But he would do nothing against the pardoner. Why should he?’

Once outside, Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. ‘Well?’ Simon said.

‘Clearly pointless. There is much we may say of a married woman who behaves like a whore,’ Coroner Richard said uncompromisingly. ‘But what of it? It’s got damn all to do with the murder of the man in the tavern. At least, so far as we can tell, it hasn’t.’

‘No,’ Simon said, but now he remembered the woman’s words on seeing Baldwin and Richard questioning Huw as he rode into the vill. ‘Except she clearly had something against the Welshman when we rode into the town. That itself strikes me as odd.’

‘He saw her with her lover in Crediton,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps she realized that he might speak to us – as he did,’ but as he spoke a vague memory occurred to him.

‘You have a constipated look about you, man,’ the coroner said.

‘When I saw the pardoner and Huw in Crediton, I could have sworn I saw Agatha running away from me,’ Baldwin said, and told of the glimpse he’d had of her and a man flying away up the hill. But even as he spoke he was reminded of the curious comment of Dean Peter – that Arthur was prey to temptations. At the time he had not taken much notice, thinking the dean meant only that a young man’s eye could be taken by a comely woman, but now he wondered whether he had taken the dean’s meaning correctly. Perhaps the dean knew something about the canon.

‘So what do you want to do now?’ Simon asked.

Coroner Richard grunted. ‘Gentles, there is only one way in which we may ease our concerns in this matter. Let us go to her house and ask the woman’s husband whether he was there, as the tavern-keeper thought, or not!’

The journey took little time – it was such a short distance that none of them bothered to mount their horses; instead, the three friends walked along the lane.

‘What do you think?’ Simon asked as they walked.

Baldwin looked over at him. ‘Well, the tavern-keeper was having an affair with Agatha. It’s possible her husband learned of it and went to kill him – and yet any man who entered that tavern must notice that the man’s bedchamber is up in the rafters. I saw it up there the first time I walked inside. So if he went in and killed the pardoner, that would be because he had a reason to, not because he fell over a new body and killed him in mistake. And why cut off his hand?’

‘We can hopefully learn more in a short time,’ Coroner Richard said. ‘Meantime, Baldwin, do you suspect any other?’

‘I would feel sure that Hob himself is likely to be innocent. He does not show any signs of blood about his body.’

‘Why would a man cut the pardoner’s hand off?’ Simon mused.

The coroner shrugged. ‘Surely because he had taken another man’s hand.’

‘But who would have known that apart from Huw?’

‘He was hardly in the vill long enough to have told anyone,’ Baldwin considered. ‘Unless he allowed it to slip when he was in the tavern that night.’

Just then they rounded a corner, and before them lay the long hall of Henry of Copplestone.

It was a large property. A longhouse, with a separate byre behind, two small barns and a stable-block all spoke of Henry’s wealth. To emphasize his position, the land all about had been splendidly cultivated, with a series of pastures and good strips of fields dropping down towards the stream at the bottom of the lands.

Silently, the three marched to the door and were welcomed by a maidservant who took them over the threshold and into a large hall, well illuminated by the enormous window in the southern wall.

Soon Henry and his wife were with them.

Henry was a short, swarthy man with the eyes of a seaman, permanently squinting as though peering into a strong wind. His hands were muscular, but Baldwin was not sure whether the man had the strength of will for violence.

His wife was very pretty, although now, seeing her more closely, Baldwin was struck by how her looks melded together to produce a less wholesome picture. His own wife was a perfect combination of imperfections that somehow made her extraordinarily attractive to him. This woman was almost perfect in every way, and he found that his initial reaction to her was of stunned admiration. But the vision of beauty was marred. There was a harshness to her eyes, he thought, and few signs of womanly softness. All was angular, crisp and precise, not comforting. She was shrewish, if nothing else.

‘Lordings, you honour my home with your presence. I am only sorry that I don’t think I will be able to help you overmuch. How may I serve you?’

‘Master Henry, we are most grateful for your gracious welcome,’ the coroner began. He wore an unaccustomed look of wariness, as though rather nervous of how to broach a difficult subject.