The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

It felt as though his lungs must burst as he pelted along, the rough, stone-strewn surface of the track threatening his ankles, their sharpened edges cutting into the soles of his cheap boots, and he was aware of a hissing in his ears, a heat rising to his face, a fading power in his legs. He had to wipe the sweat away from his face as he went, but then to his relief he saw the woman running towards them, and he could bend, take a gulp of air, rest a fist on his thigh and catch his breath.

‘Help! Murder! Murder and robbery!’ she was crying as she came.

Baldwin and Sir Richard exchanged a look. There was no blood on her, so far as Baldwin could see, and he held up a hand to calm her. ‘Mistress Copplestone, what is the matter? We returned as soon as we heard your plea for help, but what is the matter?’

‘Henry! He’s dead! Edward killed him and ran!’

She collapsed sobbing, and Simon stayed with her while the others bolted back to the house. Gradually her panicky panting calmed, and Simon could persuade her to rise with him and begin to walk back to her house. On the way they found Baldwin returning.

‘The good coroner will remain until we have the hue and cry come to seek the murderer. Come, Mistress Agatha, do you have a friend in the vill here?’

‘None! None at all!’

‘Then at the least we may as well install you in the tavern. You will be able to drink some wine there.’

‘What has happened?’ Simon asked.

‘It was our servant.’

‘You were scared of him earlier, I saw,’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes! He knew of my… with Hob. You know.’

‘You feared he would tell your master?’

‘Yes, of course I did. I thought he would denounce me unless I did all he wanted.’

‘Of course. Tell me, though. Huw was convinced that you were not with him in Crediton when he saw you.’

She reddened, but then her chin rose and she met his gaze. ‘No. It wasn’t him. I was with Arthur, the canon from the church.’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘You did seek to-’

‘No!’ she snapped. ‘I was not seeking an affair with him. My husband’s servant made me go to see the canon and bring him to my husband’s warehouse. There Arthur and Edward were having dealings. Edward bought the church’s produce and sold it on to his and Arthur’s profit, using my husband’s contacts. It impoverished Henry’s business, but what might I do? I could only do as Edward told me. I had no choice.’

Baldwin said nothing. It explained much. If this Arthur was conducting business to his own benefit, and submitting to the temptation of money, that could well be what Dean Peter had alluded to. And it explained why the dean was reluctant to compensate Henry and Agatha for losses in their garden if he thought that Henry was already robbing him. And why should he think that Arthur was collaborating with a mere servant? If the dean had suspicions, it was more likely that they would focus on the owner of the house where the goods were being traded.

‘I didn’t want to help him rob the church,’ she said with a little, quiet voice.

‘Let us take you to the tavern,’ Simon said gently.

Later, they were sitting about a fire in the tavern together while they waited to hear about the posse sent after Edward.

‘Could the servant have killed the pardoner?’ Simon wondered.

‘It would be a cleaner end to the story if he was guilty of all,’ Baldwin said.

‘Either him or Agatha’s husband,’ Simon said. ‘He was seen here.’

‘I cannot forget the man’s hand in the fire,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Why would either of them do that?’

‘If a man was disgusted with the actions of the pardoner and thought that the bones were genuine, he may have done that in punishment,’ Simon mused.

‘What, a hand has touched something sacred so it should be cut off?’ Baldwin said with a smile.

‘Why not, Baldwin?’ Simon said. ‘Think of it. The Gospel says “If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out”, doesn’t it? There are some who’d think the pardoner was an offensive man who was polluting incorruptible relics.’

‘Old bones in a pardoner’s hands are unlikely to cause so much offence,’ Baldwin scoffed.

The coroner was less sure. ‘God can give miracles from such things, Baldwin. There are many pieces of Christ’s cross throughout Christendom. I once heard a friar say that all are from the True Cross. Even though there is more wood there than would build many such crosses, it matters not. It’s like feeding the thousands with a couple of fish and all were full afterwards. He can make things like this happen. These relics may be as potent as any other. If someone thought that, he could have taken off John’s hand for the insult he gave to relics. And then taken them for safekeeping.’

‘Perhaps so. In which case, who was it?’ Baldwin asked sharply. ‘There is no evidence to suggest who could have done it.’

‘Surely the most religious man?’ Coroner Richard said. ‘He is plainly the man with the most incentive. And offended by the pardoner.’

‘Very well,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘But he seems so mild-mannered. What sort of a man would…?’

He stopped suddenly, closed his eyes and shook his head.

‘What is it, man?’ Sir Richard asked.

‘I am a fool!’

They found the priest in his chapel, bent almost double before the altar. Under the vill’s pall lay the body of the pardoner, wrapped in linen.

He heard them enter but gave them no acknowledge ment, merely remaining with his hands clasped, until he nodded briskly to himself and stood.

Turning to face them, he looked them over carefully and made his way along the empty hall to the door. Departing by it, he stood waiting for them outside.

‘A shame to have no one to stand by the body over the night. I must pay one of the poorer parishioners to sit up with the man.’

‘He won’t care much now,’ Coroner Richard said.

‘How do you know?’ the priest asked. ‘He may be waiting even now in Purgatory, hoping that someone will sit in vigil and pray for him. God knows, he had enough to pray for.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Isn’t it obvious? A dealer in trinkets, in false promises of pardon, in fake relics. What would you think of his chances?’

‘You hate men like him, don’t you?’ Coroner Richard said.

‘I hate the things they do. Like building up people’s hopes by lies. That is a cruel and evil thing to do.’

‘You were at the tavern last night,’ Simon said. ‘Did you return to kill him?’

‘Me?’ Father William looked at him.

The coroner grunted. ‘You know as well as I that, if you did, it would not be to your detriment. You can claim benefit of clergy, entirely safe in the knowledge that you would never face a rope. There is nothing to prevent you confessing.’

‘I think any confessions should be made to my confessor,’ Father William said.

‘He repelled you, didn’t he?’ Baldwin said. ‘That is why you happily shield the man who killed him.’

‘Do I?’

‘Where are the bones?’

‘Perhaps I do not know.’

‘Oh, you know, Father,’ Baldwin said. ‘You may hate men who deal in false pardons, but you’d be keen to look after the relics in case they were genuine.’

‘Of course I would – if I knew where they were.’

‘You do,’ Baldwin said. ‘And I think you know who killed the pardoner.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, it was a discussion we were having a little while ago, my friends and I. The good coroner said that you were the clear suspect in the matter, because you made your hatred of the dead man so plain. And that struck me. Because, of course, only you could do that safely. You have the benefit of clergy, so you are secure from serious punishment. No one will hang you.’