The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

John nodded, having had a murdered corpse in there quite recently. ‘The water comes from the springs at St Sidwell-let’s hope that Gwyn doesn’t catch the jaundice from it, like his sons.’

‘He can’t stay there long, poor man!’ said Nesta in some concern. ‘A big fellow like him can hardly stand upright in those low passages. What’s to be done about it?’

De Wolfe explained that he had already bribed a carter to smuggle Gwyn out of the city next morning, under a load of finished cloth being taken down to the port of Topsham, five miles down the river.

‘But he need only go halfway, as he can seek board and lodging at St James’s Priory, where they know him from our previous visits. Even if the damned sheriff gets to discover where he is, he would have to desecrate sanctuary all over again.’

The one-eyed potman limped across to refill their mugs as Nesta asked the coroner how Richard de Revelle had taken this latest setback to his scheming.

‘He had his usual tantrum, shouting and screaming at me after Ralph Morin had told him that the bird had flown!’ said John with satisfaction. ‘I had insisted that Ralph and Gabriel search my house as soon as they had given up looking for Gwyn in the church. They were only too delighted to report to the sheriff that I had been asleep by my fireside and that there was no sign of Gwyn. Thank God that Matilda was on her knees in St Olave’s while all this was going on!’

The Welsh woman still looked worried. ‘But the sheriff must surely know that, once again, you organized Gwyn’s disappearance?’

‘He can think what he likes, but he can’t prove it-and everyone from the castle constable down to the most junior soldier is being as stupid and obstructive as they can in helping him find Gwyn.’

De Wolfe leaned across the table towards his clerk. ‘Thomas, have you wormed anything yet from your cathedral spies?’

The unfrocked priest now lived on sufferance in the servant’s quarters of one of the canon’s houses in the Close, sleeping on a straw mattress in a passageway. However, lowly as his accommodation was, it was ideally placed for him to hear all the gossip of the cathedral and its many inhabitants, but so far, he had gleaned nothing about any scandal involving the Tyrell family.

‘Then I must confront Serlo and Christina directly,’ growled John. ‘I will shake their tree and see if anything falls from it.’

‘What about this harlot in Waterbeer Street?’ asked Nesta. ‘Those girls always have a man protecting them and taking the lion’s share of the money they earn. Maybe he would know something, if the killing was almost on his doorstep?’

‘An excellent idea, madam! I’ll do that tomorrow, without fail.’ John squeezed her thigh under the table. ‘I’ve not seen the inside of a brothel for a long time!’ he added mischievously.

Next morning, de Wolfe sent Thomas de Peyne down to St James’s Priory to check that Gwyn had arrived safely and to hand over some money to the prior for his food and lodging. As soon as he had seen the little clerk jogging off on his pony, which he insisted on riding side-saddle like a woman, de Wolfe made his way to a substantial house near the East Gate.

The young maid who answered the door conducted him to an ante-room off the large hall, where Christina sat near a small fire-pit, a pewter cup of wine in her hand. She was still dressed in a grey kirtle, her husband’s funeral having taken place only the day before. However, her widow’s weeds were now lightened by a gold cord wound twice around her slim waist, its large tassels hanging down almost to the floor. She wore no veil or wimple around her head and throat, her fair hair being coiled in plaits over each ear and confined in gold-net crespines. Christina Tyrell looked more like a woman expecting her lover than a mourning widow and she seemed annoyed by the appearance of the county coroner.

‘Have you come to tell me that they have recaptured that rogue who murdered my husband?’ The glare she gave him as she spoke was not a good start to their conversation.

‘That man had nothing to do with it, as you well know,’ replied John bluntly. ‘I am fully aware of the deceit that was arranged between you and the sheriff over that blood-stained sword.’

The woman flushed and protested, but her eyes dropped, unable to meet the steely gaze of the coroner. ‘The fellow is guilty, so what does it matter?’ she muttered.

‘I have a better candidate for the killing, mistress,’ he boomed. ‘Or perhaps even two! What about you or your lover Serlo? Both of you had reasons for wanting Walter dead.’

Christina lifted her eyes to look defiantly at de Wolfe, a flush of anger flooding her face. ‘What nonsense is this? Are you mad?’ she shouted.

‘Your husband frequented a whorehouse in the city-is that the habit of a devoted spouse? Did you want rid of him because of that-were you a woman spurned? It is well known that you hanker after his brother, a younger man.’

‘This is nonsense-you cannot speak to me like this!’ she babbled.

John slammed one fist into the other palm. ‘I am investigating a murder, madam. I can ask what I want!’ he roared.

Her response was dramatic, as well as unexpected. She bent to the circle of stones around the fire-pit and snatched up a heavy iron poker. Raising it over her head, she lunged at de Wolfe with a screech of fury and swung it at him. Startled, he backed away and lifted an arm to protect himself, receiving a stinging blow just above his wrist. With a bellowed curse, he retreated backwards towards the door, where the little maid crouched in terror at her mistress’s sudden fury.

‘Get out, damn you!’ howled Christina, lifting the poker for another blow. ‘Get out, you foul-mouthed, evil man!’

As he could hardly draw his dagger on a woman, John decided to evacuate and survive to fight another day. ‘You’ll regret this, madam!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll be back when you’ve come to your senses.’

He slid through the door and slammed it behind him, making his way rapidly through the hall to the street. Thankfully the virago did not pursue him and he stopped a few yards away to recover his ruffled dignity. He would cheerfully fight a dozen of Saladin’s warriors, but an angry widow with a fire-iron was too much of a challenge for him.

Determined never to let anyone else ever become aware of the ignominious defeat he had suffered, the coroner marched away and went through the city down to Exe Island and the fulling mills.

Half-afraid that his quarry had already left to visit the doughty Christina, he went straight to the clerk’s hut to see if Serlo Tyrell was still there. He was gratified to find him leaning against a table, listening to a string of figures that Martin Knotte was reading out to him from a parchment. As with the vast majority of the population, Serlo was illiterate and, like most merchants, depended on someone in the lower religious orders to handle all accounts and correspondence.

The fuller looked up in surprise, which turned to irritation when he saw de Wolfe. ‘I’ve told you all I know, Crowner,’ he snapped. ‘Why are you persisting with this, when everyone knows who the culprit is?’

De Wolfe looked pointedly at the clerk. ‘It would be better if I spoke to you in private, for your own sake.’

‘I have no secrets from Martin, you can say what you like. But make it quick, I have other things to do.’ The fuller accompanied his words with a scowl.

‘Very well-but I have just come from the house of Christina,’ John announced. He saw a flicker of apprehension pass over Serlo’s face, before he jerked his head at his clerk. ‘Perhaps you had better leave us, Martin, if this is to be a personal matter,’ he muttered.