The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

The two pulled and heaved the heavy body over.

‘I’d guess this was no accident, then,’ Sir Richard said.

‘Time, I think, to strip him,’ the coroner continued, clapping his hands together happily. ‘Any chance of a jug of wine, Sir William? I’m parched here.’

The procedure continued. Naked, the body was turned over and over before the juries from neighbouring vills while the coroner intoned his conclusions and his clerk scribbled down his findings. The number of wounds was counted, and the length and depth of each gauged, not that the coroner was over-happy about poking in some of the stab wounds: they were already filled with maggots.

‘Well, I find this man was set upon and slain by someone unknown. The weapon was long-bladed, and stabbed right through him on three occasions-all from in front of him. There were more wounds on his hands, where he tried to defend himself. One great slash at his head. It’s likely the weapon was a heavy bladed sword with weight behind it. A weapon like that would cost not less than six shillings, so I’ll guess that to be a fair fine. Now, can anyone prove he was English?’

‘I can vouch for him,’ said one man from the vill, and then a shorter man at the back of the group of witnesses stepped forward.

‘So can I. He was my reeve.’

‘You are?’

‘Sir John de Curterne.’

‘I see you, sir. I accept his Englishry. When did you last see him?’

‘On Friday last. When he left my hall to go to Sir William’s castle at Nymet Tracy. I have not seen him since.’

‘You did not report his disappearance?’

‘He had been going on pilgrimage to Canterbury to visit the shrine of St Thomas a Becket,’ Sir John said, and he stared as he spoke at Sir William, who studiously avoided meeting his eye.

Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, keeper of the king’s peace for Crediton, was staying with his wife at her small manor of Liddinstone when the man arrived from Nymet Tracy.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said when the rider had given his message, panting slightly from his hasty journey in the hot, dusty weather.

‘Perhaps if you had given him time to pause and rest, his meaning would be more comprehensible?’ his wife Jeanne chided him and turned to the fellow. ‘You look tired; please, sit and drink some wine or ale. Have you eaten?’

‘My lady, I’m very grateful. Yes, I should be most grateful for refreshment.’

‘You are the brother of Sir William de Tracy?’ Baldwin said. ‘Yet he did not wish to send for my help?’

‘I fear…this is a matter too close to his heart. He means well, but…’

‘You say the reeve was murdered?’ This was from the other man in the room, a tall, ruddy-complexioned man with calm grey eyes who had been introduced as the Bailiff, Simon Puttock, a friend of Sir Baldwin. He stood leaning against the wall near the door.

Roger gratefully took the heavy pewter goblet from Sir Baldwin’s wife and drained half in one long draught. Soon the wine was coursing through his body, and a delicious tingling began in his belly, rippling through his frame.

‘Last Friday this man Coule, our neighbour’s reeve, came to the hall to speak with my brother. He was left in the hall while my sister-in-law fetched my brother, but when he arrived, Coule had already left. Thinking little of it, Sir William cursed the man, and went about his business. And then the body of this reeve was found. My brother thought immediately of his sword. It had been kept in a locked chest in the hall, but when he looked it was gone. Stolen.’

‘It’s no doubt a matter of annoyance to have an heirloom stolen, but what of it? If the man Coule had it, would he not defend himself with it?’ said Sir Baldwin.

‘His master is a powerful man; Sir John de Curterne. We are not on terms of friendship. He would like to have our sword, I expect, because it is a fine thing and he covets fine things. And by killing off his reeve, he would put suspicion for the murder onto us.’

‘You have just explained a perfect motive for killing the man yourself-or for your brother to do so. There is a feud between your families: why should I not believe that you took this sword when you heard Coule was in your castle, killed him, and hid the sword to make it appear that it was stolen, later dragging his body to the country and throwing the sword away?’

‘He visited our hall often enough. Why should I kill him this time? No, Sir Baldwin. I think that Curterne has stolen our sword, and sought to put the blame for his man’s death on us. Why else would he not declare his man missing?’

‘He did not?’ Baldwin asked, interested despite himself.

‘No. He said Coule had asked to be released for a pilgrimage to Canterbury.’

Baldwin absorbed that, then: ‘Why should a master have his servant murdered?’

‘Ah!’ Roger grinned as a servant refilled his goblet. ‘His reeve was the most fractious and difficult man for many miles. He did get the harvest in, but only at the expense of many arguments and much strife. I think Sir John is delighted to be rid of him.’

‘And this sword was taken, too. Was there anything about it to identify it?’

Roger allowed a fleeting doubt to pass over his brow. ‘It’s more than just a sword, Sir Baldwin. It’s the Tracy sword.’

Sir Baldwin smiled. ‘Ah?’

‘Which means you’ve no idea what it is, doesn’t it?’ said Simon Puttock with a chuckle. ‘Well, I have no shame about confessing ignorance. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, so please tell us the significance of this sword.’

‘It is the sword of my fathers and grandfathers in direct line all the way back to the invasion of the country under the glorious William of Normandy,’ Roger de Tracy said eagerly. ‘It’s invaluable!’

Baldwin looked at Simon and shrugged. ‘It’s worth some shillings, I don’t doubt.’

‘And it’s been stolen. That means you, as keeper, have a duty to seek out the thief.’

Baldwin’s expression stilled. He disliked being ordered, and he had only recently returned to his quiet manor after a troubling series of Gaol Delivery trials. Simon hurriedly cleared his own throat. ‘Did you call out the hue and cry?’

‘It was too late. As soon as we realized it was gone, we searched for it in the castle itself, leaving no box unopened. I did that myself. But it’s clearly gone.’

‘How long ago?’ Baldwin growled.

‘I personally saw it on that Friday morning.’

‘That is almost a week ago! It’s Thursday now.’

‘You thought you might come and demand help now?’ Simon said disbelievingly.

‘You must, sir! It is our inheritance!’

‘There is no law to say I must,’ Baldwin grated. ‘You come here and tell me what I must and must not do? You should have asked me to help sooner, if you wished for my aid.’

Roger looked at him and Lady Jeanne was sure she saw desperation in his eyes. ‘A man has been killed, and I fear that Sir John seeks to see us condemned for his murder. I beg you, any help you can give, please give it.’

Denis de Topcliffe was used to the gloomy atmosphere in the castle at Nymet Tracy, but it was rare indeed that he heard Madam Alice weeping. She was too strong and proud.

It was a dreadful sound. The deep sobbing of a mature woman wrenched at a man’s heart like no other noise, and he wanted to go to her, but as he put his hand to the door handle, he told himself how stupid that would be.

He was only a servant: he was paid to advise and assist Sir William, mainly in his continuing litigation over lands and his disputes with neighbours. That was all. He certainly had no responsibility to soothe a distressed woman; that was a task for her husband. Not that the fool would. He was so bound up in his fear and desperation over the stolen sword that he had no idea what his wife was feeling. It was as though they were already divorced.