The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

Sir John leaned back again, his head tilted as he studied his guest quizzically. ‘You’re a devious little bastard, aren’t you? You murder my man, take the sword from him, and now you say you want me to take it from you and hide it? Why? To protect you? After you murdered my man?’

Roger’s smile broadened. ‘I’ll bring it here for you and your family. For all time, as a proof of my friendship. We were comrades once. Why can we not be so again? It is very valuable.’

Sir William was in the market hall, an open building with rough wooden palings to act as a screen from the worst of the weather, when Denis appeared riding slowly down the high street. He rose, walking out to the roadway as Denis drew to a halt.

‘They are here?’

Denis nodded. ‘They are questioning Hob just now. They wanted to speak to him first, before coming to see you.’

Sir William’s jaw clenched as he considered all the work he had to do before he could rest that day, and then he nodded curtly. ‘Ride back to the castle and tell my wife I shall be back as soon as I may. I have business to attend to while this precious keeper idles away his time with my miller!’

The man of law nodded, relieved to be escaping with no curse ringing in his ears, and Sir William returned to the market hall to the papers and the pasty-faced, unwell port-reeve. ‘Come! Let’s finish our business this week, eh?’

It had not been perfect, but perhaps that was too much to expect after the last years of strife. Still, Roger reckoned the meeting with Sir John had been satisfactory, and he rode back at a steady pace. The knight would agree once he had considered Roger’s offer, he was sure of that, and when Sir William departed, that would seal the contract. There would be an end to this daft dispute between the two manors, and the lawyers could at last pack up their books: Denis could go back to whichever stone from beneath which he’d crawled before coming here and taking the family’s money.

Roger’s road did not lead direct to the castle. In preference he would go to Bow and take an ale or two at the inn. There was a new maid there who had caught his eye recently, a delightful filly who looked as though she’d give him a good gallop-and ah! when his damned brother had left the manor, life would be so much more sweet! She would certainly be more interesting than a return to the castle. It had all the charm and warmth of a charnel house recently: better, he may stay the night at the inn. There he could keep the sword safe, too.

He had hoped that Sir John would take the thing as soon as it was offered, but perhaps that was a little too much to hope for. As he said, if he took the thing, he could be accused of murder, and he was not yet happy to trust Roger with that responsibility. However, his eyes were easier at the end of their meeting, and Roger thought that they would be able to enjoy a better relationship when Roger was in charge of the manor. No bad thing, either, for Sir John to know that Roger could be ruthless when necessary. Yes. All in all, a good day’s work. He deserved his ale.

William would be happier in a convent. There was no point in his remaining in the world when all he wanted was a hermit-like existence in a monastery. Roger was ensuring that he would achieve the ambition he had craved for so long.

He turned one of the last bends in the road on the way to Bow, and suddenly a cloak was hurled at his horse. His beast leapt into the air, neighing with surprise. Roger gripped hard with his thighs, his fingers curled into talons as he clutched the reins. ‘Easy! Easy!’ he called, trying to keep the anger from his voice.

The beast was startled, but he couldn’t seek the culprit as his horse plunged and reared: his concentration was on his mount. Even as he felt the first slip of steel beneath his ribs, he could not face his danger. His mind was so fixed upon his horse that even as the sword thrust upwards, he was at first convinced that it was a strained muscle.

It was only when the strain became a flowering agony that his eyes opened wide with horror. There was a liquid thundering in his breast as blood was pumped into his lungs, and he was starting to drown even before the sword’s point burst through his fashionable tight gipon in front of his anguished eyes. He tried to scream, but as he toppled backwards, his weight slipping him down the blade made slick with his own blood, only a gurgling would come from his throat, and he vomited a gush of blood as he died.

Sir William was in the court of the castle still when the two men arrived.

‘You are the keeper who told my man of law to come and tell me to wait?’

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill,’ Baldwin said coldly. He was not happy to have ridden up to Bow only to learn that he had missed Sir William. The knight had returned to his castle.

At first sight Baldwin thought the peevish knight would be best suited to a convent, just as Hob had hinted. Sir William had that sallow, unhealthsome complexion that was always so common with monks and clerics who took fasting too seriously.

‘I had no spare time to wait. Come inside and have a little wine.’

The hall was empty but for the three. Sir William sat on his chair in the far corner, watching them with a grim expression on his face as they entered.

‘Baldwin, have you ever seen a cat staring at an approaching hound?’ Simon whispered. ‘That man hates us: he knows we could destroy him, but reckons he can scratch our noses first.’

‘He most certainly has the look of a man expecting to suffer.’

‘Enter, Sir Knight, and take your ease. Your man will find ale and cups at the table. Bring me one, too.’

Baldwin opened his mouth, but the knight was already staring up at the wide empty window space with a distracted air. ‘Simon, I apologize. I shall…’

Simon showed his teeth. ‘An easy error to make: he thinks you provide me with these rich clothes? He must consider you a most parsimonious knight!’

Baldwin sat. ‘You did not think to seek my help, I believe?’

‘No! I would prefer this whole matter was forgotten. I see little need to expose our foolishness further. That fool of a lawyer of mine suggested you to my brother, and he took it on himself…No. I see no need for all this!’

Simon had passed wine to Sir William. Now he took a large cupful for himself and another for Baldwin before sitting at Baldwin’s side.

‘You! We have affairs to discuss. You can leave us,’ Sir William grated.

Simon smiled, and Baldwin eyed the knight coldly. ‘This is Bailiff Simon Puttock. He is stannary bailiff to Abbot Champeaux of Tavistock and a king’s officer. He is here to assist me.’

‘Oh? I am sorry, Bailiff. My apologies.’

Simon, enormously enjoying the knight’s discomfiture, smiled. ‘It’s nothing, sir.’

Sir William shook his head. ‘My brother and my wife both felt it would be best for someone who could investigate this theft. I think it’s ridiculous. What good can it serve? The thing’s gone, and that’s all that matters.’

‘You don’t want it back?’

Sir William looked up, and his face twisted. ‘Want it back? I would rather cut off my own hand than touch that thing again! It’s evil! Evil ! I am delighted not to have to look at it. It was a constant reminder of my family’s crime.’ Sir William gave a short, twisted grin. ‘I don’t like it. I am grateful that someone has taken it. If I’d thought of it sooner, I’d have paid a man to remove it, and thereby save me from keeping it any longer. With it gone, I can happily give up my position here, leave the castle and find a monastery to my liking, there to live in praise of God and seeking His peace. But now…’

‘Yes? Now?’

‘The thing is gone. I am glad of the fact, because to me it seems God has forgiven me. In taking the thing, He has shown me that I am not to worry about it any more. But my wife does not agree. She thinks one felon escaping the law damages all justice.’