The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

‘We are unlikely to get our ten marks now Lymbury is dead,’ said the physician to Michael. ‘And if several wills exist, all contradicting each other, we shall have to wait for lawyers to sort them out.’

‘That could take months, and we need new latrines now,’ grumbled the monk. ‘Besides, a man has been murdered, and I doubt these people will see justice done-they are too wrapped up in their own concerns. I do not think I have ever encountered so many blazing hatreds under one roof. At least we scholars keep our dislikes decently concealed under a veneer of civility.’

‘Then you had better resume your questioning, or you will have another death on your hands. Dole’s surliness has finally shaken William’s equanimity-and William is holding that sword.’

‘The so-called Sword of Shame,’ said Michael thoughtfully, watching the vicar grip the hilt. ‘Is it valuable, do you think? It looks to me as if William intends to keep it for himself.’

‘All good weapons are expensive, and that one is better than most. Perhaps he knows Lymbury left it to him-or perhaps he added a codicil without Lymbury’s knowledge, to be sure he inherits it.’

‘We know Lymbury could not read, so a dishonest clerk could write whatever he liked and be sure of having it signed and sealed. Is William dishonest, do you think?’

‘He is not a very devoted priest-he is not rushing to take Lymbury’s body to his church and pray for it. But dishonest? I suppose that depends on how badly he covets that sword.’

While they had been talking, Dole had opened a chest and retrieved several documents. He regarded them with exasperation. ‘Here are his wills, but none is dated, and several are unsigned. Lawyers will be wrangling over these for years.’

‘This is your fault,’ shouted Joan, real tears appearing at last as she glared at William. ‘You were his clerk-you should have made sure they were in order.’

William was smug. His flash of temper with Dole had cooled, and the sword lay on the bench, gleaming from its recent polish. ‘Those are just drafts. The latest will-signed and dated-is in a safe place. Lymbury was fond of his riches, and liked thinking about where to bequeath them.’

‘All this is very interesting, but it is not helping us learn what happened to him this morning,’ said Michael. ‘What time did you all arrive for the hunt?’

‘Sir Elias and I were already here, obviously,’ said Joan, going to stand at the knight’s side, ‘since we live in the manor-house. William arrived next, then Dole, and finally Rose and Pauline.’

‘It was horribly early,’ said Dame Pauline bitterly. ‘Before breakfast. It is not good for elderly-’

‘Hog and James were here, too,’ interrupted Joan. ‘They had already saddled the horses, and came inside to eat a bowl of pottage with us before we left.’

‘When was this?’ asked Michael. ‘Just after dawn?’

‘Much later,’ said Hog icily. ‘Dawn has different meanings for men who need to make the most of daylight hours, and I had been in the fields for some time before I came to prepare the horses. James and I ate the pottage while we waited for the nuns to arrive. Then, eventually, after more valuable time was lost in idle chatter, they all trooped outside and mounted up.’

‘But not Lymbury?’ asked Michael. ‘Why not?’

‘After the pottage, he decided to forgo the pleasures of the kill and think about his last testament instead,’ replied Askyl. ‘It was not the first time. As William says, he enjoyed composing them.’

‘Did anything happen to make him think he might need one soon?’ asked Michael.

‘He had aching bones,’ supplied Pauline, rubbing her hip. ‘Like me. But he was not ill.’

‘Was there an argument, then?’ Michael raised his hands. ‘Forgive me: that was an extremely foolish question, given the present company. What I meant to ask was: was there an argument more bitter than your usual quarrels, which prompted him to alter the terms of his most recent will?’

‘We do not know the terms of his most recent will,’ said Dole, regarding William coolly. ‘Someone will not tell us what they are.’

‘They are confidential,’ said William. ‘But you will all know tomorrow, because I shall read them to you. I refuse to do it today, while the poor man is still warm. It would be disrespectful.’

‘Unlike playing with his sword,’ muttered Dole.

Michael tried to steer the conversation back to that morning, and was obliged to raise his voice when everyone started to yell at William for his hypocrisy.

‘So,’ said the Benedictine, once he had silenced everyone by picking up the sword and dropping it to the floor with a metallic clang. William squeaked in horror, while Hog was furious about the damage to the highly polished floorboards. ‘You all rode away to hunt.’

‘James did not,’ said Joan. ‘He stayed here to make sure Philip had everything he needed.’

The boy swallowed. ‘Sir Philip sat in his chair and stared out of the window. Eventually, he said he had thought long enough, and told me to fetch William the Vicar. I looked in the meadows, then down by the river, but there was no sign of him. Then I met Prioress Christiana, who asked me to carry eggs to the convent for her. But by then I was hungry, so I went home for some bread.’

‘You were eating, when you should have been following orders?’ asked Joan accusingly.

James blushed and stared at his feet. ‘I am sorry, My Lady, but I did not linger at home long. I finished the food, then ran to the upper pastures. But William was not there, either. It was only when the whole hunt was coming back to the manor-house that our paths finally crossed. By then, I had been racing around for hours.’

Bartholomew recalled the boy’s flushed face when they had first met, and imagined the Lord of the Manor must have been growing impatient, being forced to wait so long for the priest to arrive.

‘Did you go back inside the house at all after Lymbury had sent you to fetch William?’ he asked.

James shook his head vehemently. ‘No, I did not. He would have been angry to see me without the vicar, and I am not a fool. I just told you everything I did.’

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘So, no one can confirm where you were for most of the time?’

‘I saw James leave the manor-house,’ said Hog. ‘We are short-handed from losing men in the French wars, so I was in the top field on my own. But I saw James leave, and I did not see him go inside again until you all arrived back from the hunt. James cannot possibly be the killer.’

‘He can-if Lymbury was dead before James left the house,’ Michael pointed out.

‘Well, he was not,’ said James firmly. He raised his chin defiantly, trying to mask his unease. Bartholomew felt sorry for him-his was an unenviable position. ‘He was alive. I did not kill him.’

‘Of course you did not,’ said Hog soothingly. ‘You have no reason.’

‘Except the possibility of losing a hereditary post to Askyl,’ said Michael. He raised his hand when Hog started to object. ‘I am not saying James did kill Lymbury. I am merely pointing out that he has a motive and he was the last person to see Lymbury alive. And the same goes for you, Hog, as far as motive is concerned. You say you were working alone, so it is possible that you slipped into the house after James had left, and killed the man who was thinking of dismissing you.’

‘It was wicked of Sir Philip,’ said Hog sullenly. ‘I have spent my whole life on this manor, and he had no right to threaten my position. But I did not kill him for it.’

‘So, the hunt eventually comprised Askyl, William and Dole, accompanied by Rose, Joan and Pauline?’ asked Michael thoughtfully. ‘James was searching for William, and Hog was in the fields?’