The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

‘Yes,’ said Askyl. ‘So we six hunters are innocent of this murder, because we were away from the house.’

‘You remained together all day?’ asked Michael.

‘We are not wolves, hunting as a pack,’ said William scornfully. ‘Of course we did not stay together. Sometimes we were in pairs, sometimes in threes, sometimes alone.’

‘The woods are not far from the hall,’ Michael pointed out. ‘So, any of you could have come back, killed Lymbury and returned to your sport with no one any the wiser.’

The six looked at each other. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ admitted Askyl. ‘But we did not. Someone would have seen us-one of the peasants in the fields.’

‘Not so,’ said Hog, a little smugly. ‘At William’s request, I sent them to the far meadows today-as I informed the hunt as it left. No labourer would have noticed anyone moving between house and woods.’

‘I was concerned for the welfare of my flock,’ declared William defensively, when accusing eyes swivelled towards him. ‘I am their priest. Several of them were ridden down last time, and I did not want it to happen again-I did not direct them to the far meadows for sinister reasons. Besides, if Hog was in the top field, he would have seen the killer leave the woods alone, without the others.’

‘There is a hollow,’ explained Hog. ‘I could not see the manor-house all the time.’

‘That is not what you said when we accused James of being the culprit,’ pounced Michael. Hog glared at him, but made no reply.

‘I was with Dame Pauline,’ said Sister Rose with a triumphant smile. ‘There is my alibi.’

‘Except the hour she spent asleep under a tree,’ countered Joan spitefully. ‘I rode past her, but she did not wake. And there was no sign of you.’

‘I was resting my aching bones,’ snapped Pauline. ‘But I did see you-you were alone, too.’

‘Ha!’ exclaimed Rose. ‘And you and your husband argued bitterly last night. Do not deny it-Pauline heard you when she came to collect the priory’s eggs.’

‘I did,’ agreed Pauline. ‘And I also heard William berating Sir Philip about the cost of the parchment used to write all these wills.’

‘I did recommend prudence,’ admitted William stiffly. He addressed Michael. ‘I am obliged to pay for the stuff myself, and as a scholar, you do not need me to tell you that it is expensive.’

Pauline continued. ‘And Askyl took William’s side in the row, which Sir Philip did not like.’

‘Lymbury was in the wrong,’ stated Askyl dogmatically. ‘All men disagree from time to time-it means nothing. Do not tell me you never squabble with your Corpse Examiner.’

Pauline was not finished. She turned to Dole and pointed a finger. ‘And I heard him antagonizing Sir Philip over that sword. Dole said he should get rid of it, because it brings bad luck.’

Dole shrugged. ‘It ended up in his innards. I would say that was bad luck.’

Joan offered Bartholomew and Michael a room in which to sleep that night, but she did so with such bad grace that neither was inclined to accept. They left her fluffing up cushions behind Askyl’s head and plying him with pastries. Hog and James helped William carry their master’s body to the church, while Dole slunk away on unspecified business of his own.

‘We shall stay at the convent,’ announced Michael, after checking that their horses had been properly stabled. ‘I am a Benedictine, and it is a house of my own Order. They will welcome us.’ The tone of his voice indicated there would be trouble if they did not.

‘You can ask the prioress for Michaelhouse’s ten marks, too,’ suggested Bartholomew.

‘In the morning,’ said Michael. ‘She might be less inclined to generous hospitality, if she thinks I am about to make off with her money. Here come Rose and Pauline. They can lead us there.’

‘We have a cottage for visiting monastics,’ said Rose, hips swaying under her tight habit. She walked more quickly in order to speak to the monk alone, leaving the hobbling Dame Pauline behind. She rested a slender hand on his arm and smiled into his face. ‘But, when the weather is cold, we let special visitors share the fire in our own dormitory.’

‘Is that so?’ said Michael, unmoved. ‘It sounds improper. Should I tell my Bishop about it?’

Rose pouted, not liking her flirtations disregarded. ‘I was only teasing, Brother.’

‘You were not,’ said Michael. ‘You were attempting to use your wiles on me. Why? So I will not look to you as Lymbury’s murderer?’

Rose grimaced. ‘I forgot you are a scholar, and therefore view everything with cold logic. If you must know, I was hoping you would agree to be discreet about my liking for Sir Elias. Since her predecessor was deposed, the prioress has been fussy about what she calls licentious behaviour, and I do not want her to stop me from going to the manor-house.’

‘Why not?’ asked Michael. ‘Your visits there are clearly leading you along the path to sin.’

Rose gave a heavy sigh. ‘Because how shall I ensnare Sir Elias in marriage, if I never see him? I do not want to be a nun-and I refuse to let Joan beat me to the post. If you say nothing about my intentions to the prioress, I will name my first child after you.’

Michael regarded her askance, and when he made no reply, she fell behind to walk with Pauline. Bartholomew heard them muttering, and supposed Rose was trying to make a similar arrangement with her chaperon. From the gleeful expression on the elderly nun’s face, the offers were being greeted with rather more enthusiasm than the response elicited from the monk.

The sun was setting in a ball of orange, although Pauline claimed her aching bones told her there would be rain by dawn. People were returning from the fields, spades and hoes over their shoulders. They stared at the strangers, but still declined to trade smiles and comments about the weather.

‘They are not very friendly,’ remarked Michael.

‘Lymbury was always telling them how many Frenchmen he had killed at Poitiers,’ explained Pauline. ‘And they live in constant fear that the French king will descend on Ickleton to avenge the slaughter. They will be all beams and pleasantries tomorrow, when they hear Lymbury is dead. They are not naturally sullen.’

‘So Lymbury was unpopular with his people,’ mused Bartholomew, exchanging a significant glance with the monk. Here was yet another motive for the man’s murder. ‘Was there anything that made him especially disliked?’

Rose shrugged. ‘Just his unsettling tales about killing so many men who might have vengeful kin. William the Vicar gave a sermon on “an eye for an eye”, you see, which started them thinking. I doubt it was what William intended them to do, but there is no telling what simple folk might believe once a seed has been planted in their minds.’

Bartholomew glanced sharply at her, and wondered whether she might have done a little sowing herself, although he could not imagine what she might have gained from doing so.

‘Here we are,’ she said, bending to retrieve a black garment from under a bush. When she shook it out and pulled it over her head, she was transformed from a woman in a tight black dress to a nun in a baggy habit. A white veil was donned to hide the gold hair-fret and, with her hands folded in her wide sleeves, she looked the picture of demure modesty. ‘Do not forget, Dame Pauline-a jug of wine if you say nothing about my chasing after Sir Elias today.’

‘Two jugs,’ countered Pauline opportunistically. ‘Or my conscience will prick me about the fact that I left you alone for so long.’ She grimaced at the slip, and glanced at Michael to see if he had noticed. ‘I mean alone with Askyl. And I was with Joan. I do not mean either one of us was unaccompanied and in a position to commit murder.’