The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

Hog regarded him uneasily. ‘That is not true. The hunt went along some of the fields.’

‘But they were on horseback. The grain came from someone walking among it. You.’

Hog was dismissive. ‘That is ludicrous.’

‘Whoever stole the will broke into William’s cupboard with a specific kind of tool,’ Bartholomew went on. ‘Not a knife, but something with a flat end, like a chisel. You have one, because you brandished it at Dole when he walked on your polished floor in his spurs earlier. You used that chisel to break the lock in William’s house-you did it when he was sparring with Askyl and Dole, knowing they were enjoying themselves and that you would have plenty of time.’

Hog’s face was white. ‘And why would I do that?’

‘Does this mean Hog killed William and my husband, too?’ demanded Joan, cutting across Bartholomew’s reply. It was just as well, because the physician did not know why Hog should have stolen the will.

‘No!’ cried James from his bench. ‘My father is not a killer.’

‘No, he is not,’ agreed Bartholomew gently. ‘He is not even a proper thief-no self-respecting robber would have left all that jewellery untouched.’

Suddenly, the door crashed open, and Prioress Christiana marched in, pushing a subdued Dame Pauline before her. Rose had followed, her eyes bright with interest.

‘I have just found this ,’ said Christiana furiously, waving an old, time-yellowed garment that was liberally splattered with blood. ‘Dame Pauline was about to burn it.’

‘Pauline is the killer?’ asked Joan, her jaw dropping in shock.

‘Of course not!’ screeched Pauline, clearly frightened. ‘I am a nun! I do not go around jabbing swords into the backs of men sitting in chairs as they count their money.’

‘How do you know Lymbury was counting his money?’ pounced Michael. ‘Matt found a gold coin in his hand, but only he and I knew about that. Your innocence is looking shaky, madam.’

‘Pauline may well have been present when Lymbury died,’ said Bartholomew, watching the old woman flail around for an answer. ‘But she did not deliver the killing blow. That was James.’

Everyone turned to look at the ailing youth, who closed his eyes tightly, as if he could pretend none of them were there.

‘That is a lie,’ said Hog in a whisper. ‘James is ill. He could not have killed Lymbury.’

‘He was not ill yesterday,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He ran all over the manor looking for William to write the new will. And that is his tunic in the prioress’s hand. The one he wears now is new, very clean and so white it dazzles in the sunlight-but what servant dons such a garment when there is so much work to be done in the fields? The truth is that James killed Lymbury, and his clothes were befouled with blood. Hog said James was too dim-witted to think of ridding himself of stained garments, but someone else was not.’

‘I admit I helped him,’ said Pauline in a wheedling voice. ‘But only because he is a good boy, and I do not want to see him hang for a moment of silly temper.’

‘James is not hot tempered,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He is soft and malleable. He is upset about the prospect of his father losing his post to Askyl-he loves Hog, and will do anything for him.’

Hog went to kneel next to the boy. ‘Is it true?’

James nodded unhappily, his eyes still screwed closed. ‘Dame Pauline said killing Lymbury would make your position safe. She gave me the sword and said no one would ever know it was me-she said everyone would think one of his friends had done it, because they are warlike.’

‘Lies!’ screeched Pauline, starting to move towards him. Bartholomew blocked her path.

‘I did it for you,’ whispered James to his father. ‘Pauline said Lady Joan would inherit all his property, including the right to rent the manor from Michaelhouse, and all would be well again. You love Ickleton, and I do not want your heart broken by leaving it.’

Hog rested his hand on his son’s forehead, then stood and faced Michael. ‘He is rambling. I killed Lymbury. And last night, I went to William’s house and stole the will. It is in my house-I hid it under the table. James has nothing to do with any of this. It was me.’ He faltered, and gazed uncertainly at Pauline. ‘Although I still do not understand why you ordered me to steal the will and hide it until later.’

Pauline licked dry lips. ‘Do not listen to him, Brother. I did not tell either of them to do anything. Killing Lymbury would not have secured Hog’s post, as any fool would know. Michaelhouse is now free to rent the manor to anyone it chooses, and Hog will be dismissed.’

Bartholomew saw James’s stricken expression. ‘But the boy did not know that. He believed you when you told him murder would save his father from unhappiness. You preyed on his gullibility.’

Pauline’s expression was cold and disdainful. ‘What do you know about what James thinks? Besides, you heard Hog. He admitted everything. He killed Lymbury. I did nothing-except burn…’

‘Except burn James’s tunic,’ finished Michael. ‘Which you would not have done if Hog had killed Lymbury. This murder is just as much your doing as the boy’s. You were like a devil, sitting on his shoulder, whispering evil into his ear.’

‘And it was all for selfishness,’ added Bartholomew. ‘You killed Lymbury so you would not have to play chaperon to Rose on any more hunts.’

‘I hate riding,’ said Pauline in a pitiful whine. ‘It jolts my old joints, and I am often in agony for days afterwards. You are right in that I would do virtually anything to avoid riding-but not murder.’

Bartholomew did not believe her. ‘You need not have troubled yourself. In a few weeks, she will not be able to go out into the woods anyway. She is pregnant.’

Pauline was more angry than shocked. She turned on Rose. ‘You told me your heaviness was down to too much bread. You lied-and that made me take poor decisions. This is your fault!’

‘Do not shirk responsibility,’ said Michael sharply. ‘Take her back to the convent, Prioress Christiana. I shall arrange for her transfer to Chatteris within the week.’

With a screech of outrage, Pauline launched herself at the monk. Bartholomew dived to intercept her, but she was faster than he anticipated and he missed. Joan drew the small knife she carried in her belt, and for a moment, Bartholomew thought she intended to stab the old nun as she hurtled past. But Joan hesitated, and suddenly, the dagger was in Pauline’s gnarled fingers. Rose was made of sterner stuff, however. Calmly, she stretched out a foot as Pauline powered past, and the old woman went sprawling across the wooden floor, dagger skittering from her fingers.

‘She was going to kill you, Brother,’ said Hog in horror, hurrying to grab the weapon and return it to Joan. ‘She is truly a fiend from Hell.’

‘And I saved your life,’ said Rose comfortably. ‘So, you would not be sending me to Chatteris for disobedience, would you, Brother?’

Later that day, Bartholomew and Michael collected their horses and prepared to go home. There were four hours of daylight left, more than enough time to ride to Cambridge before the sun set. In Bartholomew’s saddlebag was a chalice Lymbury had removed from a church near Poitiers, which Dole estimated was worth ten marks. Master Langelee could sell it to pay for the latrines, and the manor’s debt to Michaelhouse would be discharged. The two scholars lingered, waiting for Joan to bring them a parcel of pastries to eat on the journey home.

‘So, it was all Dame Pauline,’ said Michael, rubbing his horse’s neck. ‘She disliked acting as chaperon to Rose and riding was becoming increasingly painful for her, so she decided to murder the lord of the manor so she would not have to do it again.’