The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

‘Have you had any refreshment since you arrived?’ said the man in the bed, and then without waiting for a reply, ‘I thought not. Those carrion in the hall are too busy watching and waiting to be hospitable. Martha, bring our player-guest a beer.’

The girl had all this while been watching the monkey and his tricks with indulgence. Now, uncomplaining, she left the room. Elias Haskell indicated a covered chest which was positioned near the bed. I sat down on it. No longer caring whether I appeared inquisitive, I cast my eyes over the sick man.

‘Well, player, do I look the part?’

‘I am not sure what part you mean, Mr Haskell.’

‘I heard you and my niece talking outside the door. She doesn’t approve of my little games, as she calls them. I expect she told you I was shamming illness to torment the carrion in the other room.’

By carrion, he meant the three men whom I’d encountered in the hall. It seemed strange that he should refer to his cousins as carrion birds. But I suppose that a man who keeps a monkey as a pet may well regard his fellow men strangely, whether they are kin or not.

‘Your niece said nothing about shamming.’

And, indeed, now that I was looking at him more closely there was something hectic about the old man’s face. The skin on his high forehead was as wrinkled as parchment or the monkey’s brow. His eyes were murky pools but with a glint of mischief-or malice-at the bottom of them.

‘Nor am I altogether shamming, Nicholas Revill. Even so my death is not to be as imminent as they hope. I’ll send them home with their tails between their legs, like whipped curs!’

From carrion to curs. I suppose I must have looked baffled or taken aback at the force of his words, despite the thin tones in which they were delivered, for he went on: ‘You wonder why I bother to torment the carrion. But I don’t torment them, player. They torment themselves, the crow and the raven and the vulture. They come flocking here because they fear that they will miss out on all the juicy pickings. They’re almost more frightened of each other than they are greedy for themselves. That’s my name for them, crow, raven and vulture-it suits their function, you see. Oh, I almost forgot the woodcock. Mustn’t forget the woodcock. They are very stupid birds, woodcocks.’

He watched to see how I was taking this information. The light from the candles in the recesses of the head-board glinted off Elias’s parchment-skin and now I wondered whether he was actually sicker than he supposed, sicker in mind rather than in body. But he followed this with a remark that showed he was in full possession of his faculties.

‘Don’t look at me so askance, Nicholas. You have your audience as a player just as I have mine. Both audiences must be tantalized.’

‘Our audiences are tantalized by arrangement,’ I said, stung by the comparison. ‘And they don’t go home with their tails between their legs. They go home cheerful, or thoughtful-or both.’

‘The Haskells are a very old family,’ said Elias, ignoring my words. ‘It is generally believed that old families must be rich, especially when they’ve been reduced to the nub. Martha and I are the nub. Crow and vulture and so on, the carrion cousins, certainly believe it is so. Rich, ha!’

There was the sound of the door opening and Martha Haskell returned, bearing a mug of beer which she handed to me. Gratefully I took a draught from the mug. It was the first drink I’d had since setting out from Cambridge that morning.

‘Master Revill will have to stay the night, uncle,’ said Martha. ‘The snow is coming down good and hard now. The road to town would be difficult enough to find by day.’

‘Then he shall stay,’ said Elias. ‘He can be entertained by our guests. I’ll be interested to know what he makes of them. Come and talk to me again after supper, Nicholas. Let him have a room on the upper floor of the house, Martha. Go now. I am tired. No doubt I shall have a parade of cousins coming to bid me goodnight.’

Elias fell back on the pillows and shut his eyes. Martha led the way from the chamber, taper in hand. The large servant woman who’d been struggling with the pillows was standing outside.

‘My uncle is very tired, Abigail,’ said Martha. ‘I do not think anyone else should be admitted to see him for the time being.’

The woman was like a sentry. I said as much to Martha when we were out of earshot.

‘Abigail is fierce in guarding Elias. We have few servants in this house, in fact only Abigail as housekeeper and one of the Parsons in the kitchen.’

‘Parsons?’

‘Oh, that is the family in the gate-house.’

We went down another passage and turned a corner.

‘You are thinking this is a large house for so few people?’ said Martha, reading my mind over her shoulder.

‘It’s like being in a maze,’ I said.

‘The Haskells were a great family once, with many limbs and branches. But now only my uncle and I are left. And all our cousins.’

We came to a cramped flight of stairs. We climbed them and arrived at a low door. Martha lifted the latch and it opened with a creak. Inside was a small and stoop-ceilinged room. She held the taper up. There was a plain bed in a corner and a squinty little casement window.

‘I will tell the housekeeper to bring some more blankets,’ said Martha. She bent down and touched the taper to another candle which was set in a grease-pan on the floor.

‘I’m used enough to the cold,’ I said.

‘Cambridgeshire has its own special cold,’ she said. ‘The wind and snow come straight from Muscovy, they say.’

‘You should see my lodgings in London-feel them rather-for a taste of true cold and damp.’

‘You are not a householder, Master Revill?’ she said.

‘Why no, a lodger still.’

She seemed to be about to ask something further, perhaps whether I was married and had children (the answer was no to both), but instead she said, ‘I’ve never been to London.’

‘You ought to visit us. It is a great city.’

‘My uncle needs me here. He gets fretful if I am away even for half a day. I have lived here since my father died.’

‘You’re a very devoted niece.’

‘He has his odd ways but he is a good man,’ she said. ‘You have no bags with you, Master Revill?’

‘Do not be so formal but call me Nicholas. I didn’t expect to be staying the night, whether with the Maskells or the Haskells. I set out before the snow came down, thinking to get here and back in a day. All I have with me is a letter of introduction from the shareholders. My gear is at an inn in Cambridge.’

‘I shall ask Abigail to find you a night-gown also. There is everything hidden in this place if you know where to look.’

‘Is that why the cousins are here? Do they believe there is hidden treasure?’

‘Probably,’ she said. ‘I must go attend to the supper arrangements, Nicholas. Come downstairs when it pleases you.’

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘What reason are we to give for my visit here? You’re not going to tell the story of my…blunder, are you? How I mistook the Haskells for the Maskells.’

It was strange but if she’d said that she was going to repeat my foolishness once more round the supper table, then I think I’d have taken my chances with the snow and the darkness and the fens and the rhines beyond the door. Death before humiliation.

‘Don’t worry, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘I shall think up some excuse for your presence. After all, everyone else is here on false pretences.’

And with that she exited the room. I moved a couple of paces to the window (those two paces being about the width of the room) and wiped at one of the panes to peer outside. The glass was thick and distorted the view. As far as I could see we’d come in a circuit in our journey through the house, and I was now peering out of a room somewhere above the front door. The snow was coming down so thickly that it was impossible to discern much but I was looking at the courtyard and the little gate-house by which I’d entered. I hoped that Rounce was being well cared for in the stables, assuming that Meg and the stable-hand Andrew had been able to keep their hands off each other long enough to tend to him. Considering the foolish error I’d made, I had been quite kindly received, at least by Martha and Elias Haskell. It was a strange place, though, this Haskell household. I remembered the words of the podgy Meg in the courtyard: ‘They are all fools that come here.’