The Medieval Murderers - Sword of Shame

In addition there was another reason why I was being permitted to leave this place of confinement, Martha said. Cooler heads had prevailed. Although my guilt seemed to speak loud and clear when I’d been discovered clutching the sword over the body of the master of the house, a short period of reflection had been enough to convince the Haskell cousins that there could be no strong cause for me to do away with Elias. No cause at all, in fact. I was a stranger to the house, I had no interest in whether the old man lived or died, he was not going to leave me any portion in his will. This, combined with the jug-eared boy’s witness, was enough to set me free.

‘You should leave here, Nicholas,’ said Martha. ‘There is no reason for you to stay the arrival of Mr Fortescue.’

‘Mr Fortescue?’

‘The magistrate from Cambridge.’

‘The road is clear then?’

‘It is passable now. Parsons in the lodge has been despatched to request his presence. Even if you don’t get as far as Cambridge there is an inn on the road. You could put up there. Get on with your business. Leave now. Visit the Maskells.’

‘I’d almost forgotten about the Maskells. Forgotten I was in the wrong house.’

‘If you don’t go now, Nicholas, you may be stranded at Valence House for longer, much longer.’

‘You’d like me to go, Martha?’

‘This is a family matter.’

‘Don’t you need me as a witness?’

‘You said yourself you know nothing.’

‘That was earlier. I know now.’

‘Know what?’

‘Who it was who murdered your uncle.’

She took a bit of persuasion but I eventually convinced Martha that she should call all the cousins into the hall so that I could explain things to them. I hinted that I had seen something from my window during the night, something which would throw light on the death of Elias and unmask the perpetrator. I was by no means as sure of my ground as I appeared. But I had a good idea or two, and I was depending on that-and my skill as a player-to see me through the next stage.

There was a risk, I knew that. But I felt as though this household owed me something for having falsely imprisoned me in the first place. The finger of guilt had been pointed in my direction, and now I would point it at…someone else. Besides, I’ve always enjoyed that moment when the villain is revealed at the end of the story. It happens at the close of the play of Hamlet , for example. And it was, in part, this same Hamlet which had given me a notion as to how this strange crime could have been committed.

However long it might have seemed, only a handful of hours had passed while I was shut up in Elias’s chamber and it was late morning. Motes of dust danced in the sun-beams that shot through the hall windows and, outside, the snow was turning into slush. On the dining table the sword had been laid out on a fusty blanket, perhaps as evidence for the magistrate to see. Taking care not to touch it, I established that the end of one of the cross-pieces was indeed broken off.

There was a mixture of resentment and curiosity as the Haskell family gathered in the hall at Martha’s urging. She told them that I had something to impart about the death of Elias. Even Grant the monkey put in an appearance before being shooed away by the housekeeper Abigail. For my part I was rather sorry to see him go, regarding him as an ally. Meanwhile Cuthbert watched me with his lawyer’s gaze while Rowland seemed affronted with the world in general. Old Valentine’s glasses glinted in my direction and Elizabeth stuck her nose in the air. Nothing seemed to link them except their noses and a mutual dislike. Martha hovered on the edge of the scene and Abigail provided ale and wine. The sword remained where it was on the table, the spectre at the feast. I think that no one was willing to lay hands on it, as if it carried the taint of guilt, otherwise it might have been removed.

‘If you’ve something to say, Master Revill,’ said Cuthbert, mindful of the law, ‘then it would be best to save it until the magistrate arrives.’

‘I agree,’ said Rowland. ‘We should wait for the proper authorities.’

‘The trail might be cold by then,’ I said, and that silenced them for a moment even though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was talking about. Nevertheless it was plain from the way they were sitting around the table that they were waiting for me to deliver, to make good on my promise to clear up a mystery. All except one of those present (or that’s what I assumed).

So I started.

‘I know that Elias Haskell was murdered, and I know how. Each of you went to see him last night and…’

‘Yes,’ said Dame Elizabeth, ‘and my dear cousin was alive when I left him.’

‘He was alive when you all left him,’ I said. ‘We know that because Abigail here was the very last in his chamber-and her master was on the verge of sleep then.’

Somewhere in the background I was aware of the housekeeper nodding her head vigorously.

‘But,’ I continued, ‘there’s nothing and no one to say that one of you didn’t return to Elias’s chamber later.’

‘Why should any of us do that?’ said Cuthbert. ‘Be careful, Revill. There is a penalty in law for those who make false accusations.’

‘I haven’t accused anyone yet,’ I said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable and doing my best to conceal it. ‘But it stands to reason that one of the Haskell cousins has the best of motives for wanting to get rid of old Elias-certainly a better motive than a player who happened to have wandered into Valence House by chance.’

‘By chance? I thought you were here by appointment, young man,’ said Dame Elizabeth.

‘So I was but never mind that. I don’t know whether it was exasperation or greed or despair, or a mixture of all three, but one of the people in this room was driven to assail Elias with the sword-the very one that lies before you on the table. Elias was mortally wounded by the blow, perhaps already dead. Then this…individual…decided that it would be safer if the body was to be found outside, perhaps at some distance from the house.’

‘Oh yes, Master Revill,’ said Rowland, not bothering to keep the sneer out of his voice. ‘And how was that done? Did the dead man walk? There was only one set of footprints outside, remember, and those footprints were only going in one direction. One set of footprints apart from yours. We saw that clearly this morning.’

‘That’s because Elias was carried outside the house. When I looked out of the window last night I saw a tall figure standing in the snow, taller than anyone here. The reason was that old Elias was being lifted on another’s shoulders. He was already a tall man, but this way he was a good head higher.’

Carried like St Christopher bore the Christ child across the river. It was that image which Grant the monkey had been trying to draw my attention to in the tapestry depicting a man carrying someone on his shoulders, and not the tapestry showing Judith with the severed head of Holofernes. This was what the monkey had seen as he stood in the hall last night. His master, dead, being shifted out of doors and into the snowy night. The door swung open, causing the ash from the dying fire to blow across the hall like a grey veil, and the monkey left his imprint. And he gibbered. I heard him from my little room upstairs.

‘But there was only one set of tracks, going out,’ said Valentine. ‘Nothing coming back.’

The gentleman might have been old but he had his wits about him.

‘Ah, I have worked out how that was done,’ I said. ‘ Hamlet .’

I had their attention now, even though some of them were regarding me as if I’d lost my wits, rather like Prince Hamlet himself.