The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

They all knew that if women were Robert’s vice, then John’s was definitely gambling, not that he would have considered any pleasure that was so exhilarating to be a vice.

John flopped down on the end of the bench with such a thump that Giles, sitting on the other end, felt it lift beneath him. John leaned forward eagerly.

‘So what’s to do? What’s the wager?’ he demanded.

‘Our princeling here has been boasting that he can find any holy object that’s been hidden,’ Eustace said. ‘Giles has challenged him to put it to the test. Robert is to take something from the Cathedral and hide it. The wager is that Oswin won’t be able to find it, using divination alone.’

‘And when I win,’ Oswin said, ‘Giles will do a penance of my choosing in front of all the Black Crows for accusing me of lying.’

From the malicious expression on Oswin’s face, it was plain he’d already decided any penalty was going to be as humiliating an ordeal as was in his power to devise.

‘And when you lose,’ Giles countered, ‘you will confess the sin of pride and vainglory to your confessor and I trust he will impose the full penance that is laid down by the Church.’

A spasm of alarm flashed across Oswin’s face. The full penance for the sin of pride was, as they all knew, that for seven long years the sinner must abstain from meat every Wednesday, in addition to the regular fish days, and consume only dry bread and water on Fridays. In practice, it was considered so harsh, it was seldom given any more but, for a man in training to do battle with the forces of darkness on behalf of the Church, there was every likelihood the penance would be imposed exactly as written. For a man with such sin on his soul could certainly not fight demons and hope to survive.

‘Never mind that,’ John said, ignoring the serious faces of his companions. ‘What’s the stake to be?’ His eyes were ablaze with a fierce excitement that only the cockfights or gaming tables could normally engender.

‘One full mark,’ Oswin said, staring unblinking at Giles. ‘Each.’

Giles swallowed hard and he swayed slightly on the bench, as if he’d been struck.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. That’s far too rich for our stomachs,’ Eustace protested. ‘It’s all very well for you and Robert, but John and Giles are only in minor orders. They’re paid a pittance, and a deacon’s stipend’s not much better,’ he added, ruefully patting his own purse.

Oswin raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, of course, if Giles can’t afford to pay then we’d better call it off.’

‘Scared, are you? Trying to find a way of weaselling out?’ Giles said. ‘Don’t worry about me finding the money, Eustace. We won’t need to pay, because this braggart isn’t going to win.’

‘Hold the lantern up higher, the keyhole’s not at my feet,’ Robert whispered fiercely.

John obligingly tipped the horn lantern, almost smashing it against the door as he did so.

The wind screamed through the bare branches and rattled the shutters of the tiny chapel. On either side of the lonely track, trees and bushes bowed and swayed, and in the darkness it was only too easy to see them as robbers or wolves advancing. The men clustered around the door drew their cloaks tighter about them, shuffling impatiently. There was nothing, save for their tonsures, to mark them as clerics, for like all priests they dressed in the same clothes as those worn by the laity, except when they were on their way to and from church, and when performing, their duties.

Cursing under his breath, Robert finally wrangled the great iron key into the lock and eased the door open. A stench of mice, mildew and rotting wood rolled out to greet them, but the men jostled each other to get inside, anything to be out of that cutting wind. Tiny creatures scurried into the shadows, as the light of the swinging lantern disturbed their nocturnal foraging. Stagnant puddles of water on the floor glistened black under the candlelight. The roof was evidently leaking in several places. The low door opposite the main one still had its key rusting in the lock though it was evident no one had entered that way for years, since it was draped beneath a thick swathe of dirt-encrusted cobwebs.

The dim yellow light from the lantern revealed a stone altar with a cross cut into each corner, and a heap of bird droppings on top. But filthy as it was, all the men turned as one to face it, kneeling and making their obeisance. They gave the gesture no more thought than breathing.

Eustace took the lantern from John, before he could smash it or drop it, and set it down in a deep niche, the length of a man, built into the wall to the left of the altar. It was the Easter Sepulchre in which the statue of Christ was placed on Good Friday and brought forth from on Easter Sunday. A crumbling wreath of yew branches and the ancient stubs of candles lay among the dirt that had accumulated in there. He hoped that keeping the light low down would prevent it from being seen outside, shining through the broken shutters. He’d no wish to attract the attention of the kind of men who roamed these tracks at night.

He sniffed, wiping his dripping nose with his hand. ‘This place is a disgrace. Who says Mass here?’

‘No one any more,’ Robert said. ‘Family that endowed the chantry all died out and eventually so did money they’d left to pay the priests to say the Masses for their souls.’

‘Is it still consecrated?’ Oswin said. ‘This must be done on consecrated ground.’

‘Trying to find another reason for backing out?’ Giles said, from the shadows.

Robert jumped in quickly, before another argument could break out. ‘The relic’s still beneath the altar; so long as that remains, it’s as holy a place as St Hugh’s shrine at the Cathedral. See for yourself.’

He beckoned Oswin to the altar and, taking his hand, pressed it against a small gap beneath the altar slab, which was invisible in the shadow. ‘Put your fingers in there if you don’t believe me. Can you feel the little wooden box? Earth taken from St Guthlac’s grave. Not as valuable as a saint’s bone or teeth or cloth from his cloak, I grant you, but it is a relic none the less.’

‘Satisfied, are we?’ Giles sneered. ‘Then let’s get on with it.’

‘Anxious to part with your money, Giles?’ Oswin retorted.

‘Like the rest of us, he’s anxious to return to a warm bed,’ Eustace grumbled.

‘Not before I get that cross back where it belongs,’ Robert said. ‘I came far too close to being caught, taking it from the chest. The Treasurer has the eyes of a falcon. I’m sure he suspects me of stealing something. You’ll see – come morning, he’ll be making those poor clerks of his check every candle and spoon in the entire Cathedral against the inventory. If he finds the cross missing, not even my uncle will be able to defend me. In fact, knowing Uncle William, he’ll be the first to suggest I should be exiled to some barren rock in the middle of the sea to spend the rest of my life as a hermit. He more or less threatened as much when I was caught with that girl in my bed. Probably have me flogged round the Cathedral for good measure, as well,’ he added gloomily. ‘I don’t know why I allowed you to talk me into this.’

‘Because,’ Oswin said, with a humourless smile, ‘you want to see me fail as badly as Giles does. But you are both going to be sadly disappointed.’

Robert bleated that it was a gross slander and he had no such desire, but it was apparent he couldn’t think of any other convincing reason for agreeing to do this.

‘Describe the cross,’ Oswin said, cutting through his protests.

‘Silver.’ Robert held his hands about a foot apart. ‘This tall. With blood garnets marking the places of the five wounds and in the centre, a piece of rock crystal covering three strands of hair from Bishop St Hugh.’