The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

A shriek tore through the darkness, freezing every man in his tracks. They held their breath, listening, frantically trying to decide which direction it had come from, but the cry had been too brief and the wind distorted every sound. So, they turned, stumbling back towards the fragile safety of the clearing, the blood pounding in their ears, as if the Devil’s black horse was galloping behind them.

One by one, they burst out of the trees, staring at each other. What was that? Who was that? Where did it come from? Did you hear? It took several minutes before they realised that only four men stood in the clearing. Where is he? Which way did he go? Come on! Hurry!

Huddling together in a little knot, they edged back into the wood, taking the lantern with them, holding it up high, as monstrous shadows ran beside them.

Over there. What’s that?

His body was lying curled on its side, his back towards them. They hurried across and crouched down. His eyes were staring sightless out into the darkness beyond. His mouth was wide open, in pain and shock, one hand still lying across his chest as if he’d clutched at the wound, trying to stanch the blood that had gushed out over his fingers. The Black Crows did not have to touch him to know at once that Giles was dead.

They stared at one another in shock and fear. But who? Why? They peered into the darkness, staring wildly about them for any sign of an assailant, but only the trees stirred.

Robert was visibly trembling. ‘What are we going to do? If… if we take him back to Lincoln, the whole story will come out, and what if they think one of us killed him?’

‘What if one of us did murder him?’ Eustace said, looking from one to the other of his companions. ‘I don’t see anyone else out here, do you? If Giles stumbled upon the cross before the person who stole it had a chance to recover it…’

‘God’s bones, you surely can’t believe that,’ John said aghast. ‘None of us would kill for that cross.’

‘One of us might,’ Eustace, said, staring at him pointedly, ‘if he was desperately in need of money. People have been known to run up quite a debt at the gaming houses or cockpits, and they say the men who own them are not known for their patience.’

With a bellow of rage and indignation, John aimed his huge fist at Eustace’s jaw. If it had connected, Eustace would probably have lost a few teeth, but he managed to stumble backwards just in time.

‘Stop it!’ Robert pleaded. ‘It’s bad enough one murder’s been committed without adding a second. No one believes you killed him, John, but the point is they’re bound to think one of us did. And how are we to prove otherwise? And once they learn we all took the cross, they might even think we all had a hand in his murder as well.’

‘It was you who took it,’ Eustace said. ‘The rest of us had nothing to do with it.’

‘But we all knew he was going to do it,’ Oswin said quietly. ‘And we told him to do it. That’s conspiracy and it carries the same punishment. Robert’s right, we can’t take Giles back, nor can we let the body be discovered.’

‘We could bury him out there among the trees,’ Robert said. ‘The grave wouldn’t be noticed, if we covered it with the fallen leaves and the old bracken.’

‘Can’t dig with your bare hands,’ John said, still glowering at Eustace. ‘Need a spade to dig a deep enough hole and you’ll be digging through roots. Not an easy job, nor a quick one. Too shallow and he’ll be dug up by any passing dog or fox. I can fetch us a couple of spades. I know where our sexton keeps them. But I’ll not be able to get back with them till tomorrow night. So what’ll we do with the body till then?’

Oswin gnawed at his lip. ‘That chapel we met in, you said no one ever uses it, Robert. We could hide him in there until we can dig the grave.’

It took them some time to retrace their steps to the chapel, for even in the dark they dared not risk using the track and had to wind their way through the trees. John carried Giles’s corpse all of the way, slung over his shoulder like a sack of wheat. But by the time they got inside and thankfully locked the door behind them, even he was staggering and he dropped the body onto the tiles with such a crash, that if Giles hadn’t already been dead, the fall probably would have killed him.

‘Where… where do we put him?’ Robert asked, despondently. ‘It doesn’t seem right just to leave him on the floor, and the shutters are broken in places. Someone could peer in, when it’s light.’

They gazed around. The chapel was so small that there weren’t many hiding places.

‘Behind the altar?’ Eustace suggested.

Oswin shook his head. ‘He could be seen by someone looking through that casement above it. There… in the Easter Sepulchre. We can use the wooden cover to seal it, as they do on Good Friday.’

With Oswin taking the feet and John the head, they carried the body to the long alcove and with much pushing and shoving managed to ease it inside, crossing the hands over the breast. From his scrip, Oswin removed the flask of chrism for the second time that evening. Eustace grasped his sleeve, shaking his head.

‘You cannot. He died unshriven.’

Oswin angrily jerked his arm from Eustace’s grip, and dipping his fingers in the holy oil, made the three-times-seven crosses on Giles’s body. Eustace turned away, but John and Robert murmured the words with Oswin. ‘I anoint thee with holy oil in the name of the Trinity, that thou mayest be saved for ever and ever.’

When all was done, they heaved the dusty wooden cover into place to seal the side of the alcove and, in silence, hastened away out into the bitter night.

A man clad in deacon’s robes standing in a Cathedral Close is as near as any person may come to being invisible. Beggars, pilgrims, thieves and clerics alike keep a sharp lookout for those dressed in the robes of high offices, but those wearing the robes of deacons, priests and clerks are as common as dog dung and few men even bother to look at their faces.

The Cathedral Close was crowded. Priests sauntered by in twos and threes, while clerks with arms full of scrolls scurried past them. Pilgrims in little bands jostled to get ahead of their fellows and be first in line for the queues to the shrine of St Hugh. Men hefted bundles of dried fish, whole pigs’ heads and planks of timber. Women clustered round the stalls selling boiled sheep’s feet, spices or herring. A group of choristers dodged round the legs of horses as they chased a ball, kicking it from one to the other, ignoring the bellows of the woman whose pots it came within a whisker of smashing.

No one took any notice of Eustace as he swiftly mounted the outside stairs to Robert’s chamber. Thanks to his uncle’s influence, Robert had managed to secure lodgings in one of the many little houses that surrounded the Cathedral, though such chambers were normally assigned to clergy far more senior than he. A wooden shelter protected the top of the stairs and prevented the rain being driven straight in whenever the door was opened. Eustace groped along the top of one of the beams inside the roof of the shelter, until he found the nail on which Robert kept his key. Robert constantly mislaid his key and as Eustace had discovered on a previous occasion when he accompanied Robert home, he had taken to concealing it rather than carrying it around with him. Eustace swiftly turned the key in the lock and slipped through the door, closing it behind him.

The chamber was scarcely more than a loft in the roof space, with only enough room to stand fully upright in the centre, but as Robert had said, at least he was the sole occupant, unlike many of his fellows who were obliged to share the bigger rooms. Eustace scowled. He knew exactly why Robert thought this a virtue, because while he might live alone, he certainly didn’t sleep alone.