The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

Even as the three men gaped wordlessly at each other, a great hammering sounded on the wooden door of the chapel, as if someone was striking it with a sword hilt.

‘Open up, in the name of the King!’

For a moment, they stood frozen, then they sprang into action. John threw the spades into the handcart, covering them with the cloth, while Oswin struggled to try to fit the wooden board back into the side of the sepulchre.

The hammering sounded again. ‘Open up, or we’ll smash the door down.’

The splintering of the wood of the rotten door suggested they were attempting to do just that.

Robert sprinted the few yards down the small chapel. ‘Hold fast, hold fast!’ he begged. ‘I’m trying to turn the lock, but it’s rusty.’

He jiggled the key as if he was struggling to turn it, but the hammering redoubled and he dared stall them no longer.

As he opened the door, he was almost smashed against the wall as three men came charging through, their swords drawn.

The sergeant-at-arms gestured with the point of his sword. ‘You three, against that wall where I can see you. Search them,’ he commanded the man beside him. ‘God’s arse, what’s that infernal stink?’ he added, screwing up his nose. ‘Smells as if an animal got itself trapped in here and died.’

The pimpled-faced youth ordered to do the searching carried out his duty with undue diligence, tossing their knives with a clatter onto the floor and running his hands over every inch of their bodies that might be concealing any weapon or stolen item and a few parts of their anatomy that plainly couldn’t. The other man-at-arms, an older and considerably stouter man, grinned as he collected the knives from the floor, clearly enjoying watching the prisoners squirm.

‘So,’ the sergeant said, ‘what mischief are you three making? Someone reported seeing a light in here two nights running. They thought the place was haunted the first night, until they saw you lot creeping in tonight.’

‘Can’t you see we are clergy?’ Oswin said sharply. ‘And in case you hadn’t noticed, this is a chapel.’

‘Can see your tonsures, right enough, but that still doesn’t explain what you’re doing in here behind locked doors in the middle of the night. This chapel’s not been used for years.’

‘If you ask me, Sergeant,’ the older man said, ‘I reckon they fancy each other and this is where they come to do it, ’cause they know they’d get their balls sawn off if they was caught at it.’

John gave a roar of outrage and tried to take a swipe at the man. He was only prevented by the prick of the sergeant’s sword in his chest, forcing him back against the wall.

‘Listen, you imbecile!’ Oswin snapped. ‘We came to offer prayers for the souls of the family who endowed this chapel. We’re in Holy Orders and you have no authority-’

His words were severed by a crash, as the board in front of the sepulchre slipped from the stone and clattered onto the floor. All eyes swivelled towards it.

‘What the Devil…?’ His curiosity evidently aroused, the sergeant took a few tentative paces towards it, his sword held defensively in front of him. Oswin closed his eyes and prayed. But it seemed that not even the most fervent prayers could make one corpse vanish, much less two.

Every prisoner knows there are a few blessed moments that creep between sleeping and waking, nightmares and misery, in which you briefly imagine all is right with the world. You are safely dozing in your own bed, in your own house. You are happy. Then, as you open your eyes, reality douses you with a bucket of filthy, icy water. You realise where you are and what lies in wait for you. So it was for Oswin, as he awoke the next morning to find himself in the bishop’s carcer.

Not even Oswin had been able to think of a convincing explanation for the two bodies. But in truth it scarcely mattered, for the sergeant-at-arms, though well used to seeing the worst depravities that a sinful city could conspire to produce, was so shocked by the sight of those two corpses, one fresh, the other rotting, that if St Michael himself had appeared with flaming sword and attempted to defend the three clerics, the sergeant would have arrested him as well.

Before they could even open their mouths to protest, all three Black Crows found their arms bound behind them so tightly they were in danger of losing both limbs, and they were being marched, at sword point, back to the city gate. Once inside the walls, they were taken at once to the Bishop’s Palace, opposite the Cathedral, for clergy could neither be detained nor punished by the civil courts. Which, the sergeant muttered beneath his breath, was a gross injustice, for he’d have willingly hanged them from the castle walls himself, for what he had witnessed was surely more foul and depraved than any crime a layman could commit.

There was nothing to be done that night, so all three men were marched to separate cells and ushered, none too gently, inside. Oswin found himself alone in a tiny cell below ground, with nowhere to sleep save in the straw on the floor. There was a single narrow window so high up on the wall, that its only real function was to add to the prisoner’s misery by admitting freezing winds, rain and snow, and the occasional piss of passing dogs or choir boys, the latter finding it highly entertaining to compete as to which boy could most accurately drench the incumbent below.

Oswin sat huddled against the wall, his fingers pressed to his forehead, trying to make sense of all that had happened. If only he could work out how or why the second corpse had come to be in the chapel, he might be able to come up with some sort of defence. But he couldn’t. Only the fact that he was sitting in the cell convinced him that what he’d seen hadn’t been some ghastly nightmare or vision. He was still trying in vain to reason it out when he heard a jangle of keys outside the stout oak door. He clambered stiffly to his feet as the door opened.

The gaoler, a grizzled man with a belly as round as a farrowing sow and tunic that bore testimony to every meal he’d ever eaten, regarded his prisoner in silence for several long minutes, as if Oswin was some unknown creature he’d never before encountered.

Finally, he jerked his head towards the passage. ‘Sent for you, so they have.’

Without warning, the gaoler reached in and grabbed Oswin’s arm, gripping it so tightly that Oswin was sure he was going to snap the bone.

As he dragged Oswin up the stairs at the end of the passage and out under the grey skies, the gaoler added cheerfully, ‘You’re the first. Means you can get your story in afore the others. Mind you, that’s not always a good thing. If the others gainsay you, you’ll look like a liar, so you will. If they think you’re lying, they’re bound to think you’re guilty. So what you been up to, then?’

‘Nothing!’ Oswin said hotly. ‘And there’s no need to break my arm. I can’t exactly run off, can I?’

The courtyard was closed in on all four sides by high-walled buildings and all the doors were firmly shut.

‘If I was you, I’d admit to whatever they say you’ve done. Throw yourself on their mercy. Swear you repent. Go at lot easier on you, they will, if they think you’re contrite. You deny it and they’ll come down as hard as an axe on wood, ’cause that’s the sin of pride, so it is, refusing to admit you’re a miserable worm.’

They’d reached a narrow archway in one wall, which opened onto a spiral staircase. Here, the gaoler was finally forced to let go of Oswin’s arm, since they couldn’t climb the stairs side by side. He flung Oswin in front of him with such force, he fell onto the steps, banging his knees. The gaoler prodded him to his feet and he limped up the stairs, rubbing his bruised arm, his stomach knotting tighter with each step.