The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

As soon as he had left Eustace’s bedside, Father William had summoned the precentor and the treasurer to the dean’s private chamber, which he was now occupying. The three of them sat around the fire, goblets of their favourite spiced wine, hippocras, in their hands, and platters of goat chops, spit-roasted chicken and pears in wine on the small tables between them to aid their deliberations. No man, not even a man in holy orders, can think well on an empty stomach.

But for once, the precentor’s gaze did not stray to the food. He was staring intently, with his good eye, at the silver cross that stood before them on the table. The reflections of the flames from the hearth flickered deep inside the hearts of the polished garnets, as if five tiny fires were burning on the cross.

‘But did he say if he knew how the cross came to be in Robert’s chamber, or even what he was doing in your nephew’s room, Father William? The way gossip spreads in Lincoln, the whole city knows that Robert lies in the carcer, so Eustace can hardly have expected to find him at home; quite the opposite in fact.’

‘I believe we all know why the cross was in Robert’s chamber,’ Thomas said. ‘He stole it. As I told you, Father William, I caught your nephew hanging around the chests on several occasions the other morning. I suspected he’d taken something or was planning to. Not that I blame you, Father William. It’s tainted blood from the mother, that’s what always turns a perfectly respectable family line to the bad. But I’m afraid I did warn you, and if you’d listened to me and had his chambers searched there and then, we might have put a stop to it, before this business of the corpses.’

‘You think the deaths are linked to the theft of the cross?’ Father Paul said, apparently unaware that the subdean had turned as red as the garnets and was spluttering furiously.

‘Have to be!’ Thomas said airily.

‘Then,’ Father William said, his voice crackling with ice, ‘since you are so confident of the fact, perhaps you might care to enlighten us as to exactly how?’

Thomas coughed. ‘I… what I meant was, it’s surely too much of a coincidence that Robert should be involved in two entirely separate crimes within days of each other. Didn’t Eustace shed any light on the matter?’

‘We have not established that my nephew was involved in one crime, never mind two!’ Father William snapped. ‘And as I explained, poor Eustace was making little sense. Several times he said something about a woman. But that could have been as much nonsense as the other things he was muttering.’

‘Eustace was the last man in Lincoln to have any dealings with a woman. He despised them all,’ Father Paul said, finally giving in to temptation and ripping a leg off the roasted chicken. Its skin glistened red-gold in the firelight from the honey and spices with which it had been basted. ‘In fact,’ he said, wagging it at them, ‘there were rumours his tastes ran to… But I suppose one shouldn’t speak ill of the newly dead.’

He glanced uneasily into the shadows in the corner of the room, as if Eustace’s spirit might be lurking there.

Thomas, frowning, suddenly leaned forward and picked up the cross, holding it close to one of the candles. ‘Look at this.’ He pointed to one of the arms of the cross. ‘See the dark stain in the lines of the engraving? I’d say that was dried blood, wouldn’t you? This could well be what made the hole in Eustace’s head.’

‘You think he fell on it?’ Father William asked.

‘I don’t think that would have been enough to cause the injury. It wasn’t fixed to anything so it would have been knocked over if he fell against it. He might have sustained a bruise or gash, nothing more. The infirmarer is sure he was hit with something and the blow was a hard one. This would make a useful weapon,’ he added, brandishing the cross to demonstrate.

He tipped the cross this way and that, angling different parts towards the candlelight, then his fingers pounced on something else. Carefully, he unwound several strands of long, reddish-brown hair, which had been caught under the setting that held one of the garnets in place.

‘A woman’s hair. Eustace might have had good reason to despise women if one of them struck him with this. The trouble is, that doesn’t help us much. There’s no shortage of women in Lincoln with hair of a similar shade. Why, even that corpse had hair this colour-’ He broke off, frowning.

‘Then it must have come from the corpse,’ Father Paul said. ‘Didn’t you tell us hair from the decayed body was found on Robert’s cloak? He doubtless wrapped the cross in his cloak to carry it away and that how it got onto the cross.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘If he wrapped the cross in the cloak, it would have been before he used it to cover the corpse, not afterwards. Besides, the noticeable thing about that corpse was that the hair was short; it’d been cropped. This is much longer, and see the way the ends taper? It’s never been trimmed. But I’ll grant you one thing, it’s remarkably similar in colour to that of the corpse. Another coincidence?’

Oswin scraped up the damp straw and heaped it over his legs to try to get warm. But the icy rain was driving in through the grating faster than it could drain away down the shallow gulley and out through the tiny hole in the wall. Puddles were spreading ever wider across the flagstones. Oswin wondered, miserably, if anyone had ever drowned down here. Shivering, he clamped his hands under his armpits in a vain attempt to warm his numb fingers. He rolled on his side, trying to ease the pains in his belly. Drinking water instead of wine or ale had given him such a severe dose of the flux that on some occasions he could barely reach the piss-pail before his bowels exploded.

At least today the rain kept away the jeering boys and curious young clerics who came to peer down at him. Anyone crossing the courtyard hurried as fast as they could to get safely to shelter again. Only the bells in the Cathedral ringing out the hours of the services marked the slow crawl of time.

Oswin heard the door at the end of the passage grate open and he sat up. The gaoler had already been round with the daily ration of bread and water, and it was too much to hope that he might be returning with more. He heard voices. Were they bringing another prisoner in or taking one out? He listened for the sound of a cell door being opened further down the corridor, but the footsteps did not pause in front of any cell. Judging by the clatter of wood on stone, one of the people approaching was wearing wooden pattens tied over their shoes to stop them being spoiled by the mud and puddles. Not the gaoler or a prisoner then.

The footsteps stopped outside his own door. He heard the key grinding in the lock and lumbered to his feet, brushing the straw from his clothes, as the door opened.

‘We’ve been taking good care of him, Treasurer,’ the gaoler said.

Oswin’s stomach knotted. If the treasurer was here, it could only be about the missing cross.

‘Wait for me outside in the courtyard,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ll call you when I want the door unlocked.’

‘Outside?’ The gaoler didn’t sound as if he relished the prospect of standing around in the freezing rain, but he shuffled away, not daring to complain, at least not out loud.

The treasurer ducked his head under the low doorway and tottered into the cell. He loomed over Oswin, for the wooden pattens increased his height by at least four inches. He gazed round the cell with curiosity and then down at Oswin, who was suddenly and painfully aware of how dishevelled he must look, and of the stench emanating from the overflowing piss-pail in the corner.

‘I will be asking your two companions the same questions, so I’d strongly advise you, Father Oswin, to speak only the truth this time. Your companions do not seem quite as adept at inventing tales as you appear to be and will undoubtedly give you away.’