The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

He held up a bony hand to silence any protest from Oswin.

‘Do you number among your friends Deacon Eustace from the Church of St Lawrence?’

Oswin nodded, feeling that the less he said the better.

‘Then I regret that I must convey sad tidings. You doubtless heard the death bell tolling yesterday. That was rung for Father Eustace, who died in the infirmary last evening.’

Oswin swayed, putting out a hand to steady himself against the wall. It was not grief that moved him, but the shock of yet another of their circle dying. They were all young men and, while death could strike at any age, the thought that two out of the five of them had died in a week was chilling.

‘H… how?’ he stammered.

‘I believe,’ Thomas said, watching Oswin closely, ‘that his death will be accounted as murder. All the evidence is that he was struck on the head by a cross, a silver cross that was stolen from the Cathedral.’

Oswin tried hard to look both shocked and guiltless. The first was not difficult, but as Thomas continued to stare hard at him, he felt his face grow hot and prayed that in the half-light in the cell, it would not be noticed.

‘I think you have kept up this pretence long enough, Father Oswin. No doubt you think it amusing to try to fool the majores personae of the Cathedral, but I can assure you it is a dangerous game. You may think that because you have benefit of clergy, the penalties for theft and murder will not be severe. But it is not without precedent that a priest may be tried in the ecclesiastical courts and unfrocked by them, leaving the way open for him to be tried by the civil justices, in which case, as you know, the penalty would undoubtedly be death. And when a priest has stolen a valuable cross and reliquary, in addition to committing not just one, but two murders, I think it very likely he would find himself eventually standing trial in a civil court.’

Oswin was already feeling shaky from the flux, but now his legs threatened to give way altogether. ‘But, Father Thomas, you know I couldn’t possibly have murdered Eustace. I’ve been locked up in here and he was fit and well when last I saw him. You know he was, because he was the man who called the watch to the chapel.’

‘Eustace?’ Thomas frowned. ‘The sergeant-at-arms said it was a woman who raised the alarm.’ He frowned, staring down at the rain drops pattering into the puddles. ‘I hadn’t remembered that before,’ he murmured. ‘So was this another woman or the same one?’ He suddenly seemed to recollect that he was not alone and looked up again.

‘No one is suggesting you murdered Eustace. It is known all three of you were locked in here at the time he was attacked, but you seem to be forgetting that you were discovered with two corpses. Either you killed both of them, or you are guilty of grave-robbing, which is just as wicked as murder in the eyes of the Church and the law.’

‘But, I swear to you, I didn’t kill anyone. I never even laid eyes on that… that woman until we found her in the chapel.’

‘But you did know the body of Giles was there, didn’t you?’ Father Thomas said sternly. ‘You know because you put it there. If you hope for any mercy from the Church, you would be wise to make a full and honest confession to me now.’

Oswin knew he was beaten. Even if he continued to deny everything, he was certain Robert at any rate would spill all, if he hadn’t done so already. He was intimidated by his uncle at the best of times. If he had the treasurer and precentor threatening him as well, he’d be crying like an infant.

Taking a deep breath, he recounted the whole story, from Giles’s challenge to the night they were discovered in the chapel. It must be admitted that in the telling rather more of the blame found its way onto the shoulders of Giles and Eustace than was strictly truthful, but that could hardly matter to them now.

Thomas listened in silence, his scowl becoming ever deeper. The bone-white scar seemed to glow with increasing intensity in the gloom of the cell, until Oswin couldn’t drag his gaze from it. Oswin couldn’t tell if Thomas’s mounting anger was because of the theft of the cross or the concealment of the body, or if he thought he was being lied to again. But whatever the cause, that look of fury on his superior’s face did not bode well for Oswin.

A throbbing silence stretched between the two men, in which the beat of the rain drops sounded like the thudding of a giant heart. Without warning, Thomas’s hand moved to his belt and, for one wild and terrifying moment, Oswin thought he was reaching for his knife. But instead, Thomas fumbled in his leather scrip and pulled out a small, folded piece of white linen.

He laid it on the flat of his palm and peeled back the folds of cloth with the other hand.

Oswin stared in bewilderment. As far as he could see there was nothing in the linen. Was this some new method of divining the truth or unmasking a killer that he hadn’t yet studied?

‘Look at these strands of hair,’ Thomas said. ‘Careful! Don’t breathe on them; if they blow into the straw, we’ll never find them.’

Oswin leaned forward, as Thomas swung his palm towards the grey light filtering down with the rain through the grating. Against the bright white linen, he could just make out three long hairs.

‘Have you taken a good look?’

When Oswin nodded, Thomas carefully wrapped them again and put the little package back into his scrip.

‘Think carefully. Do you know any women with hair of that colour?’

Oswin was wary. He could make little senses of the question and immediately thought Thomas was trying to trick him to confessing another sin. ‘Lots of women come to services in the Cathedral, but I don’t actually know any, if you mean like Rob-’

Oswin checked himself. Robert was, after all, the subdean’s nephew. In his position, Oswin certainly didn’t want word to reach Father William that he had accused his nephew of fornication.

Thomas gave a dry little cough. ‘I am well acquainted with Father Robert’s proclivities, if that is what is concerning you, Father Oswin. I am not necessarily suggesting that this woman is known to you in the carnal sense, but I wish you to think carefully. Have you ever seen a woman with hair of this colour with Father Eustace? You see, these hairs were taken from the cross used to bludgeon him. They’re clearly not his, so there is just a chance they may belong to his assailant. Someone who might have had a grudge against him? Someone he denied alms to?

‘I’ve already made enquiries among his congregation at St Lawrence. But of those women who have similar hair, none quite matches these and all could prove they were somewhere else at the time of his attack. I will question every woman with russet hair in Lincoln, if I have to, but that could take some time. But it occurred to me, she might be someone known to Eustace’s friends. Someone he mentioned to you that he’d quarrelled with, perhaps?’

Oswin shook his head. ‘Eustace didn’t ever mention women, except to grumble about their whole sex in general. Even if a woman did speak to him, he wouldn’t have known what colour her hair was, because he never looked at them. Why, even-’ He stopped. ‘There is one he knew with this colour hair, but why on earth should she…?’

Treasurer Thomas sat alone in the crowded ale-room of the tavern, watching the people on the benches around him. In truth, he was enjoying himself. He seldom got the chance to listen to the gossip and banter in such places any more, for, when he was in Lincoln, he dined with his fellow clerics, and even when travelling to make inspections of property he was expected to dine in the religious houses along the route, which was in any case safer for a man in his position, who would be marked at once as carrying gold and silver. Not since he had been employed as a spy for the treacherous Queen Isabella had he had cause to lurk in the corners of inns and taverns.