The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

He’d been watching her all evening, but it wasn’t wise to tackle her in front of a room full of people. In his experience, the regulars would rally around one of their own and it was common for them to block the path of men-at-arms or mob them, while the wanted man or woman slipped out the back of the inn and fled into the night. So he bided his time and savoured the plainness of the mutton stew in contrast to the rich and elaborate dishes served in his own chambers.

He beckoned to the serving maid. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve any fat bacon. I’d pay well for a couple of slices of that.’

She raised her eyebrows. He had just consumed a generous portion of stew, but if he wanted to part with more money, she certainly wasn’t going to turn him away.

‘I’ll have to fetch it from the cellar, sir.’

He waited until she’d descended the stairs, then he gave a single nod to a man sitting on the opposite side of the ale-room and, unobserved by anyone else in the crowded room, he slipped through the cellar door, closing it behind him.

The woman was slicing bacon from a flitch hanging from a large iron hook on one of the beams. At the creak on the stairs, she turned, wary, then relaxed a little as she saw who it was.

‘I’m just coming, sir. You go back up and take a seat. I’ll not be long. Customers aren’t supposed to come down here.’

‘Only clerics, is that right, Meggy?’

She shrugged. ‘There’s a group of them come to play dice sometimes. We let them use the cellars. Puts the other customers off, see, having them around.’

‘But they haven’t been here for several days.’

‘I dare say they’ll be back,’ she said. ‘Anyway, what’s it to you?’

Thomas pulled the brimmed hat from his head, revealing his tonsure. ‘I was thinking of joining them.’

‘You’ll have to ask them. They don’t just let anyone into their little group.’

‘But now that two of their members won’t be coming back, they’ll surely need new blood. He died, you know, Father Eustace. You probably heard the bell tolling for him.’

The knife jerked in her hand and she swore as it nicked her finger. She sucked at the wound.

‘I’m sorry to bring you such distressing news,’ Thomas said.

‘Why should I be distressed? Salt from the bacon, is all. Stings like the very devil when it gets into a cut.’

But Thomas saw her hands were trembling. She slid the platter onto the table, without looking at him.

‘Here’s your meats. Eat them down here or take them back upstairs, as you please, it’s all the same to me. I can’t waste time talking. I got customers want serving.’

She tried to edge past him, but he stretched out his hand to the table blocking the way.

‘You didn’t ask how Father Eustace died. He was a young man. Aren’t you curious?’

‘Was he?’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know him. One priest more or less in the world, makes no odds to me. There’s plenty more to take his place.’

‘You didn’t know him and yet you served him, served him and all five of them every time they came down here to play dice.’

‘Don’t know their names.’

‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘But you’d recognise them, and Father Eustace recognised you, too, didn’t he? In Father Robert’s chambers? Was that why you hit him with the cross, the cross you were stealing? You wanted to stop him reporting you as a thief?’

Her head snapped up. ‘I wasn’t stealing it. It was that priest of yours who took it, but they never get punished whatever crimes they commit, do they? Only us. It’s always us.’

‘So, if you weren’t stealing it, why did you hit Father Eustace with it? And don’t try to deny it. You’ve just admitted you knew about it. No one, save for the five members of the Black Crows, knew the cross was missing.’

She was staring wildly about her, panic rising in her face. He guessed she was going to try to make a run for it, but what he was not prepared for was the mask of savagery that suddenly twisted her face. With a shriek, she lifted her knife and lunged at him.

Had it been Father William or Father Paul in that cellar, there was no question the Cathedral bell would have been tolling out their deaths that evening. But Father Thomas had not acquired his scar at the Cathedral treasure house. He dodged sideways, letting her momentum carry her forward and, grabbing her wrist, he twisted the knife from her grasp.

She fell heavily onto the flagstones, but even that wasn’t enough to subdue her. She made a wild grab for his legs, sinking her teeth into his calf. Only by seizing her long hair and wrenching her head back, did Father Thomas manage to prise her loose. He flung her backwards then hauled her to her feet, holding her own knife at her throat.

His leg burned. He could feel the hot blood flowing down from where she’d bitten a chunk from his flesh, but he tried to ignore the pain.

He pulled her over to the bench and pressed her down onto it. ‘Don’t even think of running or calling out,’ he warned. ‘I’ve an armed man stationed outside that door up there, with orders to let no one in or out, and more men posted round the tavern outside.’

He hobbled to the bench opposite and sat down, keeping the knife pointed towards her. Her eyes were burning with hatred and he knew if he gave her half a chance she’d tear his throat out with her teeth. The safest course would be to call the men-at-arms down here to seize and bind her, then hand her over to the Sherriff of Lincoln. She’d hang, there was no question about that, but he didn’t want her to go to the gallows without learning why she’d done it. She hadn’t stolen the cross from the Cathedral – that much he’d already discovered from Oswin – so why had she killed Eustace?’

‘Tell me, tell me everything, Meggy,’ he urged.

‘What good’ll that do? You’re not going to save me from the hangman’s necklace.’

Thomas knew she’d never believe him even if he swore that he would.

‘But I can save your soul. If you die without confessing such crimes as you have committed, you’ll burn in hell for all eternity.’

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ she said, her eyes flashing. ‘That’s where he sent her. That’s where they all sent her – to hell. Gives you a thrill, does it, to think of her writhing and naked in the flames.’

‘Who?’

Her expression softened and a distant look came into her eyes. ‘My sister. She was a rare beauty. Hair same colour as mine, but twice as thick and long. Spent hours combing it, she did. Everyone noticed it. They cut it all off, right in front of the jeering mob. That’s what did for her more than anything. The whipping she could stand. We’d more than enough of those when we were bairns to make us hardened to it, but then they made her stand at the Cathedral door in nowt but her shift, for four Sundays, with her head all shorn and folks mocking and laughing. Come the third Sunday, she couldn’t take the shame of it no more. She hanged herself.

‘’Cause she loved him, you know. To him, she was nowt but a creature to pleasure him, but she really loved him, that’s why she went to his bed. Course, they wouldn’t let her have a Christian burial. Said she’d committed the worst of sins – pride for she’d set herself above God and taken her own life when it was His alone to take. Can’t ever be forgiven, it can’t, not self-murder. She’d burn for it in hell, they said. They were going to bury her at the crossroads outside Lincoln, and drive iron nails into her feet so she couldn’t walk and torment the living. But they’d done enough to her poor body. I wouldn’t let them have her. I took her and I buried her in the woods close to St Margaret’s well. I thought the saint might bless her and keep her safe, even if the priests would not.’