The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

Peering closely, she frowned. She’d seen boxes like this, though more richly decorated, in churches. Studying it, she could see fragments of gold leaf adhering to the lid, and she took the vial out and stared at the wood inside, rattling it gently. She touched the plug but didn’t pull out the stopper. Something made her stop. Her breath was a little strained, and her heart was thudding painfully as she shook her head and replaced the vial unopened in the box. If this was a holy relic, she didn’t want to touch it. It could burn her.

It was worth money, that was certain. Rob wasn’t wrong there. Someone would pay lavishly for it. And then there was the splinter inside. She had heard of relics of the lance used to stab Christ on the cross, pieces of iron from the nails which held Him, part of the trencher used in the last supper, all sorts. And then there were the pieces of the original cross on which He died…

A splinter of that would be worth a fortune. Plenty there to allow a man to marry. She licked her lips, and grinned to herself. After all, the man who was in love with her would make a good husband.

Baldwin and Simon found a mount for Jonathan and hired horses out to the scene. There was an old woodman there with a good white-and-tan rache, a broad-chested dog with slightly pendulous jowls, but intelligent eyes in a strong face. Always fond of dogs, Baldwin made a fuss of him before turning to the body.

‘You found him here?’ he asked.

‘I’m Hob, from Bishop’s Clyst. I was up here to take down a tree for-’

‘Yes, I am sure,’ Baldwin interrupted quickly. ‘You were up here legitimately. And your hound found this man?’

‘He was there under the furze, and Gaston found him. I was fair sickened to see him.’

Baldwin crouched at the side of the body. There was no doubt about the death. His throat was opened almost to the spine, and the cartilage and vessels had contracted, making the wound gape still more. Jonathan coughed once before remembering his calling and murmuring a lengthy prayer.

‘Do you recognize him?’ Baldwin asked the woodman.

‘No. He’s a stranger to me.’

‘There is little enough to distinguish him,’ Simon said. ‘Brown jack, linen shirt, woollen hose…’

‘His description would be little help, too,’ Baldwin said. ‘He’s moderate height, brown eyes and hair…a little weakly of frame, perhaps. Ach! There’s nothing here to help us find his murderer. If he was local, this description would hardly find him.’

‘If he’s a traveller,’ Simon said, ‘he would have had a pack with him. There’s nothing here, so he was probably robbed.’

Baldwin nodded as he rose to his feet. ‘So all we know is that we have the body of a young man here, his throat cut. He could be a local man, could be a traveller. If he’s a traveller, his belongings have been stolen.’

‘And we know that the trio in the Blue Rache last night had a haul of money and a small box,’ Simon said.

‘So is it a fair assumption that this man was their benefactor? Perhaps,’ Baldwin mused. ‘Along with the man in the hospital.’

Simon had another thought. ‘Interesting that this man had his throat cut.’

‘How do you mean?’ Jonathan asked.

‘Just that this man had his throat expertly slit, while Will and the man in the hospital were both stabbed in the back.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘And a killer will often use the same method of murder. It’s what he grows accustomed to.’

‘You mean that there might be two murderers?’ Jonathan said with sudden alarm.

Baldwin smiled. ‘A man might kill in a number of ways. No, there’s nothing to prove that there is more than one murderer. In any case, a stab in the back is a common wound when the victim has been ambushed,’ he added, suddenly thoughtful.

Simon set his head to one side. ‘There is one other aspect to consider, Baldwin. We were told in the Rache that there was another man who was missing, weren’t we? Could this be Rob’s brother?’

‘Andrew?’ Baldwin glanced at the body again. ‘Andrew was missing last night, as you say, so yes, this could be him. But that means also, perhaps, that the man in the hospital could be him?’

Adam was irritable and nervy as he wandered about the market. The warm morning made him lethargic, but he found himself jumping at strange noises. The bulls were being baited to tenderize their meat before slaughter and butchery, but a shriek from playing children made him start with alarm. He wandered among the stalls, buying a pie and eating it voraciously, suddenly feeling starved. Once that was gone, there was little money left from the cash he had won yesterday, and he rattled the few coins in his palm dejectedly. He wanted some ale.

The Blue Rache was quiet when he entered, and he scowled about him as he crossed the floor. If the shits were angry just because he’d thumped one turd, they’d best look out. He might hit another today.

He beckoned the ale-wife, who glanced about her anxiously before licking her lips and going to him. ‘Yes?’

‘A jug. Come on!’

She turned the spigot on the barrel and held a jug under it.

When she passed it to him, he turned and glared at them all. There wasn’t one who could hold his gaze. All cowards! All weak and shitting themselves. They wouldn’t know how to set a good ambush or how to steal a prize from even the most feeble of travellers. No, it took a man like him, someone good with his fists, someone with some courage.

‘There was a set of king’s officers in here earlier,’ Elias said.

‘So what?’ Adam sneered.

‘Will’s dead. Apparently they’ve already got the idea you and him knew each other.’

Adam nodded, took a long pull of his ale, and set the jug down before whirling and catching Elias by the throat. He shoved the squeaking man backward in a rush, scattering drinkers and stools wildly until he reached the wall and thrust Elias hard against it. It was a thin wattle screen, and as he rammed Elias against it, the structure moved, the plaster cracking. ‘Who told them about us, Elias? It was you, wasn’t it? By the nails and the blood, you little…’

‘Not me, no!’ Elias managed. ‘It was that arse-licking sodomite Tad, not me!’

Adam pushed him once more, and this time the crackle was noticeable. The wall gave way at the ceiling and a fine plaster dust fell in Elias’s eyes. ‘You were always his friend, weren’t you?’

The wattles were pushed from their sockets in the beam overhead, and now large chunks of plaster were falling on Elias’s head. He had to blink to clear his eyes.

‘He was just someone to drink with, that’s all. I hardly know him!’ Elias said quickly.

Adam’s fingers felt like steel pincers, relentless. Elias knew that death must soon overtake him. His breath came with great difficulty; he could feel blood welling in his sinuses and between his eyes. It was impossible to swallow-and then he felt his head crash into the wall once last time, and this time it gave way. There was a roar, and now he was in the midst of a cloud; all was white and choking, and he was cut and scratched by lathes and wattles, suddenly finding that he was looking up from the floor.

The dust was suffocating. It rose thickly, like flour in a mill when the wheel was turning, and it stuck in his mouth and nostrils. Vaguely he could hear voices.

‘It wasn’t him,’ the ale-wife screeched. ‘Leave him, Adam.’

‘Why should I? He’s helped sell me to the King’s men.’

‘He didn’t; Elias said nothing.’

Elias managed to roll on to all fours, coughing and retching. Then Adam’s boot caught his belly with all the malice of his frustration. Elias was lifted into the air, and he crashed to the ground in the ruins of the wall, his lungs smothered by the lime plaster, struggling for breath.