The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

Adam studied him with satisfaction for a moment. ‘Well, maid. Who did tell them?’

‘They came here asking questions, so they already knew Will had been here before they came.’

Adam chewed at his inner cheek. He saw Elias crawling away, and it was tempting to kick him again, but there were too many questions in his mind. ‘Who told them to come here?’

‘Perhaps someone saw who killed Will?’ She held his gaze. ‘You lived with him. Did he get home last night?’

‘I argued with him last night. You saw us. Over that box. I thought he’d chosen to go somewhere else for the night. Maybe stay with Rob or something. I didn’t think he was dead.’

For the first time he felt the loss of Will’s help. Never thought he’d ever think that; never thought he’d miss Will’s sharp mind. Adam was more used to learning what he wanted without subtlety.

‘Marge, if you know something, you tell me before I get angry.’

‘You wouldn’t hurt me,’ she said with certainty.

He moved to reach for her, but as he did she lifted her hand, and in it was gripped a fine-bladed dagger, wickedly sharp and pointed. She ran it over his knuckles, and he yelped as the razor-edge made itself felt. There was no pain as such, only a faint tearing sensation, and then a line of blood as his flesh was parted. He withdrew his hand, then prepared to launch himself at her, crazed with rage. She held her ground, and the knife danced before his eyes.

‘I don’t know what you want, Adam. Will’s dead, and the officers know you knew Will. You lived with him. Don’t take it out on us.’

His face was expressionless as he cupped his bleeding fist in his right hand. He didn’t know what to do-perhaps he should speak to Rob and see what he reckoned. That would be best. Yes. But he wanted to punch someone first.

She curled her lip. ‘Adam, Tad didn’t tell anyone about you. They asked questions, but when they left, Tad ran out the back. He escaped. You should too.’

‘What does that mean?’

Her irritation spilled over. He had ruined her wall, badly hurt Elias, and threatened her. What he did to Will outside her alehouse was none of her concern, but when his actions led to a Keeper taking an unhealthy interest in the Rache, she had good reason to be angry. ‘You want to know? You killed Will, didn’t you, so get out of the city while you can, because that Keeper, he’s got the eyes of a demon. He’ll find you and he’ll hang you. Leave the city while you can.’

Moll was late to rise that day.

The previous night had been largely sleepless, and the interruptions to her business had exhausted her. Then, of course, she’d been woken early by the men clustered about the body, and only returned to her bed after a bite of bread with some potage for her lunch. This time she had slept well, and the knocking at her door made her jerk awake with some alarm. The noise was terribly loud in the silence of her hall, and she sat up with apprehension, an emotion that only faded as she climbed from her bedding and pulled a shirt over her head.

Padding over the packed earth of the floor, she threw some sticks on to the embers of the fire. Punters preferred a warm room-and hopefully she’d be able to warm some leftover potage later, when the man had gone.

She had several clients who visited her in her home, usually the wealthier ones, of course, because only they deserved the advantages of her undivided attention in her own bed. Others could make do with a quick knee-trembler against an alley wall.

The fire looked all right, so when the knocking came again, she walked out to the front door and pulled it open. ‘Who is it? Oh! I thought…’

‘Didn’t expect me, eh, Moll?’

And Moll scarcely felt the club smash the side of her skull. The bones fractured as the cudgel’s weighted head slammed against them just above the ear, and although she could say nothing, so shocked was she to be attacked, her body refused to collapse. It took two more thunderous blows to force her to her knees, and then she crumpled.

She was long dead before the smashing blows ceased, and then there was little left of her face. Only a bloodied mess of hair and flesh.

Simon and Baldwin arrived back at Exeter just as the cathedral bells were singing out their invitation to the faithful at vespers. It was still daylight, but here in the alley between the hospital and the Dominicans’ priory, the sun was all but obscured by the houses on either side. This was a poorer area and few houses had jetties-not many had an upstairs chamber-but the lane was so narrow that it was ever twilight here.

The home to which they had been directed was a shabby place with little to endear it to Baldwin. As he looked at it, his nostrils discerned only the stench of excrement, the sour tang of urine. In the lane itself there were many deposits on the cobbled way, and Baldwin wondered when the scavengers would ever come down here. They’d clear the High Street, sure enough, but a downtrodden backwater like this would probably never see them from one month to the next, and while Simon pounded on the door, Baldwin found himself peering up and down the street, wondering what could tempt a man to live here. He could conceive of nothing worse; at the sight of it he longed to be back at his small manor of Furnshill up near Cadbury.

When the door opened, Simon immediately pushed it wide, and Baldwin followed him inside, Jonathan squeezing in behind him.

‘Is this where Adam and Will from Chard live?’ Simon demanded.

‘They live here, yes.’

The old man was almost petrified with fear. His attention was moving all the time, from Baldwin to Jonathan to Simon and back, and if Baldwin needed proof of the evil of the man who was using his rooms, the terror evident on the man’s face was enough to convince him. ‘Where is Adam now?’

‘I don’t know-he wouldn’t tell me where he was going, lord.’

The old man’s eyes were rheumy and pale, with red rims. He was crabbed and wizened, like a plant that has been deprived of the sun for too long. His fingers were red knuckled and claw-like. His wife was a little taller and better formed, and although her hair was silvery like his, it seemed to hold more vitality. She appeared overwhelmed by Baldwin and Simon’s entrance, and she kept throwing little glances at Jonathan, as if pleading that this man in clerical garb should protect them.

Baldwin was not in the mood for a lengthy discussion. ‘Where does he usually go at this hour?’

‘He sometimes wanders about the city-he never tells us where he’s likely to go. Why should he?’

‘How did you meet him?’ Simon asked more quietly.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but it was his wife who answered, her voice resigned. ‘He is my son.’

Rob was working on the horses, grooming two rounseys for the dean of the cathedral, when he saw the shadow in the doorway. He said nothing, for it was the responsibility of his master, the stable owner, to respond to customers.

‘Enjoying yourself, are you?’ Adam asked quietly.

‘Well enough,’ Rob said. He glanced at Adam, then looked away again quickly. Adam caught sight of the look and walked around the horses to Rob’s side. Rob shot him another look. ‘Something wrong?’

‘Seems like you think so,’ Adam said. ‘It’s strange to think that only last night we were all there arguing about the box.’

‘You’ve heard about Will?’

‘Oh, something’s happened to him?’

Rob’s hand stopped moving over the flank of the chestnut before him. After a moment he took the brush off the beast and started plucking spare hairs from it. ‘I found him, Adam. He was butchered, his belly was slit wide, and his bowels spread to the world.’

‘Why? Who could have hated him that much?’