The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

‘I see,’ he said, knowing his response was inadequate, but unable to find better words to express himself.

‘And you know what happened next. Prior William de Regny sent me away as a minor envoy to distant places-Hungary and the land of the Bohemian kings-and I even studied in foreign universities.’ Andrew gave a short bark of humourless laughter. ‘My dim-witted brother would not have credited that I-his uncouth, loutish sibling-would become a scholar and an emissary! I was a teacher, too, grooming my best student to take my place in the university’s hierarchy, before he…well, you know what happened with him. I took the relic with me, but I was never easy about its safety in such distant places, and after some years I brought it back to Devonshire again, to our little priory.’

‘Yes, Father,’ said Urban dutifully, wondering where the discussion was leading.

Andrew’s expression was distant. ‘It is powerful-more powerful than you can imagine-and it is genuine. Besides what I witnessed thirty years ago, there are two ancient parchments that carry its seal of authenticity.’

‘I heard there were documents, but I did not think it was true.’

‘It is true,’ said Andrew with a conviction that surprised his novice. ‘The fragment of the True Cross is in a vial, and the parchments are wrapped around it. Anyone can hold the glass, but to touch the stained splinter inside is certain death.’

Urban swallowed, and the bright sun seemed to lose some of its warmth. When a magpie chattered in a tree above his head, he jumped and found that his hands were shaking. Slowly, a nasty, unworthy suspicion began to form in his mind. ‘Our priory has been the relic’s guardian for years now. It is still there…’

Andrew rummaged under his habit and removed the purse he carried around his neck. The cord that held it was old and frayed, while the bag itself was sewn from cheap purple cloth, stained and worn from the actions of restless fingers. ‘It is here.’

Urban was almost speechless, and fought hard against the urge to back away, appalled by what Andrew had done. ‘You took it? You stole it?’ All manner of questions suddenly found answers: the reason for their moonlit flight, the secrecy and orders to tell no one they were leaving, Andrew’s refusal to say where they were going, the preference for little-travelled paths when the highways would have been faster and safer.

‘It was for the best. My days are coming to an end, and the relic would not have been safe with our new prior. My duty was clear: I must convey it to Norwich, where there is another Holy Blood relic, and where the Benedictine monks will know how to keep this one from harming others.’

Urban was not convinced. Stealing was a mortal sin, but stealing a relic from a priory was an unimaginably wicked crime, and now he, Urban, was implicated in it. And Father Andrew, whom he had idolized and whose grim piety he had sought to emulate, was no more than a common thief. His thoughts whirled in confusion, and he felt betrayed. Andrew read the unhappiness and bewilderment on his face and touched his arm gently.

‘I did what was right. Do not ask me how I know-perhaps God planted the knowledge there, because I assure you I would rather have spent my last days at home than traipsing across England-but I feel it with my whole being. Prior John de Burgo is not a believer in the power of blood relics-few men in our Order are-and I was afraid one of the tasks he would perform as he took up his new office would be to rid his priory of the anathema the relic has become.’

‘The Master-General of the Dominicans did just that,’ acknowledged Urban. He glanced uneasily at the bundle his master still held. ‘He said Holy Blood relics cannot possibly exist for complex theological reasons that I do not understand, and he has ordered the destruction of what he terms “heretical idols of veneration”.’

‘I do not want this relic consigned to the fires of ignorance: what God has seen fit to place in our hands is not for man to burn. It is not a common Holy Blood relic, anyway: it is different, because of the curse it carries.’

‘The curse,’ mused Urban. ‘Is it true that a dragon bewitched it, in the days of King Arthur?’

‘Do not be ridiculous,’ replied Andrew curtly. ‘Dragons cannot speak. The Knights Templar took the relic into their care, and I learned its history from one of them, a man named John Mantravers, of South Witham. He saved my life.’

‘But the Knights Templar were suppressed, and their leaders executed years ago,’ said Urban, uneasy with the notion that Andrew had cavorted with heretics.

‘Some refused to renounce their Order, and Mantravers was one of them. He told me that this piece of the True Cross was once in the possession of an Arab called Barzak, whose duty it was to protect it from infidels. When our blessed Crusaders liberated the Holy City, Barzak uttered a violent curse when his family were considered enemies and slaughtered. But his curse was too strong, and it became the bane of good men, as well as bad. Prior John de Burgo is a case in point: he is not wicked, but if he had taken hold of the thing to “prove” it holds no power, it would have meant his death regardless.’

‘So, you decided to take it to Norwich and give it to the Benedictines,’ surmised Urban. ‘They do not hate Holy Blood relics, and will treat it with the reverence it is due. You did the right thing, Father.’

Andrew nodded, relieved that the novice had been so easy to convince. He had anticipated all manner of recriminations-he was sure he himself would not have been so readily accepting, had their roles been reversed. ‘Before I took it, I removed it from its vial, to make sure it was the same splinter that caused Mantravers all his trouble. It would have been a pity to arrive in Norwich and discover it had been exchanged at some point. I had to be sure.’

Urban gazed at him. ‘But that means…’ He trailed off, not liking to give voice to the awful conclusion.

Andrew nodded. ‘It means I will die as soon as I relinquish it from my keeping. But I grow weaker with each passing day anyway, so it matters little now. However, I may be obliged to ask you to carry it for the last stage of its journey.’

‘But if the relic’s curse is genuine, then I may die, too.’

‘Only if you remove the splinter from its vial.’

‘Then I will not touch it,’ said Urban, relieved. ‘I will keep it wrapped up.’

Andrew stopped walking and opened the pouch, carefully removing the tiny box that held the small tube of glass, green and misty with age. Urban gazed at it in fascination, then stepped back sharply when Andrew removed the gilt stopper and slid the contents into his hand. The relic was not much to look at-just a rough piece of silvery-grey timber with a curious stain blackening one end.

Andrew held it up between thumb and forefinger. ‘That will not be enough, Urban. Only if you truly believe in the relic’s power will you see your quest through to the end. You must hold it in your hand and feel its strength. If you are not up to the task, then tell me, and I will recruit another servant. Cambridge has friaries and convents a-plenty, so it should not be too difficult to find a substitute.’

Urban was stung by the notion that he could be so easily discarded. ‘Of course I shall do as you ask,’ he cried. ‘I vowed to carry out your wishes, and I will do so as long as there is breath in my body. I will not abandon you.’

This last comment was spiteful, and Urban was ashamed when he saw Andrew wince. The old friar’s former favourite, on realizing he had learned all he could from Andrew, had left him for other, more knowledgeable masters, and Urban knew he had considered it a betrayal. It was unkind to have made such a remark, and he regretted it immediately.