The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

‘He did not give it to you?’ pressed Michael. ‘It would make sense if he had. He would probably far rather send you-the traitor-to your death, than the boy of whom he was fond.’

Tomas winced. ‘I wish now that I had made myself known to him, and that he had asked me to take the relic. But he did not.’

‘You have far too many secrets, Tomas,’ said Michael gravely. ‘Is there anything else about you that I should know? If so, then tell me now. If I learn it from other sources, I shall arrest you and charge you with murder.’

‘Whose murder?’ demanded Tomas. ‘Not Andrew’s, because you have just concluded that his death was a suicide. And not Witney’s, because I was with you when he died.’

‘I shall make up my own mind about Andrew, and I will not allow your or Matt’s interpretation of the “facts” to confuse me. So, I ask you again: is there anything else I should know?’

‘No,’ said Tomas. ‘Not about me.’ He looked at Urban, who glowered at him in the kind of way that suggested he intended the Dominican serious harm.

‘Andrew’s death is your fault,’ Urban declared angrily. ‘It was seeing you here that made him decide to accept an early death. If you had not appeared, none of this would have happened.’

‘That is unfair,’ said Bartholomew quietly. ‘Besides, you should bear some responsibility for what has happened, because you have not been truthful, either.’

‘What do you mean?’ cried Urban.

‘I mean you are no White Friar. I have been tending William de Lincolne, the Carmelite prior, for a fever of late. He is well acquainted with his order’s foundations, and he tells me there is no Carmelite friary inside Exeter’s walls-and Andrew was very specific about the positioning of his priory, because he felt its fortified location rendered his relic safe. In fact, Lincolne says there are only two friaries which match Andrew’s description in Exeter, and they are Dominican and Franciscan. I strongly suspect you belong to one of these.’

Urban started to cry. ‘I knew we would be found out sooner or later. I knew one of us would make a mistake that would see us exposed, especially in a place like this, where there are so many well-travelled mendicants.’

‘Your real Order-the Dominicans-does not approve of blood relics,’ continued Bartholomew. ‘Your prior in Exeter-a man you called John de Burgo, although I am told there is no high-ranking Carmelite of that name-was newly elected, and you were afraid he might destroy the relic, acting boldly, as men freshly appointed often do in an attempt to make a mark.’

Urban nodded miserably. ‘There is no point in denial now, and my role in the affair is over. Andrew and I are Dominicans, but he did not agree with our Order’s stance on Holy Blood. He did not want his relic destroyed in a wave of religious bigotry, and that is why he did what he did.’

‘Very noble,’ said Michael dryly.

‘People lie to me on a regular basis,’ said Michael, as he and Bartholomew walked away from St Botolph’s Church. ‘But I do not think I have ever encountered quite so many untruths in such a short period of time as I have in this case.’

‘Most are not lies, but omissions. Tomas neglected to mention his relationship with Andrew-as did Andrew himself-and Andrew and Urban told no one they were saving the relic from their own Order. And I have lied, too, I am afraid.’

Michael laughed. ‘You? I do not think so! You are the worst dissembler I know, and I would have seen through you in an instant.’

‘You did not this time, thankfully. I lied about Andrew. I do not think he jumped into the water of his own volition, for two reasons. First, the pupils in his eyes were severely contracted, which often means some sort of medicine or poison has been ingested; and second, it is not easy to stick your head under the surface and expect to drown-the instinct to lift it up again is too strong.’

Michael stared at him. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Not completely-mine is an inexact science-but there was a tiny pink-coloured phial in Andrew’s scrip when I searched his body. The stopper was out and it was full of water, so I shall never be able to tell you what it originally contained. However, I cannot help but wonder whether he was given something to swallow-perhaps to calm him over giving up the relic-and it robbed him of the use of his limbs or made him lethargic. It would explain why he did not lift his head to breathe.’

‘And you did not say this in front of Tomas and Urban because…?’

‘Because one of them might have given it to him.’

‘Interesting. You have always been more positive towards Tomas than I, but now you hesitate when it comes to sharing information with him. Why?’

‘Because I had already suspected a prior connection between him and Andrew, and I did not know what it meant. They parted on bitter terms. Do you think he might have seen his former master and decided to avenge some ancient grievance?’

Michael nodded, pleased his friend was finally coming around to his way of thinking. ‘However, it is equally possible that Urban might have avenged a more recent one. He is furious that Andrew gave the relic to someone else. Hurt. He may have fed him this substance, then shoved him in the water. They were alone, after all. But now I have two murders to investigate.’

‘Andrew and Witney. I wonder whether they were claimed by the same hand. Whoever it is, the culprit is clever. Both deaths could easily be seen as accidents.’

‘But not by us,’ said Michael comfortably. ‘We are clever, too. Let us consider Witney for a moment. You said he might not have been the intended victim. Perhaps Andrew was the target, because he stole a blood relic from his Order, and Witney’s head happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘Very wrong,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps the culprit is the current holder of the relic. However, I doubt we will ever know, because he will be long gone with the thing, if he has any sense.’

‘Where? To Norwich? Or to some Franciscan foundation that will pay handsomely for it?’

‘He will die when he parts with it, if Andrew was to be believed, although I do not believe in such nonsense.’

‘I wish Urban would tell us to whom Andrew entrusted it,’ said Michael. ‘Can we be sure it was not Tomas, his old student and a man he once loved? Urban is a solid, reliable lad, but he is not of Tomas’s mettle. Urban would be very much a second choice.’

‘Perhaps it was Seton. He is a Franciscan, who adheres to his Order’s tenet that Holy Blood relics are worthy of veneration, unlike Witney. Or perhaps it was someone from the Dominican priory-Andrew preferred the Franciscan stance to that of his own Order, and he was not alone in rebelling. Morden admitted as much, after a fashion.’

‘Morden never leaves Cambridge, and I cannot see Andrew passing such a valuable thing to a man who looks like an elf-or to one who barely knows what the Holy Blood debate entails. It will not be Morden, and it will not be his friars, either. They are all the same-likeable, but inveterately stupid.’

‘What about the servants? Kip and John Roughe?’

‘They are more intelligent than the men they serve,’ agreed Michael. ‘But they are untrustworthy. I do not see Andrew putting his faith in such low fellows.’

It was already past dusk, and Bartholomew was tired from a day of teaching, seeing patients, scrambling over roofs and inspecting bodies. He was ready for bed, and did not want to wake himself up by speculating further on the mysteries. When they reached Michaelhouse, he went to his chamber. He removed his tabard and boots in the gathering darkness, rinsed his hands in a bowl of fresh water, and lay on his bed, expecting sleep to claim him immediately.