The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

‘Because Roughe had stolen it for himself?’ guessed Michael.

‘Because he had given it to Big Thomas, not Tomas of Pécs,’ said Bartholomew, quicker on the uptake. ‘Andrew is a stranger here: he did not know that there is more than one Thomas at the Dominican priory.’

Urban nodded. ‘I had to put matters right. I persuaded Big Thomas to give it back-told him it was cursed and he yielded it eventually…’ He trailed off with a weak cough that brought blood to his lips.

Michael waited until Bartholomew had wiped the boy’s face. ‘Then what? Did Big Thomas change his mind and demand it back, so he would not die from this curse, too?’

Urban did not seem to hear. ‘I wanted to give it to Tomas secretly, without anyone else seeing. So I hid among those bushes, and waited for him to attend prime. Roughe said Tomas keeps all his religious offices-Andrew taught him well. When I was safely hidden from prying eyes, I opened the box to make sure the splinter was inside its vial. But the night was dark and I could not see, so I was obliged to identify it by touch.’ His eyes became dreamy. ‘It it so small. It should be bigger, after all the lives it has claimed.’

‘What happened next?’ urged Michael as Urban’s eyes closed. ‘Did you fall?’

‘I dropped it,’ said Urban in an agonized whisper. ‘The hot wind blew dust in my eye. It hurt, and the relic slipped from my hand as I tried to rub it out.’

‘Lord!’ muttered Michael, leaping up and lifting his feet to make sure he was not treading on it. ‘Are you saying that it is here somewhere?’

Urban shook his head. ‘I put it back in the box, and hid again. But…’

‘Yes?’ asked Michael urgently. ‘But what?’

‘Someone came…he tripped me,’ said Urban weakly. He became agitated. ‘Where is it now? Did I give it to the right Thomas? I cannot recall.’

‘I have it,’ said Tomas, kneeling next to the lad, while Bartholomew held his head and soothed him by stroking his hair. ‘It is safe, so do not despair. You have done your duty to Andrew and to Christ’s Holy Blood.’

‘Thank God,’ breathed Urban. And then he died.

‘Do you have the relic?’ asked Michel, watching Tomas don his habit, while Bartholomew covered Urban’s face with his tabard. ‘Where is it?’

‘I do not,’ said Tomas, indicating that there was nowhere for it to be. There was nothing but a wooden cross around his neck, while he carried no purse or scrip at his side. ‘The boy was distraught, so I told him what he needed to hear in order to die in peace. I lied, Brother, although doing so gave me no pleasure. It was simply the right thing to do.’

‘Lying to dying men is right?’ asked Bartholomew doubtfully.

‘On occasion,’ said Tomas. ‘What good could have come from telling him he had sacrificed his life for nothing?’

‘Who tripped him? Who forced him on to that scraper?’ Michael was looking at Tomas in a way that made it clear he was the prime suspect.

‘I attended prime with several other Dominicans,’ said Tomas. ‘I did not see Urban when we arrived-although I confess I did not look in the bushes-and he was lying here when we came out. You must look elsewhere for your murderer, Brother-and for your thief, too.’

‘Have you searched for the relic?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps it flew from Urban’s fingers as he fell, and it is still here.’

‘Your beadles did that after I raised the alarm and told them what had happened,’ replied Tomas. ‘I did not, because I was absolving a dying boy. Besides, I have no wish to take possession of something so dangerous. If Andrew had asked me to take it, then it would have been hard for me to refuse him, a man to whom I owe a great deal. But I would not have accepted it from Urban.’

‘Why not?’ asked Michael. ‘You are a Dominican, and they renounce the efficacy of relics containing Holy Blood.’

‘Perhaps we do, but there is no need to ignore the warnings of centuries,’ said Tomas tartly. ‘The cold fact is that people who touch this thing die-whether from accidents, murder or just driven to take their own lives. I want none of it.’

‘Very courageous,’ remarked Michael.

‘Would you touch it?’ demanded Tomas, finally angry. ‘If I found it here, in the churchyard, and handed it to you, would you take it?’ Michael had no reply. ‘No! I did not think so.’

‘This is not the place for such a debate,’ said Bartholomew. ‘One of you needs to anoint Urban, and then we can carry him inside.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Tomas, glaring at Michael as he knelt again. ‘I became distracted with earthly concerns when I should have been performing my priestly duties.’

Michael moved away, pulling Bartholomew with him, and assessed the Dominican through narrowed eyes. ‘I cannot make him out, Matt. However, I do not like the fact that he was here when a grisly murder took place-and one most certainly did. You heard Urban say someone tripped him and flung him down on to that sharp implement.’

‘I heard him say he was tripped,’ corrected Bartholomew. ‘He did not say it was to fling him to his death. There is a big difference.’

‘Really? Then where is the relic, if the objective was not to kill him and steal what he possessed? You are too willing to protect that priest, and I am tired of it.’

‘You are exasperated because you have no evidence,’ said Bartholomew, knowing the real cause of the monk’s anger. ‘And you are appalled that people are dying and you have no idea why or how. It is nothing to do with Tomas.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Michael, sounding weary. ‘But I do not like his connections to our three victims-Andrew, his old master; Urban, who took his place; Witney, with whom he discussed the Holy Blood polemic.’

‘Do not forget the Roughe brothers,’ said Bartholomew. ‘They had possession of the relic, albeit briefly, when they passed it to the wrong Thomas. Andrew might have put it in a box to protect them, but I am willing to wager anything you like that they looked inside it before they did as they were asked.’

‘And probably touched it. So, we may be looking for two more corpses.’

Bartholomew was not so sure. ‘They are missing, but I do not think they are dead-yet. However, we must not forget Big Thomas, either. He may have looked at the relic, too.’

Michael groaned. ‘We shall visit him today and ask about it. But look at Tomas, kneeling and praying so diligently over a lad who may be his latest victim. I do not believe his presence here is coincidence, Matt. I really do not.’

When they arrived at the Dominican priory to ask Big Thomas about the missing relic, Prior Morden hurried to greet them, his elfin face creased with worry.

‘Little Tomas told me what happened this morning,’ he began, wringing his hands as he stared up at Michael’s monstrous bulk. ‘It is a dreadful business, but I hope you do not think a Dominican brought about this death. A number of friars-and some were Franciscans, so you can be certain they would not lie in our favour-were with Tomas when Urban met his end, so he is not your culprit.’

‘It is not Tomas I want to see, but his namesake,’ said Michael.

‘He did not dispatch Urban, either,’ squeaked Morden in alarm. ‘And you must not make that accusation publicly. Can you imagine how it will look, to have one of our Order accused of killing a Carmelite?’

Michael shrugged. ‘If he has done nothing wrong, he has nothing to worry about. Where is he?’

‘Unwell,’ replied Morden. ‘He was unable to attend church this morning.’

Bartholomew felt a pang of unease. Was Barzak’s malediction working its ugly magic on Big Thomas, too? Or was he allowing an overactive imagination to run away with him? He had heard so many people say the curse was real that he was slowly beginning to believe it. ‘What is wrong with him?’