The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

Michael took it from him, and when he looked at Tomas, his eyes were accusing. ‘It is a picture of the chimney at Bernard’s Hostel, and a map showing the safest way across the roof towards it. Now I see why you were prepared to risk your life to climb up there with Matt. We thought you were trying to help, but your intention was to make sure he interpreted the harness and the pile of missiles in a way that suited you. So, you killed Witney, too.’

‘No!’ cried Tomas, appalled. ‘I have killed no one!’

‘The evidence is too strong to ignore,’ said Michael gravely, gazing at the stunned faces that surrounded him. ‘I have always been suspicious of you, Tomas, and now I see I was right. You have lied to us from the start-about the fact that you were once Andrew’s student, and about your true purpose here.’

‘To study angels,’ began Morden, appalled at what was happening.

‘To spy for your Master-General,’ said Michael harshly. ‘To find out what honest Dominican friars think of the Holy Blood debate, and to report these findings to powerful men.’ He pointed a finger at Tomas. ‘ You are our killer-and I am arresting you on three counts of murder.’

Tomas was led from the Dominican priory and marched through the town to be placed in a cell near the church of St Mary the Great. He said nothing more in his defence, but declined to provide Michael with details of his various crimes. Bartholomew walked behind him, feeling angry and rather guilty. He had liked Tomas, and had defended him against Michael’s accusations, but he had been wrong, and he was unsettled to think he may have influenced the monk in a way that had seen a murderer left free to take another two victims-Andrew and Urban.

‘I cannot make you speak to me,’ said Michael as he prepared to abandon the Dominican in the proctors’ prison. ‘But it would be helpful if you would tell me where you have hidden the relic. Holy Blood is potent, and should be treated with respect. I would like it put somewhere safe, where it will do no more harm.’

‘Against the teachings of my Order, I am inclined to agree with your assessment,’ replied Tomas. ‘Holy Blood is powerful and divine. But I cannot tell you where it is, because I do not know.’

‘Urban gave it to you before he died,’ pressed Michael.

Tomas sighed softly. ‘The only words we exchanged pertained to his absolution. I knew he did not have many moments to live, and I thought the fate of his immortal soul was of greater importance than this tainted relic. He tried to talk about it-he said it dropped from his hand when he fell on the shoe-scraper-but I urged him to make his final confession instead.’

‘I will find it,’ vowed Michael. ‘I will dig up the churchyard if I have to, but I will recover it.’

‘Good,’ said Tomas with a smile that lacked humour. ‘It is a comfort to know that it will soon be in your able hands.’

Bartholomew regarded him uneasily. His comment sounded like a threat. He decided to go with the monk when he began his search, and ensure he was very careful before he laid hands on anything that looked like a splinter in an ancient glass vial. He rubbed a hand through his hair, realizing that he, too, was becoming certain there was something sinister about the relic-beginning to accept that it could do great harm to those unfortunate enough to come into contact with it.

‘It will go better for you if you tell me where it is,’ said Michael, trying for the last time.

‘I know,’ said Tomas tiredly. ‘But I cannot tell what I do not know.’

Michael locked the door to Tomas’s cell, and walked into the sunlight, heaving a sigh of relief. ‘The case is solved. The diagram of the hostel’s roof proves he planned mischief up there, and I imagine his intended victim was Andrew. Unfortunately, it was Witney who went to investigate odd noises coming from the chimney and he paid the ultimate price for his curiosity.’

Bartholomew nodded, feeling chilled, despite the warmth of the sun. ‘Tomas mentioned a discussion he had had with his namesake about roofs. On its own, it means nothing, but it is suspicious in the light of Witney’s peculiar death.’

Michael nodded, eyes gleaming as details of the case began to come together in a way that made sense. ‘He was taking advantage of Big Thomas’s expertise. But his cunning ploy failed. Still determined to kill Andrew, he fed him a powerful dose of poppy syrup to render him helpless, and encouraged him to walk on to the rotten jetty. And we know how he killed Urban.’

Bartholomew frowned. Michael’s explanation was too simple, and did not take into account some of the facts. ‘I am not sure about this. First, Urban did not mention Tomas giving Andrew potent medicine, or being present when the old man trod on the pier. He said they were alone. Second, I saw Andrew and Urban not long before Andrew died, and Tomas was not with them. And third, we know Urban was killed while Tomas was praying inside the church-we have independent witnesses who will attest to that.’

Michael did not seem discomfited that his carefully constructed explanation had several glaring inconsistencies. He shrugged. ‘As I keep saying, Tomas is clever. Perhaps he will answer these questions when I interview him again later, but perhaps he will not, and we will never know.’

‘Are you certain of his guilt? Sure enough to see him hang?’

Michael raised his hands, palms upward. ‘That is for a jury to decide. But the diagram and the hidden soporifics are damning, Matt. Even you must see that. And do not forget we are still missing Kip Roughe. It would not surprise me if his corpse were to appear sooner or later, too.’

‘Then you are going to be disappointed,’ said Bartholomew, pointing across the street. ‘Because there he is, and his brother John is with him.’

Michael shot across the road to apprehend the servants. The pair looked distinctly uneasy when they saw the monk bearing down on them and, for a moment, looked as though they might run. But they held their ground, and waited until he reached them.

‘You have been missing,’ said Michael without preamble. ‘We were afraid something untoward had happened to you.’

‘Something did,’ replied Kip harshly. ‘Tomas.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Did he try to harm you?’

‘Several times,’ replied John. ‘He shot a crossbow at us one night, as we were leaving a tavern. It was a good thing Kip had not swallowed as much ale as me, or I would not be talking to you now-he pushed me to safety. Then Tomas rode a horse at us, aiming to crush us under its hoofs. He is a dangerous man, Brother, and I am relieved you have him under lock and key.’

‘We heard the good news a few moments ago,’ elaborated Kip. ‘We have been hiding in a cousin’s house, terrified that he might try again.’

‘Why did you not tell me this sooner?’ demanded Michael.

‘Would you have believed two servants over a friar?’ asked Kip scornfully. ‘Of course not! He would have told you that we attacked him , and then it would have been us at the gibbet. Still, we hear you have proper evidence against him now.’

‘We do,’ acknowledged Michael.

Bartholomew was not so sure. ‘Bulmer said it was you who were trying to kill Tomas, not the other way around- you shot the arrow and rode the horse. He said you and he were suspicious of Tomas, and were stalking him together.’

‘When we learned Bulmer felt the same way as us, we offered to combine forces,’ admitted John. ‘But Bulmer proved too hot headed. He intended to murder Tomas, while all we wanted was to watch him and see what he did. We were arguing about it when the horse crashed into him.’