The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

Big Thomas nodded. ‘Witney said he was going to pay for it to be replaced, but I suggested he give his money to Prior Morden for the one here instead. I told him that I expect to see a tragedy every time a brother bends to poke the hearth, what with loose stones tumbling down our chimneys from want of repair.’

‘You said that?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking that inspiration could come from the least likely of sources.

Big Thomas nodded a second time. ‘And then, in a strange coincidence, Witney himself died exactly that way just days later! He had drawn a plan of Bernard’s roof, which he asked me to look over-he valued my opinion as a thatcher, you see. It was terrible, and he got angry with me when I told him how wrong it was.’

‘In the end, I suggested you take it home and redraw it,’ said Tomas, frowning as he recalled the incident. ‘He was becoming overly aggressive, and I did not want a squabble to end in a fight-and you to be blamed for starting it.’

‘I spent ages making it right, but he never did see it,’ said Big Thomas in disgust, as though Witney had died specifically to inconvenience him. ‘I was complaining about the waste to Kip, and he kindly gave me a penny for it. He said such a picture might come in useful, although he did not say for what.’

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘I doubt he was motivated by kindness. Do you know that he is telling everyone that it was your idea to sell the relic to an abbey?’

Thomas was affronted. ‘It was not! Besides, I have come to think my Order is right about this Holy Blood debate. These blood-soaked relics should be destroyed-not because they are unworthy of veneration, but because some of them are evil, and capable of causing great harm.’

‘Where are John and Kip?’ asked Michael, thinking about more harm that might be waiting to happen.

‘In the kitchens.’ Thomas grimaced. ‘And you can tell them that I do not take kindly to lies spread about me. It was their idea to sell that relic, and I am glad I had nothing to do with their nasty plans.’

The Dominicans’ kitchen was a large room in a separate block, to reduce the risk of fire. It was dominated by a massive hearth, over which hung an extensive rack of knives and ladles. The rack was worked by a pulley, which could be raised or lowered, depending on whether the utensils were needed at hand or stowed out of the way. John was chopping onions on the table, while Kip was stirring something in a pot over the fire, tasting it every few moments. It was obvious he was fishing out the best bits as he did so.

‘You have some explaining to do,’ said Michael, as he entered, Bartholomew and Tomas at his heels. ‘You placed pots of strong medicine and a drawing among Tomas’s possessions for me-or perhaps Morden-to find, but you made two mistakes. First, the phials were the wrong kind. And second, Big Thomas has just confided that he gave Witney’s diagram to you .’

‘Tomas took it from us,’ replied Kip coolly, eyeing the friar with dislike. ‘We warned you about him, but he has already convinced you to let him out of gaol.’

‘Why do you want him hanged for murder?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘What is it about him that you do not like?’

‘He is a liar,’ said Kip, angry when he saw that his stories were not believed. ‘He is not here to study angels, but to spy on his brethren and their faithful servants. Then he will tell the Master-General that Prior Morden is prepared to revere Holy Blood, and this friary will be suppressed. We have worked here for ten years now. Where will we find other employment if he succeeds?’

‘So, you tried to kill Tomas to ensure that would not happen-first with a crossbow and then with a horse,’ surmised Bartholomew. ‘The horse missed Tomas, but it almost broke Bulmer’s jaw.’

The brothers exchanged an uncertain glance as they saw the net closing around them. ‘All right,’ said John. ‘We admit we tried to dispatch a man who is evil, but we were protecting the friars whom we have served faithfully for a decade. I shook the ladder the other day, too, although you were the one who almost fell. And we left the phials and the picture for Brother Michael to find, but only because we wanted to see justice done.’

‘Hanging an innocent man is not justice,’ said Michael sharply.

‘You are still lying,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You threw a stone at me on the High Street-it injured Deynman, but it was aimed at me-because Michael and I were investigating matters that were coming too close to your activities for comfort. I imagine you would have tried to harm Michael, too, in time.’

‘For the good of our Dominican employers…’ said John in a bleat.

Michael was unmoved. ‘You are killers, thieves and liars, so do not pretend your motives are honourable.’

‘Killers?’ squawked John, appalled. ‘We are not killers!’

‘You murdered Urban,’ said Michael. ‘You knew he had reclaimed the relic from Big Thomas, because Big Thomas told you so. You were angry to be deprived of a potential fortune, and followed him to the churchyard. You hurled him on to that spike…’

‘It was an accident,’ cried John. ‘He would not listen to what I had to say, so I chased him and Kip stuck out his foot…’

‘Shut up!’ hissed Kip. ‘Tell them nothing. They have no proof.’

‘Urban said it was not our fault,’ shouted John, eyes wild in his white face. ‘As he lay there, with that point through his middle, he said it was not us who killed him. We should have stayed, but we were afraid, and we ran away. We knew Tomas would help him when he came out…’

‘Enough!’ roared Kip furiously. ‘We have done nothing wrong, except tell one or two untruths for the benefit of the priory. Do not say anything else.’

But his brother was unstoppable. ‘It was the relic. The relic killed Urban, because he touched it.’

‘Rot,’ said Kip firmly. ‘I touched it, and I am perfectly healthy.’

‘Where is it?’ demanded Michael.

Then everything happened quickly. Kip made a quick, darting lunge, and all of a sudden he had snatched two knives from the rack above his head. Bartholomew ducked behind a table, but Tomas and Michael were slow to react, and only gazed in horror as Kip prepared to throw the first one.

‘No, Kip!’ cried John, horrified. ‘Do not make matters worse.’

‘I can kill two men with these,’ said Kip, calmly assessing his situation. ‘First, I will spear the monk for not believing us over Tomas, and then I will kill Tomas himself. Bartholomew is nothing-it does not matter if he lives or dies.’

He drew back his arm. Tomas shot towards the wall and Michael dived to the floor, which meant Kip was obliged to clamber on to the table in order to gain a clear view of his first victim. He raised his arm to take aim, but there was a tremendous groan as first one half of the iron rack, and then the other, descended towards the servant’s unprotected head. Bartholomew saw Kip’s mouth open in an expression of horror before he was lost among crashing utensils and the heavy thump of the rack itself. He leapt forward to haul it away, but the load had fallen in such a way as to break Kip’s back.

‘He cut the rope that held the rack with his own knife,’ explained Tomas, holding the severed twine for Michael to inspect. ‘As he lifted his hand to hurl the weapon, his blade scored through the rope. The cook keeps them very sharp.’

‘Barzak’s curse!’ cried John in horror. ‘Kip touched the relic so was doomed, just as Urban and Andrew said.’

‘I will not die,’ muttered Kip, although it was obvious to everyone that he had but moments to live.

‘Make your confession,’ Tomas urged. ‘Before it is too late.’