The Medieval Murderers - The Tainted Relic

‘And tell me the location of the relic,’ added Michael. ‘I do not want anyone else to die because they inadvertently handle the thing.’

Kip snarled a refusal, but John scrabbled at his brother’s neck to reveal a purple pouch. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Take it.’

Michael regarded it warily, and made no attempt to oblige, while Bartholomew certainly had no intention of doing so and Tomas was more concerned with the dying man’s soul. Kip ignored the friar’s exhortations to confess his sins, and his groping fingers found the purse and began to open it, each movement slow and laboured.

‘Is that it?’ asked Michael, watching cautiously. ‘It is not a decoy? You have not hidden the real one elsewhere?’

‘Why not look?’ suggested Kip tauntingly, waving a small splinter in the monk’s face. He smiled when the monk leapt backward. ‘To be certain.’

They were his final words. He closed his eyes and, after a few moments, his breathing slowed then stopped, although the splinter remained firmly clutched in his fingers. Tomas began to intone a final absolution. At the sound of the Dominican’s voice, Kip’s eyes flew open and he hurled the relic from him. It hit the startled friar square in the middle of his chest. His prayers faltered and Kip went limp for the last time.

‘Lord!’ whispered Michael in horror. ‘Tomas has touched it.’

‘I do not think we have ever made so many mistakes and erroneous assumptions with a case before,’ said Michael the following day, as he sat with Bartholomew in the little orchard at the back of their college. ‘We thought we had three murders, but there were only three accidents-four, if we count Kip. First, there was Witney, a fanatical hater of Holy Blood relics, who would stop at nothing to destroy one. He died when the trap he had set for Andrew sprung early, and stones dropped down the chimney to stun him and then smother him with soot.’

‘Witney’s death may have been accidental, but Andrew’s and Urban’s had a human component. John insists Kip did not mean to kill Urban when he tripped him, and I think he is telling the truth, but Kip was responsible for the death nonetheless. Meanwhile, Andrew’s demise was a clear case of self-murder.’

‘He deliberately walked on to the unstable pier, and he had dosed himself with a sedative to ensure he would not swim. There is also the way Urban says he fell-with his legs rigid and straight, as though he intended to plunge as deep as possible. He probably thought he would never rise.’

‘But there is a drought, and the river is low,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Fortunately for him, the syrup did its work, and he simply slipped into unconsciousness and drowned. I think he staged his suicide to be perceived as an accident, because he wanted to make a point to Tomas. He knew he would not live long anyway, and decided to use his death to ensure Tomas took Barzak’s curse seriously.’

‘And fulfil his last wishes. All friars are trained to obey their masters, and Tomas would be no different, despite their rift. I wonder why he elected to use Tomas, rather than Urban. Was it because he was fond of Urban, and hoped to spare him an early death?’

‘I can think of no other reason,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Urban had hesitated when he was offered the relic earlier, and Andrew saw that, for all his protestations of loyalty, Urban was not ready to die. But Andrew should not have killed himself before making sure that the relic was in Tomas’s hands, and that Tomas agreed to do what he asked. All manner of things could have gone wrong-did go wrong.’

‘Not really. I have just told you that Tomas would obey his former master’s dying wish-and that is exactly what he is doing. He left Cambridge this morning, with the relic around his neck. It will be in Norwich in a week. You were right about him, and I was wrong. It is a pity he will die, because the Dominican Order needs more men like him-open minded, mild, tolerant. ’

‘I do not think he will die,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And I was not right about him: you were.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Tomas killed Kip.’

Michael stared at him. ‘No-Kip killed Kip. Tomas pointed out the severed twine that held the rack to the ceiling, remember?’

‘I remember that is what he said. However, when Kip snatched the knife from the ceiling, Tomas grabbed one from the table. Then he flew across to the wall, where the rope holding the rack was secured to a hook. The rack dropping on Kip looked like divine vengeance, but it was just Tomas, cutting the rope that held the pulley. Besides, the situation Tomas described-with Kip slicing the twine as he took aim at you-is quite implausible.’

Michael gazed at him. ‘Are you sure?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘I saw exactly what happened.’

‘Then why did you say nothing?’

‘Because he saved you, and I was grateful to him. But he is a liar. He lied about his real purpose in visiting Cambridge-gaining the trust of good men like Prior Morden in an attempt to discover treachery in the Holy Blood debate is hardly an honourable duty-and he was not honest with us about his former acquaintance with Andrew.’

Michael continued to stare. ‘Then perhaps it is just as well he has gone.’

‘It is,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘You compared him to the fish-head John Roughe left on your shoulder at the Dominican priory, before we had ever heard of this relic. You were right: he is the kind to sit unseen, waiting for others to harm themselves with their own careless tongues.’

‘A stinking, malevolent presence with all-seeing eyes,’ said Michael with a shudder. ‘Like Barzak’s curse.’

Tomas had been travelling since dawn, when he had taken his leave of Prior Morden and the Cambridge Dominicans, promising to deliver the relic to Norwich as Andrew had requested. He glanced at the man who sat in the cart next to him, and they exchanged yet another grin of satisfaction.

‘The monk and the physician were so easily fooled,’ crowed Seton. ‘They believed it was the real relic Kip hurled at you. They all did.’

‘I might have been dead if it were,’ said Tomas. ‘It was fortunate you were to hand when Urban died, to find it and hide it until we could spirit it away.’

‘Our Minister-General will be pleased,’ said Seton, delighted with his success, ‘although it is a pity Witney grew impatient and tried to act too soon.’

Tomas nodded. ‘I am sorry he died.’

‘This venerable object does not belong with Benedictines in Norwich, but in the hands of the Order that is making a stand for the sanctity of Holy Blood against the vile ravages of fanatical Dominicans. It belongs with us Franciscans-true believers, like you and me.’

Tomas smiled. ‘It will be a relief to don the habit of a Grey Friar again. I hate the Dominican garb-I have done ever since I changed my allegiance after hearing Andrew’s flawed ramblings in Pécs all those years ago. I owe him a great deal-it was his inadequate grasp of theology which convinced me I was in the wrong Order.’

Seton laughed. ‘You played your part well-perhaps too well. Brother Michael still believes you are a Dominican inquisitor, and did not suspect for a moment that we had been watching Andrew all the way from Exeter, waiting for an opportunity to wrest his treasure away from him. But you should not have played with Michael. It was not kind.’

‘I was bored among all those dull-witted Dominicans, and needed something to amuse me.’ Tomas fingered the pouch at his neck.

Seton glanced at it uneasily. ‘I will be glad when we pass that to our Minister-General. What do you think he will do with it? Display it, so common folk can come and pay homage? Or will he keep it in a secure vault, to ensure the Dominicans never seize it for their pyres?’