The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

Sometimes he tried to convince himself that women would find him desirable if his handsome cousin wasn’t around to make him look dull and plain by comparison. But he never had the courage to put it to the test and face the world alone. His cousin had always looked out for him, and as Martin reminded him at least once a day, Henry simply didn’t have the wit to fend for himself.

A man squatted in front of Steeple Gate, his arms bound in filthy bandages through which greenish-yellow stains were oozing. Half a dozen more beggars sat around in a state of near stupor, hunched against the cold wind from the river. But as soon as Martin tugged at the bell rope hanging above the gate they sprang to life and clustered round, pushing wooden bowls at Henry and Martin, whining for coins.

A young monk dragged open the gate and took a step forward. The beggar with the bandaged arms almost hit him in the face with his bowl as he thrust it towards him. The monk shoved the beggar hard in the chest, so that he stumbled over the crutches of another and fell sprawling on the stones.

‘I’ve told you before,’ the monk snapped, ‘not another loaf will you get from us, so it’s no use your waiting.’ Seeing the shocked expression on Henry’s face the monk flushed slightly. ‘He’s avering, an old trick. He’s only pretending to be sick, but I reckon he takes the meats we give him and sells them, then spends the money in the local tavern.’

The beggar let forth a stream of vehement denials and curses, and the others joined in, but the young monk was evidently well used to ignoring them.

‘What’s your business here?’ he shouted over the din.

Martin raised his voice to match him. ‘We’ve a proposition to put to the prior.’

The monk raised his eyebrows scathingly. ‘And what might you be wanting to propose that would be of any interest to an important man like the prior?’

‘Those crowds outside the cathedral are on the verge of a riot. We have a plan to keep them calm and quiet.’

‘I’ve a plan to do that myself, but I don’t think the prior will sanction firing arrows down on them from the towers,’ the monk said sourly. Then, as the beggars’ demands grew ever more insistent, he retreated back into the gateway and began pushing the gate closed behind him.

Just before slamming it shut, he peered at Martin through the gap. ‘Look, even if you could perform the miracle of the loaves and fishes, Prior Alan wouldn’t see you. Why don’t you try Subprior Stephen? He went out of here a little while ago making for the quayside. If you hurry you’ll catch him.’

Without looking to see if Henry was following, Martin raced off down the hill, dodging round the pilgrims and traders, the boys hefting great stacks of dried peat on their backs and the women hurrying home with fat eels for their husband’s dinner. Henry didn’t trouble to follow. If there was wheedling and persuading to be done, he could add nothing. He would simply be expected to stand and listen to one of his cousin’s eloquent speeches as he convinced yet another fool to part with his money. Henry might occasionally be called upon to back up some wild claim or other, but he couldn’t even do that without blushing. He sighed. If Martin put half as much effort into finding work as he did into dreaming up schemes for making money, they could both have settled down long ago.

Henry peered down the hill to see if Martin had caught up with the subprior, and noticed a man walking up towards him, threading his way through the crowds. He was taller than most of the men around him. From this distance it was hard to make out his features, but his crow-black hair stood out clearly and there was something about that uneven gait that was vaguely familiar. Then in a sudden flash of recognition Henry realised who he was. He felt as if someone had thrown a pail of ice over him, for he was the last man he wanted to see in Ely. Henry fled across the market square and dived into the nearest inn. He scuttled into the corner, trying to peer out through one of the open casements without being seen.

‘Ale, is it? We’ve a stew of eels, if you’re hungry.’ A disheveled-looking girl, balancing a flagon on each hip, wriggled up beside him and peered curiously out of the window. ‘What’s so interesting out there? A fight, is it?’

‘I was waiting for someone.’

She snorted and moved away from the window. ‘You can drink while you wait, can’t you? What’ll I bring you?’

But Henry had already crept back to the door. He anxiously scanned the crowd, but there was no sign of the face he was searching for. Maybe he had turned off down one of the lanes. Then he saw Martin sauntering up the street with all the arrogance of a cat with a sparrow in its mouth. Even before he was near enough to speak, Henry knew that Martin had managed to persuade the subprior.

‘He says he will have to consult the other obedientiaries who have the running of the cathedral grounds, but he is sure they will be persuaded. And he says they have a wagon long enough for us to perform on. He will even ask the sacrist to loan us a couple of carpenters to build the mouth of hell and the celestial heaven. So, young cos, we are in business! The Play of Adam will be performed to the adulation of the crowd, well, as much of it as we have time to prepare. Subprior Stephen says that they have the whole manuscript in their library, and he’ll assign some of the younger scribes to copy out the parts for each actor when we’ve decided what we will perform. I tried to persuade him to let me borrow the manuscript so that I could find the best sections, but he says the scroll is over two hundred years old and far too valuable.’ Martin scowled. ‘I don’t know why he wouldn’t trust me with it.’

If he had, Henry thought to himself, it would certainly have been the last the subprior ever saw of it.

Martin brightened again. ‘No matter. At least we’ll make good money from the crowd. You wait, they’ll be showering us with silver.’

When he finally paused for breath, Henry managed to deliver his own news. ‘The alchemist is here… from Cambridge… I saw him walking up the hill. He could only have been a few yards in front of you. Saints be praised that I recognised him in time and managed to hide before he saw me, but we have to get out of here. We must leave Ely today.’

‘Haven’t you been listening, young cos? It’s all settled. We are going to perform The Play of Adam and I’ve no intention of leaving until we’ve milked this pretty little goat completely dry.’

Henry stared at his cousin as if he was insane. ‘Don’t you understand what I said – the alchemist is here! We can’t possibly perform in front of a crowd now. That would be the quickest way of drawing attention to ourselves. If he recognises us we’ll be arrested and hanged.’

Martin laughed. ‘And the stars might fall out of the sky tonight. Why do you always have to imagine the worst? Even if he is here, what does it matter? He’ll have come on business. He’s no reason to suspect us of anything. I covered our tracks carefully. So if you do bump into him just act as if you’re delighted to see an old friend. And whatever you do, don’t start stammering and turning red like a naughty schoolboy expecting a birching.’ He flicked Henry’s chest hard with his finger. ‘How often do I have to tell you, young cos, I have brains enough for the both of us, so stop worrying. Now what we need to do is round up a few more actors, and there’s only one place to find actors – in any tavern that sells good cheap ale.’

The Mermaid Inn on the bank of the great river was empty of drinkers save for eight men clustered around the fire. It was barely an hour after sunrise, as the yawns and scowls of the serving maid testified, and the boatmen still had many hours of work ahead of them before they could stop for a flagon of ale and some slices of brawn fried in lard. But Martin had insisted that the players must make an early start.