The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘It was gold!’ Ben said stubbornly.

‘Aye, and it’s not just that coin that’s missing either,’ Cuddy growled. ‘I reckon that money sack was considerably more weighty this afternoon.’

‘Doubtless you wish it so, my friend. But I’ve just counted the coins out in front of you all and the bag was not opened before. I’ve been in your company ever since the play ended. I’m sorry that the crowd hasn’t paid us as much as you would like, but I warrant it is a sight more than you would earn hanging around the quayside hoping for a cargo to unload. But perhaps you think my performance isn’t pleasing enough to the crowd. Perhaps you think that’s why they haven’t paid us more.’ Martin snatched up one of the piles of coins and thrust it at Cuddy. ‘Here, take my share and divide it among yourselves, if you think I haven’t earned you enough. Go on, take it!’

So saying, he seized Cuddy’s wrist and slammed the coins into his massive palm. Then, his face a mask of hurt, he swept out of the barn. Cuddy and the other men stared after him in silence. With grim faces they collected their shares from the top of the barrel, glaring at Henry as they filed out and leaving him in no doubt they thought the two of them were in this together.

Henry dragged his aching body over to the barrel and scooped up the one remaining pile of coins, but decided to wait in the barn until he was quite sure the others had returned to their homes. He couldn’t face walking past them. He was as sure as Cuddy was that the bag had been much better stuffed when Ben had brought it back to Martin that afternoon. But if Martin had removed the coins, the question was when? He’d gone out to the back of the inn to piss a couple of times, but the yard was no more private than the inn itself, with men and serving maids crossing to and fro all the time. Besides, he hadn’t been gone long enough to sort through the bag and remove all the coins of greater value, though Henry was pretty sure that’s exactly what he had done.

Henry savagely kicked the barrel. After he’d so nearly got caught in Cambridge, Martin promised – no, not just promised, swore on his own life – that he’d never steal again. And now, just when he’d started to believe that for once his cousin had learned his lesson, Martin’s greed had got the better of him once more. But not this time! Martin wasn’t going to drag him through one of his stinking dung heaps again.

‘No more, Martin, do you hear me? No more,’ Henry shouted into the empty cavern of the barn. ‘You are not going to use me again. I’m going to make quite certain of that!’

Wilbertone, Cambridgeshire Fens

‘Have you brought it?’ Father Edmund wheezed, as soon as the young monk managed to wedge the warped door back in its frame.

Brother Oswin studiously avoided the old man’s intense gaze. ‘I swear I’ve tried, Father. But the cathedral is swarming with pilgrims. The crowds are so great that the lay brothers have had to double their watches in case thieves should use the distraction of the throng to steal anything of value. I cannot get near it, much less take it.’

He stumbled the few steps to the priest’s chair, and fell on his knees, grasping at the old man’s tattered robe. ‘Don’t you see, Father, God is preventing me from taking it. His angels are blocking my path at every turn, just as the angel stood in the road in front of Balaam’s ass and refused to let Balaam pass to sin against God. The angels are keeping us both from sin.’ He bowed his head, crossing himself.

‘And you must have the brains of an ass if you think such feeble excuses will turn me from my purpose,’ Father Edmund growled. ‘You will find a way to get it, boy, unless you want to see your brother hanged.’

Oswin raised his head, his face contorted in anguish. ‘I beg you, Father, don’t force me to do this. You wouldn’t break the sanctity of the confessional, you couldn’t do that. You’re bitter, I know that, and you have every right to be, but you would not damn your own soul with such a sin-’

He broke off with a squeal as Father Edmund grabbed the short fringe of hair around his tonsure and forced his head painfully backwards.

‘Don’t tell me what I would not do, boy! And don’t think for one moment I would not expose you and your brother for the murderers you are. If you care so little for your brother’s life, think of this, boy. You know I once conjured demons to shield de Lisle from the pestilence. Do you imagine I’m so feeble-witted that I couldn’t do it again? Just because my legs don’t bear me up as once they did, doesn’t mean my memory has also deserted me. I still know the signs and symbols, the incantations and the secret names. But if I summon a demon again, boy, it will not be to protect you, of that you can be sure. Get me what I ask, for if you fail me, I promise you will know such torment that before the month is out you will be screaming for the mercy of the hangman’s rope yourself just to bring an end to your suffering.’

He let his hand fall from Oswin’s hair, overcome by a fit of coughing, then hugging his ribs, turned to stare into the embers of the dying fire.

‘You have three days, Brother Oswin,’ he said softly. ‘Just three days left.’

Ely

As soon as he was out of sight of the barn, Martin broke into a run, glancing round several times to make sure he was not being followed. If Cuddy and John caught him out on the street they might take it into their heads to search him by force, and it wouldn’t take them long to find the coins folded into a strip of cloth and tied around his chest. They were the sort of men who would choose to settle a score with their own fists rather than through the justices, and with fists like theirs, he’d be lucky if he could remember his own name by the time they’d finished with him.

Still it had been worth it. That serving girl in the Mermaid Inn on the quayside was good, so good he was sure she’d done it before. She’d waited in the yard for him to slip her the bag of coins on his way to the midden to pass water, giving her the chance to separate the coins at her leisure before handing them back the next time he came out to relieve himself. Of course, he was certain that in addition to what he paid her for her trouble, she’d pocketed a few extra coins herself – it’s what he would have done – but he didn’t begrudge her that so long as she didn’t get too greedy. They could have kept this scam going for days, weeks even. His only regret was there hadn’t been an accident with the knife when young Ben was being sacrificed as Isaac. If he’d known the trouble the boy was going to cause he might have arranged one.

With one further glance up and down the street Martin slipped into the Lamb Inn at the top of the hill and wove his way to the most dimly lit corner. He’d have to be ready to leave as soon as Ely’s gates were opened at dawn, but certainly he wasn’t going to flee empty-handed. There was something he had to retrieve from the wagon first. He had no intention of leaving it behind, not after all the risks he’d taken to acquire it.

Martin had consumed several tankards of good ale before he deemed it late enough to return to the wagon without risk of being seen. Yawning, the innkeeper hustled his last remaining customers out into the cold chill of the night. Martin huddled in the darkness of a doorway, watching them reeling up the street, and remained there until the last drunken calls had faded. Then he cautiously made his way back to the wagon.

A scattering of shards of yellow light marked where candles and rush lights flickered through holes in the shutters of the dozing buildings, otherwise the night was as black as the devil’s armpit. Doors rattled in the wind and somewhere a cat yowled unseen. Martin edged around the back of the wagon.