The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘It was looking up at the roof of the cathedral, at all those carved heads, that gave me the idea. I managed to mingle with the crowd going in for the servants’ Mass. I couldn’t believe my luck when I found the door to the tower open. With all those people milling about, no one noticed me slip inside. I stuffed the sack and clothing under one of the beams in the dark corner inside the tower, then put the head on the turret where the birds could pick it clean. I thought when it was eventually found, people would think they’d found my head.’

‘As indeed some did,’ Alan said, glaring at Stephen.

‘But when I came down the tower, someone had locked the door at the bottom. I couldn’t get back out. I had to hide and wait for someone to open it again, but no one came until long after the noon bell. I made straight for the town gate, but even before I got there I saw the long queues waiting in front of it and I realised the guards were stopping and questioning everyone. I couldn’t leave Ely.’

‘So you decided to hide in plain view,’ Alan said.

‘No one looks at beggars,’ Martin said, with something of his old swagger at his own cleverness.

‘But what I don’t understand,’ Will said, ‘is how you broke into St Withburga’s tomb. You said yourself there was a crowd of people, and the cathedral is searched thoroughly each evening to ensure no thief is hiding.’

‘But I didn’t go near any of the saints’ tombs. I didn’t want to risk being seen.’

‘Then how did you steal the saint’s hand and replace it with Luke’s?’ Will demanded.

‘How he did it is irrelevant,’ Prior Alan snapped.

‘But, Father Prior, if there has been some breach in the security of the cathedral, others may use it to steal, and as custodian-’

‘That can wait. The only thing that matters at this moment is recovering that relic.’

Alan strode across to Martin and seized his shoulders, shaking him as if that would make the words drop out of his mouth. ‘We know you placed the hand of the murdered boy in the shrine and stole the saint’s hand. Tell us what you’ve done with it. Where have you hidden it?’

‘But I didn’t take anything from the shrine. I told you, I couldn’t get near it.’

Martin tried desperately to pull himself out of the prior’s grasp, but his hands were bound fast and, for a man in his sixties, Alan was surprisingly strong.

‘Then what did you do with Luke’s hand,’ Alan demanded, ‘the hand you so brutally sliced from his corpse?’

‘Nothing! I did nothing. Luke’s hand was already missing when I found him.’

‘You didn’t mention that before,’ Stephen said.

Martin hesitated. ‘I… I guessed the man who took it had cut it off… because he thought Luke was a… thief.’

Prior Alan pounced. ‘But you told us this mysterious man believed he was killing you, that means that you are the thief. So what did you steal from him? It must have been something of great value to warrant murder. Well?’ He shook Martin again.

‘All right, if you must know it was a sword… a silver sword.’

‘Valuable indeed,’ Alan said grimly. ‘But why did he not simply have you arrested? He would have had the satisfaction of seeing you hanged without risk to himself.’

‘He didn’t dare,’ Martin said sullenly. ‘It’s no ordinary blade. The sword is inscribed with the secret names of God, Agla and On . And this man is an alchemist… from Cambridge.’

Prior Alan sank down into the nearest chair. ‘This gets worse by the hour,’ he groaned.

Stephen and Will looked bewildered.

‘Only twelve such swords were ever made,’ Alan explained wearily, ‘to be used by consecrated priests who were specially trained in the art of conjuring spirits and angels. The Mass of the Holy Spirit was said over those blades. They’re all supposed to be safely under lock and key. So how on earth did a layman get hold of one? It’s obvious why this alchemist did not report the theft. He must have stolen the sword himself or bought it knowing it was stolen.’

The colour drained from Stephen’s face. ‘You used a sword in the play of “Cain and Abel”… surely it was not that one.’

Martin’s silence told him it was.

‘What evil demon have you conjured!’ Stephen cried.

Prior Alan thumped the table. ‘He has conjured nothing! Whatever mischief has gone on in Ely has been the work of human sin, as the very play itself warns. The townspeople may believe in demons flying down from towers, but we know it is not so.’

Will and Stephen exchanged glances that plainly said they knew no such thing.

‘But Father Prior,’ Will said, ‘what about the theft of St Withburga’s hand? I still don’t see how Martin could have accomplished it.’

Martin looked positively triumphant as if he’d just been proved innocent.

‘ If what this man says is true,’ Alan said icily, ‘then we have found our thief and he is most definitely human. If the alchemist cut off Luke’s hand, then he must have placed it in the shrine and stolen the saint’s hand, no doubt to use in some evil charm or sorcery. Find the alchemist and we will find the hand.

‘You,’ he turned to Martin, ‘tell Brother Will all you know about this man and the places he is likely to go. Will and Stephen, you must prepare to set out at once for Cambridge, but you’ll have to travel alone. No one outside this room is to learn St Withburga’s hand is missing. If you have to enlist help when you are there to apprehend this alchemist, then tell them only that he is wanted for murder in the cathedral precincts, but make sure you search his lodging and workshop thoroughly. I want that hand found.

‘As for you, Martin, you will be reunited with your cousin in the hell-pit. He will doubtless be overjoyed to discover you’re alive, but I suspect Luke’s uncle will be somewhat less welcoming, especially when he learns it was you who placed his nephew’s head on the tower.’

Cambridge

It took Stephen and Will three days to locate the alchemist’s house. On the first morning after they arrived in Cambridge they sought an audience with the sheriff and explained they were in pursuit of a man who had committed murder in the grounds of Ely Priory, though they were careful to make no mention of either the relic or the sword. The sheriff showed little interest. Scowling, he told them that he had his hands full trying to keep the townspeople, the students and the various orders of monks from killing one another, without solving Ely’s murders as well, and demanded to know why they hadn’t brought more men with them. Finally, but only after he had been reminded in no uncertain terms by Will that he had a sworn duty to root out fugitives from justice hiding in his city, he grudgingly assigned two of his men to go with them and arrest the man, if he could be found.

Martin, realising his only hope of escaping the gallows was the arrest of the alchemist, had told Will exactly how to find the undercroft of a house where the alchemist had his workshop. But when Stephen and Will arrived and hammered on the door, they were met only with silence. Finally, after they had knocked a good many times, a woman leaned out of a casement on the upper storey.

‘We were told that we might find a man called Nicholas working here,’ Will called up.

‘Used to. Left in the middle of the night, he did, and the bastard still owes me rent.’

‘Do you know where he went?’

‘Do you think he’d still owe me rent if I did?’ the woman retorted, and promptly withdrew her head.

But even in Cambridge the smells and noises of an alchemist’s workshop couldn’t remain unnoticed for ever. Stephen and Will were eventually led to a house backing on to the stinking waters of King’s Ditch by a grubby street urchin who seemed to know the business of every household in Cambridge, information that he was eager to sell, though only after negotiating his fee as ruthlessly as any lawyer.