The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘But suppose you fall in and get stuck,’ Stephen said. ‘Shouldn’t we go for help?’

‘No time. He’s exhausted. If he faints, he’ll go under and drown. See if you can find a pole or branch or something I can hang on to.’

It was not an easy matter pulling the poor monk out. Stephen locked his arm round the strut of the bridge and gripped the end of an all-too-slender birch branch. Will, grasping the lower end to steady himself, inched as far down the steep, slippery bank as he dared. Blinking the rain out of his eyes, he made several attempts to toss the loop of the knotted cord to the monk. At first, the monk couldn’t seem to summon the strength to grasp it, but finally, with Will shouting encouragement and threats in equal measure, he roused himself and managed to grasp the rope and eventually hooked one arm through it.

With Will safely back on the bank, they tied the end of the cord to the long leading rein of his horse and urged it forward. The cord straightened and groaned, then with a great splash the monk shot forward in the water and went under. For a sickening moment they thought they had lost him, but he reappeared coughing and choking, still holding onto the cord. Urging the horse another few paces forward, they hauled him out of the water, before finally managing to grasp his arms and drag him up the bank.

He lay on the track, his eyes closed, as black water streamed from his robes and mouth. It was only then, when they saw his face free from the deep cowl, that Stephen recognised him.

‘Brother Oswin! But what are you doing out here and how did you end up in the ditch?’

It was a long time before the young monk could manage to speak, never mind answer that question. Covering him as best they could with their own damp cloaks, Stephen and Will rubbed warmth back into his deathly cold limbs, and urged him to take a few sips of the wine from the leather bottle Will had in his pack. Finally, Oswin managed to sit up and his teeth began to chatter, which both men knew to be a good sign. When he did speak, however, his words made little sense.

‘Slipped off the br-bridge in the dark. Tried to stand up… wade back to the bank… sank into the mud.’

‘But what on earth possessed you to travel on this causeway in the dark, Brother?’ Stephen said. ‘No one from the priory would have sent you out on an errand alone at night.’

‘Have to get it back… Prior Alan called off the search. I thought they’d find it when they were searching for the actors, but they’re not even looking any more.’

‘Find what?’ Stephen asked.

‘Hand… hand of St Withburga.’

Will and Stephen gaped at each other.

‘Prior Alan told you it was missing?’ Stephen asked incredulously. After all the steps he had taken to conceal the theft, surely he would never have confided in a monk as young and inexperienced as Brother Oswin.

‘Prior Alan, no… I took the hand. It was me. I refused at first. I told him it was sacrilege, but my brother… Father Edmund threatened that if I did not bring him the hand he would betray a secret told to him in confession and my brother would be hanged… I had no choice.’

‘So you broke into the shrine and stole a holy relic, a relic from your own priory,’ Will yelled at him. ‘And then you desecrated the sacred body of the saint with that piece of rotting flesh. Did this Father Edmund also force you to do that?’

Will looked so angry, Stephen thought for one moment he was going to hurl the young monk straight back into the water.

‘Desecrate? No… No! I would never desecrate the shrine of the blessed saint. I prayed to the Blessed Virgin to help me and she showed me what to do. She threw the corpse at my feet. It was an answer to my prayers, don’t you see? At… at first I thought she wanted me to cut off the hand and give that to Father Edmund instead, but I realised he wouldn’t believe it was the saint’s hand… So after the midnight service, I lingered behind and hid in the shadows until the gate was locked and all the brothers were gone.’

‘That’s how it was done!’ Will said savagely. ‘I should have known. When the pilgrims leave after vespers, we search the cathedral thoroughly to ensure no one is hiding, but once the great door is locked, it isn’t searched again, because only the monks attend matins and lauds at midnight and no monk would ever dream of stealing from his own cathedral, would he?’

He glowered at Oswin. ‘So you had nearly four hours to steal the saint’s hand before the gates were opened again to admit the monks for prime at daybreak, and then all you had to do was slip back into your place among the brothers. But you still haven’t told us why you left that foul abomination in that holy place.’

Oswin shrank from Will’s fury. ‘I… I put that corpse’s hand in the coffin and left the coffin lid a little ajar so that the smell would force you to open the shrine and discover the saint’s hand was missing. I thought you would understand it was a message.’ He clutched at Will’s sleeve. ‘I wanted you to search and find the bones. But they’ve stopped searching. So I must go to Father Edmund now. I must put right what I did wrong.’

He struggled to rise and collapsed again almost at once. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Stephen pressed his hand to the young monk’s face. It was burning.

‘He has a fever. We should get him back to the priory at once.’

‘What about the relic?’ Will protested.

‘Promise… promise you will find it. I must…’ Oswin suddenly screamed and doubled up in pain.

‘That’s it,’ Stephen said. ‘The relic will have to wait. We must take Oswin to the infirmary now.’

Ely

There was silence in Prior Alan’s solar, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Candles burned steadily on their spikes, and outside the shuttered casements the world slept on in darkness. Prior Alan stared miserably at the jar before him on the table. There was nothing in it save sodden ashes and fragments of charred bones.

‘You are sure this is all that remains.’

Will nodded. ‘Father Edmund was so close to death when we arrived that I’m certain it was only malice that kept him breathing. He laughed when he saw us. “You’re too late,” he said, pointing to the fire. “She betrayed me, just like de Lisle, so now her bones can warm mine.”’

‘Those were his very last words,’ Stephen added. ‘A great spasm seized him. He choked and clutched at his throat as if someone was strangling him, blood gushed from his mouth, then he fell back dead. Will quickly threw the remains of the priest’s ale into the fire to douse the flames, but the hand was already burned away.’

‘A t least we recovered something,’ Alan said. ‘We three will inter what remains in her shrine tonight and hold a vigil until prime. We have much to pray about.’

He lifted the silver sword, which lay next to the ashes on his table, turning the blade over in the candlelight, tracing with his finger the secret names of God – Agla on one side of the blade and on the other side, On . The intricate engraving of mystic signs and scrolls was so delicate, the angels themselves could have fashioned it.

The alchemist had evidently cleaned the sword, but not well enough, for when Alan held it close to the ball of glass that intensified the candlelight he could just make out dark threads of blood trapped in the fine line of tracery. It was a sword of exquisite beauty, intended only for holy work, but now it was tainted by murder. For this sword had never been honed for battle, though it was sharp enough to bisect a single hair. It had been made to conjure spirits and angels. And such a sword was worth… ah, yes, that was the question. What would a man with knowledge of how to use it be prepared to pay for such a sword?