The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

‘I talked with Alfred, the night-soil collector, who I know well. He told me what he heard this morning at the shop of Ranulf of Exeter.’

Selwyn was dubious, not about Ranulf the goldsmith, but about Alfred, the lowliest of the low, who scratched a living from shovelling out the ordure from privies in the town and taking it in his stinking handcart to dump in the River Avon.

‘That Alfred is half-way mad!’ he objected. ‘Surely you don’t rely on anything he tells you?’

The furrier shook his head. ‘He’s odd, I grant you. But Alfred usually tells the truth as he sees it, being too lacking in imagination to make things up. Anyway, he says that when he was in Ranulf’s yard yesterday, emptying his privy-pit, he heard the goldsmith telling his journeyman that if they came back, not to have any dealings with the men who tried to sell him a gold-lined silver box.’

Selwyn’s eyebrows went up his forehead. ‘That would have to be the missing pyx! But everyone in Bath knows it’s been stolen from the abbey. Are you sure that Alfred wasn’t making this up?’

Riocas shook his formidable head. ‘Why should he pick on that one thing? He had no reason to invent it – and he didn’t mention the gold chalice, which would have been much more dramatic.’

‘But what about Ranulf? He would know straight away where it came from. Why didn’t he rush off and tell the prior or the sheriff?’

The cat-catcher gave a cynical grin. ‘Ranulf? He’s well-known for buying stolen goods, but not ones this valuable – and from our own abbey! Yet he’d keep quiet about it, for if it became known that he had a loose mouth, he’d forever lose the custom from all the thieves for miles around.’

Selwyn stirred these new facts around in his mind for a moment. ‘Alfred didn’t hear who those men were, did he?’

‘No, I asked him that. The goldsmith only spoke to his journeyman for a moment, as they were standing at the back door. That’s all Alfred heard.’

Selwyn looked out of his friend’s unglazed window. The shutter was open and he could see that it was already getting dark.

‘Too late tonight, but first thing in the morning, I’ll be having a word with that Ranulf.’

But Fate had other plans.

Riocas could hardly visit Swainswick two days in succession, so next morning he stopped his cart on the main road at the junction of the lane and walked up a little way, trusting to Eldred’s common sense to look out for him. Soon, the fugitive emerged from the bushes and eagerly took the bundle from the cat-catcher. He was hungry and also grateful for another blanket; although he had slept fitfully in his rocky shelter, the autumn night had been chilly.

‘If Selwyn is successful today, you may not need to spend much longer here,’ announced Riocas, optimistically. He told Eldred what he had heard from the night-soil collector and the fact that the King’s steward was at that moment trying to discover who had offered the stolen pyx for sale.

The lay brother was so overcome with relief and gratitude that he flung his arms around Riocas, the difference in their sizes making him look like a squirrel clinging to an oak tree.

‘Have you any idea who the thieves might be?’ demanded the embarrassed giant. ‘From what Alfred heard there must have been more than one who approached the goldsmith.’

Eldred stepped back, then shrugged. ‘It surely has to be someone from the abbey,’ he said pensively, but their conversation was cut short, as they heard the clopping of hoofs coming along the main road and Eldred rapidly vanished after a hurried farewell. Riocas ostentatiously stood emptying his bladder into the bushes as an excuse for stopping his cart in such a lonely spot, then as soon as two merchants had passed on their horses, he turned his donkey round and headed back towards Bath, anxious to hear if Selwyn had learned anything from Ranulf of Exeter.

When he had stabled his beast and walked to the King’s House, he discovered the sad fact that neither Selwyn nor anyone else would learn anything ever again from the goldsmith, for he had suffered a violent death.

‘His house was plundered late last night,’ said the steward, as they sat in the kitchen over quarts of the King’s best ale. ‘Ranulf lived alone, and his journeyman found him when he opened up this morning. He was lying in the shop, beaten to death, his head a bloody mess.’

Riocas shook his head in disgust. ‘So now we’ll never know who offered him the pyx! You say the place was robbed?’

‘It was in great disorder and his journeyman, after taking stock, said that some of the smaller, more valuable things were missing. Large objects, like silver plate, dishes and cruets, were left behind.’

Riocas used the back of his hand to wipe ale from the dark beard that rimmed his jutting jaw. ‘And I’d given poor Eldred hope that his exile would soon be over. Now he’ll have to stay on Solsbury Hill for a while longer until we find who those bastards were!’

The news of the goldsmith’s murder spread all over the city within minutes, rather than hours, including to the abbey.

They knew nothing about the fact that someone had offered the dead victim one of the objects stolen from the cathedral church and Selwyn pondered whether he should tell the sheriff, or even Prior Robert, what the night-soil man had alleged. The problem was that even if the feeble-minded man was believed, could it make matters even worse for Eldred? If the men who offered the pyx to Ranulf could not be identified, then Eldred might be accused not only of a sacrilegious theft, but also a callous murder! The steward decided to hold his tongue for the moment and hope that the murdering thieves would give themselves away by some other means.

That evening, Selwyn and Riocas met at Gytha’s humble dwelling in Binnebury Lane, to discuss the situation and for the furrier to pick up a clean pair of breeches and a tunic to take to Eldred. As Gytha was now virtually destitute, without even the few pence a week that lay brothers earned from the abbey, Selwyn and Riocas provided food for both Eldred and his wife.

‘It’s going be harder each day for me to take provisions to him,’ said Riocas gravely. ‘I can’t find an excuse to go every day to Swainswick, or even along the Chippenham road. The gate-keepers will get suspicious, even though they know me. There are plenty of spies about reporting to both the sheriff and the Abbey – and with this murder, they’ll be more vigilant that ever.’

Gytha became tearful, suggesting that it might be best for her husband to make a run for it and try to go somewhere like Gloucester or Salisbury to start a new life, where one day she could join him. Selwyn tried to calm and reassure her.

‘Running away would look as if he was admitting his guilt, woman! And how would he make a living elsewhere? There are few places where he could get employment polishing the brasses in a cathedral!’

Riocas nodded his agreement. ‘This murder and robbery is to his advantage, much as it inconvenienced poor Ranulf. Sooner or later, it will be learned who those villains are – and that will prove that Eldred must be innocent.’

In the Chapter meeting at the abbey that day, Eldred’s innocence was not on the agenda, only his assumed guilt and the frustrating fact of his disappearance.

‘He must be excommunicated, of course,’ the precentor angrily declared, but the prior’s response was scathing.

‘What use is that, brother? Will it restore our chalice and pyx?’ he snapped, his usual veneer of affability now stripped away.

Hubert, the sacrist, had a more practical observation. ‘We have heard that the workshop of Ranulf was pillaged when he was killed last night. I dislike slandering the dead, but he had a poor reputation for honesty. Could it be that he had obtained our treasure from whoever was the thief and it was then stolen again by others, who had learned that it was in his possession?’