The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

The cat-catcher pushed aside a basket of rabbit skins from his table and replaced it with a crock of cider and two pottery mugs.

‘What do we do now, my friend?’ he asked, as he poured out the murky liquid. ‘If all the sheriff’s men have failed to find Ranulf’s thieving killers, what chance do we have?’

‘That’s assuming that they have any connection with the missing valuables from the abbey,’ added Selwyn, rather despondently. ‘We have no evidence that the murder of Ranulf is anything to do with the theft.’

Riocas disagreed, thumping his mug down on the table. ‘It’s too much of coincidence that the night-soil man heard about two men offering what must have been the pyx to Ranulf, on the very day of his killing.’

‘You may be right,’ admitted the steward. ‘But what can we do about it?’

After some more discussion, the two men decided, mainly from a lack of any other ideas, to visit the scene of the crime to see if they could find anything that may have escaped the attention of the sheriff’s men. When they had fortified themselves with some bread and the remains of a rabbit pie, together with what was left of the cider, they walked across the town almost to the West Gate, which led out on to the Bristol road. A lane ran around inside the town wall, in which was a row of houses and shops, the first being Ranulf’s premises. The two heavily shuttered windows on each side of the door were firmly closed, but when Riocas banged on the panels, the door was opened and a timorous face appeared. They recognised the late owner’s assistant, who was qualified as a craftsman by his guild, but had not yet been able to set up his own business. Being paid by the day or journee , he was known as a ‘journeyman’.

Selwyn and Riocas commiserated with him over the loss of his master and learned that, much to the man’s relief, the business had been taken over by Ranulf’s cousin, so his job would be saved. They explained that they wanted to see the place where his master had been fatally assaulted. To justify this strange request, they truthfully explained that they were trying to clear their friend Eldred’s name, though carefully omitting any mention of their part in his escape.

Their frankness – plus the passage of a silver penny from Riocas’ purse – persuaded the smith to let them into the shop, which consisted of a front room where articles were displayed for sale, together with a workshop at the back and living quarters on the upper floor.

‘I found him in this room,’ explained the journeyman. ‘He was lying here, in the middle of the floor, his head covered in blood!’ He made a dramatic gesture with his arm. Though the floor had been washed, there were still ominous brown stains between the cracks in the flagstones.

Selwyn looked around at the trestle tables against three walls, where a few silver brooches, bracelets and earrings were on display.

‘They took nothing made of gold then?’ he asked.

‘The master kept all that locked in a stout chest in his chamber upstairs,’ explained the journeyman. ‘They took some silver bracelets and necklaces from here, which were quite valuable. I suspect that when they found that they had killed him, they ran away without looking for anything more.’

Riocas looked around the shop, where a chair lay against a wall, one of its legs broken off and a large pot lay smashed on the floor.

‘There was quite a struggle, by the looks of it!’

‘My master was a big man, with a quick temper,’ declared the smith, with some feeling. ‘He would not have given in easily!’

Selwyn noticed something on the floor and bent down to retrieve it from behind one of the legs of a trestle table. He showed a small piece of leather to Riocas, then questioned the journeyman again.

‘Is this room cleaned often?’

The man stared at him in surprise at such an odd query. ‘Our apprentice brushes it out every morning without fail – though since the shock of discovering the master’s bloody corpse, he has not been coming to work.’

Selwyn held up the object he had found. ‘So this is unlikely to have been on the floor before the robbery?’

As the journeyman shook his head in mystification, Riocas took the piece of leather from his friend and stared at it with a frown on his big face.

‘What’s this, then? Looks like part of a strap.’

Selwyn nodded. ‘And it’s part of a sandal strap. Look, it’s worn through where the buckle crossed it.’

Riocas, for whom leather goods were part of his trade, held it nearer to his eyes. ‘Yes, torn across at the weakened part. But what use is this to us?’

‘If it fell to the floor when Ranulf was killed, then it may well have been lost by one of the robbers during the fight.’

Riocas still looked dubious. ‘Half the citizens of Bath wear sandals, so how does that help?’ He turned to the journeyman. ‘What did your master wear on his feet?’ he demanded.

‘Good stout shoes, for he could well afford them,’ said the man, rather bitterly. ‘So that didn’t come from him.’

Selwyn had taken the strap back from the cat-catcher and was examining it intently. ‘I know where this came from,’ he said, tense with excitement. ‘Look there, near the tip.’ He pushed it back under Riocas’ nose. ‘There’s a small punch mark, see?’

The short-sighted furrier peered again at the worn leather. ‘A little cross, you mean?’

‘Yes! The abbey cordwainer always marks his work with that. It must have come from there, so almost certainly the owner of the sandal is either a monk or a lay brother!’

Both Riocas and Selwyn knew that all the leather-work for the abbey was done in the saddlery, next to the farrier’s forge on the end of the stable block furthest from the proctor’s cell. The present cordwainer was Roger of Devizes, who had given up his shop there to become a lay brother. He had a cobbler and a novice to help him, as they had to look after all the abbey’s harness and leather-work.

Riocas and Selwyn hurried back towards the precinct, and as they turned in through the main gate, Riocas wondered if it would be possible to match the broken sandal-strap to any particular person.

‘We can but try, friend,’ replied Selwyn. ‘I’m sure that sandal was damaged during the scuffle – and we know it wasn’t from the goldsmith’s footwear.’

They reached the saddlery where, inside the open double doors, two men were at work at a pair of benches and another was sitting on a stool with an iron last sticking up between his knees, punching holes in a long strip of leather. Ox-collars, bridles, traces and other pieces of harness were hanging around the walls, and a row of shelves bore shoes, riding boots and sandals, both old and new. The man on the stool, dressed in a short brown tunic and breeches, was Roger of Devizes, a thin fellow with a face as leathery as the material he worked on.

He greeted Selwyn with a quizzical look. ‘The royal steward, no less!’ he quipped. ‘Does the King want a new pair of shoes, then?’

Selwyn grinned. He had known Roger for a long time and they were comfortable with each other, if not close friends.

‘I have a puzzle for you, Master Shoemaker! Do you recognise this?’ He held out the broken strap, which the wizened cordwainer took between his fingers, then peered at it closely.

‘Where did you find this, Master Steward?’

Selwyn avoided the question. ‘Is it one of yours, Roger? It has the abbey mark upon it.’

The seated man nodded. ‘It is indeed – and the sandal it came from is up there.’ He pointed to a nearby shelf, where a collection of used footwear was awaiting repair.

This was more than Selwyn or Riocas had hoped for and the steward seized on the opportunity. ‘You mean you have it here already? Who brought it?’