The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

‘What a waste of a young life!’ John murmured to Christina’s friend. ‘Done to death, a virgin not yet sixteen years of age!’

Margaret looked up at him, tears in her eyes. ‘It is so very sad, Sir John. Though perhaps not a virgin: there was a handsome squire at Wirksworth who at least spared her that.’

The young woman said this with such affection that John smiled at her, not offended by her indiscretion, but there was a sudden howl from behind him. Turning, he found Brother Ferdinand close by, obviously eavesdropping. Before John could protest, the monk spoke, hissing almost like a snake.

‘Not a virgin? No, it cannot be! Tell me it is false, woman!’ He made to grab at Margaret, but John smacked his hands away. By now the others close by were staring at yet another confrontation with a crazed Cluniac.

‘What’s it to you, brother?’ demanded John, grabbing Ferdinand by the front of his habit. ‘Why should a celibate monk be concerned with such things? Are you perverted?’

The people around the grave now began to hurry towards them, the overwrought prior in the lead, but Ferdinand twisted from de Wolfe’s grasp and backed away.

‘It was all for nothing! Oh God, how grievously have I sinned!’ he howled like a starving dog. Staring at John with an expression of sheer terror, he dropped his voice to whisper so softly that the coroner could only just catch the words.

‘I offered up my sacrifice to you, Oh Lord! But it was all in vain, you rejected me!’

Turning, he hauled up the skirts of his robe and ran rapidly towards the gate into the outer courtyard. Everyone watched him, bemused by the behaviour of yet another apparently demented monk. John caught Gwyn’s eye, but the big Cornishman shrugged. ‘They’re all bloody mad in this place,’ he growled.

As the prior was anxiously conferring with the cellarer, who was also sub-prior, Thomas sidled up to his master. ‘Crowner, I think we ought to follow him. I have a bad feeling about Brother Ferdinand.’

John always respected his clerk’s intuition, and with a jerk of his head to Gwyn they started for the main buildings, the coroner hurrying as fast as his aching legs would allow. Thomas pattered ahead and was in time to see the fleeing monk vanish through the inner gate. As he passed through, he saw the courtyard door to the underground vault still swinging. He hastened to it but hesitated to enter the utter darkness of the stairs. Gwyn was close behind and, while they waited a moment for de Wolfe to limp up to them, Thomas lit a few candle stumps ready for the descent. As they went down, they heard the rest of the burial party approaching but pressed on in their pursuit of Ferdinand.

Gwyn took the lead, and when they reached the bottom they heard a high-pitched keening echoing eerily from the far end. The distraught Cluniac was alternately wailing and sobbing, then gabbling incoherently either to himself or to some unseen presence – possibly Almighty God.

‘The crazy fellow is in the pitch dark,’ boomed the Cornishman. ‘He must have felt his way down there without a light.’

‘As I had to last night,’ replied the coroner grimly. ‘And I suspect it was because of this same fellow trying to kill me!’

When they reached the last arch, their candles revealed Ferdinand lying face down in the slimy mud, limbs stretched out in cruciform posture, as in total supplication before an altar. He was wailing like an injured animal, and the ever-compassionate Thomas went to kneel by him to offer comfort.

When he sensed the clerk’s presence, the monk gave a piercing yell and jumped to his feet, spread-eagling himself against the back wall, his hands scrabbling at the damp stones.

‘Keep away! Keep off me, all of you!’ he screamed, his face contorted in the dim light. ‘I tried my best, but now I am doomed to an eternity in hell!’

De Wolfe grabbed a candle from Gwyn and advanced to stand menacingly in front of Ferdinand, who cowered away against the wall.

‘Was it you who tried to kill me last night?’ he roared.

The monk cringed even more. ‘You were going to ruin my exorcism! Why else would you come here at dead of night? I followed you and foiled your intent…but it was all in vain!’

The prior and the others had now arrived at the arch, delayed by the lack of candles to light their way.

‘Sir John, what in God’s name is going on?’ snapped Robert. He glared at the monk still scrabbling at the stones. ‘Ferdinand, explain yourself!’ he demanded, but the monk had eyes only for the threatening apparition looming over him in the form of the coroner. Ignoring the prior, de Wolfe grabbed the petrified monk by the front of his robe, pulled him away from the wall and shook him like a frightened rabbit.

‘What exorcism? What have you done? Did you kill that poor young woman, damn you?’ he snarled.

‘It was a holy sacrifice!’ screamed Ferdinand. ‘This place is accursed. I have felt it for years. There is evil here, and the only way to cleanse it was to liberate the soul of a pure virgin into this awful space!’ His eyes rolling wildly, he flung an arm around to encompass the gloomy vault.

‘How did you get her to come with you, you disgusting knave?’ yelled de Wolfe, giving him another shake.

‘I went to her room, to tell her she had been chosen to perform a miracle…and it was the truth! Only her pure soul could drive away the evil in this place. She believed me and crept away willingly!’

‘And for her reward, you took the poor girl’s life, you bastard!’ snarled the coroner.

‘Her spirit would have conquered the depraved miasma that pervades this place – but it was all in vain, for she was not pure after all!’

He began wailing again, and John released him in disgust.

‘You are not only mad, you are depraved and evil!’ he yelled. ‘No doubt belonging to this religious house will save you from being hanged, as you richly deserve – but I hope your own soul rots in hell!’

Prior Robert stepped forward with the cellarer to seize the demented monk, but Ferdinand, inflamed by the coroner’s contempt, backed away and seized the large stone that had fallen on Christina’s coffin. With a scream, he raised it high above his head, to launch it at the prior.

Fearing yet another death, Gwyn lurched forward and grabbed the monk around the waist and hurled him and the heavy stone backwards.

He slipped on the slimy floor and the two men crashed into the wall. A second later there was an ominous rumble from above and a shower of grit and mortar fell from the roof.

‘Gwyn, get back!’ shrieked Thomas.

As the officer leaped clear, an avalanche of stones fell from the top of the wall and the edge of the ceiling vault. There was a blood-curdling scream from Ferdinand as he was showered with half a ton of masonry dropping twelve feet on to his head and shoulders.

When the rumbling ceased and the cloud of dust had settled, the coughing, dirt-spattered onlookers saw that the monk was half-buried under a pile of rocks. Aghast, the men fell silent, then there was a final sound as a last stone rolled down the heap. From beneath it, a trickle of blood seeped out and mingled with the meltwater from the ice that had cooled his victim.

‘Well, we failed to cover ourselves with glory this time,’ grumbled John de Wolfe as he hunched over the fire pit and tried to get some warmth into his hands from the mulled ale in his pot. ‘The damned fellow condemned himself without any help from me!’

The three men had left Bermondsey that morning, the prior having given them horses from his stables for the long journey back to Devon.

The previous day, the coroner had held an inquest on Christina de Glanville but ignored the death of Ferdinand, deciding that he had no jurisdiction over a monk who died inside his own priory.