The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

It was Martin who supplied the answer.

‘Eudo found it. He saw the tunnel entrance one day when he was sent to clean out the leat as a punishment for laziness. He only meant to hide in it so no one would see he was not completing his task. But then he became curious and explored the whole length, coming out in the room. Later, when we sought somewhere to…practise our skills, he remembered it. It was perfect – in every way – a hidden room, and perfect in proportions.’ His face crumpled. ‘And then it all went wrong.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know exactly, but there was something about the room. One night, when we were…when we were…exploring the names of God, the candle that Eudo had brought went out, snuffed out just like that. And yet there were no draughts in the room. Eudo accused me of messing around, trying to scare him. But it wasn’t me. We argued and left the room, crawling back down the tunnel in the dark. I felt there was something behind me. But Peter and Eudo had gone ahead, so what could it have been? It was a week before we were brave enough to go back again. That was two nights ago.’

Falconer gradually became aware of a droning noise that had begun as Martin spoke. Slowly it rose in volume, but it seemed to be made of indistinct sounds. It was coming from the mouth of Peter Swynford.

‘Kether, Chochma, Bina, Chesed…’

The incantation rose in volume until it seemed to fill the room.

‘Shut up. Shut up.’

Martin crammed his fists in his ears and pleaded with Peter to stop. The prior bent over the prostrate figure on the bed and slapped his face hard. The noise was abruptly cut off, to be replaced by a sobbing from the lips of Martin. Saphira drew the youth to her bosom and comforted him like a mother would a little child. But Falconer had to press on nevertheless. Dawn had come and gone, and he was short of time. Saphira was unlikely to be able to leave with her son, if he was truly the murderer.

‘Martin, did you kill Eudo on that night? Or did Peter?’

Martin turned a tear-stained face on his accuser.

‘You don’t understand. It was neither of us. We both left, Peter and I, before it got light. Eudo said he was staying a little longer. We told him it would soon be light and that we would be discovered, but he was adamant. Peter went first, then me. When I dropped through the opening into the tunnel, I turned and looked back through the hole. Eudo was scraping up the earth of the floor…’

Falconer recalled the mound of earth he had thought unimportant.

‘What was he doing, Martin?’

‘He was making the shape of a man on the floor. A golem.’

Martin spoke the last word with awe and horror. And even Falconer’s rational mind lurched to think of the creature that had attacked him. It was said that all you had to do was attach the name of God to base earth or clay, and you could create life just as God had. Was Martin suggesting that Eudo had died at the hands of a monster of his own creation?

‘Enough of this blasphemous nonsense.’ John de Chartres’ abrupt tones sliced into the shocked silence. ‘You are merely trying to shift the blame from yourself to some…some chimera. You have consorted with the devil and dragged two unfortunates with you. It is time we rid the priory of your evil influence.’

Falconer could see the fires beginning to burn in Saphira’s eyes. Before she exploded and made matters worse, he stepped between the prior and Martin.

‘It seems to me, prior, that there are more possible murderers here than merely Martin. Eudo may have been killed two days ago, in which case either Martin or Peter could have been guilty. Or it could have been another who found out what they were doing and hadn’t wanted them poking around in the cellar room. Tell me, what is the secret you are so keen to preserve down there?’

The blood drained from the prior’s face. ‘Surely you are not accusing me of the murder? I didn’t even know of the tunnel. Or why would I have been so ready to imprison Martin in there?’

‘You knew where the key was, and, no doubt, if I asked Brother Michael if you ever borrowed his keys, he would not be able to deny it. You do keep a tight rein on the accounts and the supplies, do you not?’

The prior could not deny the truth of it, but he still stood firm. ‘I have no reason to have murdered Brother Eudo. The whole idea is absurd. Whereas Martin has spoken already of quarrels and fallings-out. Dabble with magic and reap the rewards of your evil, I say.’

Falconer sighed, divulging another more problematic fact.

‘I do have to say that the murder probably took place two nights ago. You see, when I saw the body last night I could tell that the blood was congealed and dry. Yet I believe the murderer was also the person who tried to kill me last night. And by then you were all engaged in caring for the body. It looks very bad for you, Martin.’

Even Saphira seemed to lose heart at this stage, and her shoulders slumped. Especially when Falconer waved a hand at the recumbent Brother Peter.

‘For by that time, Peter was in chains. Isn’t that so, Peter?’

Peter sat up as far as his chains would allow him and nodded. Falconer then went for the jugular.

‘But then how did you know Eudo was dead, Peter? You did know that, didn’t you? You told us yourself right here. And Eudo was murdered in the cellar without a doubt.’

Peter eyed him slyly, twisting his tongue in his mouth. He began to gibber as though the madness had returned. The prior pointed at the poor afflicted youth.

‘You can see he is mad. It was the prophecy of insanity that simply happened to be true. You can see he is chained down. There is no way he could have been in the cellar in the night.’

Falconer pointed down at the youth.

‘Then how did his robe get so muddy? Look, the hem is wet and stained and there are smears higher up. You put a fresh robe on him when you brought him here. His feet are muddy too. Yet he has never left this bed. Open your mouth, Peter.’

At Falconer’s command, Peter’s gibbering faltered, and he cocked his head to one side as if puzzled.

‘Open your mouth.’

Slowly, Peter slid out his wet, pink tongue. It looked like a large, obscene slug. And lying on it was a key. The key to his chains that he had stolen from the herbalist earlier, when he had grasped the monk’s sleeve. While the others recoiled in shock, he sprang from his bed, the chains slipping off his wrists, and he pushed past his tormentors with ease. Saphira Le Veske was the one to recover her wits first, and stuck out a pretty ankle. Peter sprawled on the floor, driving the air from his lungs. Falconer quickly straddled his back, surprised at the powerful resistance driven by the skinny boy’s madness. A similar power had almost defeated him in the cellar. It had, of course, been human flesh – Peter’s – covered in mud from the tunnel that Falconer had fought, not a golem raised up by Eudo La Zouche. Now Peter’s raging voice echoed down the hospital with a sort of confession that carried no sense of repentance.

‘How stupid you are, Martin. Eudo wasn’t shaping the golem; he was trying to destroy it. The creation was all my doing, and Eudo would have ruined it. Just because he was scared. Just as you were too scared to go ahead, or even return to the dormitory that night. But I wasn’t. I would have created him. I nearly did, too, after I had doubled back behind you in the tunnel. I tried to persuade Eudo to proceed, but he argued and argued. I had to stop him in the end. But it left me no more time before prime. I would have gone back to the cellar, but you caused the alarm to be raised by your absence. You made me so mad. I could have done it. I could have done it.’