The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

It was an odd weapon for a woman. Everyone would carry a knife of some sort, of course, but most women would use daggers that were considerably shorter. This was more a man’s tool, to Simon’s eye.

The coroner was continuing. ‘So she was guilty of self-murder, or another man was here and kindly left his dagger behind when he fled the scene of his killing. Not very likely.’

Simon saw Baldwin experimentally punching his left torso with a fist, testing the theory of self-murder. Catching sight of Simon’s enquiring look, the knight shrugged and shook his head. ‘Who would commit self-murder with so complicated a blow?’

Hob was apparently keen to take the men over to view the next body. ‘Come this way, towards the river, but beware the pools! They can swallow a man, some of them.’

As the coroner cautiously set off behind Hob, Baldwin slipped down to study the girl’s body. He peered at her face, her clothing, looked carefully at her fingers, and then took the dagger from her hand. ‘A good blade, this – a little nicked and marked, but good and useful. And it smells,’ he said, his lip curling, ‘as though it’s been used often to gut fish!’

‘Hardly a feminine tool.’

‘No,’ Baldwin agreed. He stood and set his jaw. ‘Come, let us catch up with our little cellarer.’

It took little effort. Lawrence was not a swift walker.

‘How far to this man?’ Baldwin asked Lawrence as the monk made his way cautiously over the soggy ground.

‘He lies only some tens of yards away.’

‘The constable said he was known to this woman?’

‘Yes,’ Lawrence said. He was silent for a moment, wrestling with his conscience, but he held his tongue. Hob was one thing, but the idea that he should vouchsafe information to a strange knight, no matter how apparently honourable, was alien to him.

Baldwin could sense his reticence. ‘Tell me, how long have you been here in the priory?’

‘Many years. I came here as a novice four and twenty years ago,’ Lawrence said, smiling.

‘Much has changed in that time.’

‘And not all for the better,’ he agreed.

‘The priory is itself at least secure.’

‘Mostly…but last year our prior was removed. It was a terrible, shocking incident.’

‘Taken?’

‘Walter de Luiz, one of the kindest, gentlest men on God’s earth, and he was snatched by the king’s men. He languishes there,’ he said, nodding towards the Tower of London over the river.

‘And you have a new master?’ Baldwin was careful not to ask whether he was viewed as a prior.

Lawrence noted and admired the distinction. ‘Yes. John de Cusance. He is more to the king’s liking, it is said. Poor Prior Walter was accused of taking part in the escape of the traitor Mortimer from the Tower, and for that he remains incarcerated.’

‘Politics are a terrible thing,’ Baldwin said with bitterness. In his mind he saw again the pyres on which the Grand Master of his order, along with the Treasurer, were burned to death.

Lawrence shot him a look but saw nothing in his eyes to indicate that the knight was a threat. In these days of butchery and random executions at the whim of a foul king who demanded absolute loyalty as a right and stole from all in order to enrich his atrocious lover, Hugh Le Despenser, a man was always best served to watch his tongue.

Lawrence eyed the knight as they reached the other body. There, the monk looked down on Pilgrim, lying dead in a natural hollow in the ground.

Simon reached the edge of the dip and peered over. It was sad to see someone so young with his life ended, and this fellow was clearly not yet twenty. Hair of a golden hue, worn long in the most fashionable style, was fanned about his head like the rays about the sun. He lay as though sleeping, with his arms on his breast, and Simon almost expected to see them rise and fall with his breath.

All about him the water pooled black and oily, and the dark moisture had soaked into his clothing. Simon saw Baldwin reach down and touch the clothing, sniffing at his fingers afterwards. Blood had run from two wounds in his breast, both high, both capable of stabbing his heart.

‘This is clear enough, then,’ the coroner decided after a moment’s contemplation. ‘Surely this man wanted the girl, she refused him, and he chose to press his suit. To defend herself, she stabbed him, and then began to run away. Appalled by her homicide, the poor child took her own life.’

Baldwin turned slowly to stare at him. ‘You seriously believe that this man, who was perfectly fit, strong, and taller and more powerful in every way than that young woman, you suggest that she was able to draw steel more swiftly and stab him twice without his being able to protect himself? And then what: she was so plagued by remorse for protecting herself that she returned to his body to prepare it as though for burial!’

‘I suppose some other person came by, found him and decided to settle him in this manner,’ the coroner said superciliously. ‘Perhaps a monk from the priory.’

‘Your confidence in the matter speaks volumes!’

‘Sir knight, I am not sure that you realize to whom you speak. I am the king’s own coroner here. I have experience of matters such as this.’

‘How many murders have you recorded?’

The coroner glanced down at the body again. ‘Enough.’

‘I am sure you have often been taken up with other matters, coroner, but I have been investigating murders these last ten years with my friend Simon here. I am sure you have much experience yourself, but I would caution you against deciding too soon on any theory about this unhappy couple.’

As he spoke, Baldwin was circling about the area, looking at the ground. There was little to be concluded. All about here there was a mass of prints. The soft, stubby grasses had recorded little that he could make sense of, and yet there was one indication that made him pause and crouch.

In a direct line away from the two bodies, thus heading towards the river itself, there were a pair of parallel, scraped indentations. Where the grass was thinner, gouges had been made in the soil. Baldwin followed the trail for some little distance, until he came to a flat area that was a little more dry. Here he saw that there were more marks. Two or three pairs of feet had been here, and then he saw something else: a series of deep indentations. They were an inch to an inch and a half across, curious pockmarks in the soil. He could not understand them, but noted them as he looked about him. One thing was noticeable: this was higher ground.

Making his way back to the others, he scanned the landscape.

‘I think he was killed over there and dragged here by one or two people. A little earlier, or later, the woman was killed over there. It is clear enough that she did not commit suicide.’

‘You are sure of this, I suppose?’ the coroner said.

‘Quite certain. There are signs of the man with others over there, and signs of his boots scraping up the earth from there to here.’

‘Well, it is an amusing theory. I look forward to learning what the jury makes of it tomorrow.’ The coroner smiled. ‘But for now I should like to know why a man should be dragged over here, when they could have rolled him into the Thames over there?’

Baldwin cocked his head. ‘That is all? I should like to know why someone who hated him so much as to wish to kill him would then spend time settling his body.’

Lawrence watched the coroner dismiss the question with a sneer and march off, discussing setting a guard about the bodies as he went. Then the cellarer took a deep breath. He couldn’t speak directly. It was too foreign to his nature. However, he did have a feeling that these two strangers were more interested in reaching the truth than most others, certainly more than that damned coroner. He wanted to tell them about the wedding. At least these men might make use of the information.