The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

Baldwin continued: ‘He will pay for his crime. We are going to arrest him even now, and I will see to it that he is held for the next court.’

Sir Henry drained his mazer, and as he held it out the servant ran into the room again, collected the jug and brought it to him, pouring another generous measure. It irked Simon that he should be so rude as to drink and not offer anything to Baldwin and himself.

Baldwin nodded and bowed, and the two men left the hall, walking along the passage to the front door. As they crossed the threshold to leave, Simon heard a pattering of feet, and he turned over-swiftly (he was not used to the presence of so many people at all times, and the evident violence of this great city was always in his mind) and would have drawn his sword, but he saw that it was only the young maidservant from the hall.

‘Masters, I can’t let you…The story you just told my master…It’s not true!’

Baldwin eyed her doubtfully. ‘What makes you say that? We have good evidence for it.’

‘But the marriage! It wasn’t Pilgrim who married my mistress! It was his father was wedded to her.’

Her story was all too swift to tell. She had been a witness with John and Lawrence when William and Juliet plighted their troths, in a quieter area of the marsh near the priory. The two had been seeing each other for some months, and after a while Juliet had agreed to make him a happy, married man again. However, she had stipulated that, although William could enjoy her, they could not tell anyone else until she had broached the subject with her father.

‘She hoped that some day her father would be able to understand, masters. She hoped that he would forgive her. But he couldn’t. He is a strong-willed man, firm of resolve, and once he has made a decision he will not alter it.’

‘But what you have told us doesn’t necessarily change anything,’ Simon said. ‘If William saw his son out there meeting his wife – again rage could well have overwhelmed him and he might have slain his own son in a fit of fury.’

‘You think my mistress would be unfaithful to her husband?’

‘You think she wasn’t?’

‘No! She was the most loyal, devoted wife!’

‘Then why else would she have been visiting Pilgrim so often? We have heard that they were often together on the marshes.’

‘That I don’t know,’ she said. Her eyes were already back on the doorway.

‘Have you heard of this ghost of the riverside? Some say that those who see it soon after find that someone they know has died.’

She blanched. ‘I have seen it! But no one died.’

‘When?’

‘Last year, when my mistress first met her husband. She and I were walking about the place in the middle of the evening, when we saw a large figure. Full tall, he was, and clad all in grey, with a hood and cloak.’

‘What made you think he was a ghost?’ Baldwin wondered.

‘His height, and his gait. He went…’

In mute demonstration, she held her arms out wide and walked straddle-legged, her head low on her shoulders. It was hard for Baldwin not to smile. She looked like a man-at-arms who had been spending too long in the saddle. And yet…an idea flashed into his mind.

‘You did not have a friend die?’ Simon asked.

‘No. But the next day I heard that Elena’s husband was dead. Surely that was it.’

Baldwin was frowning, but there came a spark to his face as she spoke. ‘This was the feast day of St Peter ad Vincula, wasn’t it? The night that Mortimer fled the Tower?’

‘Yes, master,’ she said, but now her face was anxious, and her eyes moved back towards the house.

‘Maid, did you tell anyone about that?’

‘No.’

‘Did your mistress see the ghost too?’

‘Yes, but she was angry. She didn’t seem fearful. She saw it at the water, she told me. I heard her talking about it with that monk, Lawrence.’

There was the sound of the main door opening. She said nothing more, but fled for the house as though fearing that the ghost of the marsh might be at her heels at any moment.

‘There’s something there, isn’t there?’ Simon said.

‘I think someone was playing the fool pretending to be a ghost up there that night. It was the night of Mortimer’s escape, and what better way to keep stray eyes at bay than to have a ghost who could kill your nearest and dearest. Probably Elena’s husband met the good Lord Roger and was killed for his pains. Thank God we don’t have to investigate that murder too!’

‘Do you think William could have killed the two?’ Simon asked, and explained his new doubts.

Baldwin considered. ‘I think this ghost is a fiction, and Juliet saw through it somehow. And she told of her doubts. Perhaps she was killed because of that – in case she had seen something else? She was killed to silence her.’

‘While Pilgrim knew nothing?’

‘So he was left tidily, while she was left in a mess because she was guilty of speaking out? Ach, I do not know. Let’s go to William and see whether he can help any further.’

They found William in his hall sitting in his chair. ‘Excuse my remaining in my seat, gentles. I am still tired after that appalling inquest.’ He spoke calmly, but when the small guard party appeared in his doorway behind Baldwin and Simon his eyes widened a little.

They had gathered the bishop’s men quickly and taken the bishop’s own little boat to cross the river, making their way down past the Rosary and grounding the boat in the shallows at the far side.

William’s small manor was a scant mile the other side of Southwark. Bishop Walter had given precise directions to one of his men, and he led the way along the quiet Surrey lanes until they reached William’s house.

For all that it was a small property, it was not maintained well. All about were proofs of the family’s poverty. The limewash was streaked, and timbers were failing. When Baldwin looked about, it was clear that this was a sadly dilapidated property compared with others nearby.

The interior continued with the same impression. Where tapestries and rich hangings covered the walls of the manor houses in the Strand, here the walls were bare of all decoration. Not even a simple picture broke the grey, sombre colours. The only decoration in the whole hall was William’s chair.

‘You like this? It was given to my father. Alas, it is about all that remains of my inheritance.’

‘We are not here for social purposes, I fear,’ Baldwin said.

‘I didn’t think you were – I’m not a fool yet!’ William said with a flare of asperity.

‘We know you were there,’ Simon said. ‘It makes sense that you killed your son when you learned he was trying to ensnare your wife, but why kill her too?’

William leaned back in his chair, staring from Simon to Baldwin. ‘ What? ’

‘Tell us the truth,’ Baldwin said.

‘I was out there, yes, to see my wife. I had no idea my son was there too. I assume he was dead before I went, but I wanted to see Juliet.’

‘Why there?’ Baldwin frowned. ‘It is a miserable place!’

‘She had an ally who was a boatman. She could always cross the river without fearing being followed, and the man would drop her off near the Rosary.’

‘Damn the Rosary! It seems to appear in all conversations,’ Simon muttered.

‘You want to learn more about it? I can tell you much.’

‘Finish your tale first. What did you want with her that night?’ Baldwin said.

‘She was my wife,’ William said, and his voice was choked. He appeared to recover swiftly, but now his voice was thick, and he swallowed a great deal as though his throat was blocked. ‘I wanted to see her every waking moment.’

He shouted for a servant, and shortly afterwards a wiry, sallow-faced man appeared. ‘Perce, fetch ale. I apologize,’ he continued. ‘Money has been thin in my purse recently, and where I used to offer wine now I must resort to ale.’