The Medieval Murderers - House of Shadows

Yet when he was in the open air, he wondered what he’d achieved despite the undercurrents of the interview. The only help to an investigation was the ring which was still in his pocket and which might have been discovered in the underground room. So he armed himself with a lantern from his room and went in search of the entrance. It was easy enough to find on the western end of the cloister.

He descended the steep steps. At the bottom was a stout door. Half-hoping that it would be locked and so frustrate his search, he tested the iron handle. But the door wasn’t locked, and it opened smoothly and silently to his touch. He jumped when he felt something brush against his leg. But it was only the cat, the large black cat he’d recently seen stretched at ease on Brother Michael’s windowsill and among his papers. Now it was eager to get into the vault ahead of him. Be my guest, he thought. There’s no accounting for taste, especially a cat’s.

Holding up the lantern, Geoffrey emerged at one corner of what seemed by the uncertain light to be a long, rectangular chamber. Old sacking and fragments of wood were strewn along one side, while on the opposite side man-sized niches had been cut into the walls. Nothing at present seemed to be stored here, perhaps on account of the damp. It struck chill, and he could hear the drip of water. He should not stay down here long. The air was bad, bad enough to have put a man on his sick-bed. Geoffrey Chaucer felt uncomfortable. Was it because he felt like a trespasser even though the prior had given him permission to wander? Not just that, he decided. It was as if a weight was pressing on his shoulders. No wonder the masons didn’t enjoy working here.

Nevertheless, now he’d got himself down here he ought to have a proper look for…for what? After a few moments of investigation with the lantern, Geoffrey thought he’d discovered the spot where the Morton brothers must have been doing their repair work. Most of the niches in the wall were veiled in cobwebs but a couple were clear. The mortar appeared fresher in these recesses, and there were crumbs of stone on the ground. He wondered why repairs were necessary, since nothing of value was stored in this place, then supposed that there was a risk of ground water breaking through the skin of stone and rendering the chamber quite unusable in future.

Geoffrey walked the length of the chamber, which was solidly vaulted. The cat accompanied him, then lost interest and went to investigate something in a dark corner. As Chaucer drew towards the further end, the sense of oppression grew stronger, and by the time he’d reached the wall he was almost gasping for breath for all that the chill in the air was increasing. He gave a cursory inspection to the wall that closed off the room. Curiously, it appeared to be of a later date than the other stonework. No, not later, he decided, looking more closely by the lantern-light. But finished more quickly and carelessly – the blocks were not so neatly aligned and the mortar was slightly crumbled. Lantern in his left hand, he put the palm of his right to the wall and at once removed it, as though the surface was either very hot or very cold (but it was neither). It was curious that the masons had not been instructed to carry out repairs here as well as on the niches in the longer wall. The only reason could be that there was no danger from water seeping through from the other side, and that therefore whatever lay beyond this wall was not earth but a hollow space or cavity. Geoffrey might have confirmed this by rapping on the wall, but something kept his free hand by his side. In any case this was not the area of the chamber which concerned him. There was no more to see at this end.

Thankfully, he turned back towards the entrance. His eyes were absorbed by the circle of light as he picked his way across the flagged floor, but he was abruptly aware of a dark flicker in the area at the bottom of the steps by the half-open door. All at once it occurred to him that he’d been foolish in descending to this chamber by himself, apart from the cat. But it was human company he had now, not company inside the chamber but beyond the door, which thudded to with a draught of air. Chaucer ran towards the door, but it was firmly shut by the time he reached it. He heard the scrape of a key being turned on the other side and then feet – very rapid feet – ascending the steps.

He rapped on the solid wood and called out. The black cat joined him and miaowed loudly. One of the brothers or lay workers must have been making a tour of inspection and observed the open door to the crypt. Without bothering to check whether anyone was inside he’d closed it and turned the key. Yet even as this innocent explanation ran through Chaucer’s head, a more sinister one was keeping pace with it. This action was deliberate. Anybody coming to lock up would surely have glimpsed the light of the swaying lantern or heard the sound of steps within. But the decisive evidence was the running feet. No one honestly engaged on fastening doors would run away from the scene as if his life depended on it.

He tried the door again but it was well secured. Then he called out more loudly. Not a cry for help but ‘Hey!’ and ‘Is anybody there?’ He paused and waited for the sound of descending feet and rattling keys and the breathless apology that would follow.

No sounds came.

Geoffrey took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. He felt his skin crawling. Ever since childhood he’d had a fear of being shut in. He did not relish being imprisoned in this place even for a few minutes. For it would only be a few minutes, surely, before someone heard his cries?

Then he recalled the thickness of the walls, built to last, built as if to muffle sounds. No one knew he was down here either, no one except the individual who’d locked the door on him. Geoffrey’s absence would be noticed after a time, certainly. But would anyone come looking for him? And, if they did, would they trouble to explore a deserted, unused crypt? Wouldn’t it be assumed that he’d simply decided to quit the priory, perhaps unsettled by the day’s events? After all, he wasn’t bound by the rules of the place. He was free to come and go. If he didn’t appear at mealtimes, would Richard Dunton conclude that he had got fed up with his Bermondsey sojourn and returned to his wife and family across the river?

A sudden, grim vision flashed through Chaucer’s overactive brain. The discovery of a starved, desiccated corpse after some weeks. It was an absurd image, yet not so absurd as to prevent him breaking out in a sweat. He renewed his pummelling on the door and his shouting. He listened. Nothing, apart from the drip of water somewhere in the depths of the chamber and the bell for prayer resounding distantly – very distantly – outside. He might as well save his breath. There would be no one around to listen to him for the next half-hour or so.

He examined the candle in its socket inside the cylindrical lantern. It was reduced to a stub. It was the candle he’d been reading by in bed the previous night, transferred by him from a candleholder to the lantern in preparation for this little expedition. It would have been prudent to have equipped himself with a fresh candle. Too late now. Unpleasant as it was being stuck down here, it would be many times worse being without any illumination at all.

Well, no doubt someone would appear in answer to his calls sooner or later, but in the meantime he must explore his temporary prison. The door was immovable but perhaps there was some other way in and out of the chamber. If he hadn’t noticed it on his first inspection, then that would be because he hadn’t been searching for it. And if he was going to find it, he needed the few remaining minutes of light from the candle stub. He made a more thorough tour of the vault, running the light over the walls and fetching up once more at the end wall. Again the sense of airless oppression grew stronger even as the candlelight began to give ominous flickers. Geoffrey was on the point of giving up and returning to the main door – the monks must surely have finished their prayers by now – when he felt a draught at knee height.