The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

And by the way, the Italian banks did not crash in my lifetime, after all. But I guarantee that, if you are reading this twenty years or more after I am gone, they will have, creating havoc in the world. History will confirm my good sense in taking out my money before they did.

Niccolo Zuliani , 1314

June 1376

It was Hugh who saw him. At first they thought he had drowned. The body lay face up on the foreshore of the river as if deposited by the tide, waiting to be revealed by the growing light of a summer’s dawn. But when Hugh and Alfred clambered down from the landing stage and squelched across the mud to the corpse they saw that the visible areas of clothing and hair were not waterlogged but dry. The face was composed.

From a distance the two men also assumed this must be a member of the household. The tunic the corpse wore was of blue and white, the livery of the house of Lancaster. But when they drew closer they saw the cloth was of much finer quality than anything they wore, and the colours more subtle in their dye. They soon forget these distinctions anyway, for blotting out the centre of the chest was a circle of dried blood. Hugh and Alfred did not recognise the dead man even though his features were not disfigured.

‘He did not die natural,’ said Alfred, shielding his eyes against the early morning sun as he gazed at the red spill on the dead man’s tunic.

Hugh crouched down to examine the man’s face closely. Alfred, older and more stiff in the joints than his fellow, stayed upright.

‘This is one of hers , not ours,’ said Hugh, standing up and jerking his thumb towards the great white palace that stretched along the river front. Eager to show how he came by this conclusion, he went on: ‘His face is darker and his beard is not after our fashion and, besides, he does not look English.’

‘Who did this?’ said Alfred.

‘That is not our business,’ said Hugh. ‘Go and fetch help to carry him inside. Don’t waste time, the tide is coming in.’

Alfred was not as quick-witted as Hugh and usually deferred to the younger man. He did as he was told and, while Hugh waited on the foreshore, he made his way up through the terraces that lay between the river and the palace. Hugh looked at the body once more. He was certain that this gentleman was exactly that, a gentleman, and part of the Queen’s company and therefore a stranger, a foreigner. What or who was the cause of his death? Not our business, he’d said to Alfred, but it was peculiar all the same. He’d surely mention it to his brother John who, though claiming to despise the palace and its occupants, was always eager to hear titbits of gossip from within its white, fortified walls.

The incoming tide was only a few feet away from the body by the time Alfred returned with half a dozen members of the household – not that so many were required but they were drawn to the spot by curiosity – and a makeshift litter. One of the household stewards, Thomas Banks, was with them. Hugh, who’d been enjoying his place in the sun as the finder of the body, had to give way to the steward. Hurrying to remove the dead man from the mud, they were lifting him up as water was starting to lap at their feet. The body was easy to handle, quite pliant. They carried the litter up through the green, flowering terraces. Because it was still early in the day, no one, or at least no one of any importance, was wandering in the gardens. Directed by Thomas, they toted the body through some cloisters and so into his office. The room was chill and gloomy, with sunbeams penetrating a narrow window.

Once there, Thomas Banks swept the cushions from a ledge of stone, which functioned as a bench, and indicated that the body should be laid down there. He had said very little so far. Hugh sensed he was troubled. A sure sign was the way the steward frequently clasped his chain of office.

‘Which of you found the body?’

Glancing at Alfred, Hugh nodded.

‘Your name is Hugh… Hall, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Hugh, surprised and slightly alarmed that he was known to the steward.

‘You are to stay, Hugh. The rest of you may leave.’

‘Should we get a priest?’ said one of the other servants, reluctant to quit this interesting scene. Thomas Banks gestured impatiently. ‘Time enough for priests later. Go now, I say. And make no mention of what has happened. I know you all, and if this discovery becomes the common talk, I’ll hold you responsible for it, every single one of you.’

The group filed out wordlessly, until there were only three left, two living, one dead. Hugh was more uneasy than pleased at being instructed to stay. He watched as Banks stooped over the body, clutching at his golden chain with its motif of S-shaped links. The sunlight coming through the window fell directly on the red stain on the dead man’s tunic.

‘You found him lying on his back, as he is now?’

‘Yes, sir. He was quite dry on the front so he did not drown,’ said Hugh. ‘You can tell by the marks there… by the blood… that he did not drown. I think he must have been…’

Still bending over the body, Thomas Banks fixed Hugh with a look that caused the servant to falter.

‘I did not ask you to think, Hugh. It may be that this individual did drown, whatever you believe. It may be, eh?’

The steward stepped away from the corpse. He smiled tightly. He held his hand palm outwards towards Hugh Hall, as if to demonstrate he had nothing to hide.

‘I can see that you are a sharp man, Hugh. It must be plain to you that this individual here is not one of us, not English. He is not one of the Duke’s men, as we are. Discretion is required. You understand me?’

Hugh nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say anything further.

‘In the meantime,’ continued Thomas Banks, ‘you may assist me by examining this unfortunate person’s wound. Yes, that’s right. Approach the body. Unbutton the tunic. Let us see now.’

Wondering whether this was the reason he’d been told to stay behind – so that the steward could avoid dirtying his hands – Hugh drew near to the body on the stone ledge. For a moment he paused, out of respect or apprehension or both. Then he began the awkward process of unbuttoning the blood-stained upper garment. It was a snug fit and the reason became apparent after a moment. There was another item of clothing wadded inside, some kind of undergarment, or a part of one, but so saturated in blood that it was impossible to tell the original colour. It must have been placed there in the attempt to stanch the flow from the body. Hugh pulled the bloody material a little to one side. It came away with a little tearing sound, far enough to expose a sticky gash below the region of the heart. By now, Thomas Banks was standing at his side. Together steward and servant stared at the wound. The sunlight coming through the window had shifted onto the bearded face of the corpse. The expression was oddly peaceful, considering that death must have come suddenly and violently.

‘You are right, he did not drown,’ said Thomas. ‘But the river is generous and offers deaths by other means than water. For example, there are stakes protruding from the mud, there are outcrops of rock.’

To Hugh’s eyes, this fatal injury was caused by the hand of a man. Still he said nothing. His eye was caught by something white tucked into the dead man’s armpit and he reached over to tug it out. It was a scrolled parchment. One end was reddened as if it had been dipped in a pool of blood but the rest was untouched. Perhaps the position of the body, the way the parchment was tight against the man’s right side, had protected it from the worst effusions of the wound. As Hugh pulled out the papers, he also detached a thin golden chain from which was suspended a precious stone. One of the links had snapped. Perhaps it had been damaged in the attack on the man.