The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

He strode through the hall and flung open the door at the far end, which led to the small winter parlour where he and his wife ate when they were not entertaining guests. Mary was often to be found in there occupied with her sewing. He didn’t know what he imagined might be the cause of Mary’s laughter – some morsel of market-street gossip brought back by her maid, Jennet, or the lapdog rolling over to have its belly scratched. Who knew? It seemed to him that any ridiculous and trivial thing was enough to entertain the simple mind of a woman. But whatever he thought was amusing his wife, it was certainly not what he found.

Edward Thornton, one of his fellow guild brothers, and furthermore the one who had fought against Richard for the honour of becoming Guild Master, was sitting – or rather insolently lounging – in one of Richard’s fine carved wooden chairs. His fingers were cupped around one of Richard’s pewter goblets, half-filled with Richard’s best wine. The floor around Edward’s boots was strewn with honeyed spiced almonds, and as Richard flung the door wide, he saw that Edward’s mouth was open and Mary was just about to toss another almond into it.

Mary’s laughter froze the instant she caught sight of her husband standing in the doorway. Her plump cheeks flushed crimson as she sprang to her feet. But Master Edward did nothing except close his mouth, and continue, quite unabashed, to sprawl in the chair as if he was by his own fireside.

Edward Thornton was only a few years younger than Richard, but his curly chestnut hair and beard still showed not a smattering of grey, and he had a ready smile, which women apparently found quite charming, although Richard had long held that any man who smiled so easily was never to be trusted in matters of business or anything else.

‘Richard…’ Mary’s breathing was rapid, like a trapped animal. ‘I didn’t except you back so soon.’

‘Evidently,’ Richard replied coldly. ‘Do you often entertain my fellow guild members when I am about my business?’

‘No, Richard, no, of course, not… Master Edward came with a message. He’s ridden hard from Nottingham. I thought it only courtesy to offer him some refreshment. I thought you would wish it.’

‘Is it customary to offer guests refreshment by throwing nuts at them? You’re not a child and he’s not a pet bird. The hall is the place to receive guests of Master Edward’s rank.’

Although both men knew that the hall was reserved for men of high social status, somehow Richard managed to make it sound like an insult.

His wife looked close to tears. ‘But Master Edward is… is an old friend. You often entertain him in here, Richard.’

‘When there are confidential matters to be discussed,’ Richard said. ‘But I trust there is nothing of a confidential nature you have cause to discuss with my wife, Edward.’

Richard lowered himself heavily into the chair his wife had vacated. She stood, hovering uncertainly by his side, until Edward gallantly rose and offered her his seat.

Richard’s jaw clenched. ‘My wife does not require a chair. She’s just leaving to see to her duties.’

Mary flushed and lowered her head to hide the tears glittering in her eyes. She hurried from the chamber. Richard heard her feet running across the tiled hall.

‘Come now, don’t blame poor Mary,’ Edward said lightly. ‘It was my suggestion we came in here. I was frozen to the marrow after the ride and this room is much warmer than that great draughty hall of yours. I reckon we’ll have snow before Christmas. What do you say? Still, good for business, what? Men always eat more meat in cold weather.’

Richard ignored Edward’s attempt to divert him. He stared down at the dish of spiced almonds on the table. ‘I will deal with my wife, Master Edward, any way I please, and I will decide where the blame lies and what is to be done about it.’

It was the second time today that a man had tried to take what belonged to Richard. His hands were itching to seize Edward by the throat and hurl him into the nearest stinking ditch, but that would spread gossip round the guild quicker than lice round a swarm of beggars, and Richard had no intention of letting it be known that he was being made a fool of by Edward or Mary.

‘My wife said you’d brought a message. It must be important to have brought you all this way and in business hours too.’

Edward leaned forward, his expression suddenly grave. ‘One of Cromwell’s enforcers has arrived in Nottingham, a man by the name of Roger Grey. He’s here to search for relics and take them back to Cromwell to be tested to see if they are genuine or not. But we all know they’re never returned to their owners. If the Virgin herself were to appear to Cromwell and hand him Christ’s own foreskin and swear on the Holy Gospel she’d seen it cut from her son, Cromwell would still claim it was a fake and burn it. Unless, of course, it was encased in gold and jewels, in which case he’d throw away the relic and keep the valuables for himself.’

Richard felt a spasm of alarm. ‘You think this man Grey will come here.’

‘I don’t think – I know he will,’ Edward said. ‘I heard Grey preach while I was in Nottingham. He told people to search their homes, byres and workshops and bring any charms, amulets or relics they could find to him. He made a big bonfire in the square, urging people to cast their relics into the flames. Course, the bits of relics people have at home are not housed in costly reliquaries, mostly just saints’ teeth to hang in their byres or hair wrapped in a bit of cloth and tucked into the babies’ cradles.’

‘But did the people surrender them to Grey?’ Richard asked, all thoughts of his wife forgotten in this far more important concern.

Edward chuckled. ‘They surrendered something, certainly, anything to show their loyalty. But I reckon they were mostly just rags or bits of old bones they’d fished out of their midden heaps that morning. They’ll have squirrelled the real ones safely away.’

‘But Grey believed they were giving up their relics?’

Edward chuckled again. ‘I doubt it. I reckon it was just a spectacle to get the people worked up and encourage them to inform on others. But we all know it’s the church relics that Cromwell and his minions are really after. And he mentioned St Beornwyn by name in his sermon. He said praying before relics like hers was the worst kind of idolatry. Claimed she’d never been made a saint at all. So I know Blidworth’ll be one of the first places he’ll start with. He’ll be determined to take her.’

Richard gripped the arms of his chair, his face flushing and not just from the heat of the fire. ‘That reliquary belongs to the guild! It’s been our property for nigh on two hundred years. It’s Butchers’ Guild money that paid for the jewels on that butterfly of hers, not to mention the gold crown on her head. He can’t take that.’

‘All very well to say he can’t – he will , and he’s got Cromwell’s backing to do it.’

Richard shook his head impatiently. ‘Every man has his price. When I was at the Mansfield fair, I heard about an enforcer who came to one town where the Guild of Cordwainers had a relic of St Crispin. They simply collected some money from the members and slipped it to the enforcer. Told him the relic had been destroyed two years since. He gave them the wink and went off to make his report, while they hid the reliquary in their church crypt. So what we must do is call an urgent meeting of the guild and-’

Edward did not let him finish. ‘We could offer to pay twice what the reliquary is worth and we’d still lose it. I know some of the enforcers just take on the role to ingratiate themselves with Cromwell, hoping for advancement by clinging to his backside, and most do it to cream off what profits they may for themselves in jewels or bribes. But Roger Grey’s an enforcer of the worst kind, a fanatic, one of those radical clerics who really believes he’s doing God’s work by destroying idols. If you’d heard him preach you’d know that any man who tries to buy him off is likely to end his days burning on a pyre along with the relics, with Grey warming his hands over the blaze.’