The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

He stared at Grey over his shoulder, while running his blade down the spine of the kid, peeling the flesh back to the bone. Grey winced for him, sure he would cut his own hand off, but it seemed the journeyman was so skilled at his craft, he could slice a carcass open with his eyes closed, or even, Grey suddenly realised, in the dark.

‘Alan’s run off again, but I know where he is all right,’ the journeyman added. ‘He’ll be hanging around the church again. Haven’t had a decent day’s work out of the little runt since the statue of St Beornwyn went missing, not that we ever did before. I reckon he was in love with that statue; spent all his time gazing at her breasts, he did. Can’t get a real lass to look at him, so he has to drool over a wooden one.’

‘The boy was devoted to the statue then?’ Grey was more willing to put the lad’s interest down to religious fervour rather than lust, but both states could produce a blind and unreasoning passion in the young. He might not have been strong enough to murder a man, but he could certainly have stolen the reliquary from Richard’s house before Edward got there, in which case, it might never have been taken to the Hutt at all.

‘Can you remember where Alan was on the afternoon Edward was murdered?’

The journeyman took off his filthy cap, and ran his fingers through hair already matted with grease, dung and blood. ‘Here, I should think, but I couldn’t rightly say. I was away m’self buying a couple of pigs.’

The woman snorted. ‘He wasn’t here, not one of you buggers was. Left me on my own again, same as always.’

‘You get paid, don’t you, you old besom?’ Thomas said.

‘The runny-nosed squabs who pick up dog shit for the tanner get paid more than me.’

‘So why don’t you…’

Grey left them bickering, gesturing recklessly with their knives to the amusement of the customers, who were evidently well used to this. He picked his way up the street towards the church, his thoughts whirling as he walked.

So, the journeyman had also been absent. Either he or Alan could have stolen the statue from the house or from Edward. The journeyman certainly had the butchering skills to kill Edward, just as easily as Richard. But Grey still couldn’t see how he had got out of the Hutt without being seen by either Richard or the forest wardens, and Richard would surely have recognised Thomas if he’d seen him running away. There was something else nagging at the back of Grey’s mind. Something that didn’t fit, but he couldn’t seem to grasp hold of it.

But neither Alan nor Thomas knew the statue was in Richard’s house. According to Richard, only one man did and that was Father James. Was Richard right to suspect him after all? The priest also knew Grey was going to Richard’s house to seize it later that day. Could he have got there first? But no, Richard said he arrived home in the afternoon to find the lock of the chest broken. His wife and maid saw him riding off shortly afterwards. The reliquary must already have been missing when Grey was talking to the priest in the church.

Richard had said his wife hadn’t known the reliquary was in the house. Yet she and her maid had both told Grey it had been in the chest. And for a woman who claimed her husband had gone off on business she had seemed unusually distressed by his absence that night. Grey turned and hurried back up the road towards Richard’s house.

When he arrived, he found a group of women standing across the street, talking earnestly, repeatedly glancing up at the casements as if they expected to see blood running from them or the Devil to come flying out of the chimney.

After Grey had tolled the bell several times, the maid, Jennet, finally opened the door a crack. She shook her head when Grey asked to speak to her mistress.

‘She doesn’t want to see anyone. She’s in a terrible state. Been sobbing all night, she has, and she’s not eaten a bite.’

Grey tried to sound sympathetic but firm. ‘Her husband has been accused of murder. It’s only to be expected she is distressed; nevertheless, whether she wants to see me or not, I must speak with her. This is the King’s business.’

Reluctantly, Jennet opened the door just wide enough for Grey to squeeze through before slamming it shut again, as if she feared the entire village might force their way in behind him.

‘She’s in the winter parlour, sir,’ Jennet said, leading the way to a door at the back of the hall.

Grey nodded. ‘I may wish to speak with you and William later. Do not leave the house.’

Jennet gave him a frightened look before ushering him in with the briefest of announcements. Mary was sitting by the fire staring into the flames, twisting a kerchief in her lap. She did not look round as Grey crossed the room.

‘I told Jennet I can’t see anyone,’ she said. ‘Please have the goodness to leave me alone.’ Her voice was hoarse, as if her throat was dry and sore.

‘I understand your distress, Mistress Mary,’ Grey said, taking the seat opposite her without waiting for it to be offered. ‘You’re naturally worried about your husband.’

‘Husband?’ Mary lifted her head.

Her eyes were swollen from crying, but they were dry now as if she was drained of tears. She gazed at him uncomprehendingly.

‘Your husband being accused of murder,’ Grey reminded her, wondering if shock and exhaustion had dulled her wits.

She made a little gesture with her hand, which was almost one of dismissal. ‘I cannot think about that now.’

He could understand that. She was probably more worried for her own future. If Richard was hanged she could well see herself evicted from the house and Grey had no idea if Mary had relatives who would take her in or who would even be prepared to acknowledge her after this disgrace. The guild, which was supposed to provide for the widows and orphans of its members, would hardly be prepared to provide for a murderer’s wife, especially when the victim was one of their own. Nevertheless, Grey could not afford to be too understanding. The longer that reliquary remained missing, the greater the chances of someone else finding it and spiriting it away.

‘Mistress Mary, I spoke this morning with your husband. He tells me that he returned to the house earlier than usual and found the chest broken into and saw Edward Thornton hurrying away. He gave chase, assuming that Edward had taken the reliquary. But he says he did not tell Edward the reliquary was in the house. Did you tell him?’

She hastily turned her face back towards the fire, but not before Grey had glimpsed the expression of alarm that flashed across it.

‘I knew nothing of the reliquary.’

‘But you and Jennet both knew that the chest had been broken into and the reliquary was missing, so you must have known it was there. Think, mistress, it’s important, could you have let slip anything by accident, perhaps to a friend or neighbour?’

She shook her head vehemently, but still did not look at him. Grey gazed about the small chamber, thinking back over the exact words Richard had used. He suddenly leaned forward.

‘Your husband says when he returned to the house, he saw Edward’s horse tethered a little way from here and he rushed to this room expecting to find him here. Why this room in particular? Surely it is more usual for servants to leave guests waiting in the hall for their master’s return.’

A slight flush crept over Mary’s pale cheeks. ‘My husband often entertained fellow guild brothers in here. It was more private if they had guild matters to discuss.’

‘But Master Edward knew that your husband would be about his business at that time in the afternoon. Why would Edward call on him here at a time when he knew Richard would not be at home?’