The Sacred Stone

by The Medieval Murderers

  Odo swallowed hard. ‘What are we going to do? Leger was loved in the town, because of his kind heart. People will demand answers – but we have none to give!’

  ‘Do you have any idea why he suddenly became so fearful?’

  Odo tried to calm himself with several deep breaths. ‘None at all, although I suppose I should not be surprised that the current feud with the castle has ended in bloodshed.’

  ‘What feud?’

  ‘Estrighoiel was a peaceful, happy town until a little more than two years ago, and we all liked Drogo de Hauteville, who was the constable. Then he “fell” over a cliff, and Satan’s spawn arrived very quickly to take his place. Immediately, things began to change. He has spies everywhere, even in the priory, and there is an atmosphere . . .’

  ‘Satan’s spawn?’

  ‘Walter de Clare – and his henchmen Revelle and Pigot. I would not be at all surprised to learn that they murdered Leger.’

  ‘Why would they pick on him? Did he speak out against them?’

  ‘He did not approve of them, certainly. And then there is Cadowan and his wife Nest. They wanted to buy Ivar’s sky-stone and were bitterly disappointed when he refused to sell.’

  Geoffrey was confused. ‘What is a sky-stone?’

  ‘A piece of star that fell to earth in some godforsaken land to the north. Ivar brought it here, and it is said to be able to heal people.’

  Geoffrey thought about what he had overheard at the market: Nest saved, but not Walter’s child. Was this why Walter and his men seemed to hate the priory? If so, it was unfair to pick on Leger. Why not Ivar, who owned the thing?

  ‘Where is it?’ he asked, wondering if it was in the church and if Leger had been struck down as someone attempted to make off with it.

  Odo grimaced. ‘Ivar declines to say, despite my cajoling over the last two years – such a thing belongs in a shrine, not in whichever wretched hiding place he has chosen. But he maintains that God gave it to him, so he should decide its fate. It is difficult to argue with such conviction.’

  ‘So no one else knows where he has put it?’

  ‘No one. Ivar never leaves the priory these days, lest someone lays hold of him and tries to force him to tell. I do not blame him for being wary – Walter would tear him to pieces for failing to save Eleanor, while Cadowan and Nest are eager to own the stone.’

  ‘So these are your suspects for killing Leger? Walter and his men, and the town couple?’

  Odo nodded. Geoffrey turned abruptly and walked back to the gate. It was sturdy and secured by two heavy bars that slotted into the wall on either side. Clearly, an intruder was not going to enter that way. Then he began to walk around the perimeter, and his heart sank. There were several places where an agile man could scramble across, and he saw that anyone could have invaded the monks’ domain and committed murder while Leger’s brethren slept.

  ‘What do you plan to do about this, Father Prior?’ he asked.

  Odo shook his head slowly. ‘I do not know. We have barely had time to gather our thoughts.’

  ‘May I speak to the other monks?’ asked Geoffrey.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Odo suspiciously. ‘None of us heard or saw anything amiss.’

  ‘Sometimes there are witnesses – they just do not know what they have seen.’

  Odo stared at him. ‘Are you saying you intend to look into the matter on our behalf?’

  ‘On Hilde’s behalf,’ corrected Geoffrey.

  ‘Then thank you,’ said Odo. He gripped Geoffrey’s hand. ‘I shall take you to see my flock now, and you may ask them anything you please.’

  Odo conducted Geoffrey to a refectory, where ten monks were sitting down to a meal. Lay brothers served them, and he saw that the Benedictines had carved a comfortable existence for themselves. Their habits were made of finest wool, although a concession to poverty was made in the simple wooden crosses that hung around their necks. The only exception was Brother Marcus, one of the pair Geoffrey had seen in the market, who sported a fine gold one.

  Most of the monks were in their thirties or forties and seemed sleek and well fed. Geoffrey had been expecting older men, and it occurred to him that any of those now present would possess the strength to ram a knife between Leger’s shoulder blades, despite Odo’s contention that the killer was someone from outside.

  One sat slightly apart from the others, and looked as if his life had been much harder than theirs. He had a shock of prematurely grey hair, and his skin was brown and wrinkled, as if he had spent many years out of doors. Although he was now stooped, his size and shape indicated that he had once been a formidable man. The knight saw tears glittering on his cheeks.

  ‘That is Ivar,’ murmured Odo. ‘He was a hermit in the woods for years before taking the cowl. Ivar and poor Leger were particular friends.’

  ‘Ivar?’ asked Geoffrey, regarding the man at the centre of such controversy with interest.

  Odo narrowed his eyes. ‘Have you heard the horrible lies Walter has spread about him?’

  ‘I heard his magic stone failed to save Walter’s daughter.’

  Odo waved a dismissive hand. ‘Ivar has explained that – the stone can cure but not raise from the dead. And poor Eleanor was dead long before Revelle dragged Ivar from his cave to tend her. But I was not referring to those lies. I was asking whether you had heard the others – about the bad things that have happened since Ivar decided to take the cowl.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Poor crops, flooded rivers and now this suspiciously nice weather. But Walter and his creatures arrived at the same time that Ivar took his vows, so I believe they are responsible for our downturn in fortunes. They say Ivar has been seen worshipping the devil, but he is a monk now, so clearly they are lying.’

  ‘Do you think Walter killed Leger to give credence to their tales?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘The murder of Ivar’s friend would certainly damage his reputation further—’

  ‘It damages them,’ declared Odo fiercely. ‘I would not have believed they would stoop to such wickedness, but perhaps you are right. They will almost certainly say Ivar did it. And their spy will fabricate “evidence” to prove it.’

  ‘You have no idea about the identity of this spy?’

  Odo suddenly looked old. ‘No. I have charged Brother Marcus to find out, because he is a dedicated and thorough man. His questions have seen him arrested and held prisoner at the castle on several occasions, but he has no answers yet.’

  ‘It seems a sorry state of affairs,’ mused Geoffrey. ‘Castle and Church bandying accusations back and forth like fishwives.’

  Odo glowered. ‘They started it!’

  ‘Where does the town stand in this dispute?’

  Odo’s glower intensified. ‘The sensible ones see we are the wronged party, but the lunatics support Walter and his villains.’

  ‘In other words, the feud is pulling the place apart.’

  Odo continued to glare but made no other reply.

  ‘I had better ask my questions,’ said Geoffrey, wanting the case solved as quickly as possible. With such a bitter quarrel, it would not be wise to risk becoming embroiled in it.

  ‘We shall say a psalm first,’ said Odo piously. ‘And then a prayer. And then you may ask us anything you like.’

  Geoffrey studied the monks as they stood and allowed their prior to lead them in their devotions. They sang lustily – with the exception of Ivar, who did not seem to know the words – and clearly enjoyed impressing their guest with their chanting. It confirmed Geoffrey’s initial impression: that the priory put great store in outward appearances. But what lay within?

  ‘Brother Leger thought someone was trying to kill him,’ said the large, amiable monk who had been addressed as Brother Aidan in the market. His companion, the hot-tempered Marcus, sat next to him. ‘We were disinclined to believe him, because we did not imagine for a moment that Walter and his henchmen would murder any of us.’

  ‘He hates us all,’ said Marcus, fingering
his gold cross. ‘But I still refuse to accept that he stooped so low as to stab a monk in a church. I think Cadowan and Nest did it. They were probably looking for the sky-stone. Leger caught them, so they killed him.’

  ‘Did Leger see who threw the dagger at him earlier?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Or who tampered with his food?’

  ‘Not that he told me,’ said Aidan. ‘And I questioned him about both incidents.’

  ‘Then what explanation did he give? He must have had some notion as to why someone meant him harm.’

  ‘He thought it might be something to do with our feud with the castle,’ replied Aidan. ‘Meanwhile, we heard and saw nothing of his killer. We all retired to bed, and everything was quiet and peaceful until we rose to pray before dawn. Finding him with a dagger in his back was a terrible shock.’

  There was a chorus of agreement, but Geoffrey could not tell how much of it was sincere. Would one stab a comrade, just because it would be assumed that Walter had done it, and thus topple the constable from his seat?

  ‘Did you keep the dagger?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering whether it might be identified and its owner traced. It would not be the first time an inexperienced murderer had made a careless mistake.

  ‘I threw it in the river,’ said Marcus. He shot Geoffrey a defiant look, as if daring him to criticize. ‘It was a hateful thing and had no place in our holy precinct.’

  ‘It did not occur to any of us that it might be needed,’ added Aidan.

  ‘Is it retrievable?’ asked Geoffrey.

  ‘No,’ said Marcus immediately. ‘The Wye is fast and muddy, and it will be long gone by now. That is why I deposited it there – I did not want anyone else to touch the filthy thing. It is tainted and evil, like the hand that wielded it.’

  ‘What did it look like?’

  Marcus shrugged and would not meet the knight’s eyes. ‘Just some cheap, nasty thing that can be bought in the market.’

  ‘I think Walter, Revelle or Pigot is responsible for Leger’s murder,’ said Aidan quietly. ‘Because he was Ivar’s friend, and we all know they would do anything to hurt Ivar.’

  ‘But we have no evidence to make such a claim,’ said Marcus bitterly. ‘Like my belief that Nest and Cadowan are the guilty party. Both theories are just suspicions – ones that may well prove true, but not ones we can prove.’

  ‘I am surprised you do not leap at the chance to accuse Walter,’ said Aidan, turning to the younger monk and raising his eyebrows. ‘After all the grim nights you have spent incarcerated in his dungeons.’

  ‘I hate him,’ acknowledged Marcus. ‘But there is no evidence that he or his henchmen killed Leger.’

  Odo sighed as he turned to Geoffrey. ‘This case will not be easy to solve.’

  Geoffrey had a bad feeling he might be right.

  While the Benedictines began to talk among themselves, Geoffrey went to sit next to Ivar, who had not taken part in the discussion. He was reading a book, but when Geoffrey looked at it he saw it was held upside down. His first thought was that the monk’s eyes were failing, but Ivar regarded Geoffrey sharply enough, and the knight supposed he was just one of many monastics who was illiterate, but who did not like to admit it.

  ‘Walter de Clare likes to tell tales about me,’ the monk said softly. ‘He thinks I commune with the devil. But if I did, why would I have come to live in a priory? It would be difficult to speak to my familiar in a community of Benedictines.’

  ‘Perhaps he means to malign all the priory’s residents,’ suggested Geoffrey. ‘And chose you as a scapegoat, because . . .’ He faltered.

  ‘Because of Eleanor,’ said Ivar bitterly, and Geoffrey saw tears sparkling in his eyes. ‘If I could have saved that little angel, I would have. But it was beyond me. Walter thinks I failed deliberately, but he is wrong. He says the town’s problems started that day – and he is right. I decided to join the priory, and castle and Church have been at loggerheads ever since.’

  He had a curious accent – one that Geoffrey had heard before, when he had joined men from many nations to march towards Jerusalem. ‘You sound as though you hail from the kingdom of the Danes.’

  Ivar smiled. ‘I have been told that before, although I have never been there. Many years ago, I lived in a village in a country far to the north. I was called Ivar Jorundsson then.’

  ‘Greenland? My father had some gaming pieces made from Greenlandic ivory.’

  Ivar inclined his head, still smiling. ‘It is rare to meet someone who has heard of my homeland. Most cannot believe such a place exists – a land of ice and snow and mountains.’

  ‘So how do you come to be here?’

  ‘When I was a young man, it was arranged that I would take the cowl in Iceland, but there was a terrible storm during which many sailors were lost, including the navigators. We drifted aimlessly for weeks, never in sight of land. Then pirates took us prisoner, but another storm wrecked their ship, and I was washed up on the shore of Hibernia.’

  ‘I see.’ Geoffrey wondered if Walter might have a point when he claimed Ivar had brought bad luck. One storm was bad enough, but two and pirates was remarkably unfortunate.

  ‘There were few survivors,’ Ivar continued. ‘But we were brought to the west of this land by the noble Prince Rhys of Deheubarth. When he was killed in battle and his territories taken by the Normans, I continued east with another survivor of the shipwreck, and when we found this perfect country of woods and rivers we took it as a sign from God that we should settle here.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  Ivar shrugged. ‘Ten years or so; I cannot recall exactly. Later I followed the crusading call of Peter the Hermit, and accompanied his glorious force to Constantinople and beyond. There I witnessed the great battle where so many of his followers fell.’

  ‘Near Civetot?’ asked Geoffrey. He had heard stories of that particular massacre, which many felt had been avenged several years later when the forces of which he himself had been a part had besieged, taken and pillaged the Holy City of Jerusalem.

  Ivar nodded. ‘It was pure slaughter, and shocked me into returning here. I found the cave I had sheltered in previously, and decided to remain. After seeing all of those terrible things, I liked living away from the world of men, and wish I was there now.’

  ‘Then why did you leave it?’

  ‘Because of Eleanor.’ Ivar looked away. ‘Some people turned against me then, and Prior Odo suggested I would be safer here. He was right: Walter might have killed me, otherwise.’

  ‘You took holy orders?’

  ‘Yes – as I should have done years ago. It was always my intention, but I was happy in the cave. The forest provided fruit, berries and nuts, and the river is full of fish. And when times were bleak, I healed people in exchange for food.’

  ‘Healed them of what?’

  Ivar shrugged. ‘Small things – warts, aching joints. I helped just enough folk to keep me from starving. I pretended to heal them with my remedies, but it was really the sky-stone.’

  ‘Odo mentioned that you had hidden it,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I should tell someone else in case I drop dead? Or because Walter’s hatred means that I have not much time left?’ Ivar shrugged again. ‘Then it will be God’s will.’

  There was no point in arguing once God was mentioned, and Geoffrey did not try. ‘How did you come by it?’ he asked instead.

  ‘My brother found it when we were children. I was taking it to the Church in Iceland when I was shipwrecked, but God obviously did not want it to go there. Anyway, the sky-stone cured me of a crooked leg, then healed two men of terrible wounds from a white bear.’

  ‘Then it does have remarkable power,’ said Geoffrey. ‘So why do you keep it hidden? Why not use it to help people?’

  ‘Because it does not always work, as was shown with Eleanor. And because it might wear out if it is overused. Besides, God did not tell me to tout it about, and I am loath to offend Him – I do not wa
nt to suffer more storms, shipwrecks and pirates.’

  ‘But it saved the lives of three people,’ argued Geoffrey. ‘Surely, that must mean it—’

  ‘Two were killed the following day, because they tried to take it for their own ends.’

  Geoffrey was bemused. ‘You killed them?’

  Ivar was appalled. ‘No, of course not! I was seven years old – too small to hold a sword, let alone use one. It was my father’s doing. He was a gentle man mostly, but he knew how to fight.’

  ‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, not seeing at all. But Ivar’s rambling discourse was doing nothing to forward his enquiries. He stood to leave, but the man reached out and pulled him back down.

  ‘I told Leger where I hid the sky-stone. He was the only one, because I dare not trust anyone else. I told him last week.’

  Geoffrey frowned. ‘Last week was when he started to say someone was trying to kill him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Are you saying Leger was murdered because you told him of the sky-stone’s whereabouts?’

  Ivar looked out of the window. ‘Hermits do not have friends, and it was difficult to adapt to life in a priory. Leger helped me, with patience and understanding. He was the closest I have had to a true friend in my life. I trusted him completely. So I asked him what should be done with this gift from God. And I told him where it was hidden.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he needed time to think and confer with others. He left the priory that day but would not say where he had been. And that night he began to say that someone had designs on his life.’

  ‘You think he conferred with someone who then tried to kill him? Who?’

  ‘I do not know, but I wish with all my heart that I had kept my mouth shut. There are many who would kill for the secret. Walter, Revelle and Pigot are soldiers, used to blood. Nest and Cadowan are good folk, but the sky-stone has a way of bringing out the worst in people. And my brethren here are worldly, and love money and power. I do not trust any of them.’