Sword of Shame

by The Medieval Murderers

  Baldwin was frowning. ‘So you consider it possible?’

  ‘Sir William had an alibi. He was with someone else when my brother died.’

  ‘Do you remember who?’

  ‘Alice, his wife.’

  Simon was watching Baldwin, and fleetingly he saw an expression of shock on his face. Simon pointed out, ‘It is Roger who admits killing Coule. Not Sir William.’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘Sir John, we have heard you made no enquiries when Coule didn’t turn up when he was dead. Why was that?’

  ‘He had said he must go for a short while. He had asked to go on a pilgrimage to Canterbury.’

  Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. Simon said, ‘It’s just as he said last night, then.’

  ‘Who? What was said last night?’ Sir John demanded sharply.

  Baldwin eyed him measuringly. ‘I should prefer that this remains between us, Sir John. Yesterday Sir William told us that he himself paid your reeve to steal the sword because once the thing was lost, Sir William would feel free. He wanted to be able to go into the convent with an easy heart. He told Coule he wanted the thing taken to Canterbury, there to be given to the church. He wanted the guilt to be expiated in the manner best suited to the crime. He wanted it to be kept there, secure.’

  ‘So he paid my man to enter his hall and take it?’ Sir John said wonderingly. His face hardened. ‘And then Roger killed him!’

  ‘Sir William told us that every time he touched it, it made his skin crawl,’ Simon said.

  ‘He appears very concerned about it,’ Baldwin muttered. ‘Your brother–when he was found, there were no stab wounds, I assume?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Were there any wounds on his person?’

  ‘He had a bruise on his head, but that was from where he fell into the water. I think that’s why he drowned, because he fell on a stone.’

  ‘I see. So he died and soon afterwards your neighbour became engaged to Alice. Now that Sir William wants to go into a convent, the sword is stolen and the thief was killed by Roger.’ He frowned. ‘There must be some sense in all this! If it’s gone, where is it? Sir William wanted it gone so he could join the convent, and so did his brother, presumably, so he could inherit the manor. But Sir William’s wife wanted it kept safe so she was safe from the nunnery, unless I misread her…’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Sir John said.

  ‘It’s a common difficulty for those who try to speak to him,’ Simon said understandingly. ‘I find it’s best not to worry.’

  Baldwin frowned. ‘Why did Roger want to come here to offer you the sword?’

  ‘He said that it had been moved while he was journeying to fetch you two. Someone had found out where he had hidden it.’

  ‘Gracious God!’ Baldwin stood, his face suddenly pale. ‘Simon, we may be too late! We have to find Roger–quickly, man! Sir John, I thank you for your hospitality, but we have to leave immediately!’

  Denis was strolling from the hall to his small chamber when he heard the excited chattering from outside. He stopped, wondering, and then made a decision, and walked out to the doorway that gave out on to the court.

  In the little space inside the wall, five grooms, a brewer and a smith were talking animatedly with Hob. Denis eyed them with a frown. There was no sign of the Keeper, nor of his master. ‘What is this? Why all the noise?’

  Hob, flushed and anxious, bowed his head respectfully. ‘Master clerk, I found this today by the road.’

  Denis felt his mouth gape as Hob unwrapped a filthy piece of old sacking, and brought out the stained and marked sword.

  ‘But how could you have…?’ he spluttered.

  Sir William had arrived in the court with his wife, and now he stared bleakly at Denis, then at Hob. He motioned with a jerk of his chin towards the sword. ‘Where was it?’

  ‘Under a bush near the place where Coule was killed, sir,’ Hob said deferentially. He glanced up at Sir William, then Denis and Madam Alice, who stood a little way behind the other two. ‘It was well wrapped and covered in leaves, sir.’

  Sir William nodded, eyeing the weapon with chill disgust. When he heard the calls from the court, he had been in the process of composing a letter to the abbot of Tavistock, Robert Champeaux, requesting that he might be permitted to join the convent. He had felt, for the first time in many years, as though a weight had been lifted from his back. And now it was back, he would be damned if he would give up that hope. Its shame could never be fully expunged from his family, but the sword itself could be. He knew now what he must do, before any more blood was spilled over it.

  ‘Sir William?’ It was his steward. The man was at Hob’s side, and he looked with concern at his master. ‘Sir, do you want me to send for the Keeper and his Bailiff?’

  ‘Do as you will! Give me that sword,’ Sir William snapped, and carried it into the hall.

  Baldwin and Simon rode as fast as a Dartmoor farmer with the devil’s wish-hounds at their backs. Every so often Simon would throw an anxious look at his friend, but all he could see was a troubled desperation as the knight raked his spurs along his mount’s flanks, whipping the reins and staring ahead.

  Simon usually enjoyed the thrill of a race along a roadway, the wind crackling and snapping at his cloak, the rush in his ears, the roar and clatter of hooves on the metalled surfaces, but not today. There was something deeply troubling Baldwin, and that thought was uppermost in his mind as they leaned into the corners, ever trying to increase their speed. The lanes narrowed, then widened, and suddenly they were at the Bow road, and could hurtle along, then drop down the hillside into the town itself.

  He had assumed that they were aiming for the town’s market hall, for no specific reason, but Baldwin reined to a halt at the inn a little farther down the hill. He threw himself from the horse, shoved the reins through a ring in the wall, and waited impatiently for Simon before throwing the door wide and bellowing for the innkeeper.

  ‘Last night–did Roger de Tracy stay here?’

  ‘Him? No.’

  Baldwin swore under his breath.

  ‘So that’s it? He had the sword all along. He murdered Coule, and now he’s bolted because he feels we’re too close to him,’ Simon said bitterly.

  Baldwin gazed at him in surprise. ‘Roger? In Good God’s name, no! I fear he’s been killed too!’

  It took Baldwin a little time to track down the local watchmen. In the end he took the simple expedient of grabbing the horn from the belt of a passing man and blowing on that. Before long, several men had arrived and were standing watching him with suspicious, surly faces.

  ‘I’m the constable. What’s the hue and cry for?’

  ‘I am Keeper of the King’s Peace, Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. I am seeking master Roger de Tracy. He didn’t return home last night, and he didn’t stay at the inn here. I want you to organize a posse and find him. If he’s not in the town itself, he may be injured and lying in a ditch somewhere between Sir John de Curterne’s house or the castle at Nymet Tracy.’

  ‘That might take days!’

  ‘Then you had best hurry yourself, master constable, hadn’t you?’ Baldwin said nastily. ‘And in the meantime, send a man to the castle to let them know.’

  The constable had taken a step back as the knight had leaned towards him, anxious to have upset a man of such power, but now, as he was about to shout for a lad to ride to the castle, there was a rattle of hooves coming down the lane, and Simon recognized one of the grooms from the castle. ‘What’s he want?’

  Baldwin chewed at his lip. ‘This is all going ill, I fear.’

  ‘Where was the thing?’ Baldwin demanded of Hob.

  The miller stood disconsolate at his harsh tone, his head hanging. Simon was sitting near Sir William, while Alice had a seat a short distance behind them. Baldwin gripped the sword in his right hand, studying the metalwork.

  ‘It was right near the place where Coule’s body had lain. I think it was shoved there in a hurry, fo
r it was not well hidden. Just had some leaves and twigs thrown over it.’

  ‘It was wrapped in that?’ Baldwin prodded the folds of sacking with the point of the sword. The point was scratched and marked, he saw. It needed a good polish.

  ‘Yes. And shoved under a blackthorn. I only saw it because I caught a glint from it when I rode past.’

  ‘Why was it not seen before?’ Simon wondered.

  ‘I don’t know. But the blade has blood on it still. Perhaps some creature smelled that, and pulled the cloth aside to see if there was food inside?’

  Simon nodded. Hob had lost all his earlier affability, and now stood as though terrified. Well, that was understandable. Many were petrified when questioned in front of their master, and this fellow was a villein. ‘And you happened to be wandering this way?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Why were you wandering over here? You said yesterday that you rarely came this way except when you brought milled flour for the castle. When were you here last?’

  ‘Day before that.’

  ‘And you were asked to return only two days later?’ Simon asked smoothly.

  Baldwin sucked at his teeth, glanced at Simon, and jerked his head to the door. ‘You must take us there and show us exactly where you found the thing. Sir William, do you wish to accompany us?’

  Sir William shrugged sulkily and motioned with his hand. ‘You go. I’ve things to do.’

  Simon threw him a look as he left the hall. Sir William’s eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the sword, and there was in his face an expression of such revulsion and loathing, Simon was shocked for a moment. He stood still, staring, even as Alice rose from her seat and went to her man, her arms going about his stiff shoulders. In her face, Simon saw relief as well as resignation, but when she looked across at him, he was chilled by her expression. It was sly delight.

  ‘Here?’ Baldwin demanded.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Hob replied quietly.

  They had hurried as quickly as Hob’s casual trot allowed. He had no riding horse, and had never learned the skill of horsemanship, so the other two were forced to travel at little more than a gentle amble. By the time they reached the spot, it was well past noon, and the sun was in their eyes as they turned westwards along Hob’s lane.

  Baldwin glanced about him, then dropped from his horse. ‘When do you say you found the thing?’

  ‘It was this morning. I took it to the castle as soon as I found it.’

  ‘Why were you coming along here today?’

  Hob’s mouth opened, but his dismayed expression told Baldwin enough.

  ‘Hold! Good Miller, don’t lie to me! It won’t do. You should have invented a reason before going to the castle.’

  As he spoke he was moving swiftly about the roadway, glancing this way and that. Soon he found a patch of dried soil, and he bent to study it. Up again, he strode to the bush Hob had indicated. ‘It lay just here?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You must have good eyesight. Come here!’ He stood behind Hob and gripped his shoulders. ‘Where were you standing when you saw it?’

  ‘Master, I…’

  ‘This is a few yards from where the body was found. Only a very few. And you suggest to me that the coroner and juries could have missed it? There are footprints all over this place. If the sword had lain there, someone would have stumbled over it.’

  ‘But I saw it!’

  Baldwin smiled grimly. ‘From where, master Miller? Where were you when you say you saw it?’

  There was a silence. Simon dropped from his horse and his face wore a harder expression now as he joined the other two. ‘Well?’

  Baldwin released the miserable miller, who covered his face with his hands and stood quietly trembling.

  ‘Perhaps if I tell you, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘There was a visitor to you today, who told you to be cautious, to be very careful, and who gave you that sword. Isn’t that right? And told you to bring the thing to the castle and say you found it here. Yes?’

  ‘I can’t say, sir! If I say yes, I’ll be dead. If I say no, you’ll have me arrested. What would you have me do? Condemn myself for opening my mouth?’

  ‘You already have, Miller,’ Baldwin said uncompromisingly.

  The body was discovered in the late afternoon. One of Sir John’s peasants saw crows and magpies squabbling, and set off to learn why. When he reached the woods where they had been, he found the corpse.

  ‘Sir William, I am sorry,’ the port reeve said, and his expression told better than his words how true was the sentiment. It was not unknown for a man to lose his reason and attack the bearer of such tidings.

  The knight sat in his seat with his right hand clenched on the arm rest. His face betrayed no emotion, other than the tic that pulled at his right eyelid every few moments. At his side his wife rested a hand on his shoulder, and he petulantly pushed it away. ‘Leave me! All of you. Now!’

  Gleaming on the table, freshly cleaned, the object of his hatred lay pointing at him like an accusation, and he felt it like the finger of God.

  This sword was the cause of his shame and despair. It had twisted him, making him no better than the murderer Sir William de Tracy who had stormed into the cathedral at Canterbury all those years before, with this sword drawn, and hacked at the saint there in his own church. Abysmal, cursed action! It had tainted and destroyed him, just as it had others. He had been torn from the path of decency and honour, and his life was ruined.

  He could not bear to have that thing pointing at him any longer. Standing, he walked around the table, looking down at it with loathing. The thing shone like a new tool, as though it was innocent of any offence. Yet he knew its nature: evil, like a weapon of the devil. It should be destroyed.

  It could be destroyed. It would be destroyed! He took it up, revulsion on his face, and carried it to the door. ‘Call the smith to me!’

  Baldwin and Simon rode into the court after questioning the miller to find the place quiet.

  ‘Now what has happened?’ Baldwin said.

  ‘It’s a bit grim and brooding, isn’t it?’ Simon said glowering about him.

  This late in the day the place should have been a mess of men hurrying about finishing the last tasks before nightfall. Grooms and cooks should have been running to their jobs, but tonight all was still, as though the place was deserted.

  ‘Hoi! Groom!’ Simon bellowed.

  There was no immediate response, but then a tousled head appeared in a doorway near the stables.

  ‘Come on, boy! Get over here,’ Simon roared, growing irritable.

  The lad was clearly upset at being called, but he trotted over to them and took their reins from them as they dropped to the floor.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ Baldwin demanded.

  ‘The steward sent many to the body to protect it.’

  ‘Master Roger?’ Baldwin snapped.

  ‘Yes, sir. He was dead. Murdered.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Run through with a sword, they say, and left in the woods to rot.’

  ‘Which woods? Quickly, boy, where?’

  He was shocked by the intensity in Baldwin’s voice. ‘Up near the town, sir, north and east of Bow, so they say. A groom’s been sent to the coroner already.’

  Baldwin sighed. ‘So I was right, then. Where is your master?’

  ‘Sir William’s in the smithy, sir. He’s having the forge lit.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Baldwin muttered to himself. ‘Come, Simon. Let’s stop this foolishness.’

  Simon opened his mouth, and then closed it again. With a muted curse against all keepers, and especially mad ones from the wilder parts of Devon, he trailed after Baldwin into the smithy.

  It was a small chamber, and not yet hot. The coals had been allowed to cool after the day’s work was done, and now a small fire had been lit in the middle: tinder was glowing beneath kindling, while the smith blew carefully o
n it. A boy stood nearby with a bellows in his hand, ready to begin fanning the flames and adding coals.

  ‘You are in time to see this foul thing destroyed!’ Sir William spat.

  He stood in the far corner of the smithy, in the dark. All Simon could see of him after the light outside was a gleam every so often from the sword’s blade.

  Baldwin eyed the fire. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘My master wants the blade destroyed,’ the smith said nervously, eyeing his master.

  ‘He will change his mind. You can both leave us,’ Baldwin said flatly.

  The smith looked at him, then at his master. He motioned to the boy, who scampered off, and then with a second glance at Sir William, the smith nodded and left.

  Baldwin went to the forge and scattered the kindling. ‘It would achieve nothing, Sir William.’

  ‘My brother is dead.’

  ‘I am sorry about that. I feared as much.’

  ‘He was spitted like a boar on a spear, and left to rot in among the trees,’ Sir William said softly.

  ‘It is not the fault of the sword, though,’ Baldwin said. ‘The sword had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘You think so?’

  Sir William strode forward and stood before Baldwin, the sword in his fist. He lifted it, and Simon automatically reached for his own hilt, only hesitating when he saw that Baldwin had not flinched.

  ‘See this, Sir Baldwin? It looks so fine, so pretty! But it’s the sword that killed St Thomas. They say Sir William hacked at the saint’s head as he lay on the ground and opened his skull, spilling his brains on the ground. I expect that’s how the point got so scratched and marked, because it clashed on the stone flags of the floor.’

  ‘A sword is not evil. Only the man who wields it,’ Baldwin said mildly.

  ‘Or woman, yes,’ Sir William grunted, his voice almost a sob. ‘Yes, you are right. It’s me. Me who is evil, not this! I have tainted all I have touched. I am cursed!’

  ‘You are guilty of murder. You have broken two of God’s commandments.’

  ‘I know!’ Sir William put his hands to his face, the sword’s point almost catching in a beam overhead. ‘I could not help it, though.’