Sword of Shame

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘You may destroy this thing if you wish, but it will stop nothing. It will serve no purpose. The guilty person is the one who should pay. Not some lump of metal.’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘There are three deaths already, including your brother.’

  ‘It’s all because she won’t go to the convent. She has seduced someone to do her bidding, and he has killed for her,’ Sir William said brokenly. ‘To kill for her ambition and pride.’

  ‘Her?’ Simon asked.

  ‘My wife never wished for an arranged marriage between herself and Godfrey de Curterne. So she told me that she had fallen desperately in love with me. I was a willing tool in her hands, a boy whom she had grown to know as she was introduced to Godfrey’s friends. Knowing me, it was easy for her to twist my affections and make me love her.

  ‘And that would have been enough. But then this sword arrived back. And with it, the memory of the murder of St Thomas. My God, but it is an evil tale!’

  ‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But it’s not your tale, and it’s not the sword’s. You knew of the story before the sword appeared, did you not?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you were intending to go to the monastery?’

  Sir William let his hands fall. ‘The guilt of killing Godfrey has been eating at me for years. I was his best, his closest, friend and I killed him with a rock. I knocked him into the water, and then held him under while he struggled, so that I may keep his woman for my own. Oh, my God!’

  ‘When the sword reappeared, what then?’

  ‘She saw her chance. She said she didn’t want it in the castle, said it reminded her of the murder of St Thomas. I could never forget the thing. Nor the murders. My ancestor’s and mine. And then I felt I could not remain while the sword existed. I had a duty to keep it safe. That was what she told me: it was my duty. She showed me how it would be the deepest cowardice to leave the sword behind. I should have destroyed it long ago!’

  ‘All this has nothing to do with the sword,’ Baldwin said more harshly. ‘It’s people who have killed. A man killed Godfrey, a man killed Coule, and a man killed your brother.’

  ‘She has her talons in another man now.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Until the news today…I know she had already won the heart of Roger…I had thought he would kill me. I welcomed it. The end of the guilt; the end of the memories of poor Godfrey’s face…’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps in the hall.’

  ‘Let us seek her out, Sir William. It is time this whole matter was done.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is time.’

  Later Baldwin recalled guessing the truth in those moments on the way to the hall, but all Simon was aware of was an emptiness in his heart. Sir William was a broken man, his soul ravaged because of the terrible crime he had committed for this woman; killing his closest friend. His brother had been tempted by her, and now was dead because he sought to win her love. Now, apparently, a third had been polluted by her.

  Deceit, treachery, and death. They had trailed her footsteps like shadows, and all who crossed her would suffer.

  ‘Husband! I was worried about you,’ she said. She was sitting in the hall, a jug of wine at her hand, and she stood and smiled sweetly at the men.

  Baldwin was in front, but he paused before crossing the room. This was to be a difficult interrogation, the more so because her husband was the man with the real jurisdiction here in his own hall.

  Sir William, too, slowed as he entered. His pale features were drawn and anguished. ‘Madam, you have seen to the murder of your last man.’

  ‘Which man is that?’ she asked, her face pale. ‘Please, husband, I know you feel unwell. I’ve seen it in your eyes. It is that fearful sword. Cast it down, and come and rest with me. Let me pour you some…’

  ‘Poison? Is that what you have there?’ Sir William grated. ‘You have no wish for my companionship any longer, do you?’

  She stood quietly, a brittle smile on her lips, and then poured a large measure into the mazer beside her, and drank it off in one draught. ‘No poison, husband. I have no need of such things.’

  ‘Everything about you is poisonous!’

  She shook her head, the picture of humility and hurt pride. ‘Husband, dear, all I have ever sought is your advantage. You are mistaken if you think that I am trying to harm you. I love you.’

  ‘Even when you flaunted yourself before Roger? When you ordered Hob to bring the sword back here after you gave it to him? When you asked me to murder my own best friend so I could gain you for myself?’

  ‘Why should I do that?’ she asked sadly.

  Simon leaned against the table. ‘Madam, you wanted to marry into Sir William’s family because you were offended to be allied to a man without your approval. Sir Godfrey died for that familiarity. Coule had to die because you knew that once that sword was gone, your husband would take himself to the monastery and insist that you went to a nunnery too. And Roger has died because…why? He rejected your advances?’

  Her face was white. ‘I have killed no one. I have no reason to want Roger dead–what reason could I have for wanting him harmed? It would be ridiculous! I made no advances to him. He kept making advances to me!’

  ‘Perhaps that was why Roger died, then. Because you were seen with him, and your lover could not bear to see you in his arms?’

  ‘That is…’

  ‘Enough lies, woman!’ Sir William snapped. ‘You made Roger kill Coule because you wanted me gone, and now you’ve brought this thing back since Roger’s dead. You think I didn’t know? I saw it in his room, but how you had it “discovered” by Hob, I don’t know!’

  Baldwin suddenly felt his mouth fall wide. ‘Stand back, Sir William!’ he commanded.

  ‘She must die!’

  ‘One problem with Roger’s death is there are so many roads from Down St Mary. How could someone know his route?’

  ‘Who cares?’ Sir William blustered.

  ‘His brother might, if his brother had travelled that way with Roger. As you did while you were both young. You alone knew his way.’

  ‘She did too!’

  ‘You think so? She was with Sir John’s brother in those days, not you. And when Godfrey died and you stole his wife, you lost all contact with Sir John. You didn’t go that way, did you? She never knew your brother’s favourite paths to Down St Mary.’

  ‘Enough of this!’

  ‘You found the sword in Roger’s room,’ Baldwin repeated. ‘You killed your brother, because he had killed Coule and thwarted your plan of retirement. It was you, Sir William, not your wife!’

  Sir William’s face grew ferocious with rage, and he turned to his wife again. The tapestry rippled behind Baldwin, and he shot a look over his shoulder in time to see the blade appear, stepping back to give himself fighting room, drawing his own sword in one fluid movement as Denis ran at Sir William.

  Sir William was bearing down on her, the sword still in his hand, lifting it to strike. As Simon watched dumbstruck, Denis swung his sword inexpertly. It was not sharp, and slammed into Sir William’s upper neck, slashing a thick wedge of muscle from his skull down to his shoulder, then Denis raised the sword again and brought it down on Sir William’s head, breaking open his skull.

  There was a fine explosion of blood, and Baldwin heard Madam Alice scream as a spray jetted across her face.

  Then Baldwin was on him, and his peacock-blue blade flashed as he lifted it and slammed the pommel hard onto Denis’s head a little above his left ear. Denis gasped, and his body stiffened, just for a moment, before collapsing like a poleaxed ox, falling vertically to his knees, his haunches dropping to rest on his ankles, and then toppling slowly to his right to fall over Sir William’s still-twitching legs.

  ‘I want a rider to fetch Sir Richard de Welles immediately,’ Baldwin said. ‘You! Get wine and a bowl of warmed water. Hurry!’

  He had resheathed his sword, and now he took
charge in the room, striding across the floor to where Madam Alice sat in her chair, her face marked with a streak of crimson.

  ‘Madam, I am sorry for all that has happened,’ Baldwin said. ‘But I was determined that your husband would confess. I had no idea that Denis was there.’

  No, he had had no idea that he was there, but he should have anticipated it, though, as he told himself angrily. ‘You will wish to leave this room until the coroner’s inquest. There is no need to remain in here with the corpse.’

  ‘I shall…shall go to my chamber,’ Alice said weakly, and stood, only to slump back in her seat as though drained of all energy.

  ‘Where is this lady’s maid?’ Baldwin bellowed, and soon a pair of women were helping Alice through the door. She paused once in the doorway, her eyes going to the body on the floor, the messy puddle of blood about his broken skull, and then she coughed, or it may be she sobbed, and was led from the hall.

  ‘CAN YOU ALL HEAR ME?’

  Baldwin winced at the dull bellow. In a confined space Sir Richard de Welles was deafening. ‘They can hear you, Sir Richard.’

  ‘Very well, I call you all to witness this…’

  After so many years as Keeper of the King’s Peace, Baldwin was perfectly used to the routine of an inquest, and his mind wandered until he was called upon to state what he had seen that afternoon when Sir William died.

  ‘I believe that Sir William intended to kill his wife in front of us.’

  ‘Why d’you think that?’ the coroner rumbled.

  ‘Sir William was eaten with guilt for a murder which he committed many years ago, in order to win the hand of this beautiful lady. He murdered his own best friend, her betrothed, and that crime has remained with him ever since. Every time he looked at her, she reminded him that he had killed to win her. In the end, he persuaded himself that she was herself responsible, I think. His mind was weakened with shame and guilt.’

  ‘Proof?’

  ‘He confessed to the crime before my friend Bailiff Puttock and myself,’ Baldwin said shortly. ‘It led him to seek absolution. Recently, his father acquired this sword, which Sir William believed was the sword which his ancestor used to kill St Thomas. It seemed to him to indicate God’s displeasure at his murder, as though the return to his family of the weapon that had executed Becket was proof of God’s anger. Sending it to Canterbury meant the cathedral could dispose of it as they wished. At the same time He could commit himself to perpetual penance by entering the cloister at Tavistock.’

  ‘All clear enough,’ the coroner boomed. ‘But then the sword was stolen.’

  ‘Not entirely! He paid Coule to take it to Canterbury. Coule gained permission from his master to go, and all seemed well, except Coule was seen leaving by Roger. Perhaps Roger noticed Coule was hiding something, and decided to overtake him. Coule tried to escape to the nearest house, Hob the miller’s, but to no avail, clearly.

  ‘Roger had no idea that Sir William was disposing of it intentionally, so Roger struck down Coule as a felon. But then I think he recognized that if the sword was lost, his brother would leave the manor. All would go to him. So Roger concealed the sword and waited.

  ‘Sir William was devastated. His plans had gone awry, and he saw this as further evidence of God’s displeasure. Even his attempt at atonement was thwarted…but then he realized that he had no duty of guardianship any longer. He began to plan his retreat from the world.’

  ‘Except the sword reappeared,’ the coroner said in a muted thunder.

  ‘Exactly. He found it himself. After the murder of Coule, there was a search for the missing sword, but Roger told me he organized the search himself. Sir William must have suspected him. When Roger came to me, Sir William did not prevent him. While Roger was with me, Sir William found the sword among Roger’s belongings. It persuaded him that his brother and wife were plotting to murder him.

  ‘He was a jealous husband, and always feared that she might seduce another as he thought she had him. His wife had no vocation, and disliked the idea of the convent. He knew that. But if she was to escape the convent against his wishes, she must have had a means of removing him. The easiest way to achieve that would be to kill him. But to do that, she would need an accomplice. That was his reasoning.

  ‘Sir William knew the sword was in Roger’s room, so he decided to kill Roger. On Roger’s body, he found the sword, because Roger had been trying to dispose of it. He brought the sword back and concealed it.’

  ‘He killed his own brother?’ Sir Richard growled, his voice setting the plates rattling on the sideboard.

  ‘In his eyes, I suppose, it was self defence. He would have killed his wife; he couldn’t leave her alive to plot his death with another–he persuaded himself that she could turn the head of any of his staff, even the lawyer.’

  ‘Quite understandable,’ the coroner murmured gallantly.

  ‘And the last piece of proof for him was Hob finding the sword again,’ Baldwin said.

  Madam Alice shook herself. ‘I was stupid! I was sure that Roger had the sword, and I looked in his chamber, and found it in his chest. Roger wanted the manor, and he didn’t care what happened to me, so he was happy to conceal it. Or so I thought. I sent Denis with it to tell Hob to say that he’d just found it.’

  ‘But Sir William had put it there in a hurry after killing Roger. He simply put it back where Roger had hidden it before,’ Baldwin said. ‘So when it turned up, he thought it proved his wife was in league with his dead brother.’

  ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ the coroner demanded, turning to the battered lawyer.

  Denis closed his eyes against his headache. The Keeper had probably saved his life the day he’d killed Sir William, but he could perhaps have used a little less force. He felt sick again, and hoped he wouldn’t vomit. ‘Sir, I could see how Sir William had turned against his wife, and I was worried for her safety.’

  ‘Was it your place to worry about her?’

  ‘I thought so, Coroner. I believe any man has a duty to protect those weaker than himself if set upon by a madman.’

  ‘So you hid yourself from Sir William that day?’ Baldwin pressed him.

  ‘Yes. To save her life.’

  Baldwin turned to face the coroner again. ‘You see? Sir William thought that his wife would keep the sword here. While it remained, he could not leave; he must get it to Canterbury. When he found that his own brother had concealed the sword, he was enraged–especially since he thought his wife had plotted to save herself from the convent, so he thought, at the expense of his immortal soul.’

  ‘This lawyer protected her by slaying her husband?’

  ‘Precisely. Denis saved her life. And I saved his by knocking him out so that others wouldn’t chase and kill him.’

  ‘That sword is clearly cursed. To kill St Thomas and then these others…it says much for the foulness of the blade. I consider Sir William had the right idea. It should be sent without delay to Canterbury to atone for its crimes.’

  Baldwin made a gesture of disgust. ‘You would accuse the sword? It is a lump of inanimate metal, Coroner!’

  ‘You said it was the weapon that killed…’

  ‘Sir William de Tracy killed Becket with his sword; Roger killed Coule with his; Roger was killed with Sir William’s riding sword; Sir William died from a blow by Denis’s. Not one of those deaths was committed with this sword.’

  ‘Saint…’

  Baldwin irritably cut him off. ‘That is the greatest irony. This is not the sword that killed St Thomas. That was with Sir William when he joined the Knights Templar as his penance and set sail for the Holy Land. He died on the way. I have seen his grave in Sicily, and in his grave, so I was told by the priest, was the sword that struck down St Thomas, so that when his body rose again on the day of judgement, he would be reminded of his crime. This is not his sword.’

  ‘Then whose is it?’ the coroner growled.

  ‘Just below the cross there is a mark,’ Baldwin s
aid, picking up the sword and pointing. ‘It looks like a shield, and the name “de la Pomeroy”, I think.’

  Sir Richard bent his head and peered. ‘Could be…But if it’s not the Tracy sword, why is it here?’

  ‘I doubt that Sir Humphrey thought for a moment that it was the genuine de Tracy sword,’ Baldwin said. ‘I knew Sir Humphrey a little. He was cynical fellow. I’m sure he liked to say that it could have been the original sword, but he bought it for a more mundane reason.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Pick it up and handle it,’ Baldwin urged. ‘It has a feel all of its own. Light, nimble, and balanced. He bought it because it is excellent, I deem.’

  The inquest took little time. As the jurors filed from the hall and the clerk scratched at his parchment, Sir Richard picked up the sword to pass back to Madam Alice. ‘This is yours, lady.’

  She flinched. ‘I want nothing to do with that thing! Throw it in the river. Or, better still, carry out my husband’s last wish and destroy it. I will not have it in the hall here. I want never to see it again.’

  ‘I understand that Sir John was offered it by Roger,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘If you really wish to see the sword disposed of, I can take it to him.’

  ‘Please, just take it away from me. I feel as though I am under a curse all the time that shameful weapon stays here!’

  When the sword was given to him, Sir John could only laugh at the fortune that had brought it to him. As soon as he picked it up, he could feel the life in the blade. The way that it moved through the air spoke of the marvellous construction, the careful effort taken over the hilt, the bonding of wood and steel and iron together to create such a piece of workmanship.

  ‘This is ours now, Matthew,’ he said as his son teetered at his side, standing without support for a moment.

  The boy reached up and touched the pommel, and Sir John laughed, bringing the blade lower so he could feel it, but as he did so, the little boy tottered forward. His hand slipped forward and ran down the blade: only a short distance, but far enough to open his palm on the sharp blade.