The Pardoner's Crime

by Keith Moray

  ‘Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Sir Richard,’ Hubert said, as he munched a crust of bread, ‘but do I detect a closeness between the prioress and the nun’s priest? A closeness that is not quite —’

  Richard nodded. ‘I suspect so, too. Which is dangerous for them, since in 1315 the King’s archbishop censured Kirklees Priory because the nuns were said to have been consorting with men. They had the threat of excommunication put upon them.’

  ‘So I am guessing that if they have got a relationship, they would do anything to keep it from the King’s ears or that of the archbishop?’ Hubert asked. He swigged some ale. ‘Will they be coming back to Wakefield to attend the court tomorrow?’

  Richard nodded. ‘Aye, Father Daniel has to return to meet with the guild-masters, and the prioress will be following with some of her nuns after dealing with some priory matters. We will go with Father Daniel after he has finished this service and he can show us where the Pardoner was killed.’ He frowned. ‘I have to say that there is much that bothers me about this Pardoner’s death, Hubert. It bothers me a great deal.’

  8

  Father Daniel, riding the Pardoner’s donkey, led Richard and Hubert along the trail towards Wakefield. He stopped at the spot where the murder had taken place.

  Richard dismounted and tethered his reins to a nearby branch.

  ‘The exact spot, Father Daniel — show me the exact spot where it happened.’

  The nun’s priest ran a hand through his mane of red hair and looked about to get his bearings. After a few moments’ consideration, he urged the donkey forward to a point in the middle of the dusty trail.

  ‘It was here,’ he said, pointing to a dark area on the ground. ‘That is where he fell. You can still see where the blood soaked into the ground.’

  ‘But the donkey would have been facing the other way,’ Richard pointed out. ‘Please turn the animal round, Father Daniel.’

  As the nun’s priest turned the donkey around, Richard looked up and down the trail and then scanned the bramble and bracken-dense woodland on either side. It was clearly an excellent place for an ambush.

  ‘Where were you and the prioress?’

  ‘Just ahead of us now. The constable had called to us and ridden up to us with the Pardoner.’ He ran a soothing hand along the animal’s neck as it began to fidget, as if it recalled the violent death of its master and recognized and smelled the spot where it all happened.

  ‘The constable began telling us that the Pardoner wanted to speak to us, then we heard the whistle and the call.’

  ‘And what was called?’

  ‘I am not sure of the exact words, but it was something like “Pardoner, die for your crime!”’

  ‘And where did the call come from?’

  ‘From behind us. We all looked round, including the Pardoner, and the arrow caught him in the throat.’

  Richard nodded. ‘And he must have fallen backwards into the dirt there.’ He bent down and closely examined the ground. And then as Father Daniel described the position of the body, he drew a rough outline in the dirt of how the Pardoner had lain. ‘Remember what this looks like, Hubert,’ he directed. ‘We shall make a drawing of this later for the court.’

  He drew a line from the neck of the outlined figure and added an arrow pointing towards the woodland to the left. ‘Wait here,’ he said, straightening up and walking steadily in the direction of the line.

  ‘He is tracing the place where the arrow was fired,’ Hubert explained.

  They watched as Richard disappeared into the undergrowth. For several minutes he moved hither and hither, bending, moving on hands and knees, sniffing trees and minutely examining the ground. Then they heard him move off further into the woods, only to reappear after about another ten minutes a hundred yards or so distant.

  ‘What have you learned, Sir Richard?’ Father Daniel asked as he finally approached.

  ‘Interesting things,’ was all that Richard would volunteer as he untied his horse and mounted. ‘Let us proceed. After you, Father Daniel.’

  They rode in silence for some time. Hubert knew his master only too well and was aware that he would be piecing things together in his mind and reconstructing the events leading up to the murder.

  At length Richard seemed to come out of his reverie. ‘Father Daniel, tell me more about these Wakefield Mystery plays.’

  For about the first time the nun’s priest seemed to smile, as if thinking about the thing close to his heart had cast a light into the dark mood that the murder of the Pardoner had plunged him.

  ‘It is a cycle of miniature plays which the guilds perform to tell the story of the world from The Creation until The Final Judgement. We have many of the great stories of the Bible, such as Noah and the Flood, The Flight into Egypt and The Hanging of Judas.’

  ‘So it is rather like the plays performed at York? I saw them once,’ said Richard.

  Father Daniel considered his answer. ‘They are similar, but yet I — or rather we — have written several which are unique to our town. We have twenty-nine plays in all, and since all of the guilds are involved in some way there will be almost three hundred people taking part as players, singers or involved in making costumes and so forth. There are parts for two hundred and forty-three players. All of them have to be guildsmen.’

  ‘And how will they be performed? Have you a stage?’

  ‘No stage, Sir Richard. Or rather, we will perform it with several pageants, or movable stages, each specially constructed by the guild of carpenters, then decorated by the guilds responsible for their plays.’

  Hubert swatted at a fly. ‘And where will this take place?’

  ‘In the Bull Ring on Corpus Christi Day. We will start at nine bells in the morning and it will take several hours. First we will have a processional pageant from the Church of All Saints through the streets of the town, then the stages on the great wagons will be arranged around the Bull Ring and the plays will be performed in rotation.’

  ‘How many guilds are there?’ Richard asked. ‘I learned from Mistress Oldthorpe, the apothecary’s wife, that there is a Grocer’s Guild, and I imagine that you represent a Religious Guild.’

  ‘I do, Sir Richard. I and Lady Katherine represent the Guild of St Oswald and we are the directors. Then there are the trade guilds like the grocers, the butchers, the haberdashers, the glovers. The craft guilds like the carpenters, the fletchers, the barkers, the thatchers, the tanners, the dyers, the wheelwrights, the millers and the pinders. You probably know that in York they perform over fifty plays, so they are fortunate in having almost sixty guilds. In comparison we have seventeen guilds, so all but a few guilds have responsibility for two plays.’

  Richard ducked a low hanging branch. ‘William Scathelocke, the man who was murdered in the town stocks, must have belonged to the Guild of Pinders, is that correct?’

  ‘He did, Sir Richard.’

  ‘And he was also a good slaughterman? I take it that he would have been known to the Guild of Butchers as well?’

  ‘Indeed he would, sir. I could introduce you to George-a-Green, the master of the Wakefield Guild of Pinders if you wish?’

  ‘I would appreciate that. And can you also introduce me to the master of the Butcher’s Guild?’

  Father Daniel nodded. ‘Without doubt. I am going to a meeting at the Guildhall this very afternoon. It would be an honour if you would come with me.’

  Richard smiled, almost distractedly. Then he seemed to drift into another of his contemplative reveries and conversed no more until they at last came within sight of Wakefield and began the slow climb to the town.

  The Guildhall was a rather grand name for a building on one of the side-streets behind the Westgate. It had in the past been a tavern called the Fighting Cocks, for the single reason that its central feature was a cockpit sunk into the ground, surrounded by a circular wooden wall. As such, when the original town guild fragmented into several craft guilds, then into a combination of trade and craft guild
s, it seemed admirably suited for the badinage that was inevitable between the masters of the respective guilds. In other towns the guilds met in the Moot Hall, but in Wakefield such was the pride in the fact that there were so many freemen and burghers, all of whom were eligible to become guildsmen and thereby guild-masters, that they decided that they needed a separate guildhall. And since the Fighting Cocks Tavern had a ready-made ring which could be partitioned off into small cubicles for each guild, no guild could claim dominance in status by virtue of position. Hence it was bought by common purchase and duly commissioned as the Guildhall. It was there that the town burghers held their Burghers’ Court to deal with all matters appertaining to the burghers of the town, and where the guilds came together to decide on matters that affected all of the guilds, including the production of the Corpus Christi plays.

  One of the first by-laws passed by the burghers was the continuation of the licence of the Fighting Cocks as a private premises, so that meetings of the guilds could be held with suitable refreshments, yet without the encumbrance of having to deal with non-guildsmen.

  Hubert immediately appreciated the hostelry-like atmosphere of the Guildhall when they entered. There was a satisfying smell of ale, stale sweat and the distinctive odour of working men and a hubbub from conversations around the central ring, where a mix of characters seemed to be socializing and gossiping rather than settling the affairs of the guilds. There were neat haberdashers and their assistants, nimble-fingered tailors and cobblers, flour-dust-covered millers and rustic fullers and cordwainers. Mugs clinked, men spat on the rush covered dirt floor and, as expected, there were some raised voices and a bit of pushing and shoving as points were made.

  An apprentice appeared bearing mugs of ale and offered them to Father Daniel, Richard and Hubert.

  ‘There is usually some social exchange like this before the business is brokered,’ Father Daniel explained.

  Richard nodded noncommittally. He felt that allowing alcohol was potentially hazardous and he sensed that Father Daniel felt likewise.

  ‘A little ale helps to calm folk,’ Father Daniel went on. ‘But a lot makes most men disagreeable.’ He gave one of his rare smiles. ‘That is why I always try to get my business done early on in the proceedings.’

  Richard laughed and sipped his mug of ale, noticing that Hubert had taken two mugs and seemed to be finishing off the first already.

  ‘Ah, there is George-a-Green,’ said Father Daniel. ‘He is the Master of the Guild of Pinders.’ He edged between a couple of men in aprons who smelled strongly of a tannery works and tapped a big fellow in a horsehair mantle on the shoulder. He said a few words then returned with him.

  Hubert was wiping ale from his lips and immediately recognized the pinder as one of three men who had been prepared to eject him from the Bucket Inn the day before.

  George-a-Green nodded peremptorily to Richard and ignored Hubert. ‘Father Daniel says you wanted to talk to me, Judge?’ he asked, with less than enthusiasm. ‘What do you want?’

  Hubert squared up to the large pinder. ‘Some manners first, or perhaps you need to be shown some?’

  Anger flashed in the pinder’s eyes, to be replaced by a disdainful smile. ‘And do you think that you are the man to show me, Master Jackanapes?’

  Richard put a restraining hand upon Hubert’s arm. ‘Enough!’ he commanded. ‘There will be no brawling. I have His Majesty’s authority and the town has a vacant pillory which can be filled if needs be.’

  The pinder eyed Richard with a look of ill-concealed contempt. ‘Aye, Judge. An empty pillory and an empty stocks. William Scathelocke was murdered in them, didn’t you know.’

  ‘Take care with that brusque attitude of yours, Master George-a-Green,’ Richard warned. ‘It is precisely about William Scathelocke that I wanted to talk to you.’

  The pinder’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘Why me?’

  ‘You are the Master of the Guild of Pinders, are you not?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And William Scathelocke was a member of your guild?’

  ‘He was. And he was a decent pinder. He knew all about his animals and he didn’t deserve to be in the stocks in the first place.’ He spat on the floor by Hubert’s foot. ‘If he hadn’t been put there, he wouldn’t have been shot dead.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Richard queried. ‘Whoever shot him might have had many other opportunities to kill him.’

  The pinder scowled. ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

  ‘I hear he was also a good slaughterman.’

  ‘He was, but why don’t you ask one of the butchers?’

  ‘I will. Where are they?’

  ‘Father Daniel will show you. That all, Judge?’

  Hubert gritted his teeth. ‘I told you —’ But again Richard stayed his hand. ‘That is all for now, George-a-Green. But tomorrow be prepared to answer questions in the Manor Court.’

  The pinder had been on the verge of going, but at this he eyed Richard with narrowed eyes again. ‘We all heard about another court, but why is it being held so soon?’

  ‘Because there has been another murder.’ The effect of this news was spectacular. The room had been filled with conversation, yet it suddenly went quiet. Clearly, everyone had been eavesdropping on Richard’s conversation. That was as he had suspected, and he smiled inwardly at the effect.

  ‘You may go now, Master Pinder,’ he said. Then, turning to Father Daniel, he said, ‘Now please, take me to the Butcher’s Guild.’ Hubert caught George-a-Green’s eye and smiled. ‘Didn’t you hear my master, pinder? You may go. Be a good fellow and run along now.’

  He grinned as the pinder clenched and unclenched his fists then flounced off.

  After talking with Rufus Radstick, the Butchers’ Guild-master Richard had sent Hubert on a mission to the Bucket Inn while he made his way to the apothecary’s to have his leg re-dressed.

  ‘My husband is out visiting patients, Sir Richard,’ Emma Oldthorpe told him, her eyes darting hither and thither as if fearful of making contact with his.

  ‘Ah, I had wondered why he was not at the meeting of the guilds,’ Richard returned.

  Emma put a hand to her mouth and gave a small gasp. ‘Oh, he will be so disappointed. He hates being late or missing appointments. He must be held up with a difficult case. He said he thought that one of his charges was on the point of death.’

  ‘Shall I return another time, then?’ Richard suggested. He was all too aware that she was embarrassed by his arousal when she last changed his dressing.

  Emma shook her head emphatically. ‘Why no, Sir Richard. I can re-dress your wound.’ Then she looked directly at him and smiled. ‘I would like to if you would permit me.’

  He followed her through to the room and lay down on the couch while she went and brought all that she needed for the re-dressing.

  ‘I heard that there will be another court tomorrow,’ she said, as she unwound the bandage. ‘Have you found something out, Sir Richard?’

  Strangely, he wanted to tell her, to confide in her, but he would not permit himself to. ‘I need to go over some things. We shall see how it goes.’

  She nodded. ‘Of course, Sir Richard. I did not mean to presume. It is just that I wondered if you would need to see my husband again.’ She pulled back the mouldy leather padding and let out a little exclamation of delight. ‘It is healing very well indeed.’ She looked up and found him gazing at her. ‘Will you need him, sir?’

  Richard coloured, conscious of the attraction that was developing. He coughed. ‘It is likely, yes.’

  ‘I worry about him sometimes. He works so hard and he is not getting any younger.’

  Richard looked around the room. ‘But he obviously looks after you very well.’

  Emma had applied another piece of mouldy leather and was beginning to wind the bandage back on. She looked up and nodded enigmatically. ‘He does his best, Sir Richard. But one day I would like to have a child.’

  Richard nodded sadly. ‘Ever
yone desires to see their line continue. I lost my wife in childbirth and my son a few days after.’

  ‘So you are all alone, Sir Richard?’

  ‘All alone, yes.’

  She looked at the floor for a moment then looked up at his face with a nervous smile. ‘Shall I rub your leg again, Sir Richard? To help clear the toxic humour?’

  Richard had previously debated with himself how he should answer such a question, should she ask it again.

  ‘Please,’ he replied.

  Hubert had jumped at the opportunity to return to the Bucket Inn to try to smooth Beatrice Quigley’s ruffled feathers. The particular message that Richard had entrusted him with, however, hardly seemed likely in his mind to further his amorous cause.

  ‘And just why exactly does your master want us all to attend the court?’ Beatrice demanded, as she stood facing him with her hands on her hips in the middle of the crowded inn.

  Hubert thought that she looked magnificent when she was riled. Yet that moment was not, he decided, a suitable time to tell her.

  ‘He is reviewing the case of the murder — and — er — other matters.’

  Beatrice eyed him askance. ‘What matters?’

  ‘I — er — am not at liberty to tell you,’ he replied. ‘But he was emphatic that he wants you, Matilda Oxley, and the young Lillian to be there.’

  ‘But Lillian is still weak!’

  Hubert nodded his head sympathetically. ‘He was clear about it. She must attend, even if she has to be carried.’ He put on his most beseeching look and added, ‘I will happily come and carry her for you if needs be.’

  At this, Beatrice could not help herself and her defences crumbled. ‘You are a merry rogue, I will give you that.’ She held out her hand and took his. ‘Come, I will let you buy me a cup of mead.’