The Pardoner's Crime

by Keith Moray

  They looked at one another for a moment. ‘Perhaps he already has,’ Richard suggested.

  John of Flanshaw tapped on the door and entered as the nine bells were ringing out.

  ‘All is ready, Sir Richard,’ he said. ‘And Sir Thomas and Lady Wilhelmina have just taken their seats at the bench.’

  Richard and Hubert followed the bailiff through into the crowded hall. Hubert took a stance at the end of the bench and Richard sat down beside Sir Thomas, having first bowed to Lady Wilhelmina, who gave him an enigmatic half-smile.

  Hubert caught sight of Beatrice, Matilda and Lillian in the middle of the crowd and was rewarded by a look of disdain from Beatrice. Then she studiously ignored him and he groaned inwardly.

  Immediately, Richard rapped his gavel on the bench.

  ‘This special session of the Manor Court has been convened to investigate three dire criminal cases. First, the murder of William Scathelocke. Second, the alleged rape of Lillian Fenton by one Albin of Rouncivale, who, as the court heard yesterday, was granted benefit of clergy.’

  There were murmurings of disapproval, although no one made any outright show, presumably recalling Richard’s warning of the day before. Richard ran his eyes over the crowd, noting the presence of Simon the Fletcher, and of Wilfred Oldthorpe the Apothecary, his wife Emma and their servant Gilbert, the dribbling hunchback.

  He rapped his gavel again. ‘And also the murder of Albin of Rouncivale, a Pardoner, which happened yester evening by the hand of a person as yet unknown!’

  This announcement was greeted by an eruption of surprise and what almost sounded like several exclamations of pleasure. A couple of men gave short laughs.

  Richard rapped his gavel firmly. ‘There will be no disrespect shown in this court! A man’s murder is no cause for hilarity, and any inappropriate displays will be dealt with severely.’

  The crowd was silenced immediately, and Hubert was aware that the faces of many of the audience registered anger, alarm and obvious resentment directed at Sir Richard.

  ‘Bailiff, we shall begin by swearing in the jury members again. The same men as yesterday step forward.’

  The twelve men were duly sworn in and took their stools.

  ‘Yesterday,’ Richard continued, ‘this court saw the body of William Scathelocke. We also heard testimony from Simon the Fletcher, regarding the murder weapon. An arrow.’ He turned to John of Flanshaw. ‘You have this arrow?’

  ‘It is on the bench, my lord.’

  Richard glanced at the cloth that covered the gory arrow on the bench in front of Lady Wilhelmina, and noticed the look of revulsion as she stared at it. She in turn saw his glance and raised her chin defiantly.

  ‘The case against the Pardoner, Albin of Rouncivale was, as I just informed you, not investigated because he had been granted benefit of clergy. His murder changes this. Please record that in the rolls, Bailiff.’

  He watched John of Flanshaw scratch away on the parchment.

  ‘So now we shall hear the facts about the murder. Call Constable Ned Burkin.’

  At his name, the Warrengate constable came forward and took the witness pen. Then to Richard’s interrogation he described the journey towards Kirklees Priory.

  Following this, the men of the watch were also questioned, and then Father Daniel gave his version.

  ‘I thank you, Father Daniel,’ Richard said, as the priest took his place at the front of the audience again. ‘Men of the jury, note that all of the witnesses say that the murderer cried out, directly addressing the Pardoner, and that as he turned, he was shot in the throat with an arrow.’

  He waited a few moments, watching the reactions of the crowd before continuing. ‘We shall now view the body of the victim. Bailiff, arrange for the body to be brought before us.’

  The reaction of the crowd to the entrance of the body of the Pardoner was clearly different to the way they had greeted the entry of William Scathelocke’s body the day before. The crowd parted willingly, showing no remorse, faces showing derision, as if the sight of the wrapped bundle carried between two men of the watch indicated that justice had already been served.

  The corpse was laid before the court bench.

  ‘Raping bastard!’ someone called from somewhere.

  Richard immediately rapped his gavel. ‘I said before that no display of disrespect will be tolerated!’

  At this, Sir Thomas Deyville slapped his hand on the bench. ‘By the blood of the Martyr! This man committed a heinous crime. He raped a girl!’

  ‘A crime that he had not been tried for, far less found guilty!’ Richard retorted with frosty coolness. ‘This is an English law court and I swear that Albin of Rouncivale, though he is dead, shall have a fair hearing. We shall look at his alleged crime in due course. But first we shall look at his own, all too clear murder. Now please, Sir Thomas — no more interruptions! I am conducting this court.’ The two knights glared at each other. Sir Thomas finally flounced back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘So be it,’ he said sullenly. Richard inclined his head politely.

  ‘Call Wilfred Oldthorpe, the apothecary.’ Moments later, when the apothecary had detached himself from the crowd, Richard addressed him. ‘Master Oldthorpe, examine the body please, and then give us your opinion on the cause of death.’

  As the apothecary knelt and pulled back the horsehair blanket from the corpse, Richard’s eyes met those of Emma Oldthorpe. No words or even expressions were exchanged, yet in their eye contact Richard took slight comfort in having at least one pair of friendly eyes upon him, apart from those of his man, Hubert.

  There were many utterances of horror at the sight of the murdered Pardoner’s naked body, for his clothing had been cut by Richard and peeled back with the blanket. The arrow through the throat had not been touched, just as Richard had directed.

  Wilfred Oldthorpe grimaced and looked up. ‘The cause of death most certainly was caused by this arrow wound, my lord.’

  Richard nodded. ‘Please examine the rest of the body.’

  The crowd watched with morbid fascination as the apothecary bent to his task and ran fingers and hands over the naked body, peering close to check on the stagnation of blood in the white and purple mottled skin. At last he looked up again.

  ‘This man has no manhood, my lord,’ he announced. ‘His testicles have either never fallen, or he was gelded as a child.’

  ‘Explain what that means to the jury,’ Richard directed.

  ‘It means that he could grow no body hair, no beard, and he would never have been able to have children.’

  ‘Could he have raped a woman?’

  ‘I doubt it, my lord. He would have no desire for it.’

  Richard directed his attention to the jury. ‘Mark this well, jurymen. It may be important.’

  He noted with some satisfaction that the bailiff was busy writing everything down.

  ‘Now look at the arrow, Master Oldthorpe. I would like you to remove it.’

  The apothecary’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, as he clearly did not relish this task. Yet he did not flinch. Grasping the shaft of the arrow, he pulled, exerting a steady traction so that it came away with a horrific sound, as if its barbed point scraped on bone and cartilage as it was removed.

  ‘I thank you, Master Oldthorpe,’ Richard said. ‘Please leave it upon the bench here, and then you may step down.’

  Once the apothecary had returned to stand by his wife and Gilbert, their servant, Richard instructed the bailiff to call Simon the Fletcher.

  ‘Now, Master Fletcher,’ he said, when the large, surly craftsman had taken the witness pen. ‘I would like you to compare these two arrows.’ He gestured to Hubert, who moved forward and carried them over to the witness pen for the fletcher to examine.

  Simon the Fletcher hefted them, ran his fingers over the head, checked the flights and looked down the length of each of them. At last, he said, ‘They were made by the same hand, my lord.’

  ‘And do you know whose hand that
could have been?’

  The fletcher shook his head. ‘All I can say is that they are arrows made for accuracy, by one skilled in fletchery — but not by me.’

  ‘Do you know of anyone who is so skilled?’

  The fletcher shrugged. ‘In these days there may be many, my lord. All men are obliged to train with the yew bow.’

  Richard nodded and dismissed him. Then he rapped his gavel and directed John of Flanshaw to record the fact that the two murders had been committed with arrows made by the same hand, according to the testimony of Simon the Fletcher.

  ‘Now let us consider the murdered man’s possessions,’ Richard went on. ‘Constable Burkin, show the court all that you found upon Albin of Rouncivale when you arrested him.’

  Ned Burkin lifted the sack and staff that had been brought in with the body of the Pardoner and laid the sack on the bench.

  ‘First of all, my lord, he had this staff with a metal cross atop it.’ He held it aloft for all to see. ‘And you can see it has been studded with pieces of coloured glass, to look as if it is embedded with jewels.’

  At a sign from Richard, he laid it on the bench then reached into the sack and drew out a purse.

  ‘He had this purse with fifteen shillings in it.’

  Richard’s eyes narrowed momentarily. ‘Record that please, Bailiff.’

  Constable Burkin delved into the sack again and drew out a bundle of clothing, a wallet and three small earthenware jars. He opened the wallet and drew out a sheaf of papers.

  ‘There is writing on them, my lord. I think they are —’

  But Richard had snapped his fingers and held out his hand for them. After rifling through them he declared, ‘As I thought, these are Indulgences written in Latin.’ He held one up. ‘People call these pardons,’ he explained. ‘The Pardoner is permitted by the law of the land and by church law to sell these indulgences which, while not pardoning the buyer from a transgression of some sort, are believed to reduce their load of guilt upon their day of Judgement. Or so they say.’ There was a titter of amusement from the crowd, which was immediately silenced when Richard rapped his gavel on the bench. He eyed the crowd censorially and went on sternly, ‘This court is investigating a murder, which is no cause for amusement. Now this Pardoner, Albin of Rouncivale sold many of these pardons. I want anyone who bought one to put his hand up now.’

  Slowly and reluctantly, several people held up their hands.

  ‘After this session, all of these people will be interviewed. Under oath, they will tell me why they had need of purchasing a pardon.’ There was a good deal of shuffling of feet, as indeed Richard had supposed there would be. He imagined that people would at that very moment be preparing alternative reasons. He had little doubt that he would be able to sort out the real from the imaginary.

  He nodded to Constable Burkin, who picked up the first of the three earthenware jars. Pulling out the bung, he poured out a number of small bones into his hand. Once more, Richard gestured for them to be handed to him.

  ‘I imagine that the Pardoner claimed that these bones were holy relics of some saint,’ he announced. ‘And that for a price, he permitted sinners to touch them to receive the pardon of the saint.’

  There was a gasp of amazement from the crowd, and a tall man dressed in the garb of a tanner cried out, ‘That is just so, my lord. They are the small bones of the hand of St Christopher himself.’

  Richard let the bones stream back into the jar. ‘These are pig bones,’ he said to the tanner. ‘And you shall tell me later the nature of the sins that you needed divine help with.’

  At a nod from Richard, Constable Burkin pulled the bung out of the second jar and poured out a number of wood chippings.

  ‘These I expect were said to be slivers from the true cross, or chippings of the coffin of some saint.’

  Again there were gasps of surprise from several members of the audience, and Richard nodded to Hubert to pinpoint them so that they too would be called to give testimony to him later.

  ‘The third jar, Constable,’ Richard prompted.

  The constable opened the jar and poured out two small white objects. ‘Teeth, my lord.’ He handed them to Richard, who looked at them one at a time.

  ‘Ugh! How disgusting!’ exclaimed Lady Wilhelmina. Richard permitted himself a smile at her look of repugnance.

  ‘Master Oldthorpe,’ he called. ‘Your opinion on these, if you please.’

  The apothecary came forward and bent over the teeth in Richard’s palm.

  ‘They are human and fairly fresh, my lord. One is a dog tooth,’ he said, indicating one of his own, next to his two front incisors. ‘And the other is a molar, one of the grinding back teeth.’

  Lady Wilhelmina had leaned forward and commented, ‘They look fairly healthy.’

  The apothecary looked at her with an expression of respect. ‘Her ladyship is quite correct, I believe. They seem to have been good teeth.’

  Richard nodded. ‘Yet not the teeth of a saint.’ He eyed the crowd. ‘Who here paid Albin of Rouncivale to gain a pardon by touching one of these teeth?’

  But there was no reply from the crowd.

  Richard handed the teeth back to Constable Burkin and brushed his hands together. ‘So no one knows ought of the teeth? So be it. Now we come to the investigation of the murder scene itself. Yesterday morning Father Daniel, my assistant Hubert of Loxley and I came back along the road that Albin of Rouncivale had been taken. It is through the forest towards Kirklees Priory. We have already heard the testimonies of Father Daniel, Constable Burkin and his men of the watch who accompanied the prisoner. We heard that the murderer had called to them and that everyone had looked round. At that moment, the murderer shot his arrow and hit Albin of Rouncivale through the throat. He fell off his donkey into the dusty trail. We saw the exact spot, and from that I was able to work out the position of the assassin. I investigated a spot in the undergrowth just off the trail, and from my findings I am able to give some information about the assassin.’

  He waited a few moments, watching the faces in the crowd as he spoke.

  ‘This was a ruthless murderer. He was on his own and not accompanied by others. He was a militarily trained man of above average height, who had been waiting there for some time. Moreover, he had waited there with the single purpose of killing the Pardoner, yet undoubtedly would have dispatched the rest of the party had they shown any sign of attempting pursuit.’

  There was stunned silence in the hall for several moments. Then Sir Thomas broke it by thumping the bench with his fist.

  ‘Nonsense! How can you say any of those things without having been there and witnessed it all yourself?’

  Richard turned and gave his challenger a thin smile. ‘Simply because I looked for the signs and found them. Then I used my brain and built up a picture.’ He turned and faced the court.

  ‘Firstly, the point he had chosen for his ambush was well thought out. He did not aim to disturb the undergrowth too much, yet he made sure that he had enough room to retreat swiftly should the need arise. He had prepared well by being there some time before the party arrived along the road. He had a horse tethered in the forest some fifty yards away, far enough away to be fairly sure of silence, yet close enough to reach swiftly to get away. Indeed, he was there so long before that he felt the need to relieve himself, which he did by passing urine against the side of the oak tree that he was sheltered beneath.’

  ‘And how do you know that he was tall?’ Sir Thomas demanded.

  ‘By the top of the trail of urine on the side of the tree,’ Richard explained.

  ‘And what about being there just to kill the Pardoner? How did you know that?’

  ‘For the same reason that I know that he had some military training. I found six small holes in the ground.’

  ‘Now I know you are mad!’ Sir Thomas exclaimed.

  Richard shook his head. ‘I repeat, there were six small holes in the ground where the assassin had stuck his arrows in the g
round. That is what a trained bowman would do, so that he could reload swiftly without having to reach for a quiver. So he was trained. Also, he shot only one arrow, and spared the rest of the party when he could without doubt have dispatched them all.’

  Running his eyes over the crowd, he saw Constable Burkin and his two men of the watch shuffle about. The Warrengate constable paled visibly and swallowed hard. Further along, Father Daniel made the sign of a cross over his heart.

  Sir Thomas scowled angrily. ‘You could have said so straight away, Sir Richard. But what all this amounts to is that the killer, whoever he is, felt that he was doing what this court should have done in the first place — punish the rogue!’

  Richard shook his head. ‘We still have not got enough evidence to say one way or the other.’ He rapped his gavel and addressed the jury. ‘This case is not yet closed, but will be returned to at a later time. The same jurymen will be called again.’

  He then addressed the bailiff. ‘Since we cannot come to a conclusion over the Pardoner’s murder, we shall now reconsider the Pardoner’s alleged crime. The rape of the Wakefield maid, Lillian Fenton. Call her and her cousin, Matilda Oxley.’

  John of Flanshaw duly did so and Matilda, Beatrice and Lillian threaded their way through the crowd. Richard pointed to Matilda, then to the witness pen. She took her place, her head held high. Dressed in a green gown and with her head covered in a wimple, she made an impressive sight.

  ‘You are Matilda Oxley?’ Richard queried. ‘What is your relationship to the accuser?’

  ‘I am, my lord. I am kinswoman to Lillian Fenton.’

  ‘And you live at the Bucket Inn together?’

  ‘We do, my lord. And we do not understand why you are bothering to investigate the Pardoner’s crime. Is it not best to allow Lillian to get over her ordeal? As you know, she has suffered and —’

  ‘I will ask the questions, Mistress Oxley,’ Richard interrupted. ‘You are betrothed, I understand. Give your betrothed’s name to the court.’