The Pardoner's Crime

by Keith Moray

  He heard the tap on the door and was immediately upon his feet, his hand instantly to his dagger as he threw open the door.

  Lady Wilhelmina was standing there in a long cloak.

  He opened his mouth to speak but she advanced swiftly, pushing him back as she did so. She closed the door behind her and then turned, reaching up to unfasten her cloak, which fell to the floor to reveal her naked body.

  ‘Wilhelmina!’ he whispered. ‘Wh—’

  She stepped close to him, one hand pushing his hand with the dagger aside. ‘I want you to ravish me!’ she said, as she snaked an arm about his neck and drew him towards her waiting mouth.

  Hubert and Beatrice had made love throughout most of the night and finally rolled apart, their bodies bathed in perspiration, to lie in dreamy post-coital bliss until cockcrow.

  ‘You think a lot of that master of yours, don’t you?’ Beatrice asked, as she stirred back to wakefulness.

  Hubert yawned then turned on his side to stroke her hair. ‘I do. He has been good to me, and we have fought several battles side by side. If it were not for our ranks, we might be counted friends.’

  Beatrice sighed. ‘Friends! Matilda and I have been friends for most of our lives. I hate to see her in this state.’ She bit her lip. ‘And now with all this business between Matilda and Lillian, I don’t rightly know what to say to her.’ She shook her head. ‘But I just cannot believe that Robin could —’

  There was a sudden commotion from along the hall, then a door slammed and they heard footsteps running along the corridor.

  ‘Beatrice! Beatrice!’ called out a voice, as someone started rapping on the door. Both Hubert and Beatrice sat bolt upright as the door was thrown open and Lillian, dressed in a long, loose cotte, rushed in. She gasped at the sight of their naked bodies, then put a hand over her eyes and turned her back on them.

  ‘A thousand pardons! I … I am scared. I thought I heard … I heard Matilda leave her room in the night. I … I was too afraid to check until daybreak. Then I went to see. But … but she has gone!’

  ‘Gone?’ Beatrice repeated. ‘Gone where?’

  In answer, Lillian dissolved into hysterical tears and Beatrice pulled a blanket about her and went to comfort her. Hubert pulled on his tunic and charged through the door. ‘Which is her room?’ he asked over his shoulder.

  ‘The end of the corridor then first left,’ replied Beatrice, patting Lillian’s back as if she were comforting a distraught child.

  Hubert ran down the corridor and looked in through the open door. The room was empty, the blankets on the bed neatly folded and a spare pair of shoes protruding from underneath the bed. A cupboard contained some gowns, but the simple table was bare of all the usual womanly trinkets and paraphernalia that Hubert expected to have been there.

  ‘It looks as if she has truly gone,’ Hubert said, as Beatrice and Lillian appeared in the doorway. ‘Do you have any idea where she could have gone to?’

  Beatrice pouted. ‘I wager she has gone to Robin.’

  Lillian began to sob anew at this. ‘But she must not! It … it is not —’

  ‘It is not what, Lillian?’ Hubert demanded. ‘Not safe?’

  Lillian simpered. ‘I am … afraid for her. He … he…’ She did not finish but ended up screaming hysterically.

  Beatrice frowned and slapped her hard across the face. ‘That is enough, Lillian! Robin would never have raped you. You are mistaken, and now look what you have done.’

  Lillian had stopped screaming, but at this reaction from Beatrice she stared at her in total confusion. Then she lapsed into rhythmic sobbing.

  Hubert shook his head in consternation. ‘This is my fault! Sir Richard will have my hide for this. It was my charge to ensure that she stayed safe.’

  Beatrice put a hand on his arm as he ran his hands through his hair in agitation. ‘And my fault as well, fair Hubert. I had a part in this, in case you had forgotten, and I have failed my friend.’

  Hubert patted her hand on his arm, when he really wanted to take her in his arms but could not because of Lillian. He sighed, then said, ‘I had best get back to Sandal Castle and alert Sir Richard. He will need to know about this at once. Have you any idea where she could have gone? Did they have any special meeting place?’

  Beatrice shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I am sure that she will have left the town and gone to Barnsdale Forest. The town watch would not have stopped her if she was determined to leave. But as to where…?’

  ‘I … think I may know,’ Lillian stammered.

  ‘Then tell us quickly, Lillian,’ Beatrice demanded urgently. ‘Matilda’s safety could depend on it. There are others in the forest apart from Robin and his men. Dangerous men!’

  Lillian stared back at her like a frightened rabbit. ‘They used to meet at a charcoal-burner’s hut. It … it is not easy to get to, but I think I can draw a map for you.’

  ‘Then let us have pen, ink and parchment,’ said Hubert, ‘for I must be off.’

  Hubert rode fast, bent low over his horse’s neck as he let it have its head on the road towards Sandal. Yet before he was halfway there, he saw a rider trotting the other way towards Wakefield. It was Sir Richard.

  He drew to an abrupt halt in front of his master and garbled a good morning.

  ‘I slept poorly and was coming to meet you,’ Richard began to explain. ‘I had an idea that —’

  ‘My lord, Matilda Oxley has gone!’ Hubert blurted out.

  ‘That is what I feared might happen,’ Richard said, smiting his fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘When did she leave? In the night when you were all asleep, I presume?’

  Hubert flushed. He was all too aware that he had probably been far from sleep, yet far from alive to anything that was happening outside Beatrice’s bedchamber. ‘The maid Lillian thought she heard something, but was too afraid to investigate in the night,’ he volunteered guiltily. And he recounted his findings and all that had happened that morning, apart from the fact that Lillian had discovered Beatrice and himself in bed.

  He was surprised that Richard seemed so phlegmatic in his response.

  ‘She will have gone to meet the Hood,’ he said. ‘Have you any idea where they could be meeting?’

  Hubert drew out the parchment from his tunic. ‘The maid Lillian thinks that they might meet at an old charcoal-burner’s hut.’ And he showed Richard Lillian’s rough map.

  ‘Then let us go quickly,’ said Richard. ‘We cannot afford for any ill to befall Matilda.’

  The map was good enough to give them a general idea of their direction, yet insufficiently detailed to give them an exact path, for the way was off the marked forest paths into parts that were probably completely uncharted. They rode beneath a green canopy of oak, beech and giant sycamores and a ground-screen of brambles, bracken and coarse grass.

  ‘How was the Lady Wilhelmina?’ Hubert asked at last.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Richard snapped back unexpectedly.

  ‘Why, just because she seemed pale at the court yesterday morning, my lord,’ Hubert replied, surprised at the heat in his master’s query.

  ‘She was well,’ he returned, without embellishment. ‘How far do you think we have to go to this charcoal-burner’s hut? Is it still used?’

  Hubert shook his head. ‘It has not been used for years, my lord. That is apparently why they used it for their assignations. I think it is only a hundred yards or so distant. It looks as if there is a clearing up ahead.’

  And indeed the forest did open up into a clearing at the far side of which was a simple hut with an overgrown mound beside it that looked as if it had been a charcoal burning mound in days gone by.

  ‘Shall I call out, my lord?’

  ‘No, we shall ride up to it quietly.’

  ‘Is that wise, my lord?’ Hubert asked as they entered the clearing and advanced towards the hut.

  Suddenly, a flock of birds took to the air and started flapping towards the tree tops.

  �
�Curious,’ Hubert stated.

  ‘Worrying,’ replied Richard, turning in his saddle.

  The arrow shot just past his ear and he reacted instantly. ‘Ride as fast as you can, Hubert. Make for the hut.’

  Another arrow narrowly missed Hubert as they spurred their mounts towards the hut and then hurled themselves from the saddle to dive simultaneously for the entrance. They rolled inside in a tumble of limbs, crashing into the far wall.

  ‘We are safe enough for a while, at least,’ said Hubert.

  ‘That we cannot be sure of,’ said Richard, getting instantly to his feet and flattening himself against the wall to peer through the doorway, the only way in or out. ‘We may have fallen into a trap.’

  He ducked back inside as an arrow embedded itself in the doorpost, inches from his head.

  A moment later, the first of several flaming arrows shot through the air to land on the dry wood and moss-covered roof. The crackling of burning wood and the sudden filling of the hut with smoke made the desperateness of their situation all too clear.

  From somewhere on the other side of the clearing, they heard an unpleasant, almost maniacal laugh.

  11

  The hut filled up with smoke at an alarmingly fast rate, so that within a couple of minutes both Richard and Hubert were coughing and forced to cover their mouths and noses by pulling up their neckcloths. Their eyes were smarting, and the heat from the burning roof was well-nigh unbearable, besides threatening to collapse within moments.

  From outside they could hear the taunting laughter.

  ‘We will have to make a run for it, Hubert,’ Richard rasped. He drew his sword and Hubert followed suit. ‘This madman has us pinned down.’

  ‘Then I will go first, Sir Richard,’ Hubert returned, his voice equally rasping. ‘Remember, I have the advantage with my talisman from Antioch! Come straight after me, and then dive left towards the undergrowth.’

  ‘Hubert, no!’ Richard cried, as his assistant charged outside, sprinting straight ahead towards the other side of the clearing, all the while yelling a blood-curdling battle-cry. He knew all too well that Hubert meant to sacrifice himself and in that split second of reasoning knew that he must follow Hubert’s instruction, for it was sound logic that he make for cover. He bent low and dashed after Hubert out of the doorway, running a few feet before dashing leftwards towards the undergrowth of nettles and bracken.

  An arrow swished overhead and embedded itself in the side of the charcoal-burner’s hut. Without looking round he felt relief, for the arrow had clearly missed, or had not been aimed at Hubert. At any rate, Hubert’s intimidating battle-cry was echoing through the air. Within a few seconds, he had crossed the ground to the undergrowth and launched himself into it. Almost simultaneously he heard Hubert cry out.

  Richard landed in the greenery and rolled over, parting the bracken fronds enough to spy Hubert lying face down, motionless on the ground. Instantly, he saw red and instinct urged him to charge their assailant to hack him to pieces with his sword. Yet military training stayed his hand. Hubert’s sacrifice would amount to nothing if he acted so rashly. He needed to locate exactly where his adversary was in the first place.

  And then there was the sound of a hunting horn from somewhere behind him, and before he knew it, it seemed as if the air suddenly became thick with arrows. And they came from several points, all aiming at the area where he thought the assassin lurked.

  There was an exclamation of anger, then a noise of breaking branches and rustling, as of a man running away through the greenery. Moments later, he heard a horse retreating fast.

  Richard stayed crouched where he was until he was sure that the shooting had stopped and then he called out. He was answered immediately and ordered to stand and walk into the clearing. He complied, still holding his sword, yet not wielding it threateningly.

  From several points nearby men broke out of the forest, several with yew bows bent and with arrows ready notched. Three of them ran across the clearing, one stopping to check on Hubert while his fellows made for the point where the assassin had been.

  ‘You must be Sir Richard Lee?’ came a voice from the forest. A moment later a portly friar came out of the forest, a broadsword in his hand and a helmet upon his head. ‘I am Tuck, a friar, once of Fountains Abbey, yet now the leader of this goodly band of — contrariants.’

  ‘I thought that the man they called Robert Hood was their leader.’

  ‘He was until he turned raping dog and murderer!’ said another voice. And a small stocky man with a warty growth on his nose came out of the greenery. ‘I am Much, son of Midge the Miller. My old father got word to us of all his crimes.’

  ‘This man is alive,’ a voice cried from the middle of the clearing. Richard spun round, overjoyed to see the outlaw help Hubert to his feet.

  ‘There is some blood here!’ called one of the men from the undergrowth on the far side of the clearing. ‘Looks like we hit him. Not badly though, for it is just a trickle.’

  ‘Do you know who it was?’ Richard asked Friar Tuck.

  The corpulent friar nodded. ‘It was almost certainly the Hood.’

  ‘He’s gone mad,’ said Much, with an emphatic nod of his head.

  ‘Hubert, thank God you are alive,’ said Richard, as the outlaw, a burly fellow with a mane of red hair, helped Hubert over to them.

  Hubert grinned as he rubbed a rapidly rising bump on his forehead. ‘Fool that I am, I stumbled in a coney-hole and knocked myself out as I fell.’ Suddenly recovering himself, he grasped his master’s shoulders and shook him hard. ‘But you are safe, my lord, and that is all that matters.’

  Friar Tuck chuckled. ‘How he missed you, my friend, I will never know. Robin Hood is probably one of the finest shots in the country, and you made a good target dashing straight for him.’

  Hubert gave a lopsided grin and pulled out his talisman. ‘It was because of this.’ He winked at Richard and then replaced it under his tunic. ‘It deflects arrows,’ he explained to the friar and the rapidly assembling group that had gathered around them. Others began beating out the fire as the roof collapsed and fell inwards.

  Richard prised one of the arrows out of the doorframe and handed it to Hubert for safe keeping.

  ‘We came after Matilda Oxley,’ Richard explained. ‘Have you —?’

  ‘She is in our camp,’ Friar Tuck explained. ‘We managed to get to her before Robin did and we took her back to our latest camp. She doesn’t believe that Robin could have done the things it is claimed that he did, but perhaps this will convince her.’ He looked at the other outlaws, then back at Richard again before going on, ‘I think you will be safe now.’

  But Richard shook his head. ‘I think that we had better take Matilda back for her own safety. If you let me talk with her, I am sure that I can persuade her that coming back to Wakefield would be sensible. According to Hubert here, her cousin is distraught.’

  Friar Tuck pondered for a moment, and then nodded his head. ‘But first we shall blindfold you. We are all outlaws and you are the King’s man. We wouldn’t want to tempt you, my lord.’

  ‘I am not a man to be tempted,’ Richard replied.

  Hubert said nothing, although he was far from convinced about that.

  Hubert ate some bread and cheese and drank a mug of ale with Much the Miller’s son and a few of the outlaws while Richard and the friar went to talk to Matilda in one of several bivouacs that had been constructed deep in the forest. When they came out and prepared to leave, Matilda said nothing. Hubert thought that it looked as if she had been crying, and that she was in a state of disbelief. Indeed, the three of them hardly said a word as they rode through the forest and back to Wakefield.

  Upon Richard’s instructions, Hubert escorted Matilda back to the Bucket Inn and briefly told a surprised Beatrice of their adventure.

  ‘We will be back later, my love,’ he told her. ‘My master will probably want to have more words with you all.’

  Beatrice shivered
slightly. ‘Do you think it would be best if I keep them apart?’

  Hubert scratched his chin. ‘Frankly, I don’t think so. Matilda is obviously going to take the whole thing as a bitter blow, but I believe that she understands that her man has gone mad — or bad — or both. If Sir Richard didn’t convince her, then I think that the friar and the other outlaws would have.’

  She kissed him and squeezed his neck. ‘Come back soon, my love.’

  Richard was waiting for him in the Roll’s Office of the Moot Hall.

  Hubert pinched his nose as he came in. ‘The air is none too pleasant around here, my lord.’

  Richard nodded in agreement. ‘Aye, the stench comes from the Tolbooth. Both bodies are, I imagine, starting to putrefy. They need to be buried before too long.’ He held out his hand. ‘Have you the arrow?’

  Hubert produced it and Richard laid it beside the two other arrows that he had taken out of the chest that had been put aside to hold the evidence of the recent crimes that he was investigating.

  ‘It is exactly the same,’ Richard mused.

  ‘Which means that Robert Hood is guilty of all of these crimes,’ said Hubert. ‘Yet I can’t help thinking that it does not make sense! Why would he want to kill us?’

  Richard stroked his beard pensively. ‘That was concerning me all the way back. It can only have been to remove me from the scene. I suspect that he thought that if he could do that, then it would be an end to the matter. Instead, it would just result in someone else coming to fill my place.’

  ‘What about Matilda? Surely he would never have meant to harm her?’

  Richard shrugged. ‘Who can say what a madman may do? To rape his betrothed’s cousin, then kill in cold blood someone who may have seen him — William Scathelocke, I mean!’ He clicked his tongue. ‘That is hardly what an honest and sane man would do.’

  ‘But it is what an evil man would do,’ suggested Hubert. ‘But where would the Pardoner come in?’

  ‘Hmm, that was another thing that worried me. But I think I may have the answer. The Pardoner may have talked with Scathelocke before he was shot. He may have pardoned him, when Scathelocke confessed his sins to him.’