The Golden Crucifix: A Matthew Cordwainer Medieval Mystery (Matthew Cordwainer Medieval Mysteries Book 1)

by Joyce Lionarons

  “Aye, they were.”

  “Where are Maeve and Tibb now?”

  “They never returned.” Gylfa raised red eyes to meet Cordwainer’s. “Oh, Master Coroner, I hope they haven’t run off and left me! I shall be all alone!”

  “I’m certain they’ll be back,” said Cordwainer, patting her gently on her shoulder, “once we’ve taken your Mistress away and the crowd at the door is gone.” If they are not, he thought, twas Tibb who did the killing, aye, and robbed her too, most likely.

  “Master, I’ve sent to the canons at Saint Leonard’s,” said Thomas, coming through the door. “Is there aught else I can do?”

  “Find us some light,” said Cordwainer. “Then help me up from the floor. My knees have locked.”

  3

  The same lay brothers soon arrived, carrying the same pallet, Cordwainer thought, that had carried Molly away. Stefan accompanied them, and behind him was a red-faced de Bury. Cordwainer led the way solemnly to Agnes’s room, instructing the lay brothers to remain outside until Stefan had examined the body. The three men crossed themselves and stood silently for a minute, then Stefan sighed deeply and stepped forward to bend over Agnes.

  “You may not think Hywel killed your maudlyn,” said the Sheriff, “but I would guess he killed the bawd or ordered her killing to be done. Were it not for her, he would not be in the trouble he’s in. Twas likely the first thing he did once he was out.”

  “True enough, my lord,” said Cordwainer. “Have you had any luck in finding him?”

  “Nay. That whoreson Colter probably had a bolt hole all ready for him. His wife and child are gone as well, packed up and left during the day before he escaped.”

  Cordwainer nodded. He glanced up as Stefan turned from the body.

  “I can see nothing that you could not see, Matthew,” he said. “She was strangled by a man’s bare hands. Perhaps he surprised her in her sleep. But there was clearly a struggle. She must have fought him with all the strength she had. And it must not have been too long ago. She is cold, but not as cold as I would expect, and her limbs are not yet rigid.” He sighed. “May God have mercy on her. It is a terrible death.” He looked curiously at Cordwainer’s scrip, but said nothing.

  “You can see where he cut the cloth she used to tie the shutters closed,” said Cordwainer hastily, drawing their attention to the window. “She didn’t let him in willingly.”

  “I swear to you, Matthew, I will find Hywel,” said de Bury. “Before the inquest, if I can.” He nodded to Stefan, turned on his heel, and left.

  The two lay brothers entered and placed the pallet on the floor next to the bed. They gently lifted Agnes’s body and laid it on the pallet, straightening her limbs and crossing her hands on her breast. They spread their cloth over her, crossed themselves, and lifted the pallet again. “Will you be returning to the spitalhouse with us, my lord?” one said to Stefan.

  “I’m afraid I must. Matthew, you will send word if there is any news?” Cordwainer nodded. “May God go with you, Stefan.”

  “And with you, my friend.” Stefan gave one more look at Cordwainer’s scrip, smiled, and hurried after the brothers.

  Thomas came in as soon as they had gone. “He was seen, Master! Both Mistress Short and another butcher saw him running away!”

  Cordwainer followed him out of the room and into the street. Thomas led the way to a portly man with dark hair thinning on his head but thick on his arms, and a round face with bloodshot eyes. He was standing next to a muscular-looking woman wearing a stained wimple and a woolen dress with the sleeves folded up. The two held themselves away from the crowd of onlookers, much diminished since the body had been carried away. Both wore butchers’ aprons over their clothing. They seemed to be having an argument of some kind, but fell silent as Cordwainer approached. He recognized the man as John Wetherby; the woman must be Mistress Short. “Tell Master Cordwainer what you saw,” said Thomas.

  Both began to speak at once. “Peace!” said Cordwainer. “Master Wetherby, you speak first, then Mistress Short.”

  Wetherby gave the woman a triumphant look, then turned solemnly to Cordwainer. “I were just pulling down my counter to open my shop, putting the fresh meat out to display. I heard footsteps running down the lane behind the street. I thought twere a beggar lad who’s been sneaking into my shop to steal. I ran back through the shop to catch him, but tweren’t the lad at all, so I came back out front to finish my display. I only saw the back of him.”

  “And what did the back of him look like?” asked Cordwainer.

  “He were middlin’ height with dark curly hair and a long brown cloak,” said Wetherby.

  “Nay,” broke in Mistress Short, stepping closer and frowning. “He were tall, and his hair were more brown than black. The cloak were russet-like, more’n brown.”

  Cordwainer turned to her, holding his hand up to silence Wetherby. “How did you come to see him, Mistress?”

  “I were in my back garden emptying a pot of wash water,” she said. “I’d just finished skinning a brace of coneys to put out, and I scrubbed down my table after. The sun comes down the lane at a slant in early morning this time of year, so I saw him plain. He weren’t running till Master Wetherby shouted, just walking fast.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “Nay, he were past afore I went out. When he heard the shout, he took off like a rabbit. And his hair were brown, his cloak russet.” She nodded emphatically at Wetherby.

  “Twere black,” he said. “And a brown cloak.”

  Cordwainer thanked the two and left them arguing. He walked back towards Mistress Agnes’s house. Hywel, Bartholomew, Tibb, and Ambrose all had dark hair, and black hair could look brown in sunlight. Hywel was not tall, but Wetherby had put the man’s height at middling. He was fairly certain Ambrose’s cloak had been brown, but Bartholomew had worn a russet cloak when he came to Cordwainer’s house. Yet Tibb seemed the likeliest suspect. Why could witnesses never agree? He looked at Thomas. “Tis possible that others saw him as well. Go on up the lane asking whoever you can find. And ask Master Wetherby if his apprentice can help you. If anyone else saw the man, make certain to get their names for the inquest. I will be at home making my notes for the rolls.”

  “Aye, Master,” said Thomas.

  “And stop by Saint Leonard’s on your way back. Ask if they’ve found a key.”

  Cordwainer walked slowly back to Saint Martin’s Lane, thinking more about Gylfa than Agnes. He had never before considered the situation of the maudlyns in the city. Where would a penniless maudlyn go if she were turned out of her house? She could not find honest work in a home or shop without a referral, and no one who knew of her past would hire her, referral or no. He supposed one of the bawds on Grope Lane would take her in, if only for the coin they would make from her. Twas none of his affair. Still, she was so very young.

  When Cordwainer stepped into his front room, shutting the door firmly behind him and hanging his heavy cloak and scrip on their peg, Agytha stood waiting for him. “Master Cordwainer,” she said. “I hoped you’d come soon. A lay sister from Clementhorpe came looking for you. The Prioress wishes to speak to you as quickly as you may get there.”

  “God’s bones,” sighed Cordwainer. “What now?” He turned back to the door and took his scrip from the peg. The soft leather moved and a small black face with a white stripe looked up at him. Hell’s teeth, twas the kitten. How had he carried her home with him? He considered for a moment, wondering if the Prioress might like her or if such a gift might be deemed inappropriate. Nay, he decided, lifting the kitten from his scrip. He handed the squirming animal to Agytha, who held it awkwardly at arm’s length. “I shall be back soon,” he said. He wrapped his cloak around him, opened the door, snorted once, and left.

  4

  At the Clementhorpe gate, Cordwainer stopped and rubbed his hip with a low groan. He had walked too much today already and twould be a long march home again. His stomach rumbled, and he remembered that he ha
d not even finished breaking his fast when the news about Agnes had come, and twas now well past Tierce and dinner time. Praying that whatever the Prioress wanted would not take long, he raised his stick and tapped it on the gate. The brown-eyed nun must have been standing just inside, for she pulled the bar back within seconds. This time she did not make him wait, but ushered him quickly to the dormitory and up a flight of stairs, pausing when he fell behind. Prioress Alyse and Sister Cecilia stood in what looked to be a bedchamber, both staring at an unmade bed with its bedclothes strewn on the floor in front of them. Cordwainer hesitated at the door, uncertain whether to enter.

  “Ah, Master Cordwainer,” the Prioress said. “Thank God you have come quickly. Please pardon the unusual surroundings. We have had an intruder.”

  “An intruder? I pray none of the sisters was harmed,” said Cordwainer.

  “No,” she said. “Thank God and all the saints.”

  Cordwainer listened as Alyse recounted what had happened. “As I stood in the shadows,” she finished, “he soiled my bed and then ran out the door.” She pointed and Cordwainer bent forward to examine the mess. “Sweet Jesus,” he said. A flush spread over his face as he stood, not wanting to look at the nuns. “Have you notified the Sheriff?” he asked.

  “No. The Sheriff seems such a – a rough man,” Alyse said. “I feared he would think it but a boyish prank. And I do not wish this to become a matter of common gossip.”

  “The Sheriff must be told of the intruder,” said Cordwainer. “He should assign a man to watch your gate and walls. But I think you need not tell him of this,” gesturing toward the bed. “I do not believe twill help him find the intruder. If you wish, I will speak to him.”

  “That would be kind of you,” said Alyse. “Now let us go below. Perhaps Sister Cecilia can find us something to restore our spirits.”

  When they had settled in the Prioress’s receiving chamber and had cups of strong hot wine in their hands, Cordwainer asked the question that had been in his mind from the first. “Reverend Mother,” he said, “is it possible that the intruder was Brother Ambrose?”

  “The novice?” Alyse was silent, considering. “It is possible. His hair looked dark. But it is just as possible that it was not. I never saw his face or anything that might tell me who he was.”

  Cordwainer nodded. Another barefoot man, and carrying a strap by the sound of it. The thought of the Prioress strangled her in bed made his blood run cold. He considered telling her about Molly, but decided against it. No need to frighten her more than she was, no matter how level-headed she seemed. He rose to take his leave.

  “I commend you on your bravery, Reverend Mother,” he said. “Many women would not have had the wits to stay silent in the shadows.”

  “I did not feel at all brave,” laughed Alyse. “I simply prayed, and my prayer was answered.”

  “I will pray that you remain safe,” said Cordwainer, “but I will also speak to the Sheriff.”

  “Thank you, and may God go with you.”

  “And with you, Reverend Mother.”

  Once on Bishopsgate, Cordwainer turned to head towards the Castle, then stopped. The strong wine had dizzied him on his empty stomach, and he swayed before catching himself and standing upright. Clutching his stick firmly, he took one step, then another. His bad leg threatened to give out from under him. God’s bones, he had no strength to walk to the Castle, near though it was. He would be lucky to get himself home, and he did not want de Bury to see him in his current state, if the Sheriff were even there. Wasn’t he supposed to be out searching for Owen Hywel? Thomas must tell de Bury about the intruder in Clementhorpe, he decided. He himself would sit home and work on his rolls.

  The wine wore off as Cordwainer walked down Skeldergate, and he felt his strength returning. He began worry about neglecting to inform the Sheriff of Clementhorpe’s intruder immediately. What if he returned while Cordwainer was trying to walk off the wine? He considered continuing to Ouse Bridge and back along the river to the Castle, but decided against it. Tis early yet, he reminded himself. Surely the intruder would not return until dark if he came back at all. Perhaps with food he would feel even better. He and Thomas would visit de Bury together after they ate. If necessary, the young man could get him home somehow.

  Thomas had not come home when Cordwainer finally entered his house and hung his cloak on the peg. He could smell fish cooking in the kitchen at the back of the house, and the table in the front room had been laid. Agytha came in wiping her hands on her apron. “Here you are at last,” she said. “The fish was done some time ago, but I’ve kept it warm for you. Will you wait for Thomas?”

  “Nay,” said Cordwainer. “I don’t know when he’ll be back, and I’m half-starved. And be sure to water my wine well. I have work to do.”

  Agytha disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a plate of fish and a bowl of vegetable pottage. She set a flagon of wine on the table and stepped back. Cordwainer began to eat, but stopped when he realized that Agytha was still standing behind him.

  “What?” he asked, twisting in his chair to look at her and swallowing.

  “Do you plan to keep the kitten, Master Cordwainer?” Agytha asked. “She’s underfoot in my kitchen. I nearly dropped the hot pottage twice tripping over her.”

  Cordwainer considered. “She’ll be a fine mouser when she grows,” he said.

  “If she grows,” said Agytha darkly. “If I don’t drop boiling water on her, or if I don’t trip over her and crush her.” She stalked out of the room towards the kitchen.

  Cordwainer snorted, wondering whether to go after her. Nay, he decided. The fish would grow cold.

  He had finished eating and was contemplating going to the Castle alone when he heard a bang from the door that opened out from the kitchen to the back garden. Voices sounded, one of them Thomas’s. Heavy boots thumped to the floor. Thomas came in, his stockinged feet making a swishing sound in the rushes, followed by Theo, Master Wetherby’s apprentice. The two young men greeted Cordwainer. “Do you wish to hear our news right away,” Thomas asked, “or may we get something to eat in the kitchen first?”

  “Bring your food in here,” said Cordwainer. “You can tell me while you eat.”

  Thomas padded off to the kitchen and returned with two plates heaped with fish and pottage. Theo carried cups. The young men sat and began to eat. Cordwainer pushed the flagon towards them. “So,” he said, “did you find him?”

  “Nay,” said Thomas. “But thanks to the sharp eyes of the people of York, we were able to trace him all the way to the north wall on Monksgate, up to the postern where the Mayor wants to build another bar. He must have left the city that way.”

  “Did you get a clear description of the man?”

  Thomas winced. “Oh, aye, several,” he said. “He was short and tall, with curly hair and straight, a beard and not. His cloak was brown and russet, or maybe dark green.”

  “We discounted those as said he were blond,” Theo grinned.

  “What of the gatekeeper?” asked Cordwainer. “They also have sharp eyes and can be trusted in what they say.”

  “We saw none. There is no gatehouse there, and the gate was unlocked.

  Theo nodded vigorously, his mouth full of pottage. He was a tall, gangly youth a year or so younger than Thomas. He would be striking when he filled out, thought Cordwainer. Right now he seemed all elbows and knees, and was clearly enjoying his day away from work. When he could speak, Theo said, “Aye, the gate is often left unlocked in daylight, so lambs may be brought into the city from the north without driving them all the way to Bootham Bar.”

  “And did you write down the names of all who saw the man?”

  “I can tell you the names of all we spoke to, Master,” replied Theo. “I never learned my letters, but I have a good memory, especially where folk are concerned.”

  “Get the writing box, Thomas, and take down all that Theo remembers,” said Cordwainer. “He must return to Master Wetherby’s shop as
soon as you finish.” Theo’s face fell. “You must bring the list to the Castle today, Thomas, so they can be summoned to the inquest. And I have a message for you to carry to the Sheriff.”

  When the young men had finished their task and left, Cordwainer sat comfortably in his chair by the window, glad he had not undertaken the long walk to the Castle with Thomas. What was the point of having a manservant if he didn’t use him? Thomas, he noticed, had left the writing box on the long table, obviously trying to entice his master to work on the roll. Cordwainer snorted. He would, but first he wanted to close his eyes for a bit and rest.

  5

  A single sharp rap came on the door and he woke with a start. Someone had spread a blanket over him, the fire was burning low, and a candle guttered in its holder on the chest. Dropping the blanket to the floor, he went to the door and opened it. A young man in the habit of an Augustinian lay brother stood outside. “Master Coroner?” he said.

  “Aye. What is it?”

  “My lord de Vale sent me. He said to tell you twas found on a chain around her waist.” He held out a small iron key.

  Cordwainer accepted the key and paused. “Thank you,” he said. “Would you care for some ale before you go?”

  “Begging your pardon, Master,” said the lay brother, “but I must hurry back to the spitalhouse.”

  Thank God, thought Cordwainer. “Then God give you good day,” he said. The lay brother nodded and left. Cordwainer watched him walking swiftly up the lane. How long did I sleep? he wondered. The sun had dropped behind the buildings opposite him and daylight was fading. He gave thanks he had not slept into the night. Shutting the door, he turned back to his chamber. The house was silent. Thomas had not yet returned, and he supposed Agytha had left for the night. He added another log to the fire and stretched, enjoying his solitude in the quiet house. The writing box was gone from the table; in its place was a low mound covered with a cloth next to a stoppered jug and a cup. Pulling the cloth aside, he found a plate of cold meat and cheese along with a half loaf of bread. The jug held ale. He lit a new candle from the remains of the old and carried it to the table. After eating some of the food and drinking a cup of ale, he draped the cloth over what remained, rose, and carried the plate to the kitchen.