Sword of Shame

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘Well, I find this man was set upon and slain by someone unknown. The weapon was long-bladed, and stabbed right through him on three occasions–all from in front of him. There were more wounds on his hands, where he tried to defend himself. One great slash at his head. It’s likely the weapon was a heavy bladed sword with weight behind it. A weapon like that would cost not less than six shillings, so I’ll guess that to be a fair fine. Now, can anyone prove he was English?’

  ‘I can vouch for him,’ said one man from the vill, and then a shorter man at the back of the group of witnesses stepped forward.

  ‘So can I. He was my reeve.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Sir John de Curterne.’

  ‘I see you, sir. I accept his Englishry. When did you last see him?’

  ‘On Friday last. When he left my hall to go to Sir William’s castle at Nymet Tracy. I have not seen him since.’

  ‘You did not report his disappearance?’

  ‘He had been going on pilgrimage to Canterbury to visit the shrine of St Thomas a Becket,’ Sir John said, and he stared as he spoke at Sir William, who studiously avoided meeting his eye.

  Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, keeper of the king’s peace for Crediton, was staying with his wife at her small manor of Liddinstone when the man arrived from Nymet Tracy.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said when the rider had given his message, panting slightly from his hasty journey in the hot, dusty weather.

  ‘Perhaps if you had given him time to pause and rest, his meaning would be more comprehensible?’ his wife Jeanne chided him and turned to the fellow. ‘You look tired; please, sit and drink some wine or ale. Have you eaten?’

  ‘My lady, I’m very grateful. Yes, I should be most grateful for refreshment.’

  ‘You are the brother of Sir William de Tracy?’ Baldwin said. ‘Yet he did not wish to send for my help?’

  ‘I fear…this is a matter too close to his heart. He means well, but…’

  ‘You say the reeve was murdered?’ This was from the other man in the room, a tall, ruddy-complexioned man with calm grey eyes who had been introduced as the Bailiff, Simon Puttock, a friend of Sir Baldwin. He stood leaning against the wall near the door.

  Roger gratefully took the heavy pewter goblet from Sir Baldwin’s wife and drained half in one long draught. Soon the wine was coursing through his body, and a delicious tingling began in his belly, rippling through his frame.

  ‘Last Friday this man Coule, our neighbour’s reeve, came to the hall to speak with my brother. He was left in the hall while my sister-in-law fetched my brother, but when he arrived, Coule had already left. Thinking little of it, Sir William cursed the man, and went about his business. And then the body of this reeve was found. My brother thought immediately of his sword. It had been kept in a locked chest in the hall, but when he looked it was gone. Stolen.’

  ‘It’s no doubt a matter of annoyance to have an heirloom stolen, but what of it? If the man Coule had it, would he not defend himself with it?’ said Sir Baldwin.

  ‘His master is a powerful man; Sir John de Curterne. We are not on terms of friendship. He would like to have our sword, I expect, because it is a fine thing and he covets fine things. And by killing off his reeve, he would put suspicion for the murder onto us.’

  ‘You have just explained a perfect motive for killing the man yourself–or for your brother to do so. There is a feud between your families: why should I not believe that you took this sword when you heard Coule was in your castle, killed him, and hid the sword to make it appear that it was stolen, later dragging his body to the country and throwing the sword away?’

  ‘He visited our hall often enough. Why should I kill him this time? No, Sir Baldwin. I think that Curterne has stolen our sword, and sought to put the blame for his man’s death on us. Why else would he not declare his man missing?’

  ‘He did not?’ Baldwin asked, interested despite himself.

  ‘No. He said Coule had asked to be released for a pilgrimage to Canterbury.’

  Baldwin absorbed that, then: ‘Why should a master have his servant murdered?’

  ‘Ah!’ Roger grinned as a servant refilled his goblet. ‘His reeve was the most fractious and difficult man for many miles. He did get the harvest in, but only at the expense of many arguments and much strife. I think Sir John is delighted to be rid of him.’

  ‘And this sword was taken, too. Was there anything about it to identify it?’

  Roger allowed a fleeting doubt to pass over his brow. ‘It’s more than just a sword, Sir Baldwin. It’s the Tracy sword.’

  Sir Baldwin smiled. ‘Ah?’

  ‘Which means you’ve no idea what it is, doesn’t it?’ said Simon Puttock with a chuckle. ‘Well, I have no shame about confessing ignorance. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, so please tell us the significance of this sword.’

  ‘It is the sword of my fathers and grandfathers in direct line all the way back to the invasion of the country under the glorious William of Normandy,’ Roger de Tracy said eagerly. ‘It’s invaluable!’

  Baldwin looked at Simon and shrugged. ‘It’s worth some shillings, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘And it’s been stolen. That means you, as keeper, have a duty to seek out the thief.’

  Baldwin’s expression stilled. He disliked being ordered, and he had only recently returned to his quiet manor after a troubling series of Gaol Delivery trials. Simon hurriedly cleared his own throat. ‘Did you call out the hue and cry?’

  ‘It was too late. As soon as we realized it was gone, we searched for it in the castle itself, leaving no box unopened. I did that myself. But it’s clearly gone.’

  ‘How long ago?’ Baldwin growled.

  ‘I personally saw it on that Friday morning.’

  ‘That is almost a week ago! It’s Thursday now.’

  ‘You thought you might come and demand help now?’ Simon said disbelievingly.

  ‘You must, sir! It is our inheritance!’

  ‘There is no law to say I must,’ Baldwin grated. ‘You come here and tell me what I must and must not do? You should have asked me to help sooner, if you wished for my aid.’

  Roger looked at him and Lady Jeanne was sure she saw desperation in his eyes. ‘A man has been killed, and I fear that Sir John seeks to see us condemned for his murder. I beg you, any help you can give, please give it.’

  Denis de Topcliffe was used to the gloomy atmosphere in the castle at Nymet Tracy, but it was rare indeed that he heard Madam Alice weeping. She was too strong and proud.

  It was a dreadful sound. The deep sobbing of a mature woman wrenched at a man’s heart like no other noise, and he wanted to go to her, but as he put his hand to the door handle, he told himself how stupid that would be.

  He was only a servant: he was paid to advise and assist Sir William, mainly in his continuing litigation over lands and his disputes with neighbours. That was all. He certainly had no responsibility to soothe a distressed woman; that was a task for her husband. Not that the fool would. He was so bound up in his fear and desperation over the stolen sword that he had no idea what his wife was feeling. It was as though they were already divorced.

  It was some years since Denis had first come here, back in the days when Sir Humphrey was still the master of the castle, and his older son was yet a squire. He and Roger had got on better in those far-off days before that cursed sword arrived and reminded Sir William of the actions of his appalling ancestor. What on earth had persuaded Sir Humphrey to name William after the Sir William de Tracy who had committed the murder? It was enough to turn any poor devil’s head.

  In William’s case it had made him appreciate the true depths of his family’s disgrace. Recently even catching sight of the sword would make Sir William shudder. Denis had seen him. It was as though there was a malevolent spirit about the thing that would tear at William’s soul whenever he came near.

  Not only his soul, from the way Madam Alice was crying.

 
Again his hand went to the door, and he hesitated for a moment, but then he raised the latch.

  ‘My lady, I’m sorry, I thought that the hall was empty.’

  Alice had jerked away from the table where she had been sitting with her head bent. Now she swept away the tears with a hurried rub of her hand, her back to him. She sniffed and took a deep breath, then turned to face him with a brittle smile on her face. ‘Ah, Denis. Did you want me or my husband?’

  ‘Neither, lady. I sought my penner–I put it down somewhere about here, I think. Have you seen it?’

  She shook her head shortly. ‘Not here, no.’

  He grunted. ‘Ah, there it is on the table. And how are you this fine morning?’

  She smiled, but her face was blotched, her eyes damp. ‘I am well, I thank you. The weather makes all seem good, doesn’t it?’

  He nodded, and pointedly looked away so that his attention would not cause her shame or embarrassment. ‘Sir William is still upset? He has not spoken to me today.’

  ‘Upset? No, not today. He is gleeful!’ She looked at him wildly. ‘Now the sword is gone, he says he will go to the convent–and that I must to a nunnery as a dutiful wife! My God! What about me? He never thinks to ask me what I want!’

  The next day Baldwin and Simon ambled their way along the lanes towards the hundred of North Tawton accompanied by Roger de Tracy.

  ‘Come, then, Baldwin. What made you decide to come all this way?’ Simon whispered.

  ‘It was an intriguing conundrum: I can see no earthly reason why they should demand my assistance now,’ Baldwin confessed. He wore a puzzled expression at the memory of the conversation with the brother of Sir William de Tracy. ‘If they were keen to find some felon who had stolen their property, I should have expected them to come to me as soon as they knew the thing was taken. But they waited a week. And now, when the coroner’s already been there and buried the body, they come and ask for help. What help can I be? If the sword could be found, surely the coroner himself would have found it. Yet now, when all is done, they ask me to go along and seek their sword for them. It makes little sense.’

  ‘Some swords can be valuable,’ Simon said.

  ‘I am a knight,’ his friend snorted. ‘I know the value of good metalwork. But why did they wait so long?’

  ‘Perhaps as he said, they just didn’t notice it was missing?’

  ‘Aye. That’s a possibility. And then they called me because they could think of nothing else.’

  ‘They must have heard marvellous reports of your abilities,’ Simon said lightly.

  ‘Perhaps. And asking me to waste my time is acceptable to a poorly rural knight like this Sir William.’

  ‘Ah, I shouldn’t be too hard. Not all rural knights are thick as a peasant with cow muck between his ears,’ Simon said happily, and ducked quickly under the gloved fist that flew at his jaw.

  ‘Next time you won’t duck quickly enough,’ Baldwin growled, ‘to be missed by this example of a rural knight.’

  ‘I shiver in my boots.’

  Baldwin chuckled, then called ahead to their guide. ‘Master de Tracy, what led you to come to me?’

  Roger had clearly anticipated that question. ‘It is an important sword. Our man of law was most keen to have no stone left unturned in seeking it. He demanded that I come to you to find it. Denis has heard great things of your skills at uncovering the truth. Of course we had thought to enlist the help of Sir Richard de Welles, but you know some coroners can be so preoccupied with money that their thoughts can become blurred. We thought that the coroner from Lifton would be more free of such motives, but it became clear that he had his own interests in pursuing our sword.’

  ‘What would they be?’

  ‘It is ancient. Many men would covet a weapon with such a history.’

  Baldwin muttered something under his breath.

  ‘Sir?’ Roger asked, blankly.

  ‘My companion was marking what you said,’ Simon said with a grin. Better that Roger didn’t hear Baldwin’s sour ‘Fools, the lot of them.’

  Roger nodded uncertainly, unsure how to take these two men. The last thing he wanted was to have the sword found again in a hurry, but he wasn’t sure that Denis’s faith in this Keeper was well-founded.

  Baldwin looked bright enough, but more likely was used to brute force rather than intellect. He was a rangy fellow who looked as though he’d been in plenty of battles. His frame was as broad as any fighter’s, and there was a scar that reached down his cheek almost from his eyebrow to his chin that hinted at a dangerous past; but this friend of his, the bailiff, seemed altogether too light-hearted, as though he could not treat any matter with any seriousness. ‘It’s a very important affair to us,’ he said, looking at the bailiff.

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ Simon said affably. ‘So! This man who was killed: Walter Coule. He was reeve to Sir John de Curterne, you said?’

  ‘Yes. Sir John is our neighbour. We used to be friends with him when we were all younger. In those days, he was the third son, but the family suffered a number of set-backs. The eldest fell from his horse and drowned in the river, the second was crushed by an ox in their stable, and Sir John took the manor in his turn.’

  Baldwin nodded and crossed himself. For a parent to lose a child was appalling, and he feared always that his own precious Richalda might fall prey to an accident. No one could prevent deaths, but it did not make the loss any easier for the parents. Sir John’s family had been unfortunate, but crushings by large beasts were common, as were drownings, whether in rivers or wells.

  ‘And Coule’s body was found on whose land?’ Simon asked.

  ‘On ours. But that means nothing. He could have been dragged there.’

  Baldwin grunted at that. It was all too natural that a body might be moved. A murderer would remove a body so that any evidence which may exist would be divorced from the corpse. Then again, the vill in which a murder took place would be fined: often innocent villagers would move a body so that they would not be punished for the breaking of the King’s Peace. If evidence about a murder was lost because the actual location of the murder was never found, it made the investigation that much more difficult.

  ‘You said this Coule was unpopular?’ Baldwin demanded after a moment’s reflection.

  ‘Many had reason to dislike him. He was grasping; he took as much as he could from the peasants on the estate, and they detested him. It made for a lot of trouble. If he exacted more than he should, the peasants complained bitterly, and only last year they took up sticks and attacked the poor devils sent to collect the grains and dues he had demanded from them. Sir John had to arm his men and suppress his own peasants!’

  Baldwin studied his laughing face with an expression that could have been carved from moorstone. ‘Open revolt?’

  ‘Near enough. It amused us.’

  ‘So I see. Where were you on the Friday Coule died?’

  ‘Me?’ Roger blinked with surprise. ‘I was out hunting with my raches. I have several pairs of them as well as greyhounds.’

  ‘You were not in the castle?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I see. Tell me: what is the cause of your enmity with this knight?’

  ‘It’s nothing. Not now.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  Roger appeared to hestitate. ‘Many years ago our lands were in the control of the king. Our old manor of Bradninch escheated to the king.’

  ‘Bradninch was forfeit to the crown?’ Simon said with surprise. When a lord died without issue, his land reverted or ‘escheated’ to the king, his lord. But since there was an heir here telling Simon about the story, the land must have been taken for some other reason; perhaps because of a serious offence: treason. ‘That must have been a long time ago.’

  ‘Over a hundred years…perhaps a hundred and fifty. In any case, the king gave it to a Curterne, and it was lost to us. It’s not in the forefront of our minds, but it means we can enjoy the discomfiture of the Curternes when something goe
s wrong for them.’

  ‘Your family recovered its fortunes?’

  ‘After a while. After a fashion.’ Roger became quiet then, musing, before saying, ‘As I say, it doesn’t upset us now. It was a very long time ago.’

  ‘So to return to Coule–you say that almost any of the peasants could have had reason to wish him dead?’

  ‘The folk on Curterne’s lands, yes. Curterne owns territory all over the county, but it’s at Down St Mary where he really has trouble. That’s where Coule was in charge.’

  ‘I know of it,’ Baldwin said.

  Simon knew the area. When he and Baldwin had first met, they had ridden out that way in pursuit of trail-bastons who had slaughtered a party of travellers. Down St Mary was a pleasant vill in rolling hills north and east of Bow, while Nymet Tracy was south. Bow had been created sixty years before as a new town so that the Tracys could take advantage of the income that a market and fair could bring, and they had set aside land on a busy road. They would sell blocks to merchants to come and build houses, and so far as Simon was aware, the market was thriving. It would bring in a goodly sum to the master who owned the place.

  ‘So you and your family own the market at Bow?’ Simon said. ‘I doubt whether there’s any need for you to be jealous of losing Bradninch, then.’

  ‘You think so?’ Roger snapped. ‘Do you know how much money they make at Bradninch market every week?’

  Simon smiled. For all Roger’s protestations that the affair was far in the past, it clearly still rankled. ‘Don’t you make enough at Bow? It has always looked busy enough.’

  ‘Perhaps that is so,’ Roger agreed and stared at the ground. ‘But when you are a second son like me, all you see is what you’ve missed out on. If that had been our land still, I could have gone there to look to my older brother’s interests. As it is…another has the advantage. And my family is deprived of our natural inheritance.’

  ‘Does your brother feel as upset as you?’ Baldwin enquired.

  ‘Sir William used to be, years ago, but not now,’ Roger’s tone became cold and a little distant.