The Tainted Relic

by The Medieval Murderers

  The words washed over Simon as he pushed the man out of the way and followed Baldwin inside.

  The abode was pathetic. There were the tattered remnants of an old blanket hanging at the window in an attempt to make the place more homely, but to Simon it served only to emphasize how mean and unlovely this life had been.

  On the floor were plain rushes, moderately recently spread but unfresh. From the beams dangled fresh herbs and some flowers, but their soft perfume couldn’t hide the sourness of sweat and sex–nor the metallic odour of blood.

  It was that which made Simon want to gag. From the dark and gloomy alleyway they entered this place by the rotten door, which scraped its way over the packed earth of the threshold. The darkness made Simon think of hell. There was a foulness about it, as though the air itself were poisonous, and he wondered whether he would succumb to one of the diseases that bad air could bring. Beyond the uneven planks of the door, there was a short passage. Once this might have been a moderately pleasant house, perhaps even the residence of a wealthy trader or professional, but now it had become rotten, decayed. Walls were cracked and unpatched. The lime wash was all but gone, leached away inside and out. Overhead he could see more sky through the holes in the roof than he could through the window.

  After the short corridor was the room itself, but Simon couldn’t take stock. His eyes were drawn to the thick spatters of blood on the walls, and then to the ruined body on the floor by the palliasse. He swallowed at the sight. An arm, broken at the elbow, lay oddly twisted. The bodice of her tunic was open, ripped from the neck to her navel, and her blood had run between her breasts. Thick trails ran down her chest and stained her skirts.

  Simon had once seen a man’s head smashed by a maddened carthorse’s hoof, and this looked much the same. The right side of Moll’s head was stove in, with a mess of hair, shards of bone and grey filth filling the cavity. It made Simon sick to see, and the smell added to his deep revulsion.

  ‘She has clearly been beaten savagely,’ Baldwin murmured, and Simon was conscious of a curious quiet about him.

  ‘Why would any man do this?’ he muttered.

  ‘Why indeed?’ Baldwin agreed as he began his study of the body and the surrounding area. ‘It is a display of brutality–much like the corpse of Will outside her door.’

  Jonathan officiously barged past the group of neighbours huddled at the door and stood near Simon. The bailiff could hear him swallow as though with difficulty, like a man with a mouthful of dry bread and nothing to drink to ease it down. ‘The poor soul.’

  A sergeant in the doorway hawked and spat. ‘She was only a whore, Brother.’

  Jonathan turned slowly and fixed the man with a look of withering contempt. ‘Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, my son. And she was praised by the Lord for her kindness.’

  ‘You stick to what you know from your books, Brother,’ the sergeant said unabashed. ‘Me, I’ll stick to what I know. Moll was a nice enough girl, but she was still a whore and there’s nothing more to be said.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Simon ordered, sickened both by the sight of the young woman and by this man’s casual attitude towards her death. ‘Where’s the man who found her?’

  The fellow from outside was brought in, and he stood anxiously wringing his hands, seemingly looking all over the room except at Moll.

  ‘Who are you?’ Baldwin asked.

  The man threw a nervous look over his shoulder. Then he seemed to sag as he recognized some faces. ‘I’m called Peter from Sidmouth.’

  Baldwin and Simon questioned him for some while, but he had witnesses who confirmed that he had been at a tavern with them. Before that, he had been at his stall in the market, and plenty of people vouched for his presence all morning and afternoon. It appeared he was innocent of any crime.

  ‘There is no sign of the weapon,’ Baldwin said. ‘It must have been a heavy club of some sort. The killer took it away with him. Find that, and we’ve got a murderer.’

  Simon nodded, then called, ‘Did she have any special customers recently? It could have been a new gull did this to her.’

  ‘I saw her with a new man,’ a man said. He said his name was Jack, and his voice was quiet as he took in the sight of the ruined body. ‘No one should do that to a maid!’

  ‘Who was this new man?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I don’t rightly know,’ Jack admitted. ‘He was in the Rache the other evening, and I saw him talking to her there, but I didn’t think much of it. Why should I, knowing how she earned her crust? He was a tall bastard. Tall and rangy, dressed all in black. His cloak had seen better days. Oh, he had good black boots, too.’

  ‘You remember him clearly, this man? Can you describe his face?’

  ‘Easily done. Skinny face, like he’d lived in it a while. Dark eyes, very intense. You know, the sort that don’t blink hardly at all? That was how he looked, like he was looking through you all the time, not bothering to see the outside. He was looking at your soul.’

  Baldwin joined them, wiping bloodied hands on his tunic. ‘You would say all that from a glimpse as you entered the tavern?’

  ‘I caught sight of him, and you don’t forget a man’s face like that. His eyes were on me as soon as I was over the threshold. And anyway, I was looking about me carefully.’

  ‘Why?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Well, that daft sod Will had left just before me, and I was going inside for a pot of ale when bloody Adam came out in a hurry and nearly knocked me down. Clumsy git. He was always like that, even before he left the city. He can’t help it. I think he never realized that life is different when you get older. When he was a youngster he was always good with his fists, and as he grew up, his mind was set on using his fists or a dagger to resolve any problems.’

  ‘Could he have killed a woman like this?’ Simon asked.

  Jack stared, gaping, but although his head shook slowly, his eyes were drawn back to the body on the floor, and his expression hardened. ‘He knew her, certainly.’

  There was an angry muttering from the doorway as the men watching realized what had been said, and the sergeant had to thump the butt of his staff on the ground and bellow to silence them all.

  Baldwin thought. ‘It is possible he had a part in this murder, and also the death outside Moll’s door, too: Will’s murder. Moll’s death could have been committed to silence a witness.’

  Simon glanced about the room. ‘If she saw something, perhaps it was the man she was with in the tavern?’

  Glancing at Jack, Baldwin considered. ‘Jack? What do you say to that? When did Moll leave the tavern?’

  ‘I don’t know. A little while after me, I suppose. I saw her with the man at the corner of the tavern and when I left they’d gone. I don’t know when they walked out–didn’t seem important at the time.’

  ‘Will had gone, and a short time later Adam hared off out. Perhaps that is the explanation,’ Simon suggested. ‘Maybe Adam killed Will, and then came here to kill off the only witness: Moll.’

  ‘The killer surely returned to murder the witness,’ Baldwin agreed. He looked at the sergeant in the doorway. ‘But who killed Adam?’

  ‘There was one other person I saw up here earlier,’ the sergeant said with a frown on his face. ‘That girl, Rob’s friend, Annie. She was here.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why she might have taken such an irrational hatred to this girl that she could do this?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Moll was a whore. She could have stolen Annie’s lover.’

  The man was already in a great deal of pain, but the jug of burned wine at his side was helping. His brow was very sweaty, but Joseph applied a cool cloth to ease his pain as best he might.

  ‘It’s my duty…must get it to the bishop…’

  ‘What is the relic?’ Joseph asked calmly.

  John Mantravers sat up agitatedly. ‘The relic! De Beaujeu’s cursed relic! I have to take it to safety!’

  ‘Be calm, my son, please–sit back, calm yourself,’ Joseph pleade
d.

  ‘It’s cursed! All who touch it will die! I must take it! My sin, ach, my crime! God, help me!’

  It was very late by the time Baldwin and Simon returned to their inn, and although Simon dropped off to sleep quickly, Baldwin found himself reluctant to slumber. In his mind he kept seeing de Beaujeu fall.

  Guillaume de Beaujeu had been a strong and intelligent leader. Skilled in politics, he was the only voice warning of the imminence of invasion in the months before the disaster, but he never complained. He told the people of the risk to the Holy Kingdom, but they scoffed, and most of them were to pay with their lives.

  The treasure of the Templars was rescued. First Thibaud took it all to Sidon, and then to Cyprus, where he died. Soon Jacques de Molay was the Grand Master, and the relics and treasure were transported to the Paris Temple for safe-keeping. All the Templars knew that. Even Baldwin had heard of the shipments of gold and valuables.

  Yet this one relic was in England. Was it something to do with the parchments? De Beaujeu implied that it was his, or that there was some sort of responsibility placed upon him with this relic. There had been rumours that he had prayed on the night before his death, taking some of the relics and using them to enhance his pleas to God. Perhaps this was one such. Baldwin couldn’t tell. In Acre he had not yet joined the Order. That came later, and he never had the chance to advance very far.

  He prayed that he might at least learn the secret of this relic. He felt that there was a duty on him to see to it that any debt de Beaujeu had incurred was paid back. If the Templars, or de Beaujeu himself, had cause to protect this specific relic, Baldwin would see to it that their wishes were honoured. He owed that to the Grand Master’s memory.

  With that thought, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but still it evaded him, and at last he gave up. In the early hours of the morning he rose and padded across to a window, leaning on the wall and watching as the light changed outside. He felt sad, and the pity of it was, he didn’t know why.

  Joseph was woken from a light doze some little while after dawn. The gates were routinely opened as soon as it was daylight, and now he heard the door open, and yawned as he peered short-sightedly at the figure entering.

  ‘Who is that?’ he demanded.

  ‘I am this man’s brother,’ the man said. ‘Is he well?’

  ‘If he were, he’d scarcely be in here, would he?’ Joseph said drily. He was not ready for foolish questions such a short while after being woken, and his sympathy for a soon-to-be-bereaved man was at a low ebb. He had not slept properly since the man had been brought in here and his temper was not improved by the lack.

  ‘I’m sorry, Brother. I didn’t know he was here, though.’

  ‘We couldn’t tell anyone, could we? He couldn’t tell us who he was, after all,’ Joseph said with a more tolerant tone. His good humour was returning. ‘Who are you?’

  The man licked his lips. ‘I’m Rob. He’s my brother Andrew. Will he live?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I think so.’ Joseph walked to the bed and stood over Andrew. He took a cold cloth from the dish on the table and cleaned Andrew’s face and brow. To his delight, he saw that the face appeared to relax slightly. When he put his hand to Andrew’s forehead, there was a significant diminution in temperature. ‘My God! Yes, I think he’s fast recovering now. With God’s good grace, he will recover!’

  He turned and smiled at the sight of Rob’s face. ‘It must be a terrible shock. Please, friend, sit and collect yourself. I have a little wine in my chamber. I shall fetch you some.’

  ‘Tha…thanks.’

  Rob watched as the man bustled about the place.

  This was all wrong! He had thought Andrew was safely dead. He’d stabbed hard enough, feeling the hilt of his dagger slam into his brother’s back, he’d thrust so determinedly. Damn his soul, he wanted Andrew dead and out of the way. He’d wanted that ever since he’d first realized that Annie loved him.

  She had been all he had ever wanted. To him, Annie represented love, comfort, ease, a home. She was beautiful. He’d thought that on the very first day he’d seen her walking here from Tiverton. All he’d done since then, he’d done to make a new home and life for her. And in return all he hoped for was her acceptance.

  But Andrew had taken it instead. It was dreadful to have a rival for her affections, but how much worse was it to know that his rival was his own brother? It tore at his heart, and yet he could see no alternative. If he was to have his woman, he would have to remove his brother.

  He rose as though in a trance, his feet drawing him towards the bed even as his hand reached to his dagger, and he had already drawn the steel as the door to Joseph’s chamber opened and the little man came out with a bowl of wine.

  ‘Here we are. I hope you are feeling a little more…What are you doing there?’

  Rob turned for a split second, and his momentary hesitation was long enough. ‘I…I have to…’

  ‘No! You mustn’t hurt him,’ Joseph shouted.

  On the next bed, the outlaw had woken a few moments before. Now he turned his head to see the scruffy felon with the dagger in his hand. He recognized the man from the attack at Bishop’s Clyst, and the sight was enough to stir him. His belly hurt abominably, but he had to protect the man whose life he was sworn to defend. He reached down to the pile of his clothes by the bed. There was his sword, and he pulled it free, then swung his legs to the floor.

  ‘Christ!’

  His legs all but collapsed when he put his weight on them. As he spoke, the felon looked at him, and appeared to recognize him too, and stepped back as though terrified by the sight.

  Naked, grunting with the effort, the outlaw clenched his teeth. ‘The relic: where is it?’

  Rob saw him teeter as though about to collapse, and was about to lift his dagger to strike Andrew when the knight gritted his teeth with a supreme effort and stepped forward, the sword’s point unwavering.

  ‘Where is it?’ he demanded.

  It was like watching a corpse come to life. The scene was enough to destroy Rob’s resolve. He stepped back, one step, then another, and turned to the door to flee.

  Joseph understood nothing about their actions, but he knew that this man had been about to murder his own brother. He had no compunction, and brought the heavy dish down on Rob’s head as he passed. There was a veritable fountain of red wine, and it smothered Joseph, making him blink, feeling a sudden shock.

  Rob howled with the pain of the blow, but continued out, dripping with wine. He lurched, then ran across the small green to the gate.

  ‘Porter! Stop that man! He tried to kill a patient!’ Joseph cried. He saw the porter turn slowly.

  The man gaped. As he later said, he could see Joseph covered in red, as though his throat had been cut, and Joseph’s words made him act without a second thought. He had an old bill behind his door for defending the precinct, and now, as Rob ran towards him, a hand wiping the wine from his face, he grabbed it. An old warrior, he swung it once as Rob passed, and hamstrung him.

  Rob collapsed like a poleaxed heifer. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened at first, only that there had been a thud at the back of his knees, and a leg had stopped supporting him. Now he rose on his hands and one knee, but his left leg wouldn’t do as he wanted. It flopped, useless. He stared at it, realizing that it was drenched in blood, and looked up in time to see the evil, spiked pole-arm approaching him.

  Joseph was about to cry out when he saw the spike hit Rob. The body twitched for a few moments, one leg beating a percussive beat on the dirt of the roadway, but then it lay still as the porter struggled to free his pole-arm from the dead body’s eye socket.

  ‘He is very unwell,’ Joseph said. ‘I would not have him upset any further.’

  Baldwin and Simon nodded as Jonathan set out his reeds and parchment on a trestle table.

  It was Baldwin who walked to the outlaw’s bed. ‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill. Who are you?’

  ‘I am called Sir John Ma
ntravers, from South Witham. I was born there five-and-forty years ago, served Lord Hugh de Courtenay here in the west, and then joined the noblest Order.’ His voice was weak, but as he uttered the last words, it strengthened, and he looked at Baldwin defiantly. ‘I was a Knight Templar.’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘After the destruction of my Order, I escaped the tortures and the flames. I returned to England at last, and went to my old preceptory at South Witham. There I met an ancient comrade, Johel. He told me that there was a secret kept there.

  ‘A relic, a piece of the True Cross, was stored in a small casket in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre during the first of the Crusades. It was in the care of an Arab named Barzac, but he was murdered by Sir Miles de Clermont during the slaughter following the fall of Jerusalem. Barzac cursed the relic and all who would hold it. A few days later it passed into the hands of Geoffrey Mappestone, who wrote a document attesting to its authenticity.

  ‘Eventually it was brought to our country, and it has remained here for many years. Then Guillaume de Beaujeu learned of it, and he took it with him to the Holy Land when he became Grand Master of our Order. It killed him.’

  Baldwin felt the breath stop in his throat. ‘De Beaujeu was slain on the walls near the Accursed Tower in Acre.’

  ‘The night before, I am told, he prayed for the city’s deliverance, and he took out this relic and prayed with it. The next day he died. The relic killed him, just as it kills all who touch it.’

  Baldwin saw Brother Joseph crossing himself, and pressed the wounded man. ‘What then?’

  ‘It was saved with other relics, and taken to France, but there it was decided that this thing was too perilous: it could pollute other treasures. In preference, it was sent back to England, and it remained there safely in South Witham in obscurity, until the degenerate and avaricious King of France sought the destruction of the Temple. Then Johel and a few other men sought to defend the thing and protect others from finding it. When the preceptory was ordered to be closed, I was asked to come here to Exeter with a companion to give it to the good Bishop Walter, who was known to be an honourable man.’