House of Shadows

by The Medieval Murderers

‘Well, neither of these two were taken away, and I do not believe that the devil would be overly concerned about the sudden arrival of a witness. Nor do I think he’d have set out young Pilgrim in so considerate a manner,’ Baldwin said caustically. ‘Personally I would be easier in my mind believing that there has been an entirely human agent at work here.’

  ‘We all have our own beliefs, Sir Baldwin. Perhaps yours are more secular than mine.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin conceded. ‘Tell me, brother, where should we seek the woman who found the first body?’

  ‘That was Elena. She will be out there on the shore. She seeks what she can from the Thames at low tide. There is often something discarded in the waters which she can make use of or sell.’

  Elena cursed as she missed it, dragging the thin rope back through the waters and coiling it in a rough bundle beside her.

  The plank looked hardly rotted at all. From the way it floated it was probably nicely dried, hardly green, and would have been worth having. Still, on it went with the river. Her rope with the weight had been too weak to haul it in to the beach. The cord had snapped, the weight falling into the water while the beam floated on serenely. She looked down at the remaining rope with disgust, half-tempted to fling that into the water as well.

  ‘Mistress?’

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded querulously. The sun was hidden behind clouds, but it was still bright enough for her to want to shield her eyes with a hand as she studied the two men walking towards her. ‘You were in the crowds at the inquest, weren’t you?’

  ‘We were, madam,’ Baldwin said. ‘We wanted to talk to you for a moment about what you saw that day when you found them.’

  ‘I saw their bodies, that was all.’

  ‘Was there anyone else out here on that day?’

  ‘It was wet. There was no one out who had any sense.’

  ‘You were.’

  ‘I had to get to the market.’

  ‘Were the bodies wet through? If it had been raining, did you notice whether they had been there for long or not?’

  ‘I am no constable. I walk about here to try to earn what I can from what I find. There were two bodies there, but I didn’t know about looking for how wet they were. No, I just found young Juliet, and seeing her there, that was sad.’

  ‘You knew her?’

  ‘A little. A pretty little thing she was, and so happy when she was out here.’

  ‘What was she doing out here?’ Simon asked, gazing about him with frank distaste. At least on Dartmoor there were some areas of dry pasture. Here all seemed waterlogged.

  ‘Waiting to see her man. I had often seen her. Sometimes she was alone, with only her maid, but often she was with her man. Mostly it’s been just the younger William in the last weeks,’ Elena said helpfully.

  ‘Perhaps she wanted company because of the stories of a ghost, eh, Simon?’

  Elena scowled. ‘Don’t jest about the ghost. Us who live here know to fear that figure.’

  ‘You know someone who’s seen it?’ Simon asked.

  ‘I have seen it myself. It’s a sign of bad omen.’

  ‘What happened to you after you saw the figure?’ Baldwin asked lightly. ‘A corn on your foot? Or you found that you were growing wet while walking across this marsh?’

  She looked at him with a chilly certainty. ‘The first time I saw the figure, my husband Thomas died. Last time, next morning I found poor Juliet’s body.’

  Brother Lawrence watched them go to seek Elena with a sense of growing unease and anxiety.

  It had seemed such a sensible idea at the time. When he and the prior had concocted their scheme, the idea of driving others away from the river had been essential. They didn’t want Roger Mortimer escaping from the Tower only to be arrested as soon as he set foot on the Surrey side.

  Lawrence had first mooted the idea of the ghost. All knew of the ghost. Those in the priory mentioned it in undertones and used the story to scare the novices when they could, but the locals had heard of it, too, and people like Elena believed in it. What better way could there be to keep unwanted eyes from the shore than by having a fearsome ghost wandering the place?

  It had gone so well, too. Terrible, of course, that Elena’s old man had seen them. Lawrence saw him, saw his gaping, stupid face, and raised his arms to loom over the fellow, and he had turned to flee, bolting over the flats like a rabbit from a hound. Next morning the fool was dead. A great shame, but Lawrence did not feel over-guilty. There were other considerations, and rescuing Mortimer was crucial. The country had to have him safe so that the muttered plans to remove this intolerable king could be put into action.

  He saw John and began to make his way to the lad.

  All would have been well, too, had not that woman seen him. Juliet. He hadn’t realized at the time, but she had witnessed him and the men from the boat. Clearly, seeing the men pile from the boat while the ‘ghost’ held it steady for them made her understand that his costume was only a ruse. And equally, seeing where the boat landed, so close to the priory’s kiddles, the salmon traps set out along the line of the river banks, made her understand that a man from the priory was probably responsible. So the officers came and took the representative of all power in the priory – the prior himself.

  Lawrence could blame himself, of course, but that wouldn’t have Prior Walter released. He was incarcerated in the same Tower from which they had rescued Mortimer. This new fool John de Cusance, Prior John, was installed, and there was little Lawrence could do about it.

  Vengeance against those who had reported his and the prior’s actions? That was not a pretty act. But he knew many would consider it justified. Reasonable, even.

  So now an escape was needed. He had to find a way out – perhaps a boat?

  Her conviction was enough to wipe the cynical amusement from Baldwin’s voice. He apologized, eyeing her more closely than before, wondering whether she had reliable evidence. All too often he had found that those who claimed to have seen ghosts were in fact drunk at the time.

  ‘Madam, I had not seen that such a figure could have so unfortunate a result. Tell me, that I should know this figure of evil, what does it look like? Is it clad in, say, the robes of a Cluniac monk?’

  ‘You think I’m stupid enough to mistake the devil for one of the priory’s men?’ she scoffed. ‘This man was tall, maybe a foot or more over your height, Sir Knight, and he wore a long cloak with a separate cowl and hood. I don’t know the colour, because it was nighttime, but I could see the cloak because it moved so strongly in the wind.’

  ‘You saw no face?’

  ‘I did not want to!’ she stated firmly.

  ‘It could not have been this unfortunate fellow, Pilgrim de Monte Acuto?’ he hazarded, although he knew the answer before she spoke. The body had worn neither cloak nor cowl and hood.

  ‘Pilgrim? I’ve seen him and his father up here often enough, I think I’d recognize them!’

  ‘They are often up here on the marshes, you mean?’ Simon said.

  ‘Very often. The girl was a strong lure.’

  Baldwin was struck by her comment. ‘For Pilgrim, you mean?’

  Elena was suddenly dumb.

  ‘My God! You mean that the father wanted her too?’ he cried, and turned away, slapping at his brow. ‘Christ Jesus! Simon, the one aspect I could not accept was that William would murder his son for no reason. Yet here we have a reason: the father was a competitor with his son for this girl’s affections. The two men discussed her, argued, and the father slew his son in a fit of rage.’

  ‘Why did he drag the body away from the ground where he was killed?’

  ‘Remorse? Or, as I suggested before: he wanted the body to be concealed, so he pulled Pilgrim’s corpse from high ground where it would have been too obvious, instead setting it down in that malodorous little hollow, so that when he spoke to the woman he loved she wouldn’t glance over his shoulder and see his son lying slaughtered.’

  ‘Do you think
he killed his son because he heard that his son had married her, and jealousy forced him to act as he did?’ Simon wondered.

  ‘Possibly,’ Baldwin said. Now that he was following a definite path, he was feeling more confident by the moment. ‘He told his son to leave the marsh and leave his lady love to him, and when he did I wonder if Pilgrim laughed at him and taunted him? So many people have said what a generous-hearted, kindly soul Pilgrim was, but even the kindest lad can be cruel to a parent. If his father did not know…A father who doted on his son’s wife would be cause for great humour, I would imagine. The poor man!’

  It was mid-afternoon by the time they reached the city gate again, and there Baldwin stopped thoughtfully.

  ‘I suppose we should go and tell the good coroner about our discovery,’ Simon said, seeing his eyes flitting westwards.

  ‘That was in my mind. Yet it was my lord bishop who asked us to investigate this crime. Let us inform him first, and then we may arrest William ourselves. I have no desire to inflate the coroner’s reputation.’

  So deciding, the two friends set off. Following the line of the Thames, they were forced to take a detour when they reached the Walbrook Stream, but then soon they were out through the west gate and crossing the Fleet river.

  Bishop Walter was waiting for them in his hall, but this time he was shouting orders at servants, eyeing parchments full of lists and dictating to a clerk.

  ‘Ah, Sir Baldwin, I am glad indeed to see you. And you, Simon, of course. Is it possible that you have had some luck in the mission I gave you? I heard that the inquest had been held, but I have to say that I did not feel that the coroner’s conclusion was sound. The idea of the young woman committing murder and then killing herself seems most curious to me.’

  ‘I think that I have a more credible answer which fits the facts more firmly than the coroner’s.’

  Bishop Walter listened intently, waving a clerk away irritably as he heard about the possible jealousy of the older William. ‘But this is astonishing! As you say, were he suddenly to hear from his son that he was unable to marry the woman he adored, that might well tip him over the edge. After all, once she was married to his son, it would be impossible for him to marry her – even if she was a widow. No father may marry a daughter, and the wife of his son has become his daughter, naturally, in God’s eyes.’

  ‘It may be worse than that,’ Baldwin considered. ‘William had lost his love before, to Sir Henry. The thought of losing his only link with her, her daughter, may have added to his mental turmoil. The poor man!’

  ‘So the shock drove him to kill his son, and then his daughter-in-law presumably rejected his advances, too, so he slew her. A terrible story, Sir Baldwin. Terrible. The poor man.’

  ‘It is a shocking tale,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘And I feel that I should go and confront him with his crime. I have the king’s authority to keep his peace. I am sure that with your approval it would be easy enough to go and have him arrested.’

  ‘I shall raise a small force from my household,’ the bishop promised. Then he hesitated. ‘But one thing. As a courtesy to my friends, would you object to going and telling Sir Henry? He has a right to know how his daughter died, after all.’

  ‘I should prefer to go straight to William.’ Baldwin’s tone was blank, but he felt angry to have the bishop ask this. It was clearly a political gesture, designed to satisfy the Despensers that Stapledon had done all in his powers to help them. Justice demanded that Baldwin confront the felon, not play the messenger to a politician’s ally.

  ‘William lives the other side of the river, while Sir Henry is but a short walk away. Would it really make a great difference? It is, as I suggest, merely a matter of courtesy.’

  Baldwin considered, glancing at Simon. The bailiff shrugged, then nodded.

  No, it was not against any principle of law, so far as Baldwin could see, but the idea of informing a victim’s family of a deliberation before even arresting the man accused seemed wrong: putting the cart before the horse. But if the bishop insisted, Baldwin did not feel strongly enough about it to argue. ‘Very well, my lord. Do you prepare a small force and I shall return here as soon as I may.’

  The hall was still, and Baldwin was reminded of a calm before a thunderstorm. There was the noise of servants out behind the hall, but they seemed to be muffled. Baldwin had never before known an English house to be so quiet, and the idea that any master could persuade a rowdy, boisterous group of servants to be so respectful spoke volumes of the love all had for the daughter of the house – or perhaps the fear that all felt for their master.

  ‘You have something to tell me?’

  Henry had appeared in the doorway, and now he strode across the floor to stand near the two visitors.

  Baldwin looked at Simon, then said: ‘Sir Henry, we have had some fortune. As I told you yesterday, we have learned that your daughter had married Pilgrim. Their marriage was legal and binding. However, just as you did not know, I think it is likely that Pilgrim’s father was also kept in the dark.’

  ‘So I am not the only fool, you mean? Should I be grateful for the fact that his son held his father in a similar disregard as my daughter did me?’

  ‘This is difficult for me to assess, Sir Henry. I never knew your daughter. However, I am convinced that she would not have intended to hurt you or your family. Yet it is all too easy for a young woman to fall in love with a man who…who may not be viewed as quite suitable.’

  ‘So what are you telling me, then?’

  A maid entered the room with a tray on which was one jug and one mazer. She set it on the cupboard, poured a generous helping and took it to her master.

  As Baldwin continued, Simon noticed that the girl stopped at the screens entrance and waited, a hand on the doorpost, peering into the room with a pale face as she eavesdropped.

  ‘We think that the father of Pilgrim learned that his son was going out there to meet your daughter. I read the facts as these: he remonstrated with his son. His son then taunted him with the fact that they were married. The news threw William into a rage and he killed his son and then, when he saw your daughter, he killed her too. Perhaps he was driven mad by the thought of his son’s disobedience.’

  Simon was impressed with Baldwin’s cautious description of the events. There was no need to add to the burden of misery already felt by this poor man. He had lost his daughter already: best not to tell him that it might have been solely because this already acknowledged enemy of his had an infatuation for her.

  ‘So…he killed her. Sweet Christ!’

  Simon nodded – and then felt the stirrings of doubt.

  Surely if this woman had been the daughter of William’s first love, and he had slain her in a passion, he would have treated her with the same reverence he showed towards his son? Either the man would have left both bodies slumped messily, or both set out gently and kindly? Both had earned his jealous resentment; both deserved equal respect. And surely a man with love in his bones for either must later commit self-murder in disgust and despair? Yet at the inquest William had been so composed.

  Baldwin continued: ‘He will pay for his crime. We are going to arrest him even now, and I will see to it that he is held for the next court.’

  Sir Henry drained his mazer, and as he held it out the servant ran into the room again, collected the jug and brought it to him, pouring another generous measure. It irked Simon that he should be so rude as to drink and not offer anything to Baldwin and himself.

  Baldwin nodded and bowed, and the two men left the hall, walking along the passage to the front door. As they crossed the threshold to leave, Simon heard a pattering of feet, and he turned over-swiftly (he was not used to the presence of so many people at all times, and the evident violence of this great city was always in his mind) and would have drawn his sword, but he saw that it was only the young maidservant from the hall.

  ‘Masters, I can’t let you…The story you just told my master…It’s not true!’

&nbs
p; Baldwin eyed her doubtfully. ‘What makes you say that? We have good evidence for it.’

  ‘But the marriage! It wasn’t Pilgrim who married my mistress! It was his father was wedded to her.’

  Her story was all too swift to tell. She had been a witness with John and Lawrence when William and Juliet plighted their troths, in a quieter area of the marsh near the priory. The two had been seeing each other for some months, and after a while Juliet had agreed to make him a happy, married man again. However, she had stipulated that, although William could enjoy her, they could not tell anyone else until she had broached the subject with her father.

  ‘She hoped that some day her father would be able to understand, masters. She hoped that he would forgive her. But he couldn’t. He is a strong-willed man, firm of resolve, and once he has made a decision he will not alter it.’

  ‘But what you have told us doesn’t necessarily change anything,’ Simon said. ‘If William saw his son out there meeting his wife – again rage could well have overwhelmed him and he might have slain his own son in a fit of fury.’

  ‘You think my mistress would be unfaithful to her husband?’

  ‘You think she wasn’t?’

  ‘No! She was the most loyal, devoted wife!’

  ‘Then why else would she have been visiting Pilgrim so often? We have heard that they were often together on the marshes.’

  ‘That I don’t know,’ she said. Her eyes were already back on the doorway.

  ‘Have you heard of this ghost of the riverside? Some say that those who see it soon after find that someone they know has died.’

  She blanched. ‘I have seen it! But no one died.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last year, when my mistress first met her husband. She and I were walking about the place in the middle of the evening, when we saw a large figure. Full tall, he was, and clad all in grey, with a hood and cloak.’

  ‘What made you think he was a ghost?’ Baldwin wondered.

  ‘His height, and his gait. He went…’