The Pardoner's Crime (17 page)

Father Daniel bowed. ‘Wakefield is a small town, my lord. Especially after all the violence of the past few days it is not surprising that virtually everyone is taking note of anything untoward.'

They had walked across to join Lady Katherine. Richard and Hubert bowed to her, and she bowed back as became her position as a prioress.

After reiterating her concerns for their welfare Lady
Katherine held up the neatly written parchment in her hand. ‘We are running through two of the plays,' she explained. ‘Here on the left is
The First Shepherd's Play
, by our Guild of St Oswald, and on the right is the Guild of Grocers with their play
Herod the Great.
After that we are going to go through our
The Talents
and the Grocers
The Deliverance of Souls.
'

Richard made appropriately approving noises about the pageants themselves with their elaborate stages. Each pageant was about twice the size of a normal wagon, built as were all of the pageants dotted around the great yard, by the guilds of carpenters and wheelwrights. The Guild of Grocers in particular was the most impressive, since it had two tiers, and a façade that looked like a face.

‘The lower part drops, you see,' Lady Katherine explained, so that it looks as if the mouth of Hell has opened. This is for
The Deliverance of Souls
play, when the fiends emerge from Hell's mouth to consume the world.'

‘You will be glad when it is all over, I am sure,' said Richard. He pointed to the parchment in her hand. ‘Are these the stage directions?'

‘My notes,' returned Lady Katherine with a smile.

Richard nodded approvingly. Yet he seemed distracted.

‘You look somewhat puzzled, Sir Richard,' Father Daniel commented.

‘Did I? My apologies. I was just admiring Lady Katherine's handwriting. It looks familiar – and yet unfamiliar.' Then he gave a short laugh. ‘But I must not keep you from your work. I actually came to ask you something, Father Daniel. About the two murdered men.'

Both Father Daniel and Lady Katherine looked ineffably sad, almost professionally sad. ‘How can I help you?' he asked.

‘By allowing me to have their bodies buried – temporarily, I mean – in consecrated ground. They are beginning to putrefy and I think they should be laid to rest.'

‘Of course, Sir Richard. But why only temporarily?'

Richard shrugged. ‘It is just that they might need to be
reexamined
.'

They all looked round as Lady Katherine gave a short gasp. Then they saw her slowly slide to the ground in a dead faint.

It was early evening before Richard and Hubert arrived at the Bucket Inn. Lady Katherine had recovered to find herself surrounded by three concerned male faces, and was given a cup of wine by one of the Grocers guildsmen. She had been embarrassed and admitted to having felt overcome by the thought of the bodies starting to putrefy. After that they stayed to watch the first rehearsal of two of the plays, while one of the carpenters prepared two large rough coffins. Then Richard accompanied Father Daniel to the town cemetery while Hubert trundled off on the carpenter's cart with the two coffins to collect the two bodies. Ned Burkin happened to be the constable on duty and he marshalled a couple of watchmen to locate two of the town gravediggers.

‘There have been many deaths in the last few years, I see,' Richard remarked, as he and the priest watched the
gravediggers
prepare two shallow graves.

‘The great famine of 1315 caused a lot of it, and then we had an epidemic that took many children.'

Hubert approached with his neck-cloth drawn well up to cover his mouth and nose. ‘Are you sure you don't want them a bit deeper, my lord?' he asked. ‘They are pretty ripe, the pair of them. We had a devil of a job getting the coffin lids shut.'

Richard pulled up his own neck-cloth. ‘That is why I had the carpenter build large coffins. The gases inside their bellies will have swollen them up to almost twice their normal size. But no, they must be shallow enough for us to exhume them if the need arises.'

Father Daniel said a short blessing once it was all over, and then excused himself to get back to the rehearsals. Richard dismissed the others then he and Hubert stood looking down at the two fresh mounds.

‘This burial ground is well protected from animals,' Richard commented, pointing at the surrounding trees and mulberry hedging. ‘And it is not visible from the streets with all these bushes.'

‘You mean that you could see how the rape of the maid Lillian could have taken place?'

‘Exactly. And the Pardoner, Albin of Rouncivale who confessed to the crime, but who was murdered, lies here. As beside him lies William Scathelocke, who was cruelly murdered while a captive in the stocks. It is a bitter irony that it is likely that neither of them had anything to do with the crime.'

‘And meanwhile Robert Hood goes free.'

‘Hardly free, Hubert. He is an outcast now. An outlaw thrown out by his fellow outlaws.'

‘Yet he came close to adding us to his tally, Sir Richard,' said Hubert, shivering despite himself. ‘We could be lying there this evening.'

Richard punched his arm playfully. ‘Yet we are here to tell the day. And so now let us retire to the Bucket Inn, for I need to have words with the women there.'

Beatrice met them as they came into the busy inn. Her expression registered all too clearly the fact that she was happy to see Hubert, Sir Richard noted with some pleasure.

‘I would like to have words with the three of you, Beatrice,' Richard told her. ‘May we come up?'

The atmosphere in the upstairs room was fraught, as expected, but Richard was heartened to see that Matilda no longer glowered at her cousin. Indeed, they sat together on a settle, both of them red-eyed from recent tears. As Richard told them of his suspicions about Robert Hood Matilda reached out and squeezed Lillian's hand.

‘I know what you are saying, Sir Richard,' she said. ‘It is just hard to believe that my Robin could have turned so wicked. I can only think that it is this business of being declared a contrariant. He is' – she gulped hard as fresh tears threatened
to flow – ‘he was a good and kind man. But I must now look to protecting my cousin.'

Seeing them somewhat reconciled Beatrice led the two men downstairs again.

‘I think we should sup here,' Richard said, ‘then I think that I shall stay the night in Wakefield.'

‘Are you not expected at the castle, my lord?' Hubert asked.

He was suddenly knocked forward and, turning rapidly, found himself looking into the bleary eye of Hector Lunt. The man swayed on his feet.

‘Your pardon –
my lords
!' he slurred, sarcastically. ‘I have drunk my fill and now I must go, for I do not like the smell around here.'

‘Why Hector Lunt, you drunken fool!' said Beatrice between clenched teeth. ‘How dare you talk to my guests like that?'

Hubert was about to grab him, but Richard stayed his hand.

‘You would do well to get home before it gets too dark, my man,' Richard said. ‘Or you may find yourself in front of me in court. And possibly might find yourself facing a spell in the stocks.'

Hector's one eye opened wide in alarm and he gave a drunken bow and staggered towards the door. As he did so, George-a-Green detached himself from the group he had been sitting with and came over.

‘He isn't a bad fellow, my lords,' he explained. ‘He just can't say when he has had enough ale.' He looked at Beatrice with mock accusation in his eyes. ‘Your ale is too tempting.'

Then he bowed to Richard. ‘I am sorry if I have seemed rude, my lord. My friend Hubert here set me straight about a lot of things. We need the law around here. It is that that keeps us all safe.'

From somewhere outside, a blood-curdling scream rang out. It was followed moments later by a second, shorter and more muffled cry, and then silence.

Hubert and George-a-Green were out of the tavern door in
seconds, followed by Richard and half of the clientele of the Bucket Inn. The light was fading fast, but up a side street some fifty yards from the inn they found the bodies of two men.

One was Hector, lying on his back with an arrow through his chest. Half-sprawled on top of him was the body of a
well-built
man in a cloak and hood.

Hubert and George-a-Green lifted him off Hector and laid him on his back. He was dead, that was clear, for the gaping wound in his neck where his throat had been cut from ear to ear no longer pumped blood. Beside him was a bow.

‘He shot Hector!' gasped George-a-Green.

‘And then Hector slit his throat in defence when he was leaning over him,' said Hubert, pointing to Hector Lunt's hand, in which was still grasped a bloodstained knife.'

Suddenly, Hector's eyes fluttered open and he coughed up blood.

‘He took my life!' he gasped. ‘He … he said …'

Richard bent down and gently lifted his head. ‘What did he say? Tell me and we shall get help.'

‘He … said … it was for the eye … and for … the tooth. He … took my …'

He clutched at Richard's tunic, his open eye staring into eternity as his death rattle proclaimed the passage of his soul.

‘A revenge killing?' Hubert suggested.

‘I don't know about that,' volunteered George-a-Green, pointing at the face of the other dead man. ‘But that man has been about the town for a day or two. Why, I think he was drinking in the Bucket Inn earlier on this evening, and the other night as well. He's not from round here, though. I reckon he's a foreigner, from Pontefract or thereabouts.'

Richard did not say anything immediately, for he seemed to be trying to work something out in his mind. Then he stirred himself from his momentary reverie.

‘Hubert, I know it is late, but I want you to summon the bailiff, John of Flanshaw. I want the town alerted. There will
be a court session at nine bells tomorrow. We have two more deaths to investigate.'

Hubert sighed and pointed to the two corpses. ‘It is just as well that we emptied the Tollbooth, my lord.'

J
ohn of Flanshaw had done a good job, having risen at four o'clock to marshal the constables, their men and the town reeves to ensure that the townsfolk all turned out for the extra session of the court. The Moot Hall was packed by the time that Sir Thomas Deyville and his daughter, Lady Wilhelmina arrived and took their places behind the bench on the dais.

As the nine bells of All Saints rang out Sir Richard entered from the Roll's Office. He bowed to them both then took his seat.

‘If I did not think better, I would declare you a jinx, Sir Richard,' said Sir Thomas with a cold smile. ‘Death seems to follow you.'

‘Father!' Lady Wilhelmina whispered protestingly. ‘Two men died last night: it is no time for your jokes.'

Suitably rebuffed, the Deputy Steward slumped back in his chair and Richard gave the Lady Wilhelmina a grateful smile, which she accepted with a slight nod of her head and the hint of a returned smile.

The bailiff had already assembled the jurymen who waited by their stools.

‘This special court is now in session,' Richard announced with a rap of his gavel. ‘It is my sad duty to announce that last night, as many of you will no doubt already know, there was a
double killing. It took place up Greenwood Street, but fifty yards from the Bucket Inn.'

And he described how he himself had seen Hector Lunt in the Bucket Inn, in an inebriated state, and of how he had left after having been given a warning. Then he described the two screams; the first loud and blood-curdling, the second more muffled and shorter.

‘When we investigated we found the two bodies in Greenwood Street. Hector Lunt was lying on his back with an arrow in his chest and the other man was sprawled half over him. His throat had been cut. It looked as if he had shot Hector Lunt with an arrow and it seemed as if his throat had been cut, by Hector, before he collapsed. It is possible that the second man, the bowman had been leaning over what he thought was a successful kill. At any rate, Hector Lunt had a knife in his hand.'

The crowd made suitable noises of alarm and horror, yet without any of the rowdiness that had occurred in the first court session. Richard went on, ‘The bowman was dead when we arrived, but Hector Lunt lived and managed to blurt out something about an eye and a tooth.'

He noted Father Daniel's presence in the crowd. He was standing with Lady Katherine. ‘Can you tell the court where that expression comes from, Father Daniel?'

The priest nodded. ‘I believe he would have been referring to the Gospel according to Matthew, Sir Richard: “
Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.
” Its meaning is, I think, quite apparent.'

Richard nodded. ‘It sounds as if he was saying that it was an act of vengeance. Well, those are the facts of the case, or so they seem. Bailiff, have the two bodies brought in.'

The crowd moved about restlessly as people craned necks to see the entry of the men of the watch with the two bodies, both wrapped in old blankets. They were laid down before the bench.

‘We will start with the body of Hector Lunt. Uncover him,'
Richard ordered. He scanned the crowd and saw Wilfred Oldthorpe standing as usual with his wife, Emma and their servant Gilbert. Emma's expression seemed somehow strained, as if she, like him, would like to have had words in private. She put a hand on Gilbert's shoulder and patted it gently, like a mother comforting a child.

‘Master Oldthorpe, the court would again like to call upon your services. Step forward please and examine the body.'

The apothecary made his way through the crowd, bowed to the bench and then bent to inspect the body. As before, the arrow had been left in place and the blood-soaked clothes had been left as they were.

‘This man died of his arrow wound, my lord. It is a high wound on his chest on the left side. I think that it must have missed his heart, but would almost certainly have punctured a lung and probably severed his main blood vessel from the heart.'

‘Would this be consistent with him living for several minutes after he was struck?'

‘Absolutely. Men can live for hours after the lung is
punctured
, but if the blood vessel was leaking he would have died once the blood filled his chest.'

Richard nodded grimly. ‘Remove the arrow if you will.'

‘I shall need to use some instruments,' the apothecary replied, taking off his shoulder bag and delving inside for a thin knife and a pair of forceps. ‘First I will need to remove his clothes, my lord.'

Richard gestured to begin and the crowd strained to watch Master Oldthorpe begin his grisly work. He laid his
instruments
down on the floor and gingerly opened the tunic as far as he could. Then he cut the clothes around the arrow so that he could peel them back to reveal the chest and the gory wound with the arrow protruding from it. Before he made a move to remove the arrow he ran his hands expertly over the exposed torso and neck.

‘There is a curious cut at the side of his neck, Sir Richard,' he pointed out. ‘I would say that it could have been from a 
chain or a string. It could have been made if something like a medallion had been torn from around his neck.'

Richard nodded to John of Flanshaw. ‘Record that, please, Bailiff.' Then he turned to Master Oldthorpe. ‘Now the arrow, if you please.'

Lady Wilhelmina and most of the women in the crowd looked away as the apothecary worked on the tissue around the arrow shaft to loosen it. Then grasping the shaft, he pulled and it came out with a sickening sucking sound. As it came away, old dark blood spurted from the chest and oozed for a moment over the alabaster white chest of the corpse. He rose with the arrow and, at Richard's indication, laid it on the bench beside three other arrows, two of which were as
bloodstained
as the new one.

‘And now, please examine the other body and give us your opinion.'

The apothecary stepped over Hector Lunt's corpse then bent again and drew back the blanket from the second body. At the sight of the corpse with its gaping throat wound and still staring eyes there were many gasps and oaths, and two members of the crowd fainted and had to be carried out.

Wilfred Oldthorpe remained detached and leaned close to inspect the wound. ‘Clearly this man would have died almost immediately, Sir Richard. He was killed by a mortal wound to his throat.'

‘A knife cut?'

‘A terrible wound, Sir Richard. His main blood vessels and his windpipe were severed.'

‘Could it have been done while he was leaning over the first body?'

‘It could.'

‘And could it have been done by Hector Lunt, as he lay there with an arrow in his chest?'

The apothecary pursed his lips pensively as he considered the question. ‘It could,' he replied hesitantly, ‘if he flailed out, but even so, I fear it would have sapped his remaining strength.'

‘Quite so,' Richard commented. ‘Yet on battlefields you see such feats of strength even at the point of death. Thank you, Master Oldthorpe, you may stand down.'

Richard rapped his gavel to silence the crowd, for several sections had begun whispering and speculating. ‘Does anyone recognize this man? Can he be identified?'

People leaned forward or craned above their neighbours to try to get a better view of the bodies. A few men, including George-a-Green volunteered that they had seen him in one tavern or another over the last few days, but in general there was much head-shaking. No one seemed able to put a name to him.

‘Very well,' said Richard. ‘Before we proceed, I am going to report on another thing that occurred yesterday.'

And he gave an abbreviated version of his and Hubert's trip into Barnsdale Forest and of the way that they were ambushed and of how they took refuge in the charcoal burner's hut, which their assailant set on fire with blazing arrows. He made no mention of Matilda Oxley or of their rescue by the outlaws.

‘I tell you this because we brought back one of the arrows that narrowly missed us.' He picked up the single arrow that was not bloodstained from the bench. ‘Here it is. Now call Simon the Fletcher.'

John of Flanshaw duly called the fletcher, who took his place in the witness pen.

‘You have already examined two of these arrows, one of which was removed from the body of William Scathelocke and one from the body of Albin of Rouncivale. Please now compare them with the one that has just been removed from Hector Lunt and this one that was fired at us yesterday.'

It took a matter of moments before Simon the Fletcher replied, ‘They are all made by the same hand, sir.'

‘Thank you. You may stand down, Simon the Fletcher.' Then to John of Flanshaw, ‘Record that if you please.'

Richard sat forward and tapped his fingertips together. ‘So 
this is what apparently happened. Hector Lunt left the Bucket Inn, was followed by this unknown man and shot with an arrow. As he lay dying the bowman came and leaned over him and possibly pulled something from his neck, if the apothecary is correct. Then with his failing strength Hector Lunt lashed out with his knife, which was found in his hand, and cut his murderer's throat. Does this sound likely?'

He waited for a reaction, scanning the crowd before going on, ‘I do not believe that this happened!'

‘And why not?' Sir Thomas demanded.

‘For several reasons,' Richard replied suavely. ‘First, I find it hard to believe that an assassin armed with a bow would only come with a single arrow. He had a bow, yet no quiver, no other arrow in case he missed.'

‘If he killed all three men, then clearly he was a marksman!' exclaimed Sir Thomas.

‘Yes, if he was,' said Richard. ‘But I am not convinced that he was a bowman at all, far less a marksman. Constable Burkin, lift the man's right hand.'

Ned Burkin did as he was instructed and people in the crowd murmured their understanding.

‘He has lost his second finger!' exclaimed a youth at the front.

‘Exactly!' said Richard. ‘Hardly likely then to have been an archer, no matter whether he was right or left-handed. This man had an accident of some sort in the far past, for the wound is healed. And secondly, if he had taken something from about Hector Lunt's neck, what was it? And where is it?'

Sir Thomas had been sitting nodding his head as he followed Richard's argument. ‘Clever, Sir Richard. Clever!'

‘And lastly,' Richard said. ‘I am not convinced that Hector Lunt would have been able to cut his throat. Not from his position on his back.'

Wilfred Oldthorpe nodded his head. ‘You are right, Sir Richard. I see that now. This wound would be more consistent with someone grabbing his head from behind, so that his 
throat was exposed, then a blade was applied from one side to the other.' He made movements with his hands, as if dealing such a mortal wound to an invisible adversary.

‘Exactly my belief,' said Richard. ‘I think that our
mysterious
bowman slew Hector Lunt, then the unknown man went in to check the kill, and while he was leaning over the dying man, he had his throat slit by the bowman who had crept up behind. Whatever was taken from Hector Lunt was taken away, the bow was dropped by the body and the knife was planted in Hector Lunt's hand to make it look as if no one else was involved.'

‘But why was he killed in the first place?' Lady Wilhelmina asked.

Richard glanced towards Beatrice, Matilda and Lillian, who were standing at the back of the crowd. ‘I think that there is enough here which suggests that one man may have had a motive for some if not all of these killings. That man is Robert Hood.'

There were angry murmurings from the crowd and much nodding of heads. Yet a few steadfastly shook theirs.

‘If Robert Hood was guilty of the crime of rape, he could have a motive for silencing a man who was once a rival in love, and who had seen him leave the cemetery. The Pardoner may have given him a pardon upon hearing his confession, yet when the Hood thought about it he may have come after him. Hector Lunt had publicly abused Hood's name. And this unknown man – well, it looks as if he had been in league with the bowman, until the opportunity presented itself for him to remove him as well. By doing so he effectively removed all potential blame from him.'

The crowd considered it all and this time Richard did not stop them from talking among themselves. He noticed that the twelve jurymen also were murmuring to each other.

‘I go back to our adventure of yesterday,' Richard continued, when the hubbub settled. ‘You do not need to know the details, but my assistant and I were attacked, we believe, by Robert 
Hood while we took refuge in the hut. It almost cost us our lives and we were only saved by his former fellows who chased him away. I should add that the reason they had chased him away is because he is an outcast among the outlaws that he led until yesterday. The reason for this was a spectacularly clever plan by the Deputy Steward, Sir Thomas Deyville.'

Sir Thomas stared at Richard in wonder, then, when he found himself being applauded, he beamed and slapped the table with his hand. ‘It was my pleasure, Sir Richard,' he roared.

Richard gave him a thin smile, and then went on, ‘All of this leads me to believe that it is ever more important to bring Robert Hood to justice. His crimes are great and we need to hear him in person. I therefore make this proclamation, which John of Flanshaw shall copy and have read out and nailed up in writing for any who can read, in every village and hamlet around the town of Wakefield. It shall also be posted at every road leading into the Barnsdale Forest and the Outwood.' He paused, then dictated slowly: