King Arthur's Bones (30 page)

‘Should we go back to talk to him?’ Simon said.

‘If we do, and he has some sort of hold over her, it would make trouble for her without reason,’ Baldwin said.

‘She mayhap deserves it,’ the coroner said.

‘Perhaps there has been enough passion already in this case,’ Baldwin said. ‘I would not care to learn that she has been killed by a jealous husband.’

‘Hah! That woman reminds me of a joke,’ the coroner said. ‘A man was talking to a fellow in a tavern and asked if he was married. “Aye, and not once but three times,” was the reply. “Oho! How so?” “Because all three hanged themselves from my old apple tree,” the man said. The first was quiet a moment, and then asked, “Would you consider selling me a cutting of this tree?” Eh? Ha! And perhaps poor Henry should have a similar tree in his own garden for that harridan.’

‘Do not judge her too harshly, Sir Richard,’ Baldwin said. ‘You were fortunate to be happily married. Who can say but that their marriage is unhappy? I have seen too many women made miserable in constraining relationships.’

‘So have I,’ the coroner growled. ‘But that doesn’t excuse a woman whoring.’

‘Whom do you suspect, then? The Welshman?’

Sir Richard was about to respond when the three men were stopped by screams from behind them. ‘What in God’s name . . . ?’ the coroner blurted, but then he was already running back the way they had all come, Simon and Baldwin close behind him.

They had to run a matter of only two hundred yards, but to Simon it felt like a thousand. Once he had been fit enough to walk thirty miles in a day over Dartmoor, but now he was older, heavier and more prone to sitting on a horse.

It felt as though his lungs must burst as he pelted along, the rough, stone-strewn surface of the track threatening his ankles, their sharpened edges cutting into the soles of his cheap boots, and he was aware of a hissing in his ears, a heat rising to his face, a fading power in his legs. He had to wipe the sweat away from his face as he went, but then to his relief he saw the woman running towards them, and he could bend, take a gulp of air, rest a fist on his thigh and catch his breath.

‘Help! Murder! Murder and robbery!’ she was crying as she came.

Baldwin and Sir Richard exchanged a look. There was no blood on her, so far as Baldwin could see, and he held up a hand to calm her. ‘Mistress Copplestone, what is the matter? We returned as soon as we heard your plea for help, but what is the matter?’

‘Henry! He’s dead! Edward killed him and ran!’

She collapsed sobbing, and Simon stayed with her while the others bolted back to the house. Gradually her panicky panting calmed, and Simon could persuade her to rise with him and begin to walk back to her house. On the way they found Baldwin returning.

‘The good coroner will remain until we have the hue and cry come to seek the murderer. Come, Mistress Agatha, do you have a friend in the vill here?’

‘None! None at all!’

‘Then at the least we may as well install you in the tavern. You will be able to drink some wine there.’

‘What has happened?’ Simon asked.

‘It was our servant.’

‘You were scared of him earlier, I saw,’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes! He knew of my . . . with Hob. You know.’

‘You feared he would tell your master?’

‘Yes, of course I did. I thought he would denounce me unless I did all he wanted.’

‘Of course. Tell me, though. Huw was convinced that you were not with him in Crediton when he saw you.’

She reddened, but then her chin rose and she met his gaze. ‘No. It wasn’t him. I was with Arthur, the canon from the church.’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘You did seek to—’

‘No!’ she snapped. ‘I was not seeking an affair with him. My husband’s servant made me go to see the canon and bring him to my husband’s warehouse. There Arthur and Edward were having dealings. Edward bought the church’s produce and sold it on to his and Arthur’s profit, using my husband’s contacts. It impoverished Henry’s business, but what might I do? I could only do as Edward told me. I had no choice.’

Baldwin said nothing. It explained much. If this Arthur was conducting business to his own benefit, and submitting to the temptation of money, that could well be what Dean Peter had alluded to. And it explained why the dean was reluctant to compensate Henry and Agatha for losses in their garden if he thought that Henry was already robbing him. And why should he think that Arthur was collaborating with a mere servant? If the dean had suspicions, it was more likely that they would focus on the owner of the house where the goods were being traded.

‘I didn’t want to help him rob the church,’ she said with a little, quiet voice.

‘Let us take you to the tavern,’ Simon said gently.

Later, they were sitting about a fire in the tavern together while they waited to hear about the posse sent after Edward.

‘Could the servant have killed the pardoner?’ Simon wondered.

‘It would be a cleaner end to the story if he was guilty of all,’ Baldwin said.

‘Either him or Agatha’s husband,’ Simon said. ‘He was seen here.’

‘I cannot forget the man’s hand in the fire,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Why would either of them do that?’

‘If a man was disgusted with the actions of the pardoner and thought that the bones were genuine, he may have done that in punishment,’ Simon mused.

‘What, a hand has touched something sacred so it should be cut off ?’ Baldwin said with a smile.

‘Why not, Baldwin?’ Simon said. ‘Think of it. The Gospel says “If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out”, doesn’t it? There are some who’d think the pardoner was an offensive man who was polluting incorruptible relics.’

‘Old bones in a pardoner’s hands are unlikely to cause so much offence,’ Baldwin scoffed.

The coroner was less sure. ‘God can give miracles from such things, Baldwin. There are many pieces of Christ’s cross throughout Christendom. I once heard a friar say that all are from the True Cross. Even though there is more wood there than would build many such crosses, it matters not. It’s like feeding the thousands with a couple of fish and all were full afterwards. He can make things like this happen. These relics may be as potent as any other. If someone thought that, he could have taken off John’s hand for the insult he gave to relics. And then taken them for safekeeping.’

‘Perhaps so. In which case, who was it?’ Baldwin asked sharply. ‘There is no evidence to suggest who could have done it.’

‘Surely the most religious man?’ Coroner Richard said. ‘He is plainly the man with the most incentive. And offended by the pardoner.’

‘Very well,’ Baldwin sighed. ‘But he seems so mild-mannered. What sort of a man would . . . ?’

He stopped suddenly, closed his eyes and shook his head.

‘What is it, man?’ Sir Richard asked.

‘I am a fool!’

They found the priest in his chapel, bent almost double before the altar. Under the vill’s pall lay the body of the pardoner, wrapped in linen.

He heard them enter but gave them no acknowledge ment, merely remaining with his hands clasped, until he nodded briskly to himself and stood.

Turning to face them, he looked them over carefully and made his way along the empty hall to the door. Departing by it, he stood waiting for them outside.

‘A shame to have no one to stand by the body over the night. I must pay one of the poorer parishioners to sit up with the man.’

‘He won’t care much now,’ Coroner Richard said.

‘How do you know?’ the priest asked. ‘He may be waiting even now in Purgatory, hoping that someone will sit in vigil and pray for him. God knows, he had enough to pray for.’

‘Why do you say that?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Isn’t it obvious? A dealer in trinkets, in false promises of pardon, in fake relics. What would you think of his chances?’

‘You hate men like him, don’t you?’ Coroner Richard said.

‘I hate the things they do. Like building up people’s hopes by lies. That is a cruel and evil thing to do.’

‘You were at the tavern last night,’ Simon said. ‘Did you return to kill him?’

‘Me?’ Father William looked at him.

The coroner grunted. ‘You know as well as I that, if you did, it would not be to your detriment. You can claim benefit of clergy, entirely safe in the knowledge that you would never face a rope. There is nothing to prevent you confessing.’

‘I think any confessions should be made to my confessor,’ Father William said.

‘He repelled you, didn’t he?’ Baldwin said. ‘That is why you happily shield the man who killed him.’

‘Do I?’

‘Where are the bones?’

‘Perhaps I do not know.’

‘Oh, you know, Father,’ Baldwin said. ‘You may hate men who deal in false pardons, but you’d be keen to look after the relics in case they were genuine.’

‘Of course I would – if I knew where they were.’

‘You do,’ Baldwin said. ‘And I think you know who killed the pardoner.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, it was a discussion we were having a little while ago, my friends and I. The good coroner said that you were the clear suspect in the matter, because you made your hatred of the dead man so plain. And that struck me. Because, of course, only you could do that safely. You have the benefit of clergy, so you are secure from serious punishment. No one will hang you.’

‘What of it?’

‘So you sought to divert us from the man who was guilty.’

‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘Who, though?’ Baldwin continued. ‘I can only assume that the man was the one with whom you were talking when we spoke to you. You sought to move our attention from him and on to yourself. And we were speaking with you and Ulric, weren’t we?’

‘He has nothing to do with this. He was an—’

‘What? An innocent? Even though he murdered a man? You have a curious attitude to one who would kill an innocent for no reason.’

‘He had reasons,’ the priest said with chilling certainty.

‘And they were good enough to justify letting him go free while we arrested and possibly executed another innocent man?’

‘Oh, what do you know of such matters? You have no idea what Ulric went through when he was in Wales. You know he lost his only son there? You prate on about innocence – what about his own boy?’

‘What of his boy? The man he killed isn’t Welsh. This was no revenge attack on a man who represented the fighters who killed his son. This was a mere pardoner minding his own business, man,’ the coroner rasped. He stepped forward, and Baldwin thought for a moment he was about to punch the priest.

‘Of course he wasn’t – but he had the bones, you fool!’

‘What do you mean?’ Baldwin asked, restraining the coroner with a hand.

‘The bones of King Arthur! The Welsh king who would rise and conquer England!’

They retired to a bench outside the tavern, and Hob brought jugs of cider to refresh them all as the priest reluctantly told them the full story.

‘He was in the tavern bragging about the blasted things. A handful of bones, he said, but worth a king’s realm, if they were to get into the wrong hands. Apparently he was there at Abbey Dore, when a piece of the abbey floor was taken up. There were many there, because the abbey had been given something to install there, and they wanted to give it a suitable location. No one thought much of it, so John said. But then the workmen brought up this box, apparently. Inside were bones, and it was nothing to him. He thought that they were just a set of human remains, nothing more.’

‘What did he do?’ Baldwin asked, although he knew the answer.

‘When it was dark, he went inside and stole a handful of them. It’s what pardoners do, as you know well enough. If there’s something they can get for nothing, they’ll take it. And so he did. And it caused his death.’

Father William shifted uncomfortably. ‘He told us all about the bones that night in the tavern. He hadn’t known anything about them, just grabbed what he could and made off, back this way. Somehow he heard that he should beat a retreat, because these bones are those of Arthur, and there were many in Wales who would seek to recover them and kill whoever might have desecrated them.’

‘And Ulric did their bidding for them?’ Baldwin said.

‘Sweet Jesu! Are you so stupid, man?’ William spat. ‘I am sorry, Sir Knight,’ he added quickly, seeing Baldwin’s expression change. ‘Forgive my words. But no, Ulric killed the man to rescue us from the bones! The pardoner was anxious about them, and even suggested that he should take them back to the grave.’

‘Where they would pose an everlasting threat?’

‘Exactly. If the bones are kept separate, how could this Welsh Arthur return to life and rescue Wales from the English, rightful king? No, the only sensible route was to rescue the bones.’

‘Ulric went in there, took the bones, and all to protect the country?’ the coroner rumbled doubtfully.

‘He sought to prevent the risk of another war,’ Father William said. ‘He has lost his own son. He didn’t want to see another family lose theirs.’

‘That is fine – but why cut off the man’s hand?’ Simon demanded.

‘Ulric is religious. How else would you treat the hand of a thief who had polluted the burial place of an important man?’

‘So he cut it off to burn it?’ Baldwin said. ‘Where is he now?’

‘I don’t know. He has fled the vill. You won’t find him.’

‘You underestimate the authority of a Keeper of the King’s Peace,’ Baldwin said. ‘What of Henry? We have heard that he was in the vill that night too. Hob thought he saw him.’

‘He was a sad man. He feared that his wife was a harlot. Perhaps he was here to see if Hob was entertaining her? I don’t know.’

It was only the middle of the following day when the murderer of Henry was brought back. His arm was broken, his face bloodied, but he confessed to his crimes before Baldwin and Sir Richard.

‘The church can afford to lose a little grain, some barley and wine. I wasn’t taking it on my own. Why shouldn’t I do it? I saw how to take it, and was bold enough to try.’

Baldwin said: ‘Your accomplice was a canon.’

‘Aye, the milksop brat Arthur. Pathetic churl, he is. Scared of his own shadow much of the time. But he was happy to take the money. He brought sacks of grain, barrels of wine and other goods straight to me, and I sold them on our account through my master’s business. We took the money in our purses.’