The Tainted Relic (45 page)

‘Someone tripped him,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘But I think his ending up pierced was an accident, too. It must be Barzak’s malediction. He did touch that damned relic, after all.’

‘You believe that?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘I thought you had dismissed it as superstition, and I was the one convinced of its power. Now,
you
claim that these horrible deaths were brought about by this wicked curse, and it is
me
telling
you
that there may be a human hand involved.’

Bartholomew shrugged sheepishly. ‘Two days ago, I would have insisted that the relic was irrelevant to all that has happened, but Witney’s death is unusual, and Andrew could have saved himself when he jumped into the water. And then there is Urban. All three touched the thing. Perhaps I was wrong to be dismissive of matters I did not–do not–understand.’

‘Kip Roughe touched it, too,’ Michael pointed out. ‘But he is still alive.’

‘He said he only touched it briefly,’ said Bartholomew.

‘I do not think the length of time matters to the heavenly hosts. You either die when you handle it, or you do not. If you believe in Barzak’s spell, then you must expect Kip to meet with a grisly end, too. We had better warn him.’

Bartholomew hesitated. ‘The mind has considerable power over the body. If you tell him he will die, it is possible he may will himself to do so. I think you should say nothing.’

Michael smiled. ‘You are not completely convinced about the curse, or you would not believe Kip has a chance of life. However, I would not mind another word with him, anyway. I am not sure that he and his brother were telling the truth when they said they did not know what happened to the relic.’

Tomas said nothing when Michael unlocked the door and indicated he was free. He stepped out of the cell and spent a few moments gazing up at the deep blue sky, as if he had not expected to see it again. He gave Bartholomew a shy smile.

‘Brother Michael says I owe my release to you–that you were the one who reassessed the evidence and found it lacking. Thank you.’

‘We are going to visit the Roughe brothers,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Bulmer told us they are inveterate liars and we have caught them in at least two untruths–about you trying to kill them, and about it being Big Thomas’s idea to sell the relic to an abbey. Thomas is not clever enough to invent such a plan–but they are.’

‘If they lie about one thing, they will lie about another,’ said Michael. ‘And someone placed that “evidence” among your possessions for me to find. They have access to all parts of the friary, and they had the opportunity–and the wits–to leave phials and diagrams to mislead a lowly proctor.’

‘You are not lowly, Brother,’ said Tomas charitably. ‘Cambridge is lucky to have you.’

‘Generally, you are right,’ agreed Michael immodestly. ‘But in this case, I have been wrong at every turn. Will you come to see the Roughes? The sight of you may encourage them to say something they might otherwise keep to themselves.’

Tomas gave a rather wolfish grin, obviously keen to avenge himself on two men who might have seen him hanged. He led the way to the Dominican priory, where the door was opened by a sullen Big Thomas, back at his duties on the gate. Bartholomew paused.

‘Witney and Seton asked you about St Bernard’s roof,’ he said.

Big Thomas nodded. ‘Witney said he was going to pay for it to be replaced, but I suggested he give his money to Prior Morden for the one here instead. I told him that I expect to see a tragedy every time a brother bends to poke the hearth, what with loose stones tumbling down our chimneys from want of repair.’

‘You said that?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking that inspiration could come from the least likely of sources.

Big Thomas nodded a second time. ‘And then, in a strange coincidence, Witney himself died exactly that way just days later! He had drawn a plan of Bernard’s roof, which he asked me to look over–he valued my opinion as a thatcher, you see. It was terrible, and he got angry with me when I told him how wrong it was.’

‘In the end, I suggested you take it home and redraw it,’ said Tomas, frowning as he recalled the incident. ‘He was becoming overly aggressive, and I did not want a squabble to end in a fight–and you to be blamed for starting it.’

‘I spent ages making it right, but he never did see it,’ said Big Thomas in disgust, as though Witney had died specifically to inconvenience him. ‘I was complaining about the waste to Kip, and he kindly gave me a penny for it. He said such a picture might come in useful, although he did not say for what.’

Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘I doubt he was motivated by kindness. Do you know that he is telling everyone that it was your idea to sell the relic to an abbey?’

Thomas was affronted. ‘It was not! Besides, I have come to think my Order is right about this Holy Blood debate. These blood-soaked relics should be destroyed–not because they are unworthy of veneration, but because some of them are evil, and capable of causing great harm.’

‘Where are John and Kip?’ asked Michael, thinking about more harm that might be waiting to happen.

‘In the kitchens.’ Thomas grimaced. ‘And you can tell them that I do not take kindly to lies spread about me. It was
their
idea to sell that relic, and I am glad I had nothing to do with their nasty plans.’

The Dominicans’ kitchen was a large room in a separate block, to reduce the risk of fire. It was dominated by a massive hearth, over which hung an extensive rack of knives and ladles. The rack was worked by a pulley, which could be raised or lowered, depending on whether the utensils were needed at hand or stowed out of the way. John was chopping onions on the table, while Kip was stirring something in a pot over the fire, tasting it every few moments. It was obvious he was fishing out the best bits as he did so.

‘You have some explaining to do,’ said Michael, as he entered, Bartholomew and Tomas at his heels. ‘You placed pots of strong medicine and a drawing among Tomas’s possessions for me–or perhaps Morden–to find, but you made two mistakes. First, the phials were the wrong kind. And second, Big Thomas has just confided that he gave Witney’s diagram to
you
.’

‘Tomas took it from us,’ replied Kip coolly, eyeing the friar with dislike. ‘We warned you about him, but he has already convinced you to let him out of gaol.’

‘Why do you want him hanged for murder?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘What is it about him that you do not like?’

‘He is a liar,’ said Kip, angry when he saw that his stories were not believed. ‘He is
not
here to study angels, but to spy on his brethren and their faithful servants. Then he will tell the Master-General that Prior Morden is prepared to revere Holy Blood, and this friary will be suppressed. We have worked here for ten years now. Where will we find other employment if he succeeds?’

‘So, you tried to kill Tomas to ensure that would not happen–first with a crossbow and then with a horse,’ surmised Bartholomew. ‘The horse missed Tomas, but it almost broke Bulmer’s jaw.’

The brothers exchanged an uncertain glance as they saw the net closing around them. ‘All right,’ said John. ‘We admit we tried to dispatch a man who is evil, but we were protecting the friars whom we have served faithfully for a decade. I shook the ladder the other day, too, although you were the one who almost fell. And we left the phials and the picture for Brother Michael to find, but only because we wanted to see justice done.’

‘Hanging an innocent man is not justice,’ said Michael sharply.

‘You are still lying,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You threw a stone at me on the High Street–it injured Deynman, but it was aimed at me–because Michael and I were investigating matters that were coming too close to your activities for comfort. I imagine you would have tried to harm Michael, too, in time.’

‘For the good of our Dominican employers…’ said John in a bleat.

Michael was unmoved. ‘You are killers, thieves and liars, so do not pretend your motives are honourable.’

‘Killers?’ squawked John, appalled. ‘We are not killers!’

‘You murdered Urban,’ said Michael. ‘You knew he had reclaimed the relic from Big Thomas, because Big Thomas told you so. You were angry to be deprived of a potential fortune, and followed him to the churchyard. You hurled him on to that spike…’

‘It was an accident,’ cried John. ‘He would not listen to what I had to say, so I chased him and Kip stuck out his foot…’

‘Shut up!’ hissed Kip. ‘Tell them nothing. They have no proof.’

‘Urban said it was not our fault,’ shouted John, eyes wild in his white face. ‘As he lay there, with that point through his middle, he said it was not us who killed him. We should have stayed, but we were afraid, and we ran away. We knew Tomas would help him when he came out…’

‘Enough!’ roared Kip furiously. ‘We have done nothing wrong, except tell one or two untruths for the benefit of the priory. Do not say anything else.’

But his brother was unstoppable. ‘It was the relic. The relic killed Urban, because he touched it.’

‘Rot,’ said Kip firmly. ‘I touched it, and I am perfectly healthy.’

‘Where is it?’ demanded Michael.

Then everything happened quickly. Kip made a quick, darting lunge, and all of a sudden he had snatched two knives from the rack above his head. Bartholomew ducked behind a table, but Tomas and Michael were slow to react, and only gazed in horror as Kip prepared to throw the first one.

‘No, Kip!’ cried John, horrified. ‘Do not make matters worse.’

‘I can kill two men with these,’ said Kip, calmly assessing his situation. ‘First, I will spear the monk for not believing us over Tomas, and then I will kill Tomas himself. Bartholomew is nothing–it does not matter if he lives or dies.’

He drew back his arm. Tomas shot towards the wall and Michael dived to the floor, which meant Kip was obliged to clamber on to the table in order to gain a clear view of his first victim. He raised his arm to take aim, but there was a tremendous groan as first one half of the iron rack, and then the other, descended towards the servant’s unprotected head. Bartholomew saw Kip’s mouth open in an expression of horror before he was lost among crashing utensils and the heavy thump of the rack itself. He leapt forward to haul it away, but the load had fallen in such a way as to break Kip’s back.

‘He cut the rope that held the rack with his own knife,’ explained Tomas, holding the severed twine for Michael to inspect. ‘As he lifted his hand to hurl the weapon, his blade scored through the rope. The cook keeps them very sharp.’

‘Barzak’s curse!’ cried John in horror. ‘Kip touched the relic so was doomed, just as Urban and Andrew said.’

‘I will not die,’ muttered Kip, although it was obvious to everyone that he had but moments to live.

‘Make your confession,’ Tomas urged. ‘Before it is too late.’

‘And tell me the location of the relic,’ added Michael. ‘I do not want anyone else to die because they inadvertently handle the thing.’

Kip snarled a refusal, but John scrabbled at his brother’s neck to reveal a purple pouch. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Take it.’

Michael regarded it warily, and made no attempt to oblige, while Bartholomew certainly had no intention of doing so and Tomas was more concerned with the dying man’s soul. Kip ignored the friar’s exhortations to confess his sins, and his groping fingers found the purse and began to open it, each movement slow and laboured.

‘Is that it?’ asked Michael, watching cautiously. ‘It is not a decoy? You have not hidden the real one elsewhere?’

‘Why not look?’ suggested Kip tauntingly, waving a small splinter in the monk’s face. He smiled when the monk leapt backward. ‘To be certain.’

They were his final words. He closed his eyes and, after a few moments, his breathing slowed then stopped, although the splinter remained firmly clutched in his fingers. Tomas began to intone a final absolution. At the sound of the Dominican’s voice, Kip’s eyes flew open and he hurled the relic from him. It hit the startled friar square in the middle of his chest. His prayers faltered and Kip went limp for the last time.

‘Lord!’ whispered Michael in horror. ‘Tomas has touched it.’

‘I do not think we have ever made so many mistakes and erroneous assumptions with a case before,’ said Michael the following day, as he sat with Bartholomew in the little orchard at the back of their college. ‘We thought we had three murders, but there were only three accidents–four, if we count Kip. First, there was Witney, a fanatical hater of Holy Blood relics, who would stop at nothing to destroy one. He died when the trap he had set for Andrew sprung early, and stones dropped down the chimney to stun him and then smother him with soot.’

‘Witney’s death may have been accidental, but Andrew’s and Urban’s had a human component. John insists Kip did not mean to kill Urban when he tripped him, and I think he is telling the truth, but Kip was responsible for the death nonetheless. Meanwhile, Andrew’s demise was a clear case of self-murder.’

‘He deliberately walked on to the unstable pier, and he had dosed himself with a sedative to ensure he would not swim. There is also the way Urban says he fell–with his legs rigid and straight, as though he intended to plunge as deep as possible. He probably thought he would never rise.’

‘But there is a drought, and the river is low,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Fortunately for him, the syrup did its work, and he simply slipped into unconsciousness and drowned. I think he staged his suicide to be perceived as an accident, because he wanted to make a point to Tomas. He knew he would not live long anyway, and decided to use his death to ensure Tomas took Barzak’s curse seriously.’

‘And fulfil his last wishes. All friars are trained to obey their masters, and Tomas would be no different, despite their rift. I wonder why he elected to use Tomas, rather than Urban. Was it because he was fond of Urban, and hoped to spare him an early death?’

‘I can think of no other reason,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Urban had hesitated when he was offered the relic earlier, and Andrew saw that, for all his protestations of loyalty, Urban was not ready to die. But Andrew should not have killed himself before making sure that the relic was in Tomas’s hands, and that Tomas agreed to do what he asked. All manner of things could have gone wrong–did go wrong.’