The Deadliest Sin (53 page)

Eustace had cursed under his breath. His plan had been to search the chapel, just in case one of the Black Crows had managed to hide the cross in there, but he hadn’t bargained on them
leaving a guard on the door. Still, they wouldn’t leave a guard there for ever.

The question now was what would his three brothers say when questioned? Even though they were all in holy orders, there was no doubt in Eustace’s mind they would lie. They’d have no
qualms of conscience over that. He’d always been aware that he was the only member of the group who took his vows as a priest seriously. But what form would those lies take? Would they name
him, try to put all the blame on him? Would they claim he’d murdered Giles and they’d simply stumbled across the body? If he could only find out which of them had the cross and lead the
authorities to it, then it would exonerate him and prove their guilt. But where was it?

He glanced up at the casement of Robert’s lodgings, and then looked again. He was certain he’d seen the flash of movement, as if someone had crossed in front of the window. He
watched intently. There it was again. There was definitely someone up there, moving around. Had Robert been released already? Well, that wouldn’t surprise him, given his uncle’s
influence. Doubtless, Father William intended to spirit his nephew away, send him to a distant town until the scandal blew over, leaving Oswin and John, and Eustace, too, if he wasn’t
careful, to carry all the blame and punishment. Robert was probably packing for his journey even as Eustace watched.

Rage boiled up in him. He strode round the side of the building and, keeping to the side of the stairs where there was less risk of the wood creaking, he crept up towards the door. He was
determined Robert wasn’t going anywhere until he’d discovered the story Robert had sold to his uncle and exactly what he’d revealed about the members of the Black Crows, even if
he had to beat it out of him.

The door was not quite closed. Through the narrow gap, Eustace glimpsed the lid of a chest being opened, but the person behind it was hidden from view. He pushed the door open and, as he stepped
through, caught it and pressed it closed with his back. There was a stifled cry of surprise and someone rose up from behind the open chest, but it was not Robert.

A woman stared back at him, her expression as startled as Eustace knew his own must be. His gaze dropped to her hand. She was holding a cross –
the
cross, he realised, as a surge of
shock and excitement flooded through him. It was exactly as Robert had described, silver, decorated with five blood-red garnets and in the centre the little dome of rock crystal, which held the
precious hairs.

‘Where did you get that?’ Eustace demanded.

A look of panic flooded the woman’s face. ‘I found it here . . . Father.’

‘In the chest. You were searching the chest for things to steal?’

‘I . . . I wasn’t stealing, Father. I swear on the Blessed Virgin, I wasn’t. It was on the table. I . . . was putting it away safely for Father Robert. Anyone might have come
and took it, seeing as he always leaves the key . . .’

‘How do you know where . . .?’ Eustace began. ‘Ah, of course, he’s brought you here before. You’re one of his whores, aren’t you?’

‘I’m no whore!’ The woman’s jaw clenched and her expression turned in the instant from fear to hard, cold rage. ‘I come to clean for him, wash his clothes.
That’s how I know.’

Eustace took a step towards her. ‘But you didn’t find that cross in here, I know that much. It was not in this chamber yesterday. And, if Robert had brought it here, he most
certainly wouldn’t have left it lying around for anyone to find.’ He took another step towards her, his voice dropping to a low and menacing whisper. ‘So, I’ll ask you
again, how exactly did you come by it? Answer me, woman, otherwise all I have to do is call out and a dozen of the watch will come running. You are holding all the evidence any justice could need
to convict you of theft. They will hang you and then you will find yourself in the eternal darkness of Hell, forever being spun and hurled in a terrible, howling wind, which is the fate of all
whores. So, you will tell me truthfully where you got that cross.’

Eustace expected the woman to look terrified, to plead, beg, fall on her knees, but he was not prepared for the fire of pure hatred that flashed in her eyes.

Eustace tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids seemed to have been turned to stone. His head felt as if it was split into two and a wave of nausea engulfed him. He wanted to
roll over and vomit, but he couldn’t move, he couldn’t even heave. He was dimly aware of sounds around him, voices, footsteps, cries and moans, but they seemed to be a long way off,
muffled and distorted as if they were drifting towards him through a dense fog.

‘. . . it seems he staggered as far as the stairs, then fell from the top.’

‘But you said he was already injured before he fell?’ ‘It appears that way. Some passers-by heard a cry and it made them glance up. They all reported seeing him standing at the
top of the stairs holding onto the doorframe, the side of his face all bloodied. A few ran across to try to help, but it was too late. Before they could reach him, he either fainted or lost his
balance, and came crashing down onto the stones below. He might have recovered from the head wound, but not the fall . . . He’ll not see another dawn in this world, Father William. Mind you,
that might be a mercy, for his back’s broken. He’d have been a cripple had he lived.’

‘Many cripples live worthy lives,’ Father William said sharply. ‘Confined to their beds they are able to devote their lives to praying for others, and what life could be better
spent than that?’

‘If you say so, Father.’ The other voice sounded less than convinced. ‘Of course, the poor ones don’t have the luxury of a bed, they spend their time lying on the streets
begging for alms. But I dare say you’ll tell me that’s a blessing too, for if it weren’t for them, the rich would have no one to give their charity to. But that aside, we’ve
done all we can for Father Eustace. You’d best shrive him before it’s too late.’

Up to that moment, Eustace’s brain had been swamped by the pain of his body and by the terrible sensation of not being able to move. He heard that spirits could be trapped inside the trunk
of a tree, and he felt as if some witch had banished him to a tree, encased every inch of him in wood. But now another sensation flooded over him: cold, black horror. He was going to die. He was
going to enter that purgatory in which souls are burned and tortured until they are cleansed. He knew as a Christian soul he should be glad of it, rejoice that he was one step closer to heaven. But
Eustace felt no such joy. He was terrified.

The infirmarer did not need the art of divination to predict when his patients would pass from this life. He had cared for enough men to read the signs in a man’s body
that warn that death is fast approaching. Besides, he’d learned that a strong draught of poppy juice in spiced wine administered just before the last rites, then jerking the feather pillow
out from beneath the patient’s head after he’d been shrived, was usually enough to help him pass swiftly and painlessly into the next world, for it is well know that a man cannot die on
feathers. The infirmarer was a compassionate soul and he knew how to bring a merciful end to a man’s suffering in this life, though sadly not in the next.

Father William had performed the last rites with devotion and diligence, and Father Eustace had seemed sensible of what was happening. Without even waiting for the questions his confessor was
obliged to put to him, Eustace had tried desperately to make a full confession, indeed the words had vomited out of him in a torrent. The only trouble was, very few made any sense.

There was no doubt in Father William’s mind that Deacon Eustace had wanted to unburden himself of some great matter that clearly weighed heavily upon him. His sincerity was evident in his
tone, his urgency, his grip. But though he clearly thought he was making himself understood, he was not. The utterances were a random jumble of words and phrases, in English and Latin, some phrases
learned by rote from psalters as a child, others vile and obscene. Nonetheless, Father William had absolved him, trusting that God could judge the sincerity of all of His creatures’ thoughts,
even if man could not understand their speech. And Eustace had sunk back in the bed, seeming at peace and content. The terror had gone from his eyes.

As soon as he had left Eustace’s bedside, Father William had summoned the precentor and the treasurer to the dean’s private chamber, which he was now occupying. The three of them sat
around the fire, goblets of their favourite spiced wine, hippocras, in their hands, and platters of goat chops, spit-roasted chicken and pears in wine on the small tables between them to aid their
deliberations. No man, not even a man in holy orders, can think well on an empty stomach.

But for once, the precentor’s gaze did not stray to the food. He was staring intently, with his good eye, at the silver cross that stood before them on the table. The reflections of the
flames from the hearth flickered deep inside the hearts of the polished garnets, as if five tiny fires were burning on the cross.

‘But did he say if he knew how the cross came to be in Robert’s chamber, or even what he was doing in your nephew’s room, Father William? The way gossip spreads in Lincoln, the
whole city knows that Robert lies in the carcer, so Eustace can hardly have expected to find him at home; quite the opposite in fact.’

‘I believe we all know why the cross was in Robert’s chamber,’ Thomas said. ‘He stole it. As I told you, Father William, I caught your nephew hanging around the chests on
several occasions the other morning. I suspected he’d taken something or was planning to. Not that I blame you, Father William. It’s tainted blood from the mother, that’s what
always turns a perfectly respectable family line to the bad. But I’m afraid I did warn you, and if you’d listened to me and had his chambers searched there and then, we might have put a
stop to it, before this business of the corpses.’

‘You think the deaths are linked to the theft of the cross?’ Father Paul said, apparently unaware that the subdean had turned as red as the garnets and was spluttering furiously.

‘Have to be!’ Thomas said airily.

‘Then,’ Father William said, his voice crackling with ice, ‘since you are so confident of the fact, perhaps you might care to enlighten us as to exactly how?’

Thomas coughed. ‘I . . . what I meant was, it’s surely too much of a coincidence that Robert should be involved in two entirely separate crimes within days of each other.
Didn’t Eustace shed any light on the matter?’

‘We have not established that my nephew was involved in one crime, never mind two!’ Father William snapped. ‘And as I explained, poor Eustace was making little sense. Several
times he said something about a woman. But that could have been as much nonsense as the other things he was muttering.’

‘Eustace was the last man in Lincoln to have any dealings with a woman. He despised them all,’ Father Paul said, finally giving in to temptation and ripping a leg off the roasted
chicken. Its skin glistened red-gold in the firelight from the honey and spices with which it had been basted. ‘In fact,’ he said, wagging it at them, ‘there were rumours his
tastes ran to . . . But I suppose one shouldn’t speak ill of the newly dead.’

He glanced uneasily into the shadows in the corner of the room, as if Eustace’s spirit might be lurking there.

Thomas, frowning, suddenly leaned forward and picked up the cross, holding it close to one of the candles. ‘Look at this.’ He pointed to one of the arms of the cross. ‘See the
dark stain in the lines of the engraving? I’d say that was dried blood, wouldn’t you? This could well be what made the hole in Eustace’s head.’

‘You think he fell on it?’ Father William asked.

‘I don’t think that would have been enough to cause the injury. It wasn’t fixed to anything so it would have been knocked over if he fell against it. He might have sustained a
bruise or gash, nothing more. The infirmarer is sure he was hit with something and the blow was a hard one. This would make a useful weapon,’ he added, brandishing the cross to
demonstrate.

He tipped the cross this way and that, angling different parts towards the candlelight, then his fingers pounced on something else. Carefully, he unwound several strands of long, reddish-brown
hair, which had been caught under the setting that held one of the garnets in place.

‘A woman’s hair. Eustace might have had good reason to despise women if one of them struck him with this. The trouble is, that doesn’t help us much. There’s no shortage
of women in Lincoln with hair of a similar shade. Why, even that corpse had hair this colour—’ He broke off, frowning.

‘Then it must have come from the corpse,’ Father Paul said. ‘Didn’t you tell us hair from the decayed body was found on Robert’s cloak? He doubtless wrapped the
cross in his cloak to carry it away and that how it got onto the cross.’

Thomas shook his head. ‘If he wrapped the cross in the cloak, it would have been before he used it to cover the corpse, not afterwards. Besides, the noticeable thing about that corpse was
that the hair was short; it’d been cropped. This is much longer, and see the way the ends taper? It’s never been trimmed. But I’ll grant you one thing, it’s remarkably
similar in colour to that of the corpse. Another coincidence?’

Oswin scraped up the damp straw and heaped it over his legs to try to get warm. But the icy rain was driving in through the grating faster than it could drain away down the
shallow gulley and out through the tiny hole in the wall. Puddles were spreading ever wider across the flagstones. Oswin wondered, miserably, if anyone had ever drowned down here. Shivering, he
clamped his hands under his armpits in a vain attempt to warm his numb fingers. He rolled on his side, trying to ease the pains in his belly. Drinking water instead of wine or ale had given him
such a severe dose of the flux that on some occasions he could barely reach the piss-pail before his bowels exploded.