Free The Tainted Relic by Michael Jecks, The Medieval Murderers Page A

significance in it.
    ‘Let’s have a look at the rest of him, then.’
    They went through their familiar routine of pulling up the rest of the clothing and examining the chest, belly and limbs, but apart from the massive throat wound there was nothing to find.
    ‘His clothing is poor, even for a priest,’ grunted Gwyn. ‘The shirt is little better than a rag and his shoes are worn through.’
    ‘The cassock is a disgrace, too!’ complained Thomas. ‘I wonder if he really is a priest?’
    The coroner looked up at Edwin. ‘How many were sleeping here last night?’
    ‘We only had three besides him,’ quavered the old man. ‘Apart from that drunken sot in the corner.’
    De Wolfe loped across the loft and shook the man awake, but could get no sense out of him, as he was still totally befuddled.
    ‘Who were the other three?’ he demanded, frustrated at the lack of witnesses. Edwin shrugged and Nesta answered from where she stood on the ladder, halfway into the loft.
    ‘They were travellers, who went on their way soon after dawn. They took pallets in the first row just here, so can’t have noticed this man lying dead over there in the darkness.’
    ‘Somebody must have come up here to kill him, so maybe it was them,’ reasoned Gwyn.
    Nesta shrugged her shapely shoulders. ‘We were even busier than usual late last night. People come and go all the time. I can’t watch every move they make.’
    ‘He doesn’t look as if he had anything worth being robbed for,’ objected Gwyn, prodding the corpse with his foot.
    ‘His scrip looks empty, but you’d better make sure,’ ordered de Wolfe, indicating the frayed leather purse on the man’s belt.
    Gwyn pulled it off and squeezed it, feeling nothing inside. He opened the flap and upended it over his palm. ‘That’s odd!’ he boomed. ‘Let’s have that light a bit nearer, Edwin.’
    As they stooped over the lantern, they could see small flecks glistening in its light.
    ‘Shreds of gold leaf, just like we found on that fellow robbed at Clyst St Mary! Bloody strange, that!’ observed Gwyn.
    De Wolfe rubbed at his stubble thoughtfully, but could make no sense of the coincidence. He decided to leave his inquest until the afternoon, giving Gwyn time to round up as many of the previous night’s patrons as he could find, to form a jury. Meanwhile, they adjourned down to the taproom for some ale and food, while they discussed the matter. As soon as Nesta’s maids had scurried in with bread, cold meat and cheese, and Edwin had brought brimming pots of the best brew, they sat around a table and tried to make sense of this violent death. Thomas seemed very pensive as he sat picking at his breakfast.
    ‘I’ve been thinking about what the other dead man said before he passed away,’ he offered timidly.
    Though Gwyn was playfully scornful of the little clerk, John de Wolfe had learned to respect the ex-priest’s learning and intelligence.
    ‘What’s going through that devious mind of yours, Thomas?’ he asked encouragingly.
    ‘This gold leaf–that must surely link them, it’s not a common thing to find in poor men’s pouches. And gold leaf is usually applied to valuable or sacred objects.’
    ‘How’s that connected with whatever that robbed fellow said in Clyst?’ asked the sharp-witted Nesta.
    ‘It comes back to me now–the old man in Clyst said the victim had uttered the words “Barzak” and “Glastonbury”.’
    ‘If he was walking northward through that village, he may well have been making for Glastonbury, so what’s the mystery?’ grunted Gwyn.
    ‘It’s the oldest abbey in England–Joseph of Arimathaea and perhaps even the Lord Jesus himself may have visited there,’ said Thomas, crossing himself devoutly. ‘But it’s the other word he uttered that intrigues me–Barzak!’
    ‘What the hell’s a barzak?’ growled the big Cornishman, determined to deflate his little friend.
    ‘Not what, but who?’ retorted Thomas. ‘I recollect the