Read Online The Tainted Relic by Michael Jecks, The Medieval Murderers - Free Book Online

years ago, but now had to ask directions from a runny-nosed urchin.
    ‘Where’s St Nicholas Priory, lad?’
    The boy decided that this cleric was too tough looking to risk some cheeky reply and pointed out the way. ‘Not far down there, Father. A rough part of town, that is.’
    Gervase entered some narrow lanes and found himself in a mean part of the city known as Bretayne, filled with densely packed houses, huts and shacks, the filthy alleys running with sewage, in which urchins, goats, dogs and rats seemed to survive in squalid harmony. After a few turns and twists, he saw a small stone building, enclosed by a wall that marked off a vegetable plot and a few fruit trees.
    There was no porter on the gate and he went along a stony path that led around to the entrance. Near by, a barefoot monk was hoeing weeds between rows of onions, a dark Benedictine habit hoisted up between his bare thighs and tucked into his belt. He straightened up and stared curiously at the visitor, who held up his hand in a blessing and dredged some appropriate Latin greeting from his memory.
    ‘I wish to speak with the prior,’ he said, reverting to common English.
    ‘Ring the bell at the door, Brother,’ replied the gardener, pointing at an archway.
    He did so. A young novitiate appeared and, after enquiring about his business, led him along a short, gloomy passage and knocked at the door of the prior’s parlour.
    Inside, Gervase found the head of the establishment seated behind a small table, some parchments before him and another pale young brother seated at his side, wielding a quill pen. Prior Vincent was a small man with an almost spherical head. He had no tonsure, for he was completely bald, and his face was moon shaped to match. Given his small eyes and prim, pursed mouth, Gervase felt that he was not the ideal customer for a sacred relic, but he had little choice in the matter.
    With the novitiate lurking behind him, the other two monks stared enquiringly at this rather shabby priest who stood before them.
    ‘What can we do for you, Brother? Are you seeking bed and board on your travels?’ asked the prior, in a high, quavering voice.
    The renegade priest falsely explained that he was from a parish in North Somerset, on his way home from a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela and recently landed from a ship at Plymouth. Gervase followed his habit of sticking as close to the truth as possible, as he had once been a pilgrim to Santiago many years before and could fabricate a convincing story about it if challenged. He chose Somerset for his parish as this was in a different diocese from Exeter and it would be less likely that anyone here would be familiar with any of the incumbents from that area.
    ‘I would be grateful for a little food and drink, but I have no wish to impose upon you for a night’s lodging,’ he said piously.
    The prior nodded, relieved that they were spared the trouble and expense of putting up an unexpected guest. ‘Young Francis here will see that you get something in the kitchen, before you go on your way.’
    He said this with an air of finality and picked up a parchment roll again, but Gervase had not finished. ‘There is one thing more which may interest you, Prior. I will admit that after six months’ journeying, I am destitute, my last coins being spent on the passage from St-Malo to Plymouth.’
    The prior suppressed a groan, thinking that here was another impoverished priest looking for a handout, but his suspicions were dispelled by Gervase’s next words.
    ‘I came across a remarkable item on my travels which I felt might interest some religious house in England. I intended taking it to Wells or perhaps Winchester, but as I find myself in Exeter with virtually no funds to continue my journey, I thought to offer it here first.’
    Prior Vincent was intrigued, but he was not altogether satisfied with this scruffy clerk who had wandered in from the street.
    ‘Why, then, did you not go first to the