The Medieval Murderers (authors actually: Michael Jecks, Susanna Gregory, Bernard Knight, Ian Morson and Phillip Gooden), after pooling their talents on The Tainted Relic, have done so again with The Sword of Shame. As in Relic, each author contributes their own murder mystery, written within the time period of their choice and with their own characters, with the only catch being that each story revolves around the same object.
In this case, the object is a well-made sword, forged during the time of the Norman invasion of England in 1066. Michael Jecks provides a lively prologue that describes the making of the sword and of the accidental fratricide caused by it that imbues the weapon with a curse that influences the following acts.
Bernard Knight begins with Act One — in the year 1195, with his protagonist, coroner Sir John de Wolfe. After one of his loyal men, Gwyn, loses his own weapon in a fire, John purchases him a new one, a weapon that turns out to be the Sword of Shame. No sooner is this done, than Gwyn finds himself framed for the murder of his landlord, and Sir John and his friends must race to find the real culprit and save Gwyn from the death penalty. In this case, the crime solving takes a backseat to politics, as John must contend with corrupt and traitorous officials willing to bend the law to spite the loyal coroner and his followers.
Act Two, written by Ian Morson, takes place in Venice, 1262. Unscrupulous businessman Nicolo Zuliani receives the Sword from a lover who wishes to fund his somewhat less than honest ventures, and ends up entrapped in a conspiracy when he drunkenly bets the Sword against his ability to rig the Venetian election. Morson’s tale is convoluted, but his knack for elucidating thirteenth-century detail keeps the story on track.
Act Three opens at the beginning of the fourteenth century, back in England. Here, Michael Jecks’ keeper of the peace Sir Baldwin, and his Bailiff Puttock, are commissioned to solve the murder of a man accused of stealing the Sword from a guilt-ridden knight convinced the weapon was involved in the assassination of a saint. The heady stew of secrets, scandal, and violence our protagonists explore is a pleasure to unravel.
Act Four follows only a generation later, as Susanna Gregory’s Matthew Bartholomew and Brother Michael arrive at the estate of Sir Philip (the new owner of the Sword — and possibly the murderer of the previous owner) in order to enforce the payment of a debt. Instead they find themselves involved in a delightfully soapy state of affairs involving the lord’s murder, his unfaithful wife, a lusty nun, a blackmailing crone, and Philip’s three suspicious friends. Love triangles, quadrangles, and polygons erupt everywhere as Bartholomew and Michael are forced to referee the squabbling suspects, all of which leads up to a frothy, enjoyable climax, and the conclusion of my favourite act of the bunch.
Act Five shoots forward into 1604, as Philip Gooden’s Nicholas Revill, a professional actor, is on his way to promote his travelling show but is given the wrong directions. He arrives at a dilapidated estate where a flock of cousins has congregated to wait for the owner to die and bequeath his wealth. A tricky old gent, the owner’s teased his family with threats of impending death before, but someone gets impatient, and the old man’s corpse is discovered in the snow with his family’s Sword beside him, and Nicholas is fingered as the culprit. While this story has an interesting set-up, it’s hampered by the awkward plot device of having Revill aided in his investigations by a preternaturally intelligent ape.
After these five mysteries, Ian Morson goes on to write a short epilogue to demonstrate how the Sword’s uncanny connection with murder does not simply vanish with the approach of modern times. With each act authored by a different individual, The Sword of Shame works more as an anthology of short stories that revolve around a similar theme (i.e., murders involved with an ancient sword) than as a full novel. Nevertheless, the Medieval Murderers know their stuff, never let the pacing drag between acts, and never burden the narratives with overt exposition on their own beloved characters and settings, letting the details steep into the story rather then cluttering it with infodumps. The Sword of Shame works as a fun, light read, and one can only hope it won’t be long before the Medieval Murders decide to kill again.
(Simon & Schuster, 2006){
