The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

‘Do you recall seeing blood on Daniel’s habit?’ she asked.

Iefan nodded. ‘And it was not his own either. But I turned a blind eye – if he was seized by the urge to knock a few raiders’ heads together, then good luck to him, I say.’

‘He joined in the fighting?’ Cole was startled. ‘But he told me he spent the whole time on his knees, praying. I remember thinking that it had been a waste of a strong pair of arms.’

‘Then he lied,’ said Iefan bluntly. ‘Not that I am accusing him of anything untoward, you understand. He was probably just embarrassed to admit there was a warrior beneath his habit.’

‘He did not linger long once we had arrived at Kyng’s home,’ mused Gwenllian. ‘He left with almost indecent haste.’

‘To minister to the dying,’ said Cole. ‘Not to excavate bones while you were otherwise engaged. He was a good man, and he was my friend. I refuse to believe anything bad about him.’

Gwenllian inclined her head. He was entitled to his opinion, as she was to hers. However, Cole was too trusting for his own good, because any number of people had seen the monk wandering around when he claimed to have been at his devotions. And if Daniel had lied about that, then what other untruths had he told? And why?

It was time to speak to John, the clerk who had discovered Daniel’s body. Cole sent a boy to wake him, unwilling to waste a single moment now the investigation was under way. John arrived yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked tired, as though he had spent a disturbed night, and Gwenllian wondered why – his duties at the castle were hardly onerous, so his fatigue was unlikely to be due to overwork.

‘I will finish the stores inventory today,’ he bleated in alarm when he saw Gwenllian. He was far more intimidated by the constable’s wife than the constable. ‘I have been busy of late.’

‘Doing what?’ asked Gwenllian evenly.

John became flustered. ‘Going through old documents – there is no point in keeping records of ancient transactions, as I am sure you will agree, sir.’ He gazed at Cole, hoping to elicit his support – the constable was well known for having scant patience with administration.

‘Really,’ said Gwenllian sweetly, before Cole could respond. ‘Perhaps later, you will show me what you have done, and we can admire the fruits of your labours together.’

John’s consternation intensified. ‘It is tedious stuff, My Lady,’ he babbled. ‘Normally I would delegate it to one of my underlings, but it seemed unfair to foist such a dull task on them.’

‘I see,’ said Gwenllian, not sure what to make of the tale. She decided to investigate, but not that morning. Daniel’s murder was a far more pressing matter. ‘But my husband did not summon you here to talk about your work. He has questions about what happened yesterday.’

‘You mean when I found Daniel?’ John gulped uneasily. ‘But I already told him about that.’

‘He would like you to tell him again. To iron out one or two inconsistencies.’

‘Inconsistencies?’ John was now seriously discomfited, and Gwenllian could see Cole frowning; clearly this had not happened when the clerk had been interviewed the previous day.

‘Well?’ she asked, when John did no more than stare in alarm.

‘I discovered Daniel just before dawn,’ John replied shakily. ‘He was lying face down under Merlin’s oak. When I saw the blood on his head, I guessed he had been unlawfully slain, so I ran to the priory to raise the alarm. Then you and Boleton arrived, sir, and I told you my tale.’

Gwenllian mulled the information over. ‘The wound was on the back of Daniel’s head, and he was lying on his front. That suggests he did not see his assailant coming – or he trusted the fellow enough to turn his back on him. He stumbled forward and died where he lay.’

‘Yes.’ John was nodding. ‘There was nothing to say he moved after he was hit.’

Of course, Gwenllian had already surmised how Daniel had fallen from the marks on his habit – the two muddy smears at knee height, where he had been knocked from his feet, and the dust on his chest where he had pitched to the ground. Then she frowned. Something was amiss. The answer clicked into her mind: the weather. She filed it away, to discuss with Cole when John was not there.

‘What do you think happened to Daniel?’ she asked of the clerk.

John swallowed. ‘That is not for me to say, My Lady. Sir Symon pointed out that his purse was not stolen, so it cannot have been robbery. Perhaps he was assaulted by someone who does not like foreigners – Daniel was Norman. Or it was a case of mistaken identity.’

Gwenllian raised her eyebrows. ‘You do not think his bulky figure in its monastic habit made him distinctive?’

‘Not if it was dark,’ John flashed back. ‘And there are several taverns near Merlin’s oak. Perhaps his killer was drunk – his judgement impaired.’

‘Why were you out at such an hour?’ demanded Gwenllian. ‘To walk there before anyone else means you must have risen very early – far earlier than you woke today. And it is common knowledge that you start work late.’

‘Yes, but I finish late too,’ John objected defensively. ‘I am still at my books long after everyone else has gone home.’

‘Even more reason to answer my question, then.’

John spread his hands in a shrug. ‘I could not sleep, so I went for a stroll to clear my mind. It is something I do not infrequently.’

Gwenllian nodded to the writing equipment the clerk had brought with him, having assumed, not unreasonably, that he had been summoned because his clerical skills were needed. He carried a sheaf of parchment, an inkwell, some pens and a portable desk.

‘You tote this wherever you go, do you not?’ she asked, taking the desk from him and turning it over in her hands. It was a heavy, well-made piece, built to last a lifetime.

The clerk stiffened, as if he had been accused of something. ‘Of course. I am a scribe. I cannot work without the tools of my trade. It is-’

‘Why were you listening to the discussion between my husband and Daniel two nights ago?’ interrupted Gwenllian, aiming to disconcert him. There was something about the diffident Englishman she had always found unappealing, and she had never really trusted him.

John regarded her in horror. ‘I was not-’

‘You were. I saw you,’ she said harshly. ‘Now answer my question.’

John’s cheeks burned. ‘They were talking about horses,’ he mumbled. ‘I am interested in horses, and could not help myself.’

Gwenllian asked one or two more questions, but it was clear the clerk had no more to add – or no more he was prepared to share, which, as she remarked to Symon when John had gone, was not necessarily the same thing.

‘Do you think he killed Daniel?’ asked Cole worriedly. ‘You certainly treated him as though he were a suspect.’

‘Only because he behaved like one.’ Gwenllian tapped her chin thoughtfully. ‘And I am unconvinced by his tale of early-morning walks. But despite his reluctance to cooperate, I still garnered a few interesting snippets from his answers.’

‘You did? The only thing I learned was that he likes horses – which surprises me, because he has never expressed an interest in them before. And he rides with all the grace of a sack of corn.’

She regarded him askance, amazed he should have believed the tale. ‘I think you will find that was a lie, cariad – he was listening for some other reason. Did you notice his portable writing desk, by the way? Its base is formed by two strips of wood that meet in the middle.’

Cole raised his eyebrows. ‘A heavy implement with a cross. Do you think it is the murder weapon?’