The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

Trying to look on the bright side, telling herself that people would be less inclined to lie when two warriors with sharp swords were at her back, she knocked on the door of the first house.

It was owned by a cobbler, who was visibly alarmed by a visit from the constable and his henchman, and would certainly have been forthcoming had he had information to share. Unfortunately he had none, other than that Daniel had died on the eve of the Feast of St Peter. It was an important festival – a patronal one – and there had been a vigil in St Peter’s Church. The cobbler had remained all night, devoutly on his knees, and so had many other Priory Street folk.

‘But not Kyng and the Spilmons,’ mused Gwenllian as they left. ‘We will talk to them next.’

‘Hywel was not there either,’ said Boleton challengingly. ‘Or are we overlooking kin?’

‘We are not,’ replied Gwenllian frostily. ‘We shall speak to anyone who was home on the night of the crime.’

‘Then let us start with Hywel,’ suggested Boleton. ‘He has a military past, and he was all but unhinged by the death of his father. It would not surprise me to learn he killed a monk.’

‘He has a point, Gwen,’ said Cole in a low voice, when Boleton stopped to exchange greetings with one of the town’s prostitutes – the most expensive one, Gwenllian noticed; his recent inheritance was allowing him to enjoy all manner of costly treats. ‘Hywel is a ruffian.’

‘He is,’ agreed Gwenllian with a sigh. ‘But I had better speak to him alone. He is unlikely to be very forthcoming if you are there – you know he does not like you. So stay here and-’

‘No,’ said Cole immediately.

Gwenllian touched his arm. ‘He is family, Symon. He would never harm me.’

It was rare that Gwenllian lost a battle of wills with her husband, but Cole’s distrust of Hywel ran deep, so it was three people who knocked on her nephew’s door. Gwenllian noticed how the house, like its occupant, had turned shabby since Meurig had died.

‘What do you want?’ demanded Hywel. He seemed less drunk than he had been shortly before, as if his aunt’s hard words had sobered him. They had done nothing to improve his temper, though. ‘If it is ale you’re after digging that hole, you can go to hell. Norman curs do not deserve my piss.’

He spoke Welsh, sufficiently rapidly that Cole could not follow, although it was obvious from his hate-filled expression that he had not said anything polite. Boleton inspected his fingernails, feigning boredom, although his eyes were alert, and his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

‘We only want to talk,’ replied Gwenllian quietly in Norman French. ‘I need to know if you heard or saw anything that might help us catch Daniel’s killer.’

Hywel continued to scowl. ‘I was in the tavern that night.’ He spoke Norman French in a way that said he did so unwillingly. ‘I came home when it was dark, and heard and saw nothing.’

‘But Daniel left the castle after dark,’ said Cole hopefully. ‘Are you sure you-’

‘Yes, I am sure,’ snarled Hywel. ‘Of course, Daniel would not be dead if you had escorted him home. You know there has been trouble with thieves in the town, and you should not have let him wander around alone. His death is your fault – like so many others.’

Cole flinched, and Gwenllian did not like the flash of spiteful triumph in her nephew’s eyes when he saw the barb had gone home. She put out a restraining hand when Boleton took an angry step forward.

‘What trouble with thieves?’ she asked.

‘The spate of petty larceny,’ explained Boleton. His voice was tight, suggesting his temper was only just under control. ‘Cole believes outlaws from the forest are responsible.’

‘It is not petty larceny,’ argued Cole. ‘Spilmon lost a box of coins, while the priory was relieved of valuable altar dressings. The culprits know exactly which places to target, and when. It is uncanny.’

Gwenllian looked from one to the other. ‘Then surely it is possible that Daniel was attacked by these felons? Perhaps he saw them hiding their ill-gotten gains under the tree, and they killed him to ensure he could never identify them.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Boleton. ‘Personally I believe the culprit to be a local man – I am sure you are wrong about the thefts being the work of outsiders, brother. You and I have spent days scouring the forest, but we have found no trace of outlaw camps.’

Cole frowned. ‘But I have spoken to witnesses who have seen strangers-’

‘Drunkards and beggars who will say anything for a penny,’ interrupted Boleton. ‘We have no credible witnesses – and you will waste your time if you follow their testimony. But we are wasting time now – we want to know what happened to Daniel, and this discussion can wait.’

Cole turned back to Hywel. ‘Please think carefully. Are you sure you did not see anything-’

‘If I did, I would not tell you,’ said Hywel tauntingly. ‘Daniel got what he deserved anyway.’

‘Hywel!’ exclaimed Gwenllian, shocked. ‘What a terrible thing to say! Daniel was a gentle man who took his vows seriously.’

‘Only the ones that suited him,’ said Hywel, oozing malice. ‘Just ask your husband.’

And with that he turned on his heel and marched back inside his house, slamming the door behind him. It made a crack like a thunderclap, and echoed along the otherwise peaceful street. Gwenllian looked at Cole and raised her eyebrows to indicate that an explanation was in order.

‘I did not want to tell you,’ he said sheepishly.

‘Tell me what?’ demanded Gwenllian, hands on hips. She was aware of Boleton looking equally bemused – Symon had not confided in him either.

‘Daniel had a lady,’ Cole mumbled uncomfortably. ‘I learned about it the night you and I were married, but it was their secret, not mine.’ The last part was spoken defensively, as if he imagined his wife might think less of him for keeping silent for so many years.

Gwenllian regarded him in exasperation. ‘But the identity of this lover might have a bearing on his death. You should have told me about her last night.’

‘You should,’ agreed Boleton. ‘So you had better tell us now. Do not look troubled, brother! Hywel knows about her, so it will not be long before Daniel’s secret is out.’

‘Meurig knew,’ hedged Cole. ‘He was an observant man, and noticed comings and goings. We discussed it once, then agreed to forget about it. It was not our business.’

‘Who is she, Symon?’ asked Gwenllian, although facts were coming together in her mind and she thought she had the answer. ‘Is it Mistress Spilmon?’

Cole gaped at her. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because she offered to tend Daniel’s body, and because you were considerate enough to wash it for her, to spare her the sight of his blood.’

‘Well, then,’ said Boleton, looking towards the grocer’s house. ‘Perhaps there is your culprit for Daniel’s murder. No man likes to be a cuckold.’

Gwenllian did not need to knock on Spilmon’s door, because the grocer was already hurrying towards them, Kyng at his heels. Cole saw the scowl Gwenllian directed towards the cheese-maker and the malevolent expression she received in return, and he shook his head in incomprehension.

‘Lord Rhys attacked Carmarthen more than two years ago,’ he whispered to her. ‘Do you not think it is time to forget what happened?’

Gwenllian raised her eyebrows. ‘I do not – especially not today. My brother confided his secret to me on that fateful night, and someone stabbed you in order to steal Arthur’s chest from Merlin’s oak. And now Daniel is brained under that very same tree with a large bone in his purse. It is a time for remembering , not forgetting.’