The Medieval Murderers - King Arthur's Bones

Boleton was outraged. ‘It was not me at his side when he died. It was Cole.’

‘John’s last words were meant for you,’ said Gwenllian, turning to her husband. ‘“Beware the one you love.” I thought he was speaking to me, but he was warning you of Boleton.’

Cole looked sadly at the knight. ‘I wish I knew what led you to this.’

Boleton opened his mouth to protest his innocence again, but then closed it. He regarded Cole sullenly. ‘Is it not obvious? I am more suited to high office than you in every way – I am a better administrator, I am infinitely more intelligent and I have ambition. I should have been constable, but the king gave the post to you, just because you are good with a sword.’

‘You did not have to come with me,’ said Cole reasonably. ‘You could have-’

‘I thought I could be content here, with a life of indolent leisure,’ spat Boleton. ‘But I was wrong. I am bored, and the more I think about it, the more it is apparent that the king made a mistake. You are a brainless fool who lets his wife make all the decisions.’

‘Symon, no!’ cried Gwenllian, when Cole took a firmer grip on his weapon and stepped forward. He did not care about the affront to himself, but no one insulted his wife. ‘Do not kill him in anger. Disarm him. Let the law be his judge.’

For a moment she thought he was going to refuse, and although he was the better swordsman of the two, his old wound was clearly paining him that night. He might lose.

‘Gwen is right,’ Cole said eventually. ‘We should not fight each other. Yield to me.’

Boleton also hesitated, but then did as he was told, dropping sword and dagger on the floor. Cole sheathed his own blade and indicated that Boleton was to precede him out of the house. It was too easy, and every one of Gwenllian’s senses clamoured that treachery was in the air. It was not long in coming.

With a sudden roar, Boleton spun around, stabbing wildly with a knife he had concealed in his sleeve. Cole managed to duck away, but the manoeuvre unbalanced him and he fell. Boleton’s face was an impassive mask as he moved in for the kill.

But he had reckoned without Gwenllian. She darted towards the table, grabbed a pot and brought it down on Boleton’s head. He crashed to his knees. Cole was quick to take advantage, and by the time Boleton’s wits had cleared there was a knife at his throat. Cole regarded his friend in silence for a moment, then stood back and nodded towards the open door.

‘Go, brother,’ he said softly. ‘Ride to the coast, take a ship and do not return.’

‘No!’ cried Gwenllian. ‘He will-’

‘I hate this house,’ interrupted Cole, looking around unhappily. ‘I almost died here after Hywel stabbed me, and now my dearest friend tries to complete the business. It has an evil aura.’

Gwenllian gazed at him. ‘How long have you known Hywel was your attacker?’

‘I have always known – I saw him. But it seemed unkind to tell you when you had just lost your brother.’

‘Dear Symon.’ Gwenllian felt tears scald her eyes. ‘You kept your silence to protect me?’

Cole shuddered as he surveyed Kyng’s parlour a second time. ‘There has been enough death and deceit in this house, and I do not want more of it.’ He gestured to the door, but he did not look at Boleton. ‘Go, and never come back.’

Without a word Boleton slunk away into the night.

In the weeks that followed, Gwenllian was acutely uneasy, sure it was only a matter of time before Boleton came to wreak vengeance on his erstwhile friend. But then a cousin brought her some news. He spoke rapidly in Welsh, too fast for Cole’s meagre grasp of the language.

‘The sly knight tried to make the surviving forest folk attack the town, to create a diversion while he killed your husband, but they turned against him. Shall I tell you where they buried his body?’

Gwenllian glanced at Symon. ‘No. I think it is better to believe he escaped. My husband has endured enough treachery, and he does not need to hear more of it.’

Cole had placed a guard on the place where Hywel had hidden Arthur’s bones while Gwenllian made some enquiries about Abbey Dore. Within a month word began to trickle back that the Welsh sexton was indeed a man who could be trusted, so she resolved to follow her nephew’s plan and take them there. A Norman abbey in Herefordshire would not have been her first choice of hiding places, but Lord Rhys’s warring sons meant that southern Wales was currently an unstable, uncertain place. It was certainly time for Arthur to be moved – and to enlist the help of the men Meurig had appointed as Guardians.

The moment she made her decision, she and Cole went to Merlin’s oak. It was a beautiful autumn evening, with the scent of the harvest in the air and the sun bathing the land in a warm, golden light.

‘It was clever of Hywel to put the bones back in Meurig’s original hiding place – the cradle of roots – after Daniel began to suspect they were in the priory,’ Cole remarked. ‘But why was there a pit on the other side of the tree too – the one Daniel was kneeling by when he was murdered?’

‘It was a decoy hole. Hywel dug it because he was afraid Daniel might guess where he had moved them. And he was right to be cautious, because Daniel was poking around it when he died – the mud on his knees attested to that.’

‘Meurig should not have told you his secret when he knew Hywel was listening,’ said Cole resentfully. ‘He should have known better.’

It was a curious thing to say. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Dewi – Hywel’s brother – was shot by would-be robbers on the way from Glastonbury. Or so Meurig told everyone. But I saw Dewi’s body, and it was no arrow that killed him. He was stabbed.’

Gwenllian’s mind reeled. ‘Stabbed?’

Cole nodded. ‘I knew Hywel was the culprit from some incautious remark he made. But Meurig said it would upset you if I arrested one nephew for murdering another. It was a clever ploy – he knew exactly how to stay my hand.’

Gwenllian stared at him. ‘You knew this terrible secret but did not think to share it with me?’

‘Meurig asked me not to. It was a nasty business – Hywel killed Dewi because Dewi was Meurig’s favourite. Meurig was deeply ashamed. He did not want you, or anyone else, to know.’

Gwenllian shook her head slowly. She had wondered why Hywel had stabbed Cole in order to prevent her from claiming the bones – why not attack her, who was smaller and posed less of a threat? The answer was obvious now – he wanted revenge on the man who knew his dark secret. It explained why he had spent his dying breath trying to implicate Symon in a murder too.

‘But Meurig should not have told you about the bones when he knew Hywel was listening,’ Cole was saying. ‘It might have put you in terrible danger.’

‘Oh, Symon!’ said Gwenllian, exasperated. ‘I might have worked out what had happened to the bones years ago, if I had known all this! Do you really think I warrant such cosseting?’

Cole considered the question carefully, then nodded, smiling as he did so. ‘There is nothing I would not do to protect you. And Meurig felt the same way.’

There was nothing to say to such a remark, and they walked in silence for a while. Gwenllian found herself thinking about the people who had been touched by the events of the summer. No one missed Hywel’s drink-fuelled bitterness or Boleton’s acid tongue, but the castle clerks grieved for John, and the town’s merchants had been sorry when Kyng and Spilmon were banished from the realm.

Meanwhile, Gilbert had recovered from his fall and, in exchange for his freedom, told Cole where Boleton kept the proceeds of his crimes. It had all been returned to its grateful owners.