The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

Cadifor gripped his hand. ‘You are a good man. I shall pay you back within ten years.’

Geoffrey gulped. ‘I hope it will be sooner than that – six months at the most! You will have to drive harder bargains with that fine wool you mentioned.’

‘Then all we need do is find out how much Walter paid the King,’ said Cole. He frowned. ‘I cannot imagine he will be very forthcoming when we ask, though.’

‘No,’ agreed Gwenllian. ‘We shall have to be subtle. Leave it to me.’

Suddenly, there was shouting in the bailey below. Cole opened the window and leaned out, letting in a chill blast of air that had everyone drawing their cloaks more closely around their shoulders. Iefan shouted up.

‘You are asked to go to the priory as soon as possible. There has been a death.’

‘Who?’ asked Cole.

‘Prior Roger. Apparently, he fell asleep in the chapel during yesterday’s hearing and failed to wake up.’

Cole took Stacpol and Elidor with him to the priory, partly to show the Austins a suitable degree of respect for a deceased member of their Order – three knights made for a better display than one – but mostly because he did not believe that Roger had ‘fallen asleep’, and he would need help if there were signs of foul play.

‘No,’ he said, when Gwenllian emerged fully clothed from the bedchamber to accompany him. ‘Not this time. You were right to be anxious: Roger’s death is unlikely to be natural, given all the antagonism that raged yesterday.’

‘Quite,’ she said, equally resolute as she pushed past him. ‘You will need me if you hope to uncover the truth. You cannot do it alone.’

She was right and he knew it, although he was not happy. ‘Very well, but only if you promise not to wander off alone.’

She inclined her head to accept the condition, and they set off. Bishop Geoffrey also insisted on going, to pray over the remains of the colleague he had known for years.

‘I neither liked nor respected him as a man,’ he said. ‘But as a youth, he was a charming, entertaining companion. It is a pity he learned bad habits from Martin. Had he moulded himself on Cadifor, he would have been an asset to Llanthony.’

Cadifor inclined his head at the compliment. ‘Yet I do not remember Roger being charming or entertaining, and as far as I am concerned, he had no redeeming qualities at all. But I am sorry he is dead, because now he will never have the chance to mend his slothful ways.’

Cole set a rapid pace through the town. Geoffrey did his best to keep up, but soon fell behind, while Gwenllian and Cadifor panted hard. The knights were not breathless at all, kept fit by their duties. Their vigour made Gwenllian wonder how Asser had managed to deceive them about the precarious state of his health.

They passed the houses by St Peter’s church, then the woods that separated the town from the priory, after which Cole stopped, so abruptly that Cadifor cannoned into the back of him.

‘Did you see that?’ he demanded. ‘Someone is moving through the trees.’

‘Not this again,’ groaned Stacpol. ‘There is no one here, Cole. If you saw movement, it was the wind among the leaves.’

‘Actually, I thought I saw someone, too,’ said Gwenllian, not liking Stacpol’s discourteous tone. ‘Besides, there is no wind. It is calm and the leaves are still.’

Stacpol regarded her with cold eyes. ‘Then you were mistaken as well. It is still not fully light, so it is easy to imagine things.’

She opened her mouth to argue, but Cole was already moving away, so she did no more than favour Stacpol with a glare before following.

They reached the monastery and were admitted by the soldiers on duty. However, they were then made to wait in the yard until Walter and Gilbert deigned to emerge from the guesthouse, an insult that had even the tolerant Geoffrey grumbling. The Llanthony monks were wiping their lips on pieces of linen, suggesting that they had finished their breakfast before attending the officials they themselves had summoned.

Londres, Belat and Henry were with them. The bailiff’s face was flushed, and Gwenllian suspected he had spent the night drinking. She regarded him in distaste. He was smug, delighted to be the author of a situation that had seen the King win a handsome bribe from Walter, that had resulted in Hempsted obtaining another foundation, and that had put Cole in a difficult situation. He did not care that it would be the monks of Carmarthen who would suffer for his poisonous schemes.

‘Prior Roger is dead,’ Walter announced. ‘He fell asleep during the hearing yesterday, and Cadifor gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. However, when I went to say matins and saw he had not moved, I poked him. It was then that I discovered that he had passed away.’

‘I did suggest we let him be,’ said Cadifor, a little defensively as everyone looked at him. ‘He seemed tired, and I thought he might need the rest.’

‘Liar!’ hissed Gilbert. ‘You ordered him left because you wanted everyone to see how lazy he was – that he could sleep for hours when he should have been reciting his offices.’

‘He did not need me to reveal him as a slothful man,’ Cadifor shot back, although the guilty flash in his eyes suggested there was truth in Gilbert’s accusation. ‘He did that himself, by his own words and actions.’

‘Are you sure he was there all night?’ asked Cole. ‘He did not leave and then go back?’

‘How would we know?’ asked Gilbert archly. ‘We were confined to the guesthouse, allowed out only to pray. However, Roger was in the same position each time we passed him, so he probably died hours ago.’

‘So we have a second odd death just as you happen to be visiting a sister house, Walter,’ said Cadifor coldly. ‘The same thing happened at Llanthony, when Martin died. Do you have an explanation?’

‘ I do not need to provide one,’ replied Walter haughtily. ‘The incident has nothing to do with me.’ He addressed Cole. ‘Do you want to see the corpse? We have left it as it was found.’

‘Have you?’ gulped Geoffrey, crossing himself. ‘How very unpleasant! Why did you not move it somewhere more appropriate?’

‘Like the refectory or the dormitory,’ muttered Cadifor acidly. ‘Eating and sleeping were Roger’s favourite activities, so where more appropriate than those?’

In the chapel, Roger was on the same bench he had occupied during the meeting. It looked as though he was asleep, but when Cole stepped forward to feel for a life-beat, the skin was cold to the touch. He then examined the body more closely, but found no suspicious lumps or marks, and it appeared as though the Prior of Llanthony had simply passed away peacefully in his sleep.

‘He probably ate so much during the hearing that he overloaded himself,’ said Walter in distaste. ‘Gluttony killed him.’

‘And sloth,’ whispered Bishop Geoffrey. ‘If he had been a more vigorous man, he would not have grown so fat. The great Greek physician Galen warns against the perils of too much food combined with too little exercise.’

He began to recite prayers for the dead, which obliged the other Austins to do the same, although they did so reluctantly. Roger had not been popular, and it was clear that few would mourn his passing. Londres, Belat and Henry stood nearby, muttering together. It looked as though they were arguing, and Gwenllian wondered whether Roger’s death aided or hindered their plans. Or perhaps Londres had learned that his accomplices planned to cheat him.

When the monks had finished their devotions, six burly lay brothers carried Roger to a storeroom, where he would be prepared for the journey back to his own foundation. There was silence after the body had gone, although it did not last long.