The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘I repeat what I said earlier,’ declared Cadifor. ‘It is odd that there should be another death at a priory which Walter has wronged.’

Walter sniffed, and did not grace the remark with a reply.

Elidor was thoughtful, though. ‘Cadifor makes an interesting point. There were no marks on Prior Martin either, but we all knew he was unlawfully slain.’ He looked at Cole. ‘Do you think it possible that both were poisoned?’

‘If so, then it was with a substance that cannot be detected,’ replied Cole. ‘There are no burns or redness in Roger’s mouth or on his hands. However, I can tell you that he was cold and stiff, which means he probably died hours ago – perhaps even during the hearing. We all saw him sitting here with his eyes closed, and he did not move as we walked out past him…’

Gwenllian had been making her own assessment of the situation, staring down at the place where the body had been. ‘Roger ate stolen marchpanes, but there is no trace of them now.’

‘Of course not,’ said Cadifor, bemused. ‘He scoffed the lot.’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘Yes, and I saw crumbs all over his habit. However, there are no crumbs now – his robe is clean. And do not say he shook them off himself, because the floor would be littered with them and it is not. It seems to me that someone has swept them up.’

‘Why would anyone do that?’ asked Cole, puzzled. Then the answer came. ‘You mean that someone has removed the evidence? That the food was poisoned, so the killer cleared away any remaining fragments to prevent us from proving it?’

‘Specifically, the marchpanes,’ said Gwenllian. ‘Asser also ate some, and within moments, he collapsed in a stupor. You woke him, but with difficulty. I suspect Roger also slipped into a stupor, but no one shook him awake, and he passed quietly into death.’

Geoffrey’s hand shot to his throat. ‘Are you saying that someone put poison in the sweetmeats intended for me?’ But then he shook his head. ‘No! Asser had an apoplexy. Stacpol mentioned similar attacks in the past.’

‘And I stand by my claim,’ said Stacpol. ‘Asser died of natural causes, and so did Roger. These theories about poisonous marchpanes are ridiculous.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Elidor, so that Stacpol’s angry glare passed from Gwenllian to him. ‘Cole is right: many poisons are undetectable, and I think it strange that Asser and Roger should die so soon after eating marchpanes. Moreover, their deaths remind me of Prior Martin’s, and we all knew that he did not perish naturally.’

‘Fetch the remaining marchpanes,’ ordered Cole, seeing Dafydd the cook among the watching Austins. ‘We shall feed one to a rat and have our answer.’

‘They have all gone,’ said Dafydd, frightened. ‘So has the plate. I assumed Roger took them, but now it occurs to me that the killer must have been in my kitchen, removing the evidence of his crimes…’

‘Clearly,’ said Walter, fixing him with an icy stare. ‘And if the sweetmeats were poisoned, it stands to reason that the toxin was added where they were made: in your domain.’

‘No!’ cried Dafydd, then relief flooded his chubby face. ‘Hah! You cannot accuse me, because I was not in Llanthony when Martin was killed – and if Martin, Roger and Asser died from the same cause, then I can be eliminated as a suspect.’

It was a good point, and Gwenllian watched annoyance flit across Walter’s face. Had he wanted a Carmarthen man blamed so that his own party could be exonerated? Or because a killer among Cadifor’s flock might convince the Prior General that the present incumbent was unfit to rule, and thus strengthen Walter’s justification for seizing the place himself?

‘I wonder if messages about sloth will be scratched onto Roger’s coffin,’ mused Henry. ‘Or Asser’s. I suppose we shall have to wait and see.’

‘My soldiers will be guarding them,’ said Cole, although Gwenllian wished he had held his tongue: if the killer was the kind of person to deface caskets, then a trap might have been laid to catch him. He glowered at those who had gathered around. ‘But if someone did murder my knight, I will catch him. You can be sure of that.’

‘I imagine his death was accidental,’ said Walter. ‘The intended victim was Bishop Geoffrey, and it is unfortunate that Asser and Roger stole his marchpanes.’ He grinned nastily. ‘So Carmarthen is home to people who murder prelates! The King will certainly support me now – to oust this evil.’

‘Let us not allow our imaginations to run away with us,’ cautioned Geoffrey, making an obvious effort to pull himself together. ‘No one wanted to kill me.’ He addressed Gwenllian. ‘And you cannot prove that the marchpanes were poisoned. Not now there are none left.’

‘You are right: these theories are nonsense,’ said Sacrist Gilbert. ‘I admit that it is unusual for two men to die so close together, but it happens. Neither was unlawfully slain.’

‘Oh, Roger was murdered sure enough,’ said Londres, while the two clerks shot him alarmed glances. ‘The killer aims to weaken Walter’s case by slaughtering one of his retinue – clearly, he hopes that Roger’s replacement will side with Carmarthen.’

‘Do not think of accusing Cole,’ said Cadifor, when he saw where the bailiff’s accusing glare had settled. ‘I doubt he cares enough about our priory to kill for it. And do not think of blaming my canons either. None of them was in Llanthony when Martin was killed, which means none of them harmed Roger.’

‘No, but you were,’ flashed Walter. ‘And you could not account for your whereabouts at the time, as I recall.’

‘Nor could you,’ Cadifor barked back. He turned to the two clerks. ‘Nor you.’

A spat followed. Geoffrey stepped amid the furiously wagging fingers, and clapped his hands for silence, but no one took any notice, and his increasingly agitated demands for order only added to the clamour. It was an angry roar from Cole that eventually stilled the racket.

‘Enough!’ he snapped. ‘Such hollering is unseemly in a House of God.’

‘So is murder,’ said Cadifor sullenly, not appreciating the reprimand. ‘My chapel has been defiled.’

‘ Your chapel?’ asked Walter. ‘The King does not think so.’

‘It is mine until the Prior General tells me otherwise,’ said Cadifor angrily. ‘However, even if he does find against me, it will not be anyone from your entourage who takes my place. It is obvious that one of you killed Roger in the hope of bringing disgrace on me. Well, it will not work – I shall tell the whole world what kind of men you are.’

‘Sir Symon is right,’ said Bishop Geoffrey, as Walter girded himself up to reply in kind. ‘We should take this discussion away from the chapel.’

‘Actually, I meant you should stop screeching altogether,’ said Cole shortly. ‘I did not mean that you should just go and find somewhere else to quarrel.’

But his words went unheard as everyone aimed for the door. They went quickly, eager to resume their haranguing, and it was not long before he and Gwenllian were alone.

‘The more I think about it, the more I suspect the marchpanes were poisoned,’ she said. Then she recalled the dying knight murmuring in Cole’s ear. ‘Asser whispered something to you before he stopped breathing. Did you hear what it was?’

‘Yes, but it made no sense. First, he said, “Sloth is the most deadly of sins,” which are the words that were scratched on Martin’s coffin in Llanthony, apparently. Then, he told me that I needed to look for an incongruously sharp knife.’

She regarded him blankly. ‘What does that mean?’

Cole shrugged. ‘I told you it did not make sense. Perhaps I will ask Stacpol. He is good with riddles.’