The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

Gwenllian did not want to tell him that Stacpol was at the top of her list of suspects – that he might have poisoned the marchpanes so that Asser would be unable to reveal his past dealings with Belat and Henry, and that Roger had merely been unlucky in his choice of filched food. Cole would refuse to listen.

Her thoughts churned. What did Asser’s last words mean? Were they the incoherent ramblings of a dying man? Or had he been trying to convey a vital clue? But if Asser knew the identity of the killer, why had he not just told Symon straight out? She sighed. Her husband was right: it made no sense.

The warring clerics took their quarrel to the refectory, where they sat on benches around one of the long tables. They began by interrogating Dafydd.

‘You cannot blame my marchpanes,’ the cook was declaring, half frightened and half defiant, as Gwenllian and Cole walked in. ‘They were made from the finest ingredients, and the bishop ate more than half of them with no ill effects.’

‘I did,’ agreed Geoffrey. ‘They were delicious. You are right, Dafydd: no one poisoned the marchpanes. He smiled his relief. ‘Which means that no one wants me dead.’

But Gwenllian shook her head. ‘After your first meal, the remainder were left in the kitchen, ready for your next visit. But the kitchen is not secure – anyone could have slipped in and dosed the rest with poison. Is that not true, Dafydd?’

The cook blanched. ‘Well, yes, the kitchen is left unattended on occasion, such as when I go to the chapel for my offices, and it is open all night…’

‘You see, Your Grace?’ said Gwenllian. ‘It would have been easy for the killer to strike.’

There was a brief silence, then a flurry of accusations. The Carmarthen men blamed the visitors, and vice versa, while Londres took the opportunity to accuse Cole, saying that he had let Prior Roger eat the last of the marchpanes to conceal the fact that the real victim had been Asser. Startled, Cole asserted that Asser had been a good friend. Stacpol agreed, but fell silent when Belat and Henry shot him sly glances. Again, Gwenllian wondered what dealings the two slippery clerks had had with Stacpol in the past.

She ignored the angry voices as she tried to decide who had been the intended victim – Asser, Roger or Geoffrey. She had eight suspects. All but one had been in Llanthony when Martin had died, and all were ruthless, dangerous men who would not hesitate to kill if they thought it would be to their advantage.

Heading the list was Stacpol, because Asser’s death meant his dealings with Belat and Henry would remain secret. He was a knight, used to killing, and did not seem particularly distressed by the loss of his friend – and she was not convinced by Cole’s explanation that crusaders did not weep. Then, once Asser was dead, Stacpol had neglected to destroy the remaining marchpanes, and Roger had paid the price.

Next were the Hempsted men, Walter and Gilbert, and their intended victim would have been Geoffrey, because they were afraid he would side with Carmarthen – which was exactly what he had done. And Roger? Perhaps they had decided that he had outlived his usefulness, or they had not cared who died, and simply thought that any murder in Car mar then would discredit Cadifor. Yet Gilbert had been eager for everyone to think that no one had been killed, and that the two deaths were natural. Did he really believe it, or was he just losing his nerve?

Then there were the clerks Belat and Henry, who would be keen to tell the King that all had gone well in Carmarthen, and that the royal writ had been implemented without any problems. They would not want the Bishop of St David’s issuing counterclaims. Or had they just tired of Roger’s unpleasant character, and decided they could not face the return journey in his company? It was a paltry reason to kill, but Gwenllian had known murder committed for less.

Cadifor was next, although she disliked including him. Yet he had despised Roger, and blamed him for losing Llanthony’s daughter house – to the point where he had left rather than live in a foundation where Roger was prior. He had also remarked on Roger’s indolence and greed, and would have been in a position to ensure the deadly marchpanes were in a place where Roger would see then. Perhaps the notion that Roger was part of a deputation that aimed to oust him had been too much for Cadifor to bear.

Although Bishop Geoffrey had also been in Llanthony when the first murder had taken place, Gwenllian could see no reason for him wanting Roger dead. Or Asser. Moreover, it had been his marchpanes that had been poisoned, and had Asser and Roger not raided the kitchen, it would be him lying in his coffin. She crossed him off her list.

Her last suspect was Londres. He had lived in Carmarthen long enough to know where to buy toxins, and he had had ample opportunity to sneak into the monastery kitchen. He had thrown in his lot with Hempsted, so he would not want Geoffrey damaging Walter’s chances of winning. Or perhaps he did not care whom he killed, and just wanted to create an awkward situation for Cole. He had not been in Llanthony when Martin had died, but he was perfectly capable of mimicking the original crime.

Gwenllian watched her suspects carefully as they argued, but the killer was far too clever to give himself away with a careless word or gesture, and it was not long before she realised she was wasting her time. Afterwards, she and Cole went to the kitchen, and asked Dafydd to show them where the marchpanes had been.

‘I did not think it was necessary to hide them,’ the cook said. ‘Nothing has ever been stolen before. I can forgive Asser, who snagged a few before I told him they were ear-marked for the bishop. But not Roger, who knew and took them anyway.’

Gwenllian stared at the table that Dafydd indicated. Like all the others in the room, it had been scrubbed so often that the wood was white. There were scratches on the surface, forming a series of rough triangles. Dafydd grimaced his irritation.

‘Those wicked scullions! I have told them hundreds of times to use a board when they slice vegetables, but they are too lazy to fetch one.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘They look more purposeful than marks made from chopping – there is a distinct pattern here.’

Dafydd peered at them. ‘You are right! The rogues did it deliberately, knowing that I shall never prove which of them did it. They are a sore trial to a busy man.’

Cole dropped to his hands and knees and began to peer underneath. It was not long before he released a triumphant exclamation and scrambled to his feet. He held a dead mouse in one hand, while in the other was a slightly gnawed sweetmeat.

‘A marchpane must have dropped off the plate and rolled out of sight,’ he said. ‘However, this poor creature proves for certain that Roger and Asser were poisoned.’

‘It does,’ agreed Gwenllian. ‘Not much of the sweetmeat is missing, which means the mouse was overcome very fast.’

She and Cole remained at the priory for the rest of the day, asking questions of residents and invaders alike, but learned nothing more. They walked home as the daylight began to fade, disheartened because they were no further forward.

‘Martin’s murder was never solved,’ said Cole with uncharacteristic gloom. ‘Perhaps Roger and Asser’s will not be either.’

‘Then those two clerks or Londres will tell the King that you are incompetent,’ said Gwenllian. ‘And John will dismiss you. I do not intend to give them that satisfaction.’

‘Damn it, there is that shadow again!’ Cole darted into the undergrowth and was gone so long that Gwenllian began to worry that something had happened to him. She was on the verge of following when he emerged, covered in dead leaves.