The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

Cadifor had said as much himself, Gwenllian recalled, calling it the ‘deadliest of sins’, which were the exact words that had been scratched into Martin’s coffin. But it was no time to ponder Cadifor, and she turned her attention back to the bailiff.

‘You accuse Cadifor, but I think you killed Roger. What better way to disgrace Symon than have a high-ranking cleric murdered in his town?’

Londres shook his head vehemently. ‘No! I was too busy making sure that my plan was going smoothly. And Roger’s death is a nuisance, to be frank. It means that people will look more closely at what happened here.’

It had a nasty ring of truth, and Gwenllian found she believed it, although she was sorry to lose Londres as a suspect. All the fight had drained out of him. His shoulders were slumped, his face was grey, and he looked worn and tired.

‘I heard that Walter was looking to expand his domain,’ he whispered, ‘so I told him about our priory’s fine wool. And suddenly, there was a letter demanding to know when Cole might be away.’

Gwenllian recalled how she had been suspicious when she had seen Londres and Walter muttering together after the Hempsted party had arrived. She thought they had been oddly familiar with each other, and she had been right. Moreover, Londres’ antics explained why he had been challenging Cole’s authority and levying more fines over the last few weeks – he had believed his days in Carmarthen were numbered, and was busily making the most of them.

‘So you told him about Symon’s hunt?’ she asked.

Londres nodded. ‘And I wrote to Bishop Geoffrey, so he would be here to witness Cole’s disgrace. But that is all I did of my own volition. Everything else has been on the orders of Belat and Henry. I am not a traitor. Ask Stacpol. He knows what that pair are like. They are sly and wicked, and I was powerless against them.’

‘You accuse Stacpol?’ asked Cole dangerously, gripping the hilt of his sword so that the blade hovered very near to Londres’ neck.

‘No! I merely suggest that you ask him about Belat and Henry. He knows all about them, although I have no idea what form their previous encounter took.’ A tear ran down his cheek. ‘What will happen to me now?’

‘You are unscrupulous, corrupt and sly,’ said Gwenllian icily. ‘And you have admitted that the King no longer cares for you, so he will not object if you hang. However, there is a ship leaving for the Low Countries this morning. We will look the other way if you board it and agree never to show your face here again.’

‘I will,’ gushed Londres in relief. ‘I will leave and never return.’

‘But there is a condition. I want to know how much Walter paid for the King’s writ.’

‘Five marks,’ replied Londres promptly. ‘Belat and Henry arranged it. May I go now?’

Gwenllian and Cole escorted Londres to the ship. It was ready to cast off, and was soon sailing down the river to the sea. The bailiff did not once look back, giving the impression that he was glad his sojourn in Carmarthen was at an end. Or perhaps it was because a small crowd had gathered on the quay, yelling taunts about his spectacular fall from grace.

‘Are you sure you are right to let him go?’ asked Cole unhappily. ‘He might sail straight to John and tell all manner of lies about us.’

‘Unlikely. John is not kind to those who let him down, and Londres has failed in what he was charged to do. He will be far too frightened to show his face at Court.’

They returned to the castle to find Elidor waiting. Stacpol had not slept in his bed the previous night, and no one had seen him that morning. Elidor was worried.

‘Perhaps he has fled,’ suggested Gwenllian. ‘He refused to reveal the nature of his past association with Belat and Henry, and he knows we will solve Asser’s murder…’

‘Then he would have taken his belongings with him,’ said Elidor stiffly, not liking the implications of her remark; Cole simply ignored it. ‘He has not gone anywhere willingly, My Lady, and I only hope he is safe.’

‘I am sure he can look after himself,’ said Gwenllian.

‘In an honest fight, yes,’ agreed Cole. ‘But not against sly knives in the back.’

While Cole went to inspect Stacpol’s lair to see if he could ascertain why the knight had disappeared, Gwenllian went to the solar, where she found Bishop Geoffrey with the children. He was playing a word game them, to test their Latin. Alys sat on his lap, while the boys clustered around his feet. Gwenllian watched, amazed that the prelate could entertain such an unruly horde with so little effort. When the game was over, they clamoured for another. Geoffrey obliged, and they were so intent on besting him that they barely noticed Cole arrive.

‘Do not worry.’ Gwenllian smiled at their father’s crest-fallen face; Alys in particular always ran to him when he appeared. ‘Geoffrey is new and interesting, and has sweet-meats to dispense. They will still be clamouring for a bedtime story from you tonight.’

Cole sniffed. ‘I think he should go back on your list of potential killers.’

Gwenllian laughed, and went with him to the priory, to interview the monks and lay brothers again. But it was a fruitless morning. Walter claimed he was too busy to be bothered with such nonsense, but ordered Gilbert to ensure that his people were not browbeaten. Gwenllian disliked the dark presence at her elbow, and tried various ploys to make Gilbert leave. None worked, and the sub-prior stuck with them like a leech. She was relieved when the last Hempsted man had been questioned, and they were able to escape.

They met Cadifor in the yard. He was uncharacteristically subdued, which he confessed was due to concern about how to repay the bishop’s loan of ten marks – double the five that Walter had paid the King. His wool fetched good prices, but that year’s money had already been earmarked for other things, and it would not be easy to raise such an enormous sum.

‘And what if John takes the money, but refuses to honour the arrangement?’ he asked worriedly. ‘Walter has powerful supporters, and his demands will carry more weight than mine. Moreover, John will not want to annoy a wealthy place like Hempsted, knowing that it is far more likely to make him generous gifts than poor Carmarthen.’

Gwenllian had no answer, because Cadifor was right. She left Cole to interrogate Walter’s soldiers, and wandered away, watching Belat and Henry sitting together in the winter sunlight. They returned her gaze with smug arrogance, but declined to be drawn into conversation, even when she informed them that Londres had revealed all before fleeing.

Belat shrugged. ‘If he is no longer here, he cannot speak against us. And what value is the word of a corrupt official, anyway? Your bailiff is a scoundrel, and there is not a man, woman or child in Carmarthen who will say otherwise.’

Visiting the priory had been a waste of time, and Cole was disheartened as he and Gwenllian began to walk back to the castle. He stopped when he reached the woods that separated the priory from the town.

‘I know you are there,’ he called. ‘And you are eager to talk to me, or you would not be dogging my footsteps. Well, I am ready to listen, so show yourself.’

Nothing happened, and he was about to walk on when the leaves parted and a youth stepped out. He was an Austin, but his robes were torn, his face was smeared with mud and his hair was matted. He was shivering, and looked miserable.

‘Come,’ said Cole kindly. ‘There is hot soup, dry clothes and a fire at the castle.’

‘I will be seen,’ whispered the boy, glancing both ways along the track with frightened eyes. ‘I cannot go with you.’

‘Seen by whom?’ asked Cole, but the lad only stared at the ground and would not reply. ‘Here is my cloak. Wrap it around you, and cover your face with the hood. You will be safe with me, I promise.’