The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘Let us hope we have more success with Belat and Henry,’ said Cole.

He asked a passing lay brother to fetch them, but it was not long before the man returned to report that the two clerks were nowhere to be found. A search of the priory revealed that they had gone, taking all their possessions with them.

‘First, Stacpol, now, them,’ murmured Gwenllian.

‘Stacpol did not take his belongings,’ Cole pointed out. He turned to address the monks who had gathered to find out what was happening. ‘Who saw them last?’

‘Probably me,’ replied Cadifor. ‘They were in the stables at dawn, but it did not occur to me that they planned to disappear. I assumed they were just checking their horses.’

‘I overheard them whispering together shortly before that,’ added Dafydd, ‘when I went to start up the bread ovens. I am fairly sure they had been outside the priory, and had just come back in – which was odd, given the hour. I heard Belat mention “an Austin in the bushes”, although I have no idea what he meant.’

‘Oswin,’ surmised Gwenllian. ‘They must have spotted him, and realised that he would not have made such a journey without good reason. Their guilty consciences led them to flee before there was trouble. So there are our killers, Symon. Will you go after them?’

Cole returned to the castle, and quickly organised patrols to hunt along each of the main roads. He thought it most likely that the pair were aiming for Brecon, so decided to search that track himself. He was just taking his leave of Gwenllian when Oswin approached.

‘So it was Belat and Henry who killed Prior Martin?’ the lad asked softly.

‘We believe so,’ replied Gwenllian. ‘It seems they spotted you hiding in the undergrowth, and knew the game was up. They fled before they were caught.’

Oswin frowned. ‘They did see me, but they thought I was one of Cadifor’s canons, sent to spy on them. They were furious, and gave chase. They would have trounced me if that knight had not come to my rescue and…’ Oswin trailed off, his expression one of dismay.

‘What knight?’ asked Cole. Oswin did not reply, so he stepped forward threateningly.

‘Stacpol,’ blurted Oswin. He rubbed his eyes miserably. ‘He was kind to me, and I promised myself that I would keep his name out of this vile business. I do not know who to trust here, and I did not want to repay his goodness by putting his life in danger.’

‘So he was the other person you told about Martin’s death?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘The one whose identity you declined to reveal earlier?’

Tears brimmed in Oswin’s eyes. ‘I found myself confiding in him after he saved me from Belat and Henry. He told me to tell you – he said that Lady Gwenllian would know what to do. But I was afraid for his safety…’

So that was what the lad had been concealing, thought Gwenllian. It was nothing more than a desire to protect a man who had been kind to him.

‘So where is he now?’ demanded Cole.

‘I do not know. He saw me safely hidden, then went about his business. However, I think he may have gone after those two clerks…’

Cole’s face was anxious as he strode towards the stables, but there was a clatter of hoofs, and a horseman rode through the gate. It was Stacpol, and behind him staggered Belat and Henry, their hands bound and fastened to his saddle with long pieces of rope. They were bedraggled and exhausted, but still able to blare an indignant tirade.

‘We cannot be treated this way!’ Belat was howling. ‘The King will hear of this.’

‘Yes,’ said Stacpol grimly, dismounting. ‘He will. I have stayed silent long enough about you and your vile misdeeds.’

‘Be careful what you say, Stacpol,’ hissed Henry. ‘The King does not deal gently with those who break their oath of allegiance to him.’

Stacpol addressed Cole and Gwenllian. ‘This pair have been defrauding religious houses for years. My oath to King John – who ordered me to turn a blind eye to their activities – prevented me from exposing them in Llanthony, but when I saw them here, I appealed to Bishop Geoffrey. He has released me from my vow, so now I am free to speak.’

The blood drained from Belat’s face, while Henry glanced at the gate, as if wondering whether he could dart through it and escape.

Cole frowned. ‘Are you saying that the King knows what they do and condones it?’

‘I doubt he knows the details,’ replied Stacpol. ‘But coins are deposited in his coffers every so often, and he asks no questions. However, when the antics of this pair are made public, he will hasten to deny all knowledge of them. He is not a fool.’

‘What have they done?’ asked Cole. ‘Exactly?’

Stacpol began to relate a long list of sly, devious crimes that had deprived monasteries and convents of money. The bishop’s secretarius wrote everything down, and the two clerks, snivelling and frightened, were taken into Geoffrey’s custody, to stand trial in the ecclesiastical courts. Other secular officials might have argued about jurisdiction, but Cole was glad the matter was to be taken out of his hands.

‘I wronged you,’ said Gwenllian to Stacpol, when everyone else had gone. ‘I thought you were working with them.’

‘You had good cause,’ replied Stacpol sombrely. ‘Unfortunately, I pledged myself to do John’s bidding before I realised what kind of man he was – which is why I accepted a post in the westernmost reaches of his kingdom. He never comes here, and I am away from his malign demands. But all has been put right now.’

‘Not quite. We still do not know who poisoned the march-panes. Was it them?’

‘No,’ replied Stacpol. ‘They wanted Roger alive, because he represented easy prey. I wish they were the killers – Asser was my friend, and I want vengeance.’

Gwenllian was about to suggest to Cole that they sit quietly and review what they had learned that day, when Dafydd waddled through the gate.

‘You must come to the priory, quickly,’ he gasped. ‘Prior Walter is dying.’

Gwenllian did not think Walter was dying, although he lay in a bed in the guesthouse, surrounded by canons and clerks, busily issuing instructions as to what should be done with his worldly goods when he was in his grave. Geoffrey started to step forward with more of his remedy, but Gwenllian rested her hand on his arm to stop him.

‘Wait,’ she whispered. ‘Let us see what he will disclose if he believes his end is near.’

The bishop gazed at her. ‘That would be ruthless – and unworthy of a healer.’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But I believe he is a killer, and I would like a confession for Stacpol’s sake. Asser was his friend.’

Geoffrey’s amiable face was deeply unhappy, but he stood aside and indicated that she was to approach the bed. Cole went, too.

‘Good,’ breathed Walter weakly. He snapped his fingers at his retinue. ‘Leave us. You, too, Gilbert. What I have to say is for the constable, his wife and Bishop Geoffrey only.’

Gilbert’s expression was dangerous, and there was a moment when Gwenllian thought he would refuse to go, but he bowed curtly, and followed the others outside.

‘Well?’ she asked of Walter. ‘What do you want to tell us?’

Walter addressed the bishop. ‘I made a mistake by demanding Hempsted’s independence. When I am dead, I want you to get the decision repealed. And do not let Gilbert succeed me – he is unfit to rule.’

‘I shall do as you request,’ promised Geoffrey. ‘Is that all?’

‘No. I resign as Prior of Hempsted. As of now, I am just a simple canon, which should work in my favour when my soul is weighed. I should not like the saints to consider me vain.’

‘Your resignation is accepted,’ said Geoffrey gravely. ‘I shall inform the Prior General immediately. Do you renounce your claim on Carmarthen, too?’