The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘Sloth,’ said Geoffrey bitterly. ‘The deadliest of sins. I hoped the words I etched on Martin’s coffin would warn others, but Roger ignored them and so did Walter. And as I said last night, sloth is not laziness, but a sluggishness of the mind that neglects to do good, oppressing the soul and drawing it away from noble deeds. Martin and Roger were indolent men, and thus unsuitable for running priories.’

‘Martin was right,’ said Cole, taking a tiny step forward. ‘He confided to Oswin that his killer was a high-ranking Austin or a clerk. Oswin thought he meant Walter or Gilbert, but you are also an Austin.’

Gwenllian began to gabble to distract the bishop when Cole inched forward again. ‘You told us that you had no remedies with you, but what healer travels without the tools of his trade? Of course you had them – and you poisoned the marchpanes. Your claim to have no medicines was a ruse, so that you would not be a suspect.’

‘Please,’ begged Cole, as Geoffrey stood abruptly and began to move towards the door. ‘She is a child. If you want a hostage, take me.’

Geoffrey laughed without humour. ‘I think Alys will be rather easier to control. Now, I am going to lock you in, collect my people and ride away. Your daughter will come with us, but no harm will come to her as long as you stay here and do not raise the alarm.’

‘How do we know?’ asked Cole in a strangled voice. ‘You are a killer.’

‘Because I give you my word,’ replied Geoffrey. ‘Give me yours that you will not follow, and she will be returned to you unharmed. Refuse, and I will slit her throat.’

Cole and Gwenllian could see he meant it, and there was nothing they could do as Geoffrey walked out, taking their daughter with him.

The uncertainty of the next few days was dreadful, but Geoffrey kept his promise. Alys appeared one morning in the arms of a bemused cleric, who had been instructed to take her to the castle. She was tired, dirty and bewildered, but none the worse for her experiences. Cadifor and Stacpol were there to witness the family reunion.

‘He let me ride in front of him,’ Alys said, as Cole snatched her up and hugged her so tightly that Gwenllian feared he might hurt her. ‘All the way to Llansteffan. It was fun, but I would rather ride with you. You do not bounce around so much.’

Cole called for his horse, aiming to hunt the bishop down, but Gwenllian laid her hand on his arm. ‘This is a battle we cannot win, Symon. Leave it to Gilbert. He has offered to take the tale to the King, and the less we are involved, the better.’

‘Gilbert!’ spat Cole. ‘A man who dosed his friend with “remedies” that made him think he was dying – for years. I hardly think he is someone we can trust to tell the truth.’

‘But we can trust him to keep our names from this affair,’ argued Stacpol. ‘Which is ultimately more important. I learned from Belat that Gilbert cheated the King of some of his taxes while he was Sacrist of Hempsted, so he will want us as far away from Westminster as possible, lest the secret slips out.’

‘Yes, let the matter go, Symon,’ begged Cadifor. ‘We do not want to become entangled in these webs of deceit.’

‘On one condition,’ said Cole. ‘That you do not repay the ten marks Geoffrey lent you to bribe the King. It will be retribution of a sort, because he did mention that not having it would be inconvenient.’

Cadifor grinned. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

‘Even so,’ said Cole unhappily, ‘it will be difficult to live with the knowledge that Geoffrey wanders around freely and merrily while Asser lies dead.’

‘He has bad dreams, just like me,’ piped up Alys. ‘He wakes up in the night and howls that the Devil is coming for him. And then he cries himself back to sleep.’

‘So he might wander freely,’ said Stacpol softly. ‘But not merrily. His conscience will see to that. Thank you, Alys.’

‘Moreover, he is unpopular with the people,’ added Gwenllian. ‘His inability to speak Welsh has turned many against him, so his pontificate will not be an easy one. And he will always be wondering whether he will be accused of murder. That is punishment enough.’

‘If you say so.’ Cole watched Alys scamper away to join her brothers. ‘Yet he did teach me something – that it is a sin not to appreciate the good things we have been given. Shall we all go riding? It is a glorious day, and I feel like being outside.’

‘What, now?’ asked Gwenllian, startled. ‘What about the castle accounts, and the plans for the new gatehouse?’

‘What about them?’ Cole laughed suddenly. ‘We have a family, good friends and we live in paradise. Let us enjoy it while we can.’

He strode towards the stable to saddle up his horse, and as he went he began to sing.

Historical Note

Symon Cole was constable of Carmarthen in the early 1200s, and Lord Rhys of Deheubarth had several daughters named Gwenllian. Richard Belat and Henry de Rolveston were royal clerks, who went to Carmarthen to conduct John’s business in 1203. Other ‘locals’ mentioned in the Welsh Episcopal Acts in the early 1200s are Elidor, Asser and Philipp de Stacpol.

Llanthony Priory was a dangerous place to be during the Anarchy of the mid-twelfth century, so the Austin canons fled to Hempsted, Gloucestershire, to wait the troubles out. However, when it came time to return, some elected to stay behind to form a cell known as Llanthony Secunda (called Hempsted in the story, for simplicity’s sake). By the early 1200s, it was as strong and rich as its parent, so it was decided to separate them.

Geoffrey de Henlaw had been prior of both, and oversaw some of the preliminary arrangements for the partition, before he was elevated to the Bishopric of St David’s in 1203. He was noted for his medical skills, but Gerald of Wales wrote that he was greedy, violent and corrupt. Geoffrey’s successor was Martin, who was replaced by Roger in 1205. The first independent prior of Llanthony Secunda was Walter, who ruled for two years before Gilbert took over.

In 1208, Hempsted decided to expand by laying claim to Carmarthen Priory. The King’s blessing was obtained, after which William de Londres, the town’s bailiff, led a takeover bid. Carmarthen was naturally indignant, and Prior Cadifor offered John a bribe of ten marks if he changed his allegiance. John seized the money with alacrity, and wrote to Bishop Geoffrey, ordering him to restore Carmarthen’s independence.

By the time the fourth story, the tale of Sloth, was over and done with, the last traces of the stormy summer light were long gone from the sky. There was no question of listening to any tales of the three deadly sins that still remained out of the seven. Why, to do so, the band of listeners would have had to stay awake and attentive until the sun was rising once more on the other side of the sky! Laurence promised that there would be plenty of time for them to hear about pride and anger and envy on the next day. No one dissented. None of the travellers expressed the wish to get on with their journey at first light. Providentially, it was a Sunday, so the pilgrims would be able to attend St Mary’s, to receive the blessing of the local priest and distract the local people of Mundham with their different clothes and accents. In church, they could meditate on the stories they’d heard so far and contemplate their own sinfulness – or, no doubt in the case of a few of the pilgrims, their own worthiness.

Once the pilgrims, tired but satisfied, were ushered by lantern-light to their bedchambers in the Angel tavern, and once Laurence and his wife had attended to the inevitable little niggles, gripes and requests from such a diverse group, the innkeeper rubbed his hands. Excellent, he thought. He reckoned that this Walsingham band was good for another night at the Angel. The weather promised (and he meant, promised) to be just as bad tomorrow. There were three stories yet to be told. The inn was comfortable. There was every incentive for the travellers to stay one more day and night. And Laurence’s reasons weren’t entirely commercial. He had a story of his own to tell and he planned to be the first of the speakers in the second half…