The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘A person is responsible for these mishaps,’ Cole said after a while, handing Meurig to his nurse, and returning to the subject that so troubled him. ‘Five incidents is too many for coincidence.’

Gwenllian sighed. ‘Very well, let us assume you are right. Who are your suspects?’

He was silent for a long time before replying. ‘I do not have any. Who are yours? You are the one good at solving mysteries.’

‘Only if there is a mystery to solve.’

‘There is, Gwen, and I was hoping you would help me catch the villain.’ He grimaced resentfully. ‘But now Gerald and his priests will take up all your time, I suppose I shall have to unmask him by myself.’

They turned as Sergeant Iefan approached with two other men. They were Osbert, Archdeacon of Carmarthen, and a grizzled knight named Sir Robert Burchill. Osbert had a shiny bald head and was famous for never wearing a hat, even in the most inclement of weather. Burchill was much older than Cole, and believed that his age and experience gave him the right to be condescending. Gwenllian found him irksome and hypercritical.

‘Five visitors arrived at my house last night,’ Osbert began. ‘It was a tight squeeze, but we managed. However, now the snows keep them here, I must make other arrangements – there is simply not enough room for them in my home. Will you take them? They are important men – three Austin canons and two knights. I cannot send them to an inn.’

‘If they are Austins, they can stay at the priory,’ said Cole.

‘Apparently, they did that on their outward journey, and quarrelled so bitterly that the brothers say they are no longer welcome. They are envoys from Canterbury, and have been in St Davids, telling the Cathedral Chapter that it cannot have the prelate it elected, but must have a fellow of the archbishop’s choosing instead.’

‘Then I cannot help you,’ said Cole apologetically. ‘Your envoys will quarrel with Gerald, and we shall know no peace. They will have to stay in an inn.’

‘You cannot slight them, lad,’ warned Burchill. ‘Prior Dunstan has the ear of the King.’

‘So?’ shrugged Cole. ‘I do not care whether-’

‘John longs for an excuse to oust you,’ interrupted Burchill sharply. ‘Your marriage gives you powerful allies, so he cannot dismiss you without good reason. However, offending ecclesiastical envoys will certainly give him the pretext he needs.’

Gwenllian had been about to say the same thing, and was irritated that Burchill should have pre-empted her. Cole sighed.

‘John will have his way eventually, so perhaps we should go to live on my manor in Normandy – resign before he dismisses me.’

‘But I like it here,’ objected Gwenllian, dismayed. ‘Carmarthen is my home.’

‘I like it too, but I am a soldier, not a diplomat, and I do not know how to deal with John. Or with warring clerics, for that matter. And then there is the saboteur… ’

‘There is no saboteur, Sir Symon,’ said Iefan, a little irritably, and Gwenllian saw she was not the only one who had tried to disabuse the constable of this particular notion. ‘We have just suffered a series of minor mishaps.’

‘I will find the culprit – if there is one to be found,’ said Gwenllian soothingly. ‘And I will keep the peace between Gerald and the archbishop’s envoys, too. You can work on the walls. They will impress John and may encourage him to keep you.’

‘Rather you than me, my lady,’ said Archdeacon Osbert wryly. ‘Gerald and Dunstan met in Oxford three months ago, and there were ugly scenes, by all accounts. It will not be easy to keep them from each other’s throats.’

‘Osbert has not told you the worst news yet, Symon,’ said Burchill, a little smugly. ‘Dunstan has two Knights Hospitaller to protect him, and one is Roger Norrys.’

Cole smiled with genuine pleasure. ‘Norrys? It must be more than a decade since we last met. It will be good to see him again.’

‘Unfortunately he does not feel the same way about you,’ warned Osbert. ‘Last night he talked of nothing but how you snatched Carmarthen from him by sly means.’

‘But I did not ask to be constable,’ objected Cole, stung. ‘Indeed, I begged King Henry to let me remain in his household guard, but he would not listen. There was nothing sly about my appointment – not on my part, at least.’

‘I am sure of it, but Norrys is bitter and resentful anyway,’ said Osbert. ‘The first thing he did when he arrived last night was seek out his old cronies – William the corviser and Tancard the brewer-’

‘Troublemakers,’ said Gwenllian in disgust. ‘They would be friends!’

‘They drank vast quantities of ale and sat muttering together,’ said Osbert. ‘I tried to draw them into gentler conversation, and so did Prior Dunstan, but to no avail.’

‘You will have to watch Norrys, lad,’ said Burchill. ‘Or he may cause problems.’

‘I shall win him round,’ said Cole, ever the optimist. ‘Fetch these envoys now, Osbert. Gerald is in the chapel, and we might be able to install them without him noticing.’

‘He will notice eventually,’ said Burchill, startled. ‘Our castle is not that big!’

‘Do not worry.’ Cole gave a happy smile. ‘Gwen will keep them from sparring.’

It was not long before a commotion by the gate heralded the arrival of the Canterbury men. Iefan and Burchill glanced uneasily towards the chapel, but Gwenllian had ordered the chaplain to conduct a lengthy Mass, which she hoped would keep them busy while the newcomers settled. First in was Sir Roger Norrys, with his brother Hospitaller at his heels.

It had been thirteen years since Norrys had stormed out of Carmarthen after receiving the news that he had been replaced by a man barely half his age. Gwenllian watched him warily. He was thicker around the middle, and had lost a lot of hair, but he was still an imposing figure in his fine black surcoat. She did not like the way he stalked into the bailey and looked around appraisingly.

‘I hope he does not set us alight,’ she whispered to Cole, aware that the servants had recognised Norrys and many were looking fearful – they remembered his bullying ways. ‘Most of our buildings are wood.’

‘Why would he do that?’ asked Cole, startled by the remark.

Never thinking ill of anyone was another of Cole’s endearing but ill-advised habits, and Gwenllian winced when he strode forward to greet the older knight like a long-lost friend.

‘It is a pleasure to welcome you back,’ he said sincerely. ‘I doubt these Austins will be interested in hunting, but our woods are at your disposal. Yours and your companion’s.’

‘I am Robert de Luci,’ said the second knight, speaking before Norrys could tell Cole what to do with his offer. ‘And we shall be delighted to accept.’

Osbert introduced the three Austins: the goat-like Prior Dunstan, the hen-like Secretary Hurso and the youngster, Robert, whom Gwenllian distrusted on sight for his scheming eyes and spiteful smile. While Osbert spoke, Burchill and Iefan continued to cast uneasy glances towards the chapel, obviously worried about what would happen when Gerald emerged.

‘Did I hear you mention hunting?’ asked Dunstan keenly. ‘I have not enjoyed a decent chase since I went with the King in the New Forest.’

‘John hunts?’ asked Cole doubtfully. It did not go with his concept of the monarch as a debauched womaniser with no interest in manly pursuits.

‘I meant his father,’ explained Dunstan. ‘Henry. He knew his way around a bow. So do I, of course, and he once said I was the best archer in Kent.’

Gwenllian had no idea whether it was true, but Cole was impressed, and he and Dunstan were soon deep in discussion about weapons, while Secretary Hurso listened with an indulgent smile. Luci’s expression was more difficult to read, although Norrys’s was full of open hatred, furious that Cole should have won the prior around with so little effort.