The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘Cole is a fool to build in stone,’ he said to Burchill, looking around in disdain. He ignored Iefan and Gwenllian as of no consequence. Gwenllian bristled, both at his manners and his remark; Cole had done wonders with what he had inherited, and the castle was now larger, stronger and infinitely cleaner than when Norrys had held it. ‘The Welsh will only burn it down, and he wastes the King’s money with his foolery. I shall tell John so when I see him.’

‘It was John who ordered us to do it,’ she said coldly. ‘And we are proud to report that we are far ahead of the schedule he set. I suggest you tell him that instead.’

‘Then it is not surprising that you have suffered so many accidents,’ Norrys spat back. Burchill shot Gwenllian a guilty glance, and she supposed the information had come from him. ‘You are rushing the work.’

‘No,’ snapped Iefan. He did not usually speak out of turn, and Gwenllian saw he was offended by the criticism on behalf of Cole and the workforce, many of whom were his friends, family and neighbours. ‘We are ahead because we are efficient.’

‘It is true,’ said Burchill proudly. ‘You will not find a better-run castle than this one.’

Norrys released a short bark of laughter. ‘That is not what John thinks. He does not trust Cole or his Welsh connections, and it is only a matter of time before he passes Carmarthen back to me. He has virtually promised as much.’

‘Perhaps you will show Sir Roger to his quarters,’ said Gwenllian to Burchill. She kept her voice level, although she was inwardly seething. Was the claim true, or just hubris?

‘I am sorry, my lady,’ said Luci when Norrys had gone. ‘I managed to avoid Carmarthen on our outward journey, but the weather conspired against me this time. I hope the snow does not last long, because it will be better for everyone when we can leave.’

‘Do you anticipate trouble, then?’ asked Gwenllian worriedly.

‘Yes,’ replied Luci simply. ‘Norrys hated losing this place, and returning has reopened old wounds. I shall try to keep him contained, but it will not be easy. Meanwhile, our three Austins will certainly quarrel with your three Welsh priests. You will have no peace until we go our separate ways.’

Unhappily, Gwenllian watched him trail after his companion to the hall. Then she became aware that someone was standing close behind her, and whipped around in alarm. It was Secretary Hurso, his birdlike eyes sharp and bright, and young Robert. She had thought they had gone with Burchill, and wondered how long they had been listening.

‘Norrys is a vile brute,’ said Hurso. ‘I cannot imagine why the archbishop chose him to guard us. And he is far worse now he is here, at the scene of an ancient humiliation.’

‘Then Luci and Burchill must keep him from brooding,’ said Gwenllian. ‘And you two must keep your prior away from Gerald. We cannot have our town thinking that the Church is full of men who cannot control their tempers.’

‘We shall do our best,’ promised the secretary. ‘Although we had scant success in Oxford. There, we almost came to blows, especially after that old monk died, and Gerald accused us of poisoning him. What was the fellow’s name, Robert?’

‘Wilfred,’ supplied the youngster with an inappropriately cheerful grin. ‘And Prior Dunstan accused Gerald in return. Abbot Hugh had to summon lay brothers to stop them from punching each other.’

‘This Wilfred was murdered?’ asked Gwenllian uneasily.

‘Yes, but he was not very nice, anyway,’ said Robert blithely. ‘He bullied me, and was incurably lazy. If anyone deserved to be dispatched, it was him.’

‘He was not “dispatched”,’ said Hurso irritably. ‘He died of a seizure, brought on by too little exercise and too much fine food.’

‘What about the poisoned wine?’ demanded Robert, eyes flashing challengingly.

‘What poisoned wine?’ asked Hurso dismissively. ‘Wilfred spilled it in his death throes, so it could not be tested – not that there would have been anything to find if we had. He died of natural causes, and I mentioned him only to warn Lady Gwenllian of the trouble that might arise if we fail to keep Dunstan and Gerald apart.’

‘No doubt you will provide two separate bedchambers, my lady,’ said Robert, declining to argue. ‘But unless you lock them in, they will meet several times a day, and they will certainly fight. However, I have something that will distract them.’

‘What?’ asked Gwenllian suspiciously.

‘ The Play of Adam ,’ replied Robert. ‘It is a dull thing, full of boring morality and scripture. But I have memorised the role of God, and I shall perform it for you, if you like.’

‘Perhaps we can all perform it,’ suggested Hurso, suddenly eager. ‘We saw it in Oseney Abbey and enjoyed it hugely. A series of rehearsals might serve to keep Gerald and Dunstan from sparring – and Norrys from attacking your husband into the bargain.’

‘We shall see,’ said Gwenllian, not liking the notion of an activity that would force everyone into such close proximity. ‘I will look at it tomorrow.’

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Cole took Prior Dunstan on an extensive tour of the stables, while Archdeacon Osbert showed the other two Austins his collection of religious manuscripts. Burchill escorted the Hospitallers to a tavern, and Gwenllian listened to Gerald talk about himself.

Meanwhile, Iefan commandeered Cethynoc the mason to help him show Gerald’s two priests around the castle. Neither was very interested, and Foliot asked several times to be excused, but Cole had charged Iefan to keep them busy, and the sergeant was not a man to flout orders. The hapless clerics were forced to inspect every last stone, with Cethynoc supplying a detailed technical commentary.

The evening was more problematic. As was the custom on winter nights, everyone gathered in the hall. The cook provided an excellent meal, but the trouble came when the guests left the table and settled around the hearth. One of Cole’s dogs was in the way, so Norrys kicked it. It yelped, more from shock than from pain.

‘There was no need for that,’ snapped Gerald. ‘Any man who vents his temper on animals is a brute himself.’

‘A brute, am I?’ asked Norrys dangerously. He had been drinking all day, and was unsteady on his feet. ‘Would you like me to show you just how much? It would be a pleasure to spill your guts.’

Gerald regarded him in disdain, then turned to Prior Dunstan. ‘The archbishop must hold you in very high esteem, to supply such a well-bred warrior for your protection.’

‘I agree,’ said Pontius, quick to support his bishop elect. ‘Of course, if Prior Dunstan was not engaged on such a wicked mission, he would not need guards in the first place. Norrys performs the devil’s work.’

‘I am not the devil, and neither is my archbishop,’ snapped Dunstan. ‘How dare you!’

‘I shall issue an edict removing you both from office when I am back in my See,’ declared Gerald haughtily. ‘You stain the good name of the Church with your presence.’

‘Osbert, fetch your harp,’ said Gwenllian quickly. ‘It is time for some music.’

‘I do not like music, and it will be banned from Carmarthen when I am constable,’ said Norrys sullenly. He regarded Cole with contempt. ‘It does not surprise me to learn that you encourage such nonsense, though. You always were soft in the head.’

‘There is nothing “soft” about appreciating culture,’ said Gwenllian, gripping Cole’s hand under the table to prevent him from responding.

‘Your bailey walls are very nice,’ said Foliot, in an obvious attempt to change the subject to one that was less contentious. Everyone looked at him, so he flailed around for a way to elaborate. ‘Smart stones and lovely mortar.’