The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘There were scratches that suggest the mortar was deliberately prised out,’ the mason was saying. ‘As you would have seen for yourself had you bothered to look. You did not need to drag me out of bed. Or will you pay me for the inconvenience?’

‘No,’ said Burchill, before Cole could reply, ‘but we will not set you in the stocks for your insolence. How does that sound?’

Cethynoc scowled, and Gwenllian was amazed that Cole was able to tolerate the mason’s unpleasantness day after day as they worked together on the walls. Or his greed. She regarded him with distaste, wondering whether he had arranged the petty ‘accidents’ as a way to earn himself more money. Iefan was also glowering, and she saw he itched to trounce Cethynoc for his disrespectful attitude.

‘What else can you tell us, Cethynoc?’ asked Cole patiently.

‘Nothing,’ snapped the mason. ‘Except that the bed was moved slightly. I imagine it was to ensure that the stone would land squarely on whoever was lying there.’

‘So it was definitely murder,’ said Cole unhappily when Cethynoc had gone. ‘But who would do such a terrible thing?’

‘The three Austins, of course,’ replied Burchill. ‘They expected Gerald to be in the best bed, and they want him dead. I imagine they have been charged by the archbishop to ensure that he is never consecrated.’

‘Lord!’ muttered Cole. Gwenllian understood his alarm: the King would not thank him for accusing a Canterbury prior of murder, or for suggesting that the archbishop was complicit in the deed.

‘Personally, I suspect Norrys,’ argued Iefan. ‘He wants the King to accuse you of negligence, so he can be constable in your stead.’

‘Or Gerald and Foliot, because they want the world to think Dunstan is responsible,’ said Gwenllian, although she spoke reluctantly. She liked both men – far more than she liked the prior and his retinue. ‘Why did Gerald let Pontius take the best bed? I doubt he is naturally generous. Moreover, I should have thought that Foliot is more deserving of such compassion. I saw the bruises on his shoulder from his fall, and they look painful.’

‘Of course, Cethynoc could be mistaken,’ proposed Iefan tentatively. ‘It might just be a mishap – like the accidents on the castle walls.’

‘Those were not accidents,’ said Cole firmly. ‘And neither was this. Someone tampered with the stone earlier in the day, intending for it to fall.’ He looked at his sergeant. ‘You were with Pontius all afternoon. Did he have a bad back?’

‘He certainly said so – a lot,’ replied Iefan.

‘So we have seven suspects,’ said Cole. ‘Can we eliminate any with alibis? I am afraid I left Prior Dunstan to his own devices for an hour while I dealt with a problem on the scaffolding; and Archdeacon Osbert was obliged to abandon Hurso and Robert when it was time to hear his parishioners’ confessions.’

‘I had business of my own to attend for some of the afternoon,’ said Burchill, a little defensively, ‘so I left Norrys and Luci in the tavern, but they were sitting at the same table when I got back. I do not believe they left… but they might have done.’

‘Foliot went to the kitchen for wine to dull the ache in his shoulder while I helped Sir Symon with the scaffolding,’ said Iefan. ‘But I suspect he would have been in too much pain to climb walls and chip out stones. I have no idea where Pontius went.’

‘And I left Gerald unattended to spend time with Meurig,’ admitted Gwenllian.

Cole sighed. ‘So we can eliminate none of them. Damn!’

‘Perhaps they are all innocent and our wretched saboteur is responsible,’ suggested Burchill. ‘He is bored of petty mishaps, so decided to opt for something more dramatic.’

‘There is no saboteur,’ said Iefan tiredly, ‘just a run of bad luck. However, Pontius was not an accident, and I hope Lady Gwenllian catches the culprit before he kills anyone else.’

‘Me?’ asked Gwenllian in alarm. ‘But I-’

‘She will,’ predicted Cole with touching confidence.

Cole was unrealistically disappointed when dawn broke the following day, and he discovered that there was still too much snow for their guests to leave. Gwenllian’s feelings were ambiguous. On the one hand, she was glad there would be time to unmask the killer before her suspects left for good; on the other, she did not relish the thought of a killer in her home, or the prospect of keeping the two factions apart for a second day.

The morning was taken up with burying Pontius. Cole attended the gloomy ceremonies with Gerald and Foliot, while Gwenllian entertained the Austins in the castle. Burchill was allocated the unenviable task of minding the two knights.

The afternoon turned to wind and sleet, forcing the visitors indoors, although Cole and his labourers persisted with their work on the walls. He sent them home when Iefan arrived to report some trouble in the town – the merchants had raised the price of bread on the grounds that their customers could not leave town to find better deals elsewhere. Food was now prohibitively expensive, and the poor objected.

Left to manage the guests with only Archdeacon Osbert to help her – Burchill had sent a message saying that he was unavailable – Gwenllian asked Robert for The Play of Adam . A sly expression crossed the young Austin’s face.

‘You may have it only if you agree to let me play God.’

‘I shall decide who plays what,’ she retorted with an icy hauteur that reminded him she was a princess of Wales. ‘Now fetch the script at once.’

Chastened, Robert slunk away, but not before she had seen the vicious resentment on his face. She recalled what had been said about the monk who had died at Oseney – that he might have been killed with poisoned wine, and that Gerald and Dunstan had accused each other of the crime. Yet Robert had mentioned being bullied by him, so perhaps he was the guilty party. And then, flushed with success, he had decided to make an attempt on Gerald, with Pontius paying the price.

‘I am not in the mood for drama,’ said Secretary Hurso apologetically. ‘I slept badly last night, and I would rather sit in our room and read. Do you mind?’

Gwenllian could hardly refuse. The others clustered around Robert eagerly, though, snatching at the scroll as they decided which roles best suited their talents. Gwenllian was not surprised when Gerald and Dunstan were rivals to Robert for the role of God, and there was considerable ill feeling until she had negotiated a series of compromises.

They began by sitting around the fire to read the script aloud, and she was astonished when calm descended. She was a little uncomfortable with Gerald and Dunstan as Cain and Abel, but the scene passed off without incident.

Gerald, Foliot and Dunstan quickly revealed themselves to be competent performers, because they were used to public speaking. Robert was adequate, Luci enthusiastic and Norrys wooden. Unfortunately, there were few sections where all participants were needed at once, so they tended to wander off, and she was unable to monitor them all. Archdeacon Osbert helped, although Gwenllian noticed that he paid particular attention to Gerald, indicating who was his prime suspect for Pontius’s murder.

Eventually, the light began to fade, so the clerics went to the chapel for evening prayers, while Norrys and Luci disappeared to check their horses. Cole arrived shortly after dark, cold, wet and anxious.

‘I have no authority to dictate prices, but I wish I did,’ he said, pulling off his sodden clothes and reaching for dry ones. ‘What the merchants are doing is shameful – profiteering, no less – and I do not blame the poor for objecting.’

‘How did you resolve it?’ Gwenllian asked. They were in the chamber where Pontius had died, because Gerald and Foliot still occupied the one they usually used. Little Meurig was fretful in the unfamiliar surroundings, and she was trying to rock him to sleep.