The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘I have not resolved it – sleet drove them home. Trouble may break out again later, though, so Burchill will patrol for the first half of the night, and I shall take the second.’

‘Oh, Symon! Burchill has been out in the cold with you all afternoon, and he is no longer as young as he was. You cannot expect him to work half the night too.’

‘He has not been with me,’ said Cole, startled. ‘I sent him to help you.’

Gwenllian experienced a surge of unease, although she was careful to conceal it. What had the old knight been doing? Shirking, because neither quelling riots nor minding querulous guests was his idea of fun? It was not the first time he had sloped off on business of his own of late, and although there was no reason to suspect anything untoward, it bothered her none the less.

‘I do not suppose you have learned the identity of our saboteur, have you?’ asked Cole hopefully. ‘I know you have been busy, but it is important.’

‘Not as important as preventing influential churchmen from killing each other,’ she replied tartly. ‘And discovering who murdered Pontius.’

‘You have identified the culprit, then?’ asked Cole, eagerly. ‘Who is it?’

She scowled. ‘Of course not! I am not a miracle worker, Symon.’

‘You are to me,’ he said with a beatific smile.

Hurso did not appear for the meal that night, and when Gwenllian enquired after his wellbeing, she was surprised and then concerned to learn that he had not been seen for some time. Robert was sent to check their room, but returned to say the secretary was not there.

‘I saw him in the bailey late afternoon,’ the lad said. ‘He was yawning and stretching, as though he had been asleep, but had woken and was walking to clear his wits.’

‘I saw him then too,’ said Luci. ‘When I was returning from the latrines. It was sleeting hard, and I suggested he did not linger outside.’

‘I am afraid I did not notice much once we started reading,’ said Foliot apologetically. ‘I left the hall for a while – in search of peace, so I could memorise my part in the story of “Jonah and the Whale”. You came with me, Osbert, and we found a quiet room by the kitchens. Did you see Hurso?’

‘No,’ replied Osbert. He regarded the bishop elect with open suspicion. ‘But I saw Gerald, pacing around in the wet.’

‘I was learning my lines,’ declared Gerald haughtily. ‘It was damp, but free of babble.’

‘I will look for Hurso,’ said Cole, standing and obviously relieved to pass the duty of entertaining back to Gwenllian again.

When he had gone, the conversation became acerbic, thanks to Norrys, who intimated that Gerald had harmed the secretary in revenge for what had happened to Pontius.

‘ In revenge ?’ pounced Gerald. ‘That suggests you murdered Pontius, and so expect Hurso to be dispatched in return.’

‘No one has “dispatched” Hurso,’ stated Foliot, shocked. ‘What a terrible thing to say! He will have found some warm corner to read, and has fallen asleep.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Dunstan, his pale goat-eyes curiously devoid of emotion. He rounded on Gerald. ‘However, no one in my party murdered your Pontius.’

‘I shall complain to the Pope about you,’ threatened Gerald viciously. ‘I shall have you and your archbishop expelled from the Church. And good riddance!’

‘You will never be in a position to excommunicate us,’ snarled Dunstan. ‘And-’

‘I have arranged something special for you this evening,’ interrupted Gwenllian loudly. ‘Cethynoc the mason has agreed to come and talk to you about castle-building.’

‘Castle-building,’ echoed Robert in astonishment. ‘But I do not know anything about it.’

‘Even more reason to listen, then,’ said Gwenllian tartly. ‘You may learn something.’

Before the young man could argue, she ushered the visitors towards the hearth and began to pour wine, at the same time embarking on a detailed description of a recent journey to Bath. [1]She spoke in a rapid gabble to ensure there were no interruptions, certain there would be a quarrel if she permitted conversation.

Just when she was running out of things to say, Cethynoc slouched in, furious at being ordered to spend his evening ‘working’, and began a dreary monologue on pulleys and scaffolding that would not hold anyone’s attention for long. Gerald was the first to roll his eyes, although Foliot listened with polite attention. Dunstan pretended to be asleep, and Norrys produced a pair of dice. Gwenllian was about to order him to put them away – Cole did not permit gambling in the castle, because it led to fights – when rescue came in the form of Robert, albeit unwittingly.

‘I suppose raising fortresses is a lucrative business?’ he asked with a bored sigh.

Cethynoc smiled for the first time since Gwenllian had known him, although it was not a pleasant expression. ‘Oh, yes. I am a rich man.’

That secured everyone’s attention. ‘How rich?’ asked Gerald keenly.

Cethynoc’s grin was smug. ‘ Very rich. Of course, I have other business interests too. Would you like to hear about them? You may learn something to make you wealthy.’

The entire party leaned forward eagerly, and Gwenllian suspected he was about to spin some tale that would allow him to laugh at their gullibility in the tavern later. She did not care, and was just happy for them to be occupied. Then she saw Cole gesturing to her urgently from the door, and excused herself.

‘I have found Hurso,’ he whispered. ‘He is dead.’

‘What?’ Gwenllian pulled him into the corridor so they could speak without being seen or heard. ‘Are you sure?’

Cole nodded. ‘He was hanging from a rope on the wall’s scaffolding. I cut him down and carried him to the chapel. It was not suicide – he was murdered.’

‘Murdered?’ echoed Gwenllian, shocked. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because his fingernails are torn, and there is a cut on the back of his head. Clearly, he was knocked insensible during a fight, after which his opponent tied a rope around his neck and tipped him off the scaffolding.’

Gwenllian was appalled. ‘I cannot believe it! The King will not overlook two suspicious deaths. He will use them to oust you.’

‘Not if we can prove they were none of my doing.’

Gwenllian thought he was being naïve, but said nothing. She considered what they had been told about Hurso’s last hours. ‘Robert and Luci saw him alive late in the afternoon, and everyone was in the hall eating by dark. That means he must have been killed roughly between four and six o’clock. Unfortunately, all our guests slipped away at some point during that time, when they were not needed for reading.’

‘You cannot narrow our suspects down at all?’ asked Cole, dismayed.

Gwenllian considered carefully. ‘Luci – he was not gone long enough to have reached the walls, killed someone and come back. And Foliot has an alibi in Archdeacon Osbert. But that still leaves Gerald, Prior Dunstan, young Robert and the Hospitallers. I am sorry, Symon! I was so intent on keeping the peace that I did not pay attention to their comings and goings. I should have done.’

‘It does not matter.’ Cole was thoughtful. ‘The sleet turned to rain at roughly four o’clock, which means that anyone out for any length of time would still be wet. Look at me – I am drenched from being out for just a few moments.’

‘They all came in sodden at some point, and I made a joke about it, but they said they were glad, because rain melts snow.’ Gwenllian felt a surge of panic. ‘Then they will leave, and we will never have answers!’

‘What about motives?’ asked Cole calmly. ‘I understand why Gerald would kill Hurso – it is revenge for Pontius. But why would the two Austins or the two knights harm one of their own party?’