The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘Burchill lost him?’ asked Gwenllian sharply.

‘There was nothing suspicious about it, Gwen.’ Cole sounded too tired to be angry. ‘Burchill is not as quick-footed as he was, and I should have taken that into account. It was my fault, not his.’

Gwenllian did not argue. ‘If you plan to lay hold of William tomorrow, be discreet. The other merchants will be outraged if you do it in front of them, and technically he has done nothing wrong. Profiteering is unethical, but not illegal.’

Cole was silent for a moment. ‘I do not suppose you have had time to investigate the saboteur, have you?’

‘No, I considered the murders more pressing,’ she replied rather shortly.

‘Quarrelsome clerics are not more important than my workmen,’ he said firmly. ‘But I shall catch the villain tonight. Obviously, he does not tamper with the walls during the day, when someone might see him, so logic dictates that he must work after dark. I plan to keep watch until dawn.’

‘You will be wasting your time,’ predicted Gwenllian. ‘First, because you cannot know he will strike tonight. And second, even if he does, you may already have missed him.’

‘It is a chance I am willing to take.’

‘Then I shall come with you,’ she determined, climbing off the bed and reaching for her outdoor clothes. ‘It will give me a chance to review all I know, and talking is good for clarifying confusion. Besides, it will help you to stay awake.’

‘It is too cold, and in your condition-’

‘I have a beautifully warm cloak, and my condition is irrelevant. Besides, I am sure you can find me a sheltered spot.’

Cole grumbled all the time she dressed, but fell silent as they left the hall, walking as stealthily and sure-footed as a cat while Gwenllian stumbled along behind him. He found a place where he could watch the entire wall, and arranged a tarpaulin so it would shelter her from the rain. It was a miserable night, but milder than it had been, and she was sure most of the snow would be washed away by dawn.

‘We have five suspects,’ she began, once they were settled. ‘None has an alibi for either death, and all have reasons to want Pontius and Hurso dead. Obviously, Norrys is at the top of the list, for the simple reason that their deaths will harm you. Next is that horrid Robert.’

‘Who may have killed Canon Wilfred too,’ added Cole. ‘A bully whom he hated.’

‘Prior Dunstan says it was a natural death, but the more I think about it, the more I believe that Wilfred was murdered, and that he is part of whatever is unfolding. Our next suspects are Dunstan and Gerald, both of whom are ruthless, and may well view two deaths as a necessary sacrifice to their ambitions. Although I like Gerald, and he is kin… ’

‘Who is the last suspect? I thought you had eliminated Foliot and Luci.’

‘Yes,’ said Gwenllian, reluctant to mention Burchill. ‘Luci has an alibi in me for Hurso’s death, while Foliot has Osbert. And there is the shoulder Foliot injured in his fall; he would have been in too much pain to clamber up a wall and start hacking at the mortar.’

‘Do you think so?’ asked Cole, surprised. ‘Those bruises would not slow me down.’

‘But Foliot is a priest, not a warrior trained to make light of such matters. You cannot compare him to yourself.’

Frustrated, she realised that talking had clarified nothing. When she said no more Cole began to tell her his ideas regarding the saboteur. He refused to believe that one of his soldiers or labourers was responsible, so his suspicions revolved around a stranger breaking in.

‘And what does this mysterious outsider gain from his tampering?’ asked Gwenllian.

‘We shall ask when we catch him,’ replied Cole, thus indicating that his theory had not taken the question of motive into account.

‘Then tell me how he gets in?’ pressed Gwenllian. ‘You run a tight ship, and strangers are not permitted inside the castle after dark.’

Cole could not answer that either, and fell silent. Time passed slowly. He kept himself awake by standing up, but Gwenllian drowsed, despite the creeping chill. Eventually, the sky began to lighten in the east, and she heaved a sigh of relief that their futile vigil was at an end. She was about to suggest they repair to the kitchens for hot ale when Cole stiffened, and his hand dropped to his sword.

‘What?’ she whispered softly, straining her eyes in the gloom. Then she saw it: a shadow moving among the supplies.

Cole motioned for her to stay put, and crept towards it. She watched, heart thumping. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself, but she grabbed a piece of wood anyway, ready to race forward and defend him if the skirmish did not go according to plan.

Unfortunately, the wood was tied to something else, which clattered as she picked it up. The shadow whipped round, then made a run for it. Cole followed with a battle cry learned on the crusade, before launching himself forward in a flying tackle. It looked painful, and she was not surprised that his victim made no attempt to escape once pinned to the ground.

Cole peered at his captive in the gloom, then sat back in astonishment. ‘Iefan?’

‘Sir Symon!’ gasped the sergeant. ‘You scared the life out of me!’

‘What are you doing here?’ Cole climbed off him and hauled him to his feet.

‘I came to see whether you are right about the saboteur,’ Iefan replied. ‘If he does exist – and I am not saying he does – he will operate about now, when there is light enough to see by, but before the workmen arrive.’

‘He does exist,’ said Cole firmly. ‘And when I saw you moving through the supplies I thought you were him.’

‘And I thought you were a Saracen after my blood.’ Iefan scowled. ‘Did you have to wrestle me so roughly? If I had been a weaker man, you might have broken my neck.’

‘If you had been the saboteur, I would not have cared,’ retorted Cole.

Iefan started to say something else, but footsteps made them turn. It was Cethynoc. The mason stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Cole and Iefan, and had taken several steps away before realising that he had already been seen. He advanced reluctantly, his blunt face sullen and unsmiling.

‘You are here early,’ said Gwenllian, immediately suspicious. ‘Why?’

‘Because it will be a fine day, and I wanted to make an inspection of the site before the labourers arrive in the hope that we can resume building,’ Cethynoc replied, regarding her with an expression that was difficult to read in the dim light. She had no idea if he was telling the truth. ‘And you?’

He smirked when Cole told him about the misunderstanding with Iefan, and then began to prowl. It was not long before he pointed at a pile of stones.

‘You both wasted your time,’ he growled. ‘Look at that.’

‘What is wrong with it?’ asked Gwenllian, nonplussed.

Cethynoc touched the top one. It teetered ominously. ‘ I did not stack it like that, and it was stable when I went home last night. Your saboteur was here sure enough.’

‘One stone moved hardly constitutes a-’ began Gwenllian.

‘You would think it was dangerous if you brushed against it and it fell on you,’ snapped Cethynoc. ‘It would not kill, but it might break toes – and it would delay us yet again, because Sir Symon would insist on yet another safety inspection before work resumed.’

‘You see?’ said Cole, looking at Gwen and Iefan in vindication. ‘There is your evidence. A saboteur is at work, and I will find him if it is the last thing I do. No one puts my men at risk and gets away with it.’

When Cole went to track down the greedy merchant William, Gwenllian had breakfast with the guests. Then, as Osbert was there, she suggested morning prayers in the chapel, charging the hapless archdeacon to make the ceremony as lengthy as possible. As soon as it was underway, she slipped out and hurried to the hall. Iefan was there, warming himself by the fire, so she commandeered his help, and together they explored the guests’ chambers and searched their baggage. Unfortunately, their illicit operation brought forth nothing in the way of clues.