The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘The Mass has finished,’ said Iefan, glancing out of the window. He looked around quickly, to ensure all had been left as they had found it. ‘We should go.’

She followed him down the stairs. ‘I hope Symon did not hurt you with his energetic tackle this morning.’

Iefan shot her a rueful glance. ‘There is no saboteur. If there were, he would do something a lot more damaging than arranging a stone so it wobbled, or loosening a few knots. Besides, these things would not happen if he did not insist on working so fast.’

‘You think his eagerness to finish is making people careless?’

Iefan shook his head. ‘If a labourer is injured in an accident and cannot work, he and his family will starve. They know better than to take needless risks by rushing.’

‘Who then?’ pressed Gwenllian. ‘Cethynoc? Symon?’

‘Not Sir Symon.’ Iefan sighed. ‘And probably not Cethynoc, either, although I cannot bring myself to like the man. He cares for nothing except making money and telling tales to glorify himself in the taverns of an evening.’

He slipped away when they reached the bailey, to avoid the guests who were there, all glancing up at the sky and remarking to each other that the sun was already warm. It would soon melt what was left of the snow, and open the roads again.

Norrys was uncharacteristically silent, though. He was rubbing sleep from his eyes, suggesting he had dozed through the service, and Gwenllian strongly suspected that she and Cole had not been the only ones who had abandoned their bed the previous night. She wondered what Norrys had been doing.

‘Your archdeacon needs to learn the art of brevity,’ said Prior Dunstan sourly. ‘I have never heard such a rambling and inconsequential homily.’

‘I was not expecting to give one,’ objected Osbert. ‘I shall be better tomorrow.’

‘Do not bother on my account,’ said Gerald haughtily. ‘I shall leave this afternoon. The snow is disappearing rapidly, and it is time the bishop elect was home in his cathedral.’

‘St Davids is not your cathedral, and never will be,’ said Robert, his young face full of defiance. ‘The archbishop says so. You are dreaming.’

‘How dare you!’ cried Gerald. He rounded on Dunstan. ‘Keep your whelp in order, or I shall box his ears. He is not fit to wear an Austin habit.’

‘It is difficult to tell the condition of the roads from here,’ said Foliot, speaking quickly to prevent another spat. ‘So I suggest we inspect them for ourselves.’

There was a general move towards the gate, leaving Gwenllian uncertain as to whether she should go with them. The St Davids men turned right and began to walk towards the market, while the two Austins took the opposite direction. As his appointed guardian, Norrys should have gone with Prior Dunstan, but he followed Gerald instead.

‘I think I know the identity of the killer,’ said Luci, speaking urgently in her ear and making her jump. ‘I need the answer to one more question, and then I shall be sure.’

‘Thank God!’ breathed Gwenllian in relief. ‘Who is it?’

But Luci shook his head. ‘I cannot say until I am absolutely certain, lest I have made a mistake. But I will have my answer by tonight. Tell Cole to meet me by the castle walls at dusk – alone. I do not want our conversation overheard.’

He had gone before Gwenllian could offer to help him find his last answer.

Uneasy that Norrys was trailing Gerald, Gwenllian set off after them, Iefan walking solicitously at her side. She noted with alarm that there was far less snow than there had been the previous day, so that the killer might well leave in a matter of hours.

Carmarthen’s streets were oddly deserted, and there was none of the usual morning bustle. She saw why when she arrived at the market. A mass of ordinary folk thronged the middle, while a number of merchants had assembled outside the guildhall, resplendent in robes that flaunted their wealth. They were separated by a very thin line of soldiers.

‘Go home,’ Cole was shouting. ‘All of you. Fighting will solve nothing.’

‘We have no intention of fighting,’ came the arrogant tones of William the corviser, safely ensconced behind his fellow merchants. ‘You will do it for us. It is why we pay taxes, after all.’

‘Let me take you home, my lady,’ begged Iefan, tugging on Gwenllian’s cloak. With alarm, she saw that a number of the townsfolk held cudgels, knives and stones. ‘Sir Symon will never forgive me if anything happens to you.’

‘We are not going anywhere until we can buy bread at a decent price,’ shouted a brewer named Tancard, a man noted for his loud opinions. Gwenllian was not surprised that he was the spokesman for what might soon become a mob.

‘William and I will discuss it,’ said Cole shortly. ‘But not until you leave.’

‘Yes, leave,’ jeered William. ‘Scurry back to your hovels. And tomorrow, you will find that bread costs what we decide – not you, and certainly not Cole.’

‘One more remark like that, and I am going back to the castle,’ said Cole shortly. ‘You can defend yourselves against the people you are trying to cheat.’

‘Don’t you dare side with them!’ snarled William. ‘We are the ones who count in this town – the ones with power and money, who make things work. The poor are nothing.’

Unfortunately, it was true, although the merchants had never flexed their muscles in so disagreeable a manner before. Then Gwenllian happened to glance to one side, and saw Norrys watching from a doorway. He was smirking maliciously.

With sudden clarity, she recalled Archdeacon Osbert saying that William and Tancard had been Norrys’s friends when he was constable. And then she understood exactly why the knight had been so sleepy that morning, and why William had not been at home the previous night. They had spent the time plotting together.

She could see Luci watching too, his scholar’s face creased into a frown. Had he identified Norrys as the killer, committing murder as part of his plan to reinstate himself as constable? It seemed likely. She felt anger burn inside her at the enormity of what Norrys had done, and was about to stalk towards him and demand an explanation when there was a commotion nearby. It was Gerald, striding confidently through the crowd with an uneasy Foliot at his heels. The bishop elect looked every inch a prince of the Church with his haughty bearing and elegant robes. People instinctively parted to let him through.

‘If the King hears about your ridiculous antics, he will arrange for Norrys to replace Cole as constable,’ he said loudly, looking imperiously at merchants and paupers alike. ‘Do you want Norrys?’

‘Yes!’ shouted William immediately. ‘He will protect honest merchants from mobs.’

‘He will protect the poor too,’ added Tancard. ‘So bring back Norrys!’

‘Actually, I would rather have Cole,’ countered a merchant named Jung, while his fellows nodded agreement. ‘Norrys levied illegal taxes to line his own pockets when he was in power, and threatened to burn down my warehouse if I did not pay.’

‘Norrys taxed everyone, even the very poor,’ added a ditcher called Kedi. ‘He took bread from the mouths of children, and was a brutal tyrant. We do not want him back, thank you.’

There was a growl of agreement from the crowd, and Gwenllian saw Norrys’s face turn white with anger and indignation.

‘Think about what you wish for,’ said William to his fellow merchants. ‘Norrys will not side with paupers when we feel compelled to raise our prices. He will take our part.’

‘No, he will take ours,’ said Tancard to the crowd. ‘Because he is fair and decent.’

A lot of people laughed at this claim, rich and poor alike, and Norrys’s hands clenched into fists of rage at his side. He started to step forward, but then decided against it.