The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘His dogged insistence that there was no saboteur, when we all knew there was,’ replied Cole. ‘His assertion that the mishaps were minor, representing no danger to the workmen. His constant objections that the work was proceeding too fast. And I almost caught him in the act yesterday, when he spun a tale about looking for the culprit himself.’

‘You did not tell me any of this,’ said Burchill reproachfully.

‘Or me,’ added Gwenllian, sorry for it. If he had confided, she would have found a way to make Iefan desist without the humiliation of being caught red-handed. He had done wrong, but he had been a faithful retainer for years, and she could not find it in her heart to condemn him. Neither would Cole.

Cole shrugged. ‘I hoped I was mistaken.’

‘Well, I am sorry he transpired to be the villain,’ said Burchill. ‘You trusted him, and he betrayed you. Thank God we thwarted him, though: he was growing more reckless, and his tricks would have hurt someone eventually. You must dismiss him from your service.’

‘No,’ said Cole. ‘It is over now, and we shall say no more about it.’ He turned to Gwenllian. ‘We had better find Luci before he has second thoughts about confiding in us. He is not out here – our scuffle must have put him off – so we had better look in the hall.’

The bailey was dark and quiet as they walked across it, although lights gleamed here and there as soldiers and servants settled down for an evening of storytelling around the fire, or perhaps an illicit game of dice. Gwenllian opened the hall door and stepped inside, Cole and Burchill at her heels. Then she stopped in confusion.

Gerald, Foliot, Prior Dunstan, Robert and Archdeacon Osbert stood in a silent semicircle around someone who lay on the floor, leaking blood. It was Luci.

Gwenllian started to move forward, to see whether Luci might be helped, but Burchill jerked her back roughly. Cole started to object, but spun round quickly at the distinctive sound of a sword scything through the air.

It was Norrys, his face twisted with vengeful malice. Cole ducked away, and while he staggered off balance, Norrys struck at Gwenllian. He would have killed her had Burchill not thrown himself in front of her, raising one arm to deflect the blow. The old knight cried out as the blade bit, and fell to his knees. Blood oozed between his fingers.

Cole drew his own weapon, but Norrys snatched up a crossbow. It was wound ready, and he grinned his satisfaction as he pointed it at Cole. Cole faltered. A sword was no match for such a device.

‘No!’ screamed Gwenllian. She started to step forward, to place herself between them, but Burchill reached up and grabbed her arm with his good hand, yanking her back again.

‘Wait,’ he murmured softly. ‘Assess the situation before acting.’

Gwenllian felt like pushing him away, but she knew he was right. She tore a piece of cloth from her sleeve and tied it around his arm, although almost all her attention was on Norrys. He had indicated that Cole was to drop his sword and stand against the wall. With no choice but to obey, Cole did as he was told.

‘Here is our killer,’ said Norrys coldly. ‘ He stabbed Luci, then went to collect his henchman, to help him dispatch the rest of you. I have just saved your lives.’

‘We know everything, Cole,’ said Robert gleefully. ‘Luci has been conducting his own inquiry into the murders, and was on the verge of exposing you. So you killed him before he could speak. And you intended to slaughter the rest of us so that this miserable tale will never reach the ears of the King.’

‘If you believe Norrys’s claims, you are a fool,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘You know he wants Symon discredited because he longs to be constable.’

‘It can be resolved easily enough,’ said Gerald. He turned to Cole. ‘Just tell us where you have been since the end of the play. And put that weapon down, Norrys, before it goes off and hurts someone.’

‘You will be safer if I keep it trained on Cole,’ said Norrys. ‘He is ruthless and cunning, and will seize any opportunity to escape.’

Gwenllian felt sick with fear, knowing Norrys was going to kill Symon anyway. She would have run towards him, but there was no strength in her legs.

‘I have been with Gwenllian and Burchill,’ replied Cole. ‘And Iefan.’

‘His wife and two henchmen,’ sneered Norrys. ‘Hardly independent witnesses. He murdered Luci, and has spent the time since washing the blood from his hands and clothes.’

‘He is wearing the same tunic as earlier,’ said Gerald. ‘And it is unstained and certainly not wet. Moreover, your dogged determination to blame him makes me wonder whether you are the culprit.’

‘I have been with Prior Dunstan from immediately after the play until we came down to the hall together,’ said Norrys. ‘We were packing, ready for tomorrow. I could not have stabbed Luci – and that means I am innocent of harming Hurso and Pontius too, given that there can only be one murderer. The same is true for Dunstan.’

Dunstan nodded slowly. ‘We were together when Norrys says.’

‘I have an alibi too,’ said Robert gloatingly. ‘I was talking to the townsfolk – hearing their accounts of what happened in the market this morning.’

Norrys shot him a look of pure hatred, and Gwenllian suspected that the foolish Robert had just put himself in considerable danger. Norrys would certainly not want those tales repeated in Canterbury.

‘Well, I went to visit William and Tancard in the castle cells,’ said Gerald. ‘And the guards will testify to that fact, if you ask them. I, too, am innocent.’

‘Why would you do such a thing?’ demanded Dunstan. ‘Or am I to report to the archbishop that you consort with rabble-rousers?’

‘You may tell him that I care for the sinners in my See,’ said Gerald loftily. ‘They are stupid men, but not wicked ones. I went to hear their confessions, and they told me quite a tale. You have a lot to answer for, Norrys.’

‘That means Foliot is the culprit,’ said Gwenllian quietly, knowing that Burchill would not have taken the blow intended to kill her if he had been the guilty party; his act of heroism had exonerated him, too. ‘There are no other suspects left.’

There was silence in the hall after Gwenllian had made her announcement, and she saw Norrys’s crossbow waver slightly. Her claim had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. Meanwhile, the two Austins nodded to say they had known it all along, Gerald and Osbert gaped, and Foliot himself went white with shock.

‘How can you say such a terrible thing?’ he asked, once he had found his voice. ‘I have an alibi too. I was with Osbert.’

‘It is true,’ said the archdeacon. ‘He was.’

‘There is blood on your arm,’ said Gwenllian, pointing. ‘You washed your hands, but it is messy stuff, and I can see a smear of it on your wrist. There are also spots on your habit.’

‘I cut myself,’ said Foliot, pulling down the offending sleeve. ‘On a nail.’

‘Then show us,’ she said simply. ‘Where is the cut?’

‘It is personal,’ said Foliot, licking dry lips. ‘I will show Osbert, but no one else.’

Gwenllian struggled to tie facts together, easier now she knew the identity of the culprit. She addressed the others. ‘Foliot murdered Pontius too. It is obvious now I think about it. Do you remember how he spent his first day here?’

‘Being shown around the castle by Iefan and Cethynoc,’ supplied Cole promptly. ‘Cethynoc is a mason, and knows all about stones and mortar.’

‘Precisely!’ said Gwenllian. ‘Cethynoc told me today that he knew there was an unstable stone in that particular bedchamber, and that he had mentioned it on his tour, as Pontius would have been able to attest, had he still been alive.’