The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

‘But stones do not drop out of walls to order,’ said Cole. They had everyone’s attention now, although Foliot was shaking his head. ‘So it stands to reason that Pontius was killed by someone in the same room as him. And I know how Foliot did it.’

‘You do?’ asked Gwenllian uneasily, hoping he was not about to destroy their case by claiming something ridiculous.

‘He chipped the stone loose, and wedged it in place with a pebble. The pebble was tied to a piece of twine. One jerk caused it to fall. The culprit could only be Gerald or Foliot, because they were the only two in that chamber when it fell.’

‘But I am injured,’ said Foliot, one hand to his shoulder. ‘I cannot climb walls!’

‘Of course you can,’ said Cole scathingly. ‘You are long past the stage where your bruises will incapacitate you. Your intended victim was Gerald, of course.’

‘No,’ cried Foliot. He appealed to the bishop elect, who was regarding him uncertainly. ‘This is all a lie – I would never harm you. He wants me blamed so Norrys will let him go.’

‘Open your scrip,’ suggested Cole. ‘I wager anything you like that it will contain twine.’

‘Of course it will,’ said Foliot, backing away when Robert, his youthful face alight with spiteful glee, tried to take it from him. ‘I always carry twine when I travel.’

‘But you did not have any when you arrived here,’ said Cole. ‘You had used it all up by mending broken reins after the ambush in Trecastle. Gerald asked you for some when I broke the lace on my boot, if you recall.’

‘I bought some more,’ said Foliot desperately. ‘It proves nothing.’

‘From which merchant?’ pressed Cole. ‘We shall send for him immediately.’

Foliot looked sick. ‘I cannot recall,’ he whispered. ‘And he may not remember me…’

Robert made a lunge for him, and there was a brief tussle, which the youngster won. He took the purse to a table and upended it. Among the items that tumbled out was a length of thin twine that had a loop tied in one end.

‘This may well have been knotted around a pebble,’ reported Dunstan, inspecting it closely. ‘There is grit caught in it that says it has certainly been somewhere dusty, such as hanging from a wall that has had mortar scraped from it.’

‘It is not mine,’ shouted Foliot, panicky now. ‘Someone put it there to see me accused.’

‘But you never leave your scrip unattended,’ said Gerald, his face full of hurt confusion. ‘because it contains money. No one would have had the chance to plant evidence there.’

‘And all to ensure that Gerald is not made bishop,’ Gwenllian went on. She glanced at Cole, sensing he was readying himself to attack. She shook her head slightly, to tell him to wait. There was doubt in Norrys’s face, and she began to hope that the situation could be resolved without Cole risking his life in a wild lunge. ‘It was your second attempt, the first being in Oseney, with a jug of poisoned wine.’

‘The stuff that killed Canon Wilfred?’ asked Robert, wide-eyed. ‘Lord! I saw Foliot hovering over it, but then he left, so I filched it for my master. Thank God I did not drink any myself!’

‘I did not!’ cried Foliot. ‘Poison indeed! Is that what you think of me?’

Gerald’s hurt had turned to contempt, and he regarded Foliot with such iciness that even Gwenllian winced. ‘You were late coming to our room the night Pontius died, and I had doused the candle, so it was dark. You expected me to be in the better bed, but I had given it to Pontius, because he had complained of backache.’

‘I would never-’ began Foliot.

‘It is all clear now,’ Gerald went on, cutting across him. ‘The stone was the fourth time you tried to kill me, not the second. You arranged ambushes in Brecon and Trecastle, too – although they misfired and you were the one who was injured. But God protected me.’

‘Is that what you thought, Foliot?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘That God was with Gerald? So when the ploy with the stone failed, you opted for other tactics – namely to have him accused of murdering Hurso?’

‘You certainly made us willing to believe it,’ said Dunstan. ‘None of us missed the suspicious glances you kept shooting in Gerald’s direction. How very clever!’

‘This is all nonsense,’ cried Foliot. ‘Tell them, Osbert!’

‘He is right.’ Sweat beaded on the archdeacon’s hairless pate. ‘Because there is only one killer, and if it was Foliot, then it means he killed Hurso, too. But he did not: he has an alibi for Hurso’s death, and for Luci’s, too, he was with me both times.’

‘Yes,’ said Gwenllian softly. ‘Because you are his accomplice.’

‘ Osbert plotted against me too?’ asked Gerald, shocked. ‘But I barely know him!’

‘Of course not!’ cried Osbert hoarsely. He fixed Gwenllian with reproachful eyes. ‘I have been your archdeacon for years. How can you say such wicked things about me?’

‘Because I have proof. Hurso fought his attacker hard enough to break his fingernails. You refused to don your costume for the play yesterday because to undress would have revealed the scratches on your arms.’

Robert made a lunge for Osbert’s hand and pushed up the sleeve to reveal marks.

‘It was easy for you,’ said Gwenllian, disgusted. ‘You live here, so you knew exactly where to kill Hurso without being seen. Foliot gave you an alibi-’

‘But Osbert was not wet,’ said Foliot triumphantly. ‘Hurso was killed in the rain, and you said yourself that his killer would have been soaked. I was damp, because I had been to the latrines, but Osbert was dry. And if he is innocent of killing Hurso, then so am I.’

‘Osbert is bald,’ explained Gwenllian. ‘His head is easy to wipe dry, unlike one with hair. He divested himself of his sodden cloak and pretended he had been indoors all afternoon. And you stabbed Luci, because he was on the verge of exposing you both.’

‘No.’ Osbert swallowed hard, and his denial was unconvincing. ‘I never did.’

‘You planned it from the moment you and Foliot met,’ said Gwenllian in disgust. ‘Prior Dunstan asked to stay in your house, but you ensured they all came here, knowing trouble would follow. You have been friends for years, and you conspired together like-’

‘We did what we thought was right!’ cried Osbert suddenly. Foliot closed his eyes, disgusted by the capitulation. ‘Gerald should not be Bishop of St Davids. He will try to make it an archbishopric, which will earn the wrath of the King, Canterbury and Rome. He will be a disaster, inflicting misery and hardship on thousands of people…’

‘Yes, but murder,’ said Dunstan in distaste. ‘It-’

Suddenly, Foliot snatched a knife from the table and ran towards Norrys. The knight tensed, but the crossbow bolt trained on Cole did not waver.

‘You cannot shoot Cole and leave witnesses, Norrys,’ said Foliot urgently. ‘Yet you are eager to see him dead. So you, Osbert and I will set this hall alight and lock everyone else inside. We three will be the only survivors.’

Norrys stared at him for a moment, and then his face broke into a slow, savage grin. ‘An excellent solution. However, Cole has an uncanny ability to slither out of dangerous situations unharmed, and I should not like him to escape. I need to be certain he is dead.’

He aimed the crossbow and loosed the mechanism. There was a sharp click and Cole slumped to the floor.

Gwenllian stared at Cole in mute horror, and took an unsteady step towards him, but Burchill grabbed her hand, and held her fast.

‘The baby,’ he whispered. ‘Think of the baby.’

But Gwenllian could only think of Cole. She could see he was breathing, but for how long? Norrys had grabbed a second crossbow, already wound, and was toting it in a way that said he would be delighted to claim another victim, so that although Dunstan and Gerald had taken several steps towards the door, both faltered. Young Robert was rooted to the spot in terror.