The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

Robert smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you. It is kind-’

‘I will do it,’ said Walter sharply. Then he grimaced. ‘Although it is late, so I suppose Robert had better take vespers in my stead.’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ gushed Robert smugly.

Gwenllian was glad of Iefan’s reassuring presence at her side as she followed the three clerics, and wished Cole had not abandoned her. Supposing one of them was the murderer? Trotman was chatting about Bath’s healing waters, an innocuous subject that should have put her at ease. It did not, and she became more uneasy with every step. When a dog barked suddenly, she jumped in alarm.

‘There is no need to be frightened,’ said Walter, smirking. ‘Bath is quite safe. Bishop Savaric sees to that.’

‘Does he?’ asked Gwenllian, heart hammering in her chest. ‘How?’

‘With henchmen,’ explained Trotman. He raised his hands defensively when Walter started to object. ‘They are henchmen. How else would you describe Osmun and Fevil?’

‘Knightly advisers,’ replied Walter shortly. ‘And please do not make disparaging remarks about Savaric. He is a fine man, and I am proud to serve him.’

‘Serve him?’ pounced Lechlade disapprovingly. ‘A prior should not serve anyone except God.’

‘I serve my King,’ Walter flashed back. ‘And Savaric is one of his favourite prelates.’

‘No one can deny that,’ agreed Trotman pointedly. ‘There is nothing Savaric would not do for John. And nothing John would not do in return.’

Gwenllian was not sure what was meant by the remark, but it was enough to tell her that she would need to be careful when she met the bishop the following day.

‘You are no doubt wondering why two canons from Wells should be in Bath,’ said Lechlade pleasantly, although the question could not have been further from her mind. ‘We are here to tell Savaric that he has no right to declare himself “Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury” without our approval.’

‘Wells is supposed to be consulted on all major decisions, you see,’ explained Trotman. ‘But Savaric made this one alone – and we do not approve. Glastonbury does not want him, for a start. They have elected their own abbot. His name is Pica, although Savaric refuses to recognise him.’

‘Who cares what Glastonbury wants?’ shrugged Walter. ‘Ever since King Arthur’s bones were discovered, they have been getting ideas above their station. Personally, I am delighted that Savaric cut them down to size by making them subordinate to Bath.’

‘He only did it because he wants to control their coffers,’ countered Lechlade acidly. ‘But they should decide who rules them, not him.’

‘The King and the Pope disagree,’ argued Walter. ‘They both support what he did.’

‘That Pope is now dead,’ snapped Lechlade. ‘And the King only gave his blessing to the scheme because Savaric offered him a share of Glastonbury’s profits in return. Do not deny it, Walter – you know it is true.’

‘Walter has been telling me about Prior Hugh,’ said Gwenllian, speaking before the quarrel could escalate further – she wanted to hear about Bath, not Glastonbury. ‘And about Master Adam and Bishop Reginald.’

‘All dead before their time,’ said Trotman sadly. ‘There are rumours of murder, but I do not believe them. Adam and Hugh were called by God. Well, by seraphim, to be precise.’

‘Seraphim?’ echoed Gwenllian, startled.

Trotman nodded keenly. ‘There are fiendishly sharp claws on every one of a seraph’s six wings, and God sent them after Adam and Hugh, although I cannot tell you why – they seemed like decent men to me. However, seraphim did not kill Reginald – he died of a fever. I know this for a fact, because Lechlade and I were there.’

‘Lots of people were there,’ elaborated Walter. ‘Reginald wanted friends from Glastonbury, Bath and Wells to see him enthroned in Canterbury. Naturally, I was among his honoured guests. So were Robert, Pica, Sir Fevil and Dacus.’

‘Dacus?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘We just met a man named Dacus. He told my husband to go to Solsbury Hill on Thursday, when there will be a full moon…’

Trotman grimaced. ‘Dacus has not been in his right mind since Reginald died. Savaric was wrong to have made him Master of the Hospital.’

‘He did it because he thought the responsibility might help Dacus regain his wits,’ explained Walter defensively. Then he sighed ruefully. ‘Although it does not seem to be working.’

‘Did Dacus tell you that spending a night on Solsbury will prove your virtue?’ asked Trotman, adding when Gwenllian nodded, ‘Then do not take the challenge lightly. If you go in an irreverent frame of mind, you will die. Seraphim do not approve of levity.’

The Angel was a pleasant inn that smelled of burning pine cones and fresh rushes. Gwenllian was allocated a chamber that was clean, warm and inviting. Hot water was available for washing, along with a meal of bread and roasted meat.

She was exhausted, but refused to sleep until Cole returned. He was quite capable of looking after himself, but her anxiety still increased as the night wore on, and she was near to panic by midnight, when he eventually appeared.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded angrily. ‘I have been worried!’

‘There was no need.’ He went to kneel by the fire; its faint light showed him to be wet, scratched and muddy.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What have you been doing, to get so bedraggled?’

‘I went to Solsbury Hill. But it was devoid of wolves.’

‘Of course it was! Even if one is in the area, it will not frequent the place regularly, or people would kill it.’ Gwenllian regarded him coolly. ‘Or was it a different kind of wolf you were hoping to meet? Dacus, for example?’

Cole winced that she should read him so easily. ‘I thought he might appear, after tempting me there with all those remarks about the danger.’

‘I think they were intended to frighten, not entice you! Besides, he suggested you go on Thursday, when the moon is full – presumably so he can see what he is doing as he kills you.’

Cole began to remove his sodden boots. ‘He has had his chance. I am not climbing up there again. It was not a comfortable jaunt, especially in the rain.’

‘Did you learn anything that might tell us what happened to Prior Hugh?’

Cole nodded. ‘The same thing that happened to Adam: Dacus lured him up there, then set some savage beast on him.’

‘And why would Dacus do that?’ asked Gwenllian tiredly.

‘Presumably because he had decided that they were evil. We both heard him say so.’

‘We shall bear it in mind – but not to the point where we are blind to other possibilities.’

‘There are no other possibilities. I know Dacus killed Adam, which means he killed Hugh, too. All you need to do is prove it.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said Gwenllian wearily. ‘However, there are other suspects. Walter, who succeeded Hugh as prior, is Savaric’s creature – perhaps they conspired to be rid of an awkward customer. Meanwhile, Brother Robert is nauseatingly pious, and I am always wary of such men. Then there is Reginald to consider.’

‘He died years ago,’ said Cole, startled. ‘He cannot be a suspect.’

‘I meant we cannot overlook the possibility that Dacus is right, and he was murdered, too,’ explained Gwenllian patiently. ‘Which means we have three odd deaths to investigate.’

‘I disagree. The King mentioned neither Adam nor Reginald in his letter.’

‘No,’ agreed Gwenllian acidly. ‘Although I imagine he has certainly heard the rumours of foul play. But let John play his sly games – he will not best us.’