The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

‘We had better pay our respects to the bishop this morning,’ said Gwenllian, after a breakfast of smoked pork, eggs and dried fruit. ‘We do not want to offend him by delaying.’

‘Very well,’ said Cole unenthusiastically. He rarely enjoyed the company of senior clerics, mostly because they tended to be deficient in their knowledge of horses and dogs.

The Bishop’s Palace was an elegantly appointed mansion in the southern quarter of the abbey precinct, which boasted windows of real glass. There were also arrow slits in the walls, and a crenellated roof. Cole surveyed it with a professional eye.

‘It is better defended than Carmarthen Castle! I could hold out for months here.’

Gwenllian was less impressed. ‘So Savaric feels the need for defence. I wonder what he does that makes him unpopular.’

They were ushered into a solar, where two knights were waiting, both wearing leather leggings and mail tunics. Gwenllian could not suppress a shudder when her eyes met those of the first. They were pale green, like a serpent’s, and she did not think she had ever seen a colder expression. He was Cole’s height, but thinner. His companion was a giant, with the blankly stupid expression of a man who followed orders without question. Instinctively, she sensed that neither was a man to be crossed.

‘Carmarthen’s castellan,’ said Reptile Eyes, treating Cole to a smile that was far from friendly. ‘Why have you brought your wife? Do you plan to be here a while?’

‘As long as it takes,’ replied Cole evenly, although Gwenllian bristled at the man’s tone. ‘We will not leave without seeing a murderer brought to justice.’

The pair exchanged glances that were easy to read: alarm. Gwenllian wondered why.

‘I see.’ Reptile Eyes cleared his throat. ‘I am Sir Osmun d’Avranches, and my companion is Sir Fevil. We had the honour of escorting King Richard to Acre on the last Crusade, where we played a vital part in breaking the siege. Now we are advisers to Bishop Savaric.’

‘Advisers?’ Gwenllian wondered what kind of advice these brutes could offer a prelate.

‘He values our opinions,’ elaborated Osmun, while behind him Fevil scowled, sensing an insult in the question, but not quite sure what to do about it.

‘I was at the Siege of Acre, too,’ said Cole. ‘Did you see the red and white striped walls?’

‘Of course,’ replied Osmun. ‘They are very fine. But we had better save our reminiscing for when the bishop is not waiting. We shall take you to him.’

‘Tell us what you know of Hugh’s death,’ said Cole, as they walked along corridors that told them the Bishop’s Palace was large as well as elegant. ‘And Adam’s.’

‘Why?’ asked Osmun suspiciously.

‘Because we respect the views of knights who advise the bishop,’ lied Gwenllian. She favoured him with a disarming smile, although it was not easy to simper at such a man.

Osmun was flattered. ‘Then you shall have them. There is a rumour that Hugh and Adam were savaged by an animal, but Fevil and I do not believe it – there are no wolves in Bath. It is our contention that they fell, and caught their necks against jagged rocks.’

‘What, both of them?’ asked Gwenllian incredulously.

‘Yes, both of them,’ replied Osmun smoothly.

‘We have been told that a seraph is the culprit,’ said Cole.

Osmun laughed. ‘I doubt they were wicked enough to warrant the attentions of seraphim. When others fail Solsbury’s test, they are just sent home screaming, not harmed physically.’

‘Do many folk accept this challenge, then?’ asked Cole.

Osmun smirked. ‘Yes, but few pass. Fevil and I did, though. We took it when we first arrived, and our success means we are courageous, true and bold.’

Gwenllian decided to reserve judgement on that. ‘Did you see the bodies?’

Both men nodded, although it was Osmun who answered again, and Gwenllian began to wonder whether Fevil was capable of forming a sentence.

‘Their throats were terribly mangled – they must have rolled a long way. But necks are vulnerable. I know, because I usually aim for them when I dispatch my enemies.’

The smile he gave Cole made Gwenllian shudder. ‘Where were you when these men died?’ she asked.

Osmun’s grin did not falter. ‘Playing dice together, on both occasions.’

At that point, he and Fevil were distracted by a messenger from the King. The exchange that followed told Gwenllian that monarch and bishop were in regular contact, which confirmed what Trotman had said: they were allies. She would indeed need to be careful when dealing with Savaric.

‘They were not at Acre,’ whispered Cole.

‘How do you know?’ she whispered back.

‘Because Constantinople has striped walls, not Acre. And any real crusader knows it.’

‘What made you want to catch them out?’

‘You told me not to trust anyone, so I decided to test their truthfulness. They are liars, Gwen, and we should not believe them when they say Adam and Hugh fell.’

‘I agree. Osmun and Fevil are suspects, as far as I am concerned.’

‘I suppose they might have helped Dacus.’ Cole shrugged at her exasperation. ‘I am keeping an open mind, Gwen. I am quite happy to believe that Dacus had accomplices.’

The bishop was in a magnificent hall, which was decked out in hangings of purple and red. He was a handsome man, with dark eyes, smooth olive skin and silver hair, and when he stood to greet his guests, he moved with a haughty grace.

‘I am afraid you have had a wasted journey,’ he said. ‘Poor Hugh wandered up Solsbury Hill in the dark, and his death was an accident. There is no mystery to solve.’

‘Your monks do not think so,’ said Cole. ‘Two of them told my wife that Hugh was murdered. So was Adam, for that matter, and he was my friend.’

Savaric’s lips compressed into a hard, thin line, and Gwenllian glimpsed ruthlessness behind the suave exterior. ‘Then they are mistaken.’

‘We have also been told that these deaths were acts of God,’ added Gwenllian.

‘Now that is possible,’ nodded Savaric. ‘I liked Adam, but he was vain about his medical skills, while Hugh was dour and sanctimonious. The Almighty may well have decided to provide me with an opportunity to appoint better men.’

‘Dacus is not better than Adam,’ declared Cole indignantly.

Savaric regarded him silently for a moment. ‘Perhaps “better” was the wrong word to have used, when what I meant was “different”. As I said, I liked Adam.’

‘Do you like Dacus?’ asked Cole, a little dangerously.

‘Not particularly. But he is a good medicus , and he was a devoted chaplain to Reginald – my cousin. He was mad with grief after Reginald’s death, but he is well again now.’

‘But you believe Walter is a better man than Hugh?’ asked Gwenllian, thinking that Dacus must have been raving indeed, if he was now considered to have recovered.

‘Without question. Bath is a much happier place now. It will be happier still when the business involving Glastonbury is resolved, and its monks accept me as their rightful ruler. But what do you intend to do here, Sir Symon? Or will you take my word that nothing untoward has happened, and leave us in peace?’

‘Is that what you would like us to do?’ asked Gwenllian probingly.

Savaric continued to address Cole, dismissing her as of no importance. ‘Tell the King the truth: Hugh had an accident. I am sure we can find a little something to make your journey home more agreeable.’

Cole gaped at him. ‘Are you trying to bribe me?’

Savaric looked pained, clearly unused to dealing with plain-speaking men. ‘I am suggesting ways in which your commission can be discharged to our mutual advantage. The King will be delighted to learn that Hugh’s death was unavoidable, and I always aim to please him. I assume you are similarly loyal?’