The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

Cole hesitated, not sure how to answer without condemning himself.

Gwenllian came to his rescue. ‘We shall do what is appropriate.’

Savaric frowned at the ambiguity of her response. ‘Keep me apprised of your progress, then. However, do not forget that Bath is a holy place, and I am the favoured recipient of a miracle. Have you heard about my crosier? Here it is – I always keep it in this hall.’

The staff was unexpectedly plain to be the property of so vain and grand a man, although there were three large jewels in its handle. Gwenllian inspected them.

‘But they are only glass,’ she blurted in surprise.

Savaric nodded. ‘It belonged to Reginald, and he was a man of simple tastes. I was appalled and shocked when it disappeared.’

‘Was it stolen?’ asked Cole.

‘Possibly. All I can tell you is that it was here one day, and gone the next. But I prayed to Reginald for its safe return, and it appeared on the high altar the following morning.’

‘Did it now?’ murmured Gwenllian sceptically.

‘It was the first miracle of many,’ Savaric went on happily. ‘Pilgrims pay a fortune to pray at his tomb now.’

‘Your knights claim to have had their virtue proved on Solsbury Hill,’ began Cole. ‘Do you think Adam and Hugh were-’

Savaric snorted his disdain. ‘Superstitious nonsense! My monks are always clamouring at me to be tested – especially that pious Robert – but I am not a man for grubbing about in the dark. Besides, I have no wish to see seraphim. I do not like the sound of them at all.’

‘What about wolves?’ asked Cole.

‘Not those, either. However-’ At this point, Savaric was interrupted by a commotion outside. He closed his eyes wearily. ‘Will that damned villain never leave me in peace?’

The ‘damned villain’ entered the hall in a flurry of snarling words and jabbing elbows. Osmun and Fevil tried to stop him, but – although only half their size – he simply put his head down and battered his way past them. The newcomer was a Benedictine, and he was quivering with rage, small fists clenched at his sides.

‘This is William Pica,’ explained Savaric heavily. ‘From Glastonbury.’

‘ Abbot Pica,’ spat Pica. ‘Legally elected. You have stolen my title, but you will not keep it. I shall travel to Rome, and the new Pope will condemn your vile behaviour. You only want Glastonbury because we have King Arthur’s bones, and they are proving to be lucrative.’

‘Nonsense! It makes good administrative sense for Glastonbury and Bath to be united,’ argued Savaric. ‘Besides, Reginald wanted me to join the abbeys. He said so on his deathbed.’

‘Lies!’ screeched Pica. ‘I was with him – and he did not sully his lips with your name.’

‘And was that because he was poisoned, so could not speak?’ demanded Savaric, suave demeanour evaporating. ‘There are tales that say he did not die a natural death, and I have not forgotten that you were present. I have not forgotten that you happened to be in Bath when Hugh and Adam perished, either. You claim you were asleep, but you cannot prove it.’

Pica turned purple with rage, and while he spluttered incoherently, Gwenllian addressed the bishop.

‘You just told us that those three deaths were not suspicious. Yet now you accuse Pica of being complicit in them?’

‘Forgive me,’ said Savaric shortly, taking a deep breath to compose himself. ‘Pica always goads me into saying things I do not mean.’

‘Is that so?’ shrieked Pica. ‘Because I suspect you of killing them. One of your minions poisoned Reginald, while you have no alibi for when Adam and Hugh died, either.’

‘Yes, I do,’ snapped Savaric. ‘I was praying. God is my witness.’

‘Then tell Him to say so to the King’s officer,’ snarled Pica, waving a hand at Cole, who looked alarmed by the prospect. ‘Ask for a divine sign.’

‘There has already been one,’ argued Savaric, becoming angry again. ‘My crosier would not have been returned to me if I did not own God’s favour.’

Pica was evidently unwilling to argue with this, because he changed the subject. ‘Then tell the King’s officer what Hugh was doing when he died. Let us see what he makes of that .’

Savaric sighed as he addressed Cole. ‘Hugh thought there was something odd about the deaths of Reginald and Adam, and had been pondering and asking questions-’

‘He was investigating their murders,’ interrupted Pica harshly. ‘Personally, I suspect he learned something that implicated Savaric, but was killed before he could make his findings public. It is a pity he did not write anything down.’

‘Do either of you know why Hugh went to Solsbury Hill?’ asked Cole. ‘Was it to be tested for-’

‘Hugh was not a fool,’ snapped Pica. ‘Only saintly men, like me, dare take that challenge. He would not have risked it, and neither would Adam. Savaric has never tried it, of course.’

‘The test is a lot of nonsense,’ said Savaric, flushing angrily. ‘Moreover, Reginald died of a fever, and Hugh and Adam had accidents. And anyone who disagrees with me is a fool.’

There was no more to be learned at the Bishop’s Palace, so Gwenllian and Cole spent the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon talking to Bath’s monks, lay brothers and servants. These numbered more than two hundred people, but Gwenllian had not questioned a third of them before Cole decided he had had enough.

‘We cannot stop yet, cariad ,’ she said reproachfully. ‘We do not have any answers.’

‘We have the only answer we need: that Dacus murdered Reginald, Adam and Hugh. And tomorrow, we shall confront him with the evidence.’

‘What evidence?’ asked Gwenllian, exasperated. ‘However, we may learn something useful if we speak to the man who found Adam and Hugh’s bodies.’

‘A lay brother named Eldred,’ mused Cole. ‘I suppose we could interview him today, although it is tedious work, and I would rather tend my horse.’

‘It will not take long. And the sooner we have answers, the sooner we can go home.’

Enquiries revealed that Eldred was collecting tolls on one of the city gates.

‘Yes, I found Hugh and Adam,’ he nodded. ‘ And I was in Reginald’s retinue when he died. Now there was a sad day. Personally, I suspect Savaric had him poisoned, because he was jealous of his goodness.’

‘On what grounds do you make such an accusation?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘Did you see one of Savaric’s minions administer a toxin? Or overhear a confession by the killer?’

‘Well, no,’ admitted Eldred. ‘But Savaric would not have hired a fool for such a task. He would have chosen a villain who knew how to be careful.’

Gwenllian supposed that was true, but even so, she was inclined to dismiss the testimony as yet more gossipy speculation. Cole was thoughtful, though.

‘A number of people accompanied Reginald on his fatal journey to Canterbury – Dacus as his chaplain, Fevil, Pica, Robert, the two canons from Wells, you…’

Eldred nodded. ‘And any one of them might have killed Reginald on Savaric’s orders. Except Dacus. He loved Reginald dearly.’

‘What about Prior Hugh?’ asked Gwenllian, frustrated that the lay brother’s testimony was so light on facts, and heavy on unfounded opinion. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He had been sitting in the cloister all afternoon, fretting about the deaths of Adam and Reginald. So Robert suggested he go to Solsbury Hill, to look for evidence of foul play. Robert also offered to take vespers for him, which was nice.’

‘Robert did?’ asked Cole, exchanging a glance with Gwenllian. Was this evidence of a victim being manoeuvred into a desired location?