The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

As St Michael’s was near where his horse was stabled, Gwenllian suspected he intended to spend time with it, but did not want her to think he was leaving her to do all the work. As it happened, she did not mind: the monks were more likely to confide in her without a bored knight looming over them.

Just before they parted ways, Trotman intercepted them, to express his shock over what had happened the previous night.

‘Perhaps you will join me in a prayer of thanks for your deliverance,’ the canon said. ‘I am going to meet Pica in the abbey, and you are welcome to join us. Ah! Here he is now.’

‘My husband has made arrangements to visit St Michael’s instead,’ said Gwenllian, before Cole could respond with a more pithily worded refusal. ‘He will-’

‘Good,’ said Pica unpleasantly. ‘Let us hope God tells him to ditch his stupid enquiries about Hugh, and take up my cause instead.’

It was dark by the time Gwenllian had finished. Iefan was waiting to escort her back to the inn, and they were just passing St Michael’s when they heard a commotion. They joined a crowd of people hurrying to see what was amiss.

Lechlade was lying on the ground, dead from a wound near the groin.

Those in authority did not take long to arrive. Walter was first. He had brought a lantern, and Gwenllian looked away when she saw the amount of blood that had been spilled. Next came Trotman, Robert at his side. Trotman dropped to his knees and began to weep when he saw his friend’s corpse, and Robert laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then the bishop appeared, his henchman-knights slouching behind him.

Cole arrived, holding the tool he used for paring hoofs. Dacus was not far behind, and Gwenllian realised the stables were near the hospital; Cole might have been tending his horse, but he had also been monitoring the man he considered a villain.

‘Lechlade was killed with a sword,’ Cole said, kneeling next to the body. As a soldier, he was familiar with such injuries and well qualified to judge.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ wailed Trotman. ‘And why did Lechlade not fight back? He always carried a dagger and a mace when away from Wells.’

‘He must have been taken by surprise,’ replied Cole. ‘His weapons are still in his belt.’

‘A knight did it,’ stated Osmun. ‘Who else wears a sword? Fevil and I have been with the bishop all afternoon, so we are not responsible. It is another knight.’

His reptilian gaze settled on Cole, and Gwenllian’s stomach lurched. Was this how they would thwart the investigation, given that cajolery, bribes and threats had not worked?

‘No!’ said Trotman unsteadily. ‘Sir Symon has been in St Michael’s, attending Mass.’

‘And where are we now?’ demanded Walter archly. ‘Outside St Michael’s! Obviously, he said his prayers first, and murdered Lechlade afterwards.’

Gwenllian watched in horror as Osmun and Fevil drew their swords. Cole started to do the same, but his scabbard was empty.

‘Symon cannot be the culprit,’ she said, seizing in relief the way to exonerate him. ‘His blade was broken in last night’s attack, and it is with the smith. You can see he is unarmed.’

‘Then he used another one,’ snapped Osmun. ‘There are plenty available in Bath.’

‘But you just said only knights wear swords,’ said Robert. ‘You cannot have it both-’

‘Arrest him,’ chanted Dacus. He began to dance in small circles. ‘He is an evil killer, who refuses to face the wolf on Solsbury Hill. Throw him in prison! Hang him in chains!’

‘What is going on?’ came an imperious voice. It was Pica. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Lechlade, and his hands flew to his mouth. ‘God save us! What happened?’

‘A knight has murdered Lechlade,’ explained Trotman brokenly. ‘But Sir Symon’s sword is broken, which means Savaric’s henchmen-’

‘Now just a moment,’ began Savaric. ‘My advisers have no reason to harm Lechlade. Besides, they have an alibi in me, whereas Cole has been alone in the stables.’

‘How do you know he was alone in the stables?’ pounced Gwenllian. ‘Have you been spying on him?’

‘I may have ordered him monitored,’ acknowledged Savaric reluctantly. ‘For his own safety. He was almost killed last night, in case you had forgotten.’

‘I had not,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘However, your confession is excellent news. Let this spy step forward. He will tell you Symon is innocent.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Savaric. He turned to Walter. ‘Well? Speak.’

Walter grimaced that the bishop should so blithely reveal the demeaning way in which he had spent his afternoon, while Gwenllian experienced a pang of alarm. Walter was Savaric’s toady. Would he tell the truth, or lie to curry his master’s favour?

‘Cole never left the stables,’ Walter said eventually, although it was clear he wished he could have reported something different. ‘He did not murder Lechlade.’

‘You might have mentioned it sooner,’ sighed Savaric irritably. ‘Osmun was on the verge of arresting him, and the King does not like his officers imprisoned without a decent pretext.’

‘Arrest him anyway,’ sang Dacus, then laughed wildly. ‘He deserves it. He is evil, like Adam and Hugh. Throw him in the dungeons and lose the key.’

‘I had better take Dacus home,’ said Walter, clearly thankful for an excuse to be away from the bishop’s admonishing glare. ‘Incidents like this distress him.’

‘He does not look distressed to me,’ muttered Cole to Gwenllian, as the master of the hospital was ushered back to his domain. ‘He looks vengeful.’

But Gwenllian was more interested in Walter. Had he abandoned his surveillance to go a-killing? But what reason could he have for stabbing Lechlade? When Walter and Dacus had gone, she turned her attention to the others who had gathered.

Savaric was angry, although it was unclear whether it was because another murder had been committed, or because Cole was still free to pursue his investigation. Meanwhile, Robert was comforting Trotman, but seemed distracted. Osmun and Fevil were impossible to read, and Gwenllian was disinclined to believe that they had been with the bishop. And Pica, white and shocked, was uncharacteristically subdued. Was guilt responsible for the change?

She sighed. Any of them might be the culprit.

There were no attacks that night, although Gwenllian slept poorly, despite the fact that Iefan was standing guard outside. She woke when it was still dark, and opened the window to see the moon bright and clear in a cloudless sky. The next night would see it full, and she recalled the challenge Dacus had issued.

When she sensed dawn was near, she nudged her husband awake. He snapped into instant wakefulness, and reached for his sword, cursing softly when he found it was not there.

‘We need to review what we have learned,’ she said. ‘Perhaps discussing it will see answers emerge.’

Cole looked as if he would rather go back to sleep, but nodded acquiescence.

‘We have four deaths,’ she began. ‘First, Reginald may have been poisoned. His cousin Savaric is the obvious suspect, because he was a beneficiary of his will. Of course, Walter, Robert, Pica and God knows how many others were with him when he died. He was a good man, and miracles have been occurring at his tomb, although only in the last two months.’

‘Which coincides with Adam’s murder. He was a good man, too.’

‘Adam died second,’ nodded Gwenllian. ‘And Hugh third. Both had their throats torn out on Solsbury Hill. Rumours say they were savaged by a wolf, but some dogs look like wolves, and they can be trained to kill.’

‘They can. And that explanation makes a lot more sense than seraphim.’