The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

‘So let us consider dogs. Pica gave one to Savaric, the whereabouts of which is unknown to us; and Osmun and Fevil have a pack of them, including some they declined to show you.’

‘Dacus will have one, too. There were hairs on his habit, and his hospital has grounds and outhouses aplenty for concealing such an animal. If you had let me search them last night, we would not be having this conversation.’

Gwenllian ignored him. ‘As regards motive for killing Hugh, Walter is at the top of my list, because he was awarded Hugh’s post. However, it was Robert who encouraged Hugh to walk up the hill in the first place. Then there is Savaric, who was at loggerheads with Hugh, and who has the dubious talents of Osmun and Fevil at his disposal.’

‘What about their motive for killing Adam? He and Hugh died in identical manners, so I think we can assume a single culprit.’ Cole looked triumphant when Gwenllian was unable to answer. ‘Dacus hated Adam, and the moment he was dead, he became master of the hospital. And he does not have alibis, either.’

‘He is barely sane,’ said Gwenllian irritably. ‘Do you really believe he is wily enough to commit murder and conceal the evidence?’

‘Of course. He may not be clever, but he has an animal’s cunning.’

There was no point arguing. ‘Lechlade is the last victim, killed with a sword. Osmun said only a knight would use such a weapon, but then claimed they are readily available in Bath. If his second remark is true, then any of our suspects might be responsible. And so might Trotman, for that matter. He wept bitterly over the corpse, but perhaps it was an act.’

‘No – his grief was sincere. But even if I am wrong, he would not have dispatched an ally from Wells, because it leaves him battling Savaric alone. And I do not believe Robert would be so callous as to comfort him if he was the killer, either.’

Gwenllian supposed he was right. ‘So who do you think murdered Lechlade? And please do not say Dacus.’

‘It was not Dacus,’ said Cole, albeit reluctantly. ‘I spent the afternoon watching him, and would have noticed. Walter did not do it, either – not if he was following me.’

‘So, we have eliminated Dacus, Walter, Robert and Trotman. That leaves Pica, Savaric and the henchmen.’

‘It was not Osmun or Fevil.’ Cole feinted with an imaginary blade. ‘The fatal blow was inflicted clumsily and awkwardly, not the work of a professional warrior.’

Gwenllian sighed. ‘Then we can eliminate Savaric, too, because I do not think he would bloody his own hands. That leaves Pica.’

‘He certainly has a temper. So is that the answer? Pica?’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘We shall speak to him as soon as it is light.’

‘Savaric will be delighted when we tell him Glastonbury’s Abbot Elect is a killer.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Gwenllian soberly. ‘He will.’

The sun was shining by the time they left the inn, and the only clouds were high and wispy. Unfortunately, the fine weather did nothing to ease Gwenllian’s growing sense of disquiet, and her nervousness transmitted itself to Cole, who insisted on collecting his sword before tackling Pica. He was not pleased with the result: the blade was unbalanced and nowhere near sharp enough. There was a sly look in the smith’s eye when he offered to make amends, and Gwenllian stared at him. Had he been paid to ensure Cole continued to be unarmed?

‘Borrow Iefan’s,’ she whispered. ‘I have a bad feeling about today.’

Cole did not question her, and it was not long before he was buckling his sergeant’s weapon around his waist. As they left the inn a second time, they met Trotman.

‘I am leaving today.’ The canon’s piggy eyes were red, as if he had spent the night crying. ‘I must take the news of Lechlade’s death to Wells. I wish you well in your investigation, but be careful what you tell the King. John is the kind of man to mangle words and use them to harm you later. Write your dispatches with care.’

Gwenllian stared after him, suspecting they had just been given some very sound advice, then she and Cole began to walk towards the abbey.

‘Pica was with Reginald when he died,’ Cole began tentatively. ‘Do you think he killed him, as well as Lechlade?’

‘It is possible, although poison seems too discreet a weapon for him…’

But the question had sparked the germ of an answer, and by the time they arrived, she had at least part of a solution. Pica’s responses would determine the rest. They found the feisty little man in the abbey’s guesthouse, pacing back and forth.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded. ‘I have nothing to say to people who stood by and did nothing while Savaric excommunicated me.’

‘But we have something to say to you,’ said Gwenllian quietly. ‘You stabbed Lechlade, although we know it was a mistake.’

‘We do?’ blurted Cole, startled.

Pica stared at Gwenllian. ‘I did not stab Lechlade.’

‘You did,’ said Gwenllian in the same calm voice. Pica was volatile, and she did not want to precipitate an attack: it would not look good for Symon to engage in fisticuffs with senior clerics. ‘You were angry because Savaric is using us as an excuse to postpone discussions-’

‘Of course I am angry,’ snarled Pica. ‘But that does not make me Lechlade’s killer.’

‘Symon said he was going to St Michael’s Church, but the truth was that he wanted to spend time with his horse. You waited until dark, and you struck the man who emerged. Unfortunately for you, it was someone else.’

‘Pica wanted to kill me?’ asked Cole, shocked.

‘No,’ said Pica, although his face was white. ‘She cannot prove these nasty allegations.’

‘I can. You see, you and Trotman were the only people who knew where Symon was going, and we know Trotman did not kill his friend. Then there was your horror when you saw Lechlade’s body – your realisation that you had claimed the wrong victim.’

‘No,’ said Pica again, but unsteadily. ‘I am not a fool, to attack a Norman warrior.’

‘Which is why you waited until dark,’ Gwenllian pressed on. ‘To give yourself the advantage of surprise. Moreover, you held back until your victim left the church – good monk that you are, you did not want to spill blood on holy ground.’

‘Lechlade’s injury!’ exclaimed Cole suddenly. ‘I see how it happened now.’

He crouched, which made him Pica’s height, and stabbed with Iefan’s sword, using Gwenllian as his ‘victim’. The wound he would have inflicted, had he been in earnest, was exactly where Lechlade had been struck.

‘I would never…’ stammered Pica. ‘I do not…’

‘Symon is following the King’s orders, and you were going to murder him for it,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘Just to deprive Savaric of an excuse to procrastinate. As it is, you killed an innocent man instead.’

Pica closed his eyes. ‘I did not mean to kill, only incapacitate. But surely, you understand? I cannot wait days until your investigation is complete, when every hour that passes sees Savaric grow more powerful, to Glastonbury’s detriment. Something had to be done.’

‘What about Reginald?’ asked Cole. ‘Did you murder him, too?

‘Reginald was not poisoned, no matter what the gossips claim,’ said Pica wretchedly. ‘He died of a fever.’

‘Then what about Hugh and Adam?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘They were killed by a dog that tore out their throats. And you gave Savaric a large grey animal – one that looked like a wolf.’

Pica stared at her. ‘If that dog did attack Hugh and Adam, you cannot hold me responsible. Perhaps it was a little more savage than I led Savaric to believe, but Osmun and Fevil should have been able to control it. Besides, they told me yesterday that they had turned it into a pie weeks ago.’