The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

The gaunt giant seemed to be enjoying this escapade, but come the dawn, Eldred was less than happy at being hidden under a stinking heap of part-tanned cowhides in the small cart that was pulled by Riocas’ donkey. As well as trading in small furs, he had a sideline carrying hides for tanners, who often needed to send some skins to other tanneries in the area for further processing. The porter at the North Gate knew him well and waved him through without any question, other than a bawdy remark about the smell that wafted from his cart.

Once well outside the city, Eldred emerged gasping from under the pile of rank skins, which he declared was worse than being hidden for an hour under the King’s bed. Looking around, he saw that they were already within sight of Solsbury Hill, which loomed up as a green cone on the north side of the road from Bath towards Chippenham.

The little cart jogged along the track, the old Roman Fosse Way, until it neared the base of the hill, the lower slopes of which were heavily wooded. Then the skinny donkey had a harder task, as Riocas pulled it off the road into a steep lane on the left, which went up the valley on the eastern side of the base of Solsbury Hill towards the hamlet of Swainswick, a collection of dismal huts.

‘We’ll stop here, before the village,’ announced Riocas. ‘They’re a nosy lot, best that they don’t see me dropping you.’

As Eldred clambered out, Riocas handed him down a bundle tied up in a blanket provided by Gytha, in which was a fresh loaf, a lump of hard cheese and a cooked lamb shank wrapped in a cloth.

‘This will keep you alive until tomorrow morning. Be here about this time and I’ll bring you some more food and hopefully news of what’s happening back in the city.’

With that, he flicked the backside of the long-suffering donkey with his willow switch and clattered off, leaving a bemused Eldred to his lonely sojourn on Solsbury Hill.

The fugitive lay brother slung the bundle over his shoulder and with a quick glance up and down the lane to make sure no one was spying on him, vanished into the bushes at the side of the track. After a few hundred yards, the ground began to rise steeply and soon he was puffing as he climbed through the dense thickets of spindly ash, birch and beech that clothed the lower slopes of the hill. There were bigger oaks and elms here and there, but charcoal burners had felled many of them over the years, leaving clearings clogged with brambles, coarse grass and seedling trees.

Eldred kept wary eyes and ears open for signs of other men, as he knew that Solsbury was the haunt of outlaws and other fugitives, but at present it seemed deserted, apart from the sound of birds and the occasional rustle of unseen animals in the undergrowth. With only a blanket for protection, he needed somewhere to shelter for the night – and perhaps for many nights to follow, if his friends failed to discover who had really stolen the abbey treasures.

Though he was a city dweller rather than a countryman, Eldred had plenty of common sense and felt confident of surviving for a time on his own, as long as he was supplied with a little food. But he needed somewhere to hide, as much from other people on the hill as from the inevitable rain and cold winds, even though so far it had been a mild September. As he climbed towards the summit, he saw several fox and badger dens, but they were too small for him to creep into. Several clear springs seeped out from under overhanging banks, but again there was insufficient shelter for him under these.

Panting with the effort of hauling himself up the incline, he was almost at the end of the trees, where they gave way to the earth rampart that encircled the flat top, before he found a place to settle. Here a very steep part of the hill had crumbled, exposing a weathered rock-face a few yards long and a dozen feet high. He thought perhaps the ancient people who had occupied the top of Solsbury long ago had used this as a quarry to obtain the yellow-grey stone for their defences up above. But whatever the cause, he was happy to see a small cavity at the bottom, where rock had either fallen out or been taken way. The hole was too small to be called a cave, but was enough for him to crouch inside under a lintel formed by a band of the limestone strata. In front was a narrow weed-covered platform, with brambles loaded with ripe blackberries growing part-way across the hole.

Relieved, Eldred evicted a pair of squawking magpies from the hole and kicked away some loose stones from the bottom of the crude shelter. Dropping his bundle outside, he collected an armful of loose bracken and grass to pad the floor of his new home. Sinking down on it with a sigh of relief, he found that he could manage to sit with his head just clear of the rock above – and that if he pulled his knees up, he could lie sideways under the overhang. It was just as well, for at that moment, it started to rain.

Riocas was back in Bath by noon, having completed his business in Swainswick. Though he often went there during his tour of the surrounding villages for skins, he had made a point of visiting it today as a cover for dropping off Eldred at Solsbury. He had picked up a dozen coney and six red squirrel pelts there – and had only just missed catching a black cat on his way out of the village.

Now he was back with Selwyn at his shop, earnestly discussing how they should proceed. They were in the cat-catcher’s back room, out of hearing of Riocas’ young apprentice, who sat in the shop at the front, the window-shutter opened down to form a counter to display their goods to passers-by.

‘Eldred can’t stay up there for long,’ declared Selwyn. ‘The autumn is upon us, the nights are getting colder. We have to lift the suspicion hanging over the little fellow – or else smuggle him and his wife somewhere far away if we wish to save his neck.’

‘Any news from the abbey today?’ demanded Riocas, his coarse features glowering over the rim of a tankard.

‘The prior is still smarting over the harsh words that the bishop no doubt gave him. They searched the abbey again this morning, then came once more to the King’s House and virtually ransacked it, without any result. They knew that I had befriended Eldred, so probably only my status as a King’s servant prevented them from arresting me.’

Riocas grunted. ‘I doubt many know that he was also my friend, so we should be safe enough there. But what can we do now?’

‘Discover the true culprits – and the whereabouts of that chalice and pyx. Any ideas?’

The Breton rubbed his massive jaw, now bristling with coarse stubble. ‘As it stands, that treasure is worth little to any thief. It’s too recognizable. They would want to sell it on for coinage, even at half its true value.’

Selwyn agreed. ‘And where would they be likely to do that?’

The giant shrugged his great shoulders. ‘Some jeweller or moneylender, almost certainly a Jew. Better to do it in Bristol or Winchester for safety.’

The royal steward looked dubious. ‘They’d have to get there first. Easier to dispose of it in Bath, even if they got less money for it. There are several gold- and silversmiths in the city.’

After more discussion, they agreed to tour the alehouses to listen discreetly to any gossip. They both had acquaintances who had an ear to the less savoury activities that went on in the narrow streets and more squalid alleys.

After sharing a bowl of potage and more ale, Selwyn went off to see Gytha, to tell her that her husband had been safely delivered to Solsbury Hill, and to collect another blanket and some more bread and meat for delivery next morning – to which he added a small wineskin filched from the King’s stores.

When the two conspirators met again in the evening, Riocas had some news from his spying around the city taverns.