The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

Prior Robert scowled. ‘That is easier said than done! Our sheriff is theoretically Hubert de Burgh, but he never sets foot in Somerset – and rarely in England, these days, as he is too busy trying to save Normandy from the French. But I suppose those knights who do his work for him in Bristol might help.’

‘We have asked the city council for aid,’ offered the precentor. ‘The portreeve and the wardens of the guilds have agreed to organise a search party tomorrow. The guilds of the goldsmiths are particularly incensed at the murder of Ranulf, who was one of their prominent officials. And some of the men who serve the under-sheriff in Bristol say they will join in. They say they can have a score of men assembled at dawn, who will ride out and seek any trace of this evil pair.’

The prior nodded resignedly. ‘I cannot imagine how they can be successful, but I suppose in time we might track them down. Certainly every religious house in England will be on the lookout – and any sanctuary they might seek will be denied them.’

Hubert took advantage of a lull in the discussion to consolidate his original contention that his lay assistant was innocent.

‘I take it, Prior, that no one now contests the fact that Eldred had no part in this affair, and that he can be safely reinstated in his position. I feel he deserves an apology for our false accusations, which I might remind you, I did not believe from the outset!’

There were some grudging murmurs of assent, though no one seemed particularly interested in Eldred, being too concerned with the loss of their funds and the valuable holy vessels. They also disliked the fact that the sacrist had been proved right and was doing all he could to remind them of the fact.

As dawn broke, Eldred left his hole in the cliff and, stiff in the limbs and empty in the stomach, made his way down the hill to meet Riocas, hoping for both food and good news.

He reached the bottom of the steepest part of Solsbury and began cautiously to aim for the lane up to Swainswick, where Riocas arranged to meet him. He was too early, he knew, as the city gates were not opened until first light and then his friend had to trot for a few miles in his little cart.

Eldred squatted on a fallen tree to wait, still well inside the belt of trees. The birds were still at their morning chorus and, if it were not for his fugitive state and his absence from wife and hearth, he could have found it a quiet and restful interlude in his life.

However, after a few minutes he realised that a distant noise was not part of this arboreal idyll. Into his consciousness crept the sound of a horse neighing, well away to his left. Riocas had a donkey to pull his cart, so it couldn’t be his.

Curious, but fearful of strangers, Eldred rose and quietly moved through the trees in the direction of the sounds, which were repeated several times, becoming clearer as he approached. Warily, moving his feet a step at a time to avoid breaking fallen sticks, he closed on the horse until he stopped short and dropped behind a large bramble bush, for he had heard someone berating the animal, telling it to be quiet. But more than that, he swore he knew the voice – and a moment later, his suspicions were confirmed, as another person spoke, one he knew equally well. This was Brother Maurice and the first utterance had come from Gilbert, the cellarer!

Eldred sank to his haunches behind the bush, quivering with fright. He assumed that brother Gilbert and his weedy assistant were part of a search party sent out by the prior to seize him and drag him back to the abbey for trial and probable execution. But how did they know he was on Solsbury Hill? Perhaps Selwyn or Riocas had been interrogated, maybe even tortured by the sheriff’s men – or had Riocas been followed on his journeys to bring food to the hill?

Petrified with fright, he hardly dared breathe, but his ears still functioned well. The other two were barely a score of paces away and were not guarding their voices, as the main road was far enough away at this point.

‘By the Virgin, my back is breaking after a night on this ground!’ growled Gilbert. ‘I’ll not complain about the pallets in the abbey dormer after this – not that I need to, now.’

There was some coughing and scuffling, then Maurice’s familiar voice filtered through the brambles.

‘Here, take the last of this bread and cheese. What are we going to do about finding something else to eat today?’

‘As soon as we get well beyond Chippenham, we can stop in a tavern and fill our bellies. God knows I’ve got enough money now.’

This conversation puzzled Eldred. If they were part of the abbey’s hunt for him, what was this about them going beyond Chippenham? And why the comment about money? The truth never occurred to him, as it was so far removed from his present concerns. His ears almost wagged as he listened for more.

‘How can we keep up this pretence that we are simple merchants, travelling in pursuit of our lawful business?’ whined Maurice. ‘Even though we’ve discarded our habits, we both have shaven heads that mark us instantly as being in holy orders!’

‘I have a wide pilgrim’s hat, don’t I?’ retorted Gilbert roughly. ‘And you had better tie the laces of that coif under your chin and keep it on, if you don’t want your neck stretched on the gallows!’

Though now totally confused, Eldred gathered from this that he was not the target of their search and that they themselves were on the run. They were two of the people he had disliked most in the abbey, and indeed, when the chalice and pyx had gone missing, their names had passed through his mind when he was seeking culprits. Now it gradually dawned upon him that he had been right, but did the rest of the world know that?

He heard them moving around and feared that they were on the point of leaving, as Gilbert was telling his clerk to wrap the treasure in the redundant habits to protect them inside their sack. Eldred saw no way of preventing them from escaping, and all he could do was to move back to where he was to meet Riocas and tell the cat-catcher what he had learned, so that some kind of hue and cry could be mounted – though by then they would probably be far away.

Carefully, he rose to a crouch and started to move back the way he had come. Then disaster struck, as his foot caught in a loop of bramble that had sent down sucker roots to anchor itself firmly in the soil. He pitched forwards on to his hands and knees with a crash and, seconds later, cries of fury heralded the arrival of Gilbert, closely followed by his clerk.

The burly monk grabbed him and hooked a brawny arm around his neck, hoisting him to his feet in one powerful movement.

‘Who the hell are you, you damned spy?’ roared the former cellarer, able only to see the back of Eldred’s head. Then Maurice, nervously circling around them, saw to his shock that it was the sacrist’s lay brother.

‘It’s Eldred, Gilbert!’ he shrieked. ‘We are discovered!’

The older man grabbed his captive by the hair and jerked his head round to confirm his identity.

‘What in hell’s name are you doing here?’ he bellowed. ‘Is this where you’ve been hiding out as well?’

Half-strangled, Eldred was unable to answer, especially as Gilbert began dragging him back into the clearing where the horses were tethered.

‘What do we do?’ screeched the terrified Maurice. ‘He will betray us!’

‘I’ll kill the bastard! We’ve murdered already, so another will make no difference, either on earth or in hell,’ grated Gilbert callously. He reached with his free hand for the dagger he carried in a sheath on his belt, but as he did so, his hold on Eldred’s throat slackened. Convinced that he was about to die, his prisoner let out a scream of terror and a loud plea for help, in which he was joined by the two horses, who, frightened by the noise, gave out loud whinnies and thrashed their hoofs against the undergrowth.