The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

‘Shut up, blast you!’ howled Gilbert, who, regaining his grip on the struggling victim, hauled the knife clear of its scabbard.

Maurice was paralysed with horror, for it was one thing to beat a burly, outraged goldsmith on the head during a fight, but another to cold-bloodedly cut the throat of a lay brother.

‘Gilbert, stay your hand, for the sake of Christ!’ he blubbered, but his former master appeared to take no notice of his entreaties.

However, a stay of execution was close at hand…

When the sacrist had left the meeting in the Chapter House the previous evening, he found the King’s steward and the cat-catcher waiting for him outside the door. As it was they who had exposed the truth about the murderous scandal that was rocking the abbey, they felt entitled to be the first to know if their friend Eldred was now officially considered to be innocent.

‘The prior and chapter have lost interest in him now,’ confirmed Hubert sarcastically. ‘They are too concerned with pursuing our cellarer and his acolyte to be concerned with my brass-polisher! They are more interested in both retribution and recovering the abbey’s gold and silver.’

‘So we can get a message to Eldred that it is safe for him to return home, Brother Hubert?’

The scrawny old sacrist nodded. ‘Yes, bring him back when you like. In the circumstances, I won’t ask who aided his escape nor where he has been hiding himself.’

Relieved, the two men went back to Selwyn’s kitchen and celebrated with some of the best ale he had there, then went around to Eldred’s mean lodging, where they gave the anxious Gytha the good news.

‘We’ll both go first thing in the morning to Riocas’ usual rendezvous and fetch the poor fellow back,’ said Selwyn. ‘No need for the donkey-cart now, the time for that subterfuge is past, thank God. I’ll borrow a couple of rounseys from my friend who keeps the livery stable in Goat Street. Eldred can ride back behind my saddle.’

As soon as the North Gate was opened at dawn, the two friends rode out on a pair of rather short-legged mounts, the general-purpose rounseys used for a variety of purposes. They covered the couple of miles to Solsbury in half an hour and reined in on the lower part of the side road to Swainswick, where Eldred should appear from the trees. After some time, there was no sign of him and Riocas began to get concerned.

‘He’s usually waiting for me; let’s hope nothing has befallen him.’

‘We rode faster than your poor old ass can pull that cart,’ soothed Selwyn. ‘We’re probably earlier than he expected.’

They sat in their saddles for another quarter of an hour, when the big furrier became too impatient to wait any longer.

‘Let’s go in a little way and see if we can find him. Knowing his luck, he may have twisted an ankle scrambling down the hill.’

They led their steeds some way into the trees and tied them to saplings where there was a patch of grass for them to browse.

Then the pair stood irresolute for a moment, unsure whether to start climbing the slope in the hope of meeting Eldred. Their minds were made up for them when a distant, but quite clear scream was heard, way off towards the main road. Without a word, they both turned and ran through the leaf-mould and sparse undergrowth in the direction of the noise, obviously made by a human voice. A couple of minutes later, they heard horses neighing and then, as they got nearer, another scream of terror and a cry for help resounded through the trees, followed immediately by more sounds of agitated horses.

‘I’ll swear that’s Eldred!’ panted Selwyn, running at the heels of his stronger companion. ‘Let’s shout for him. He can’t be far away now.’

Riocas let out a mighty bellow that echoed through the forest, followed by similar shouts from Selwyn, as they continued to run in what they hoped was the right direction. There were no more cries from ahead, but the uneasy stamping and neighing of horses soon led them to the clearing.

As they burst past the bramble clump, they saw the two beasts tethered to trees and a pair of saddlebags on the ground. But of human beings, there was no sign.

The moment Gilbert heard the distant shouts, he knew they must run for it. His captive, still squirming in his arms, managed to scream for help, and instantly the cellarer slapped a hand over his mouth and increased his choking grip.

‘Bring that sack, then run!’ he yelled at Maurice, who was standing in the clearing, paralysed with fear. Without waiting for him, Gilbert dragged Eldred bodily into the trees, still stifling his attempts at crying for help. He was a powerful man, stocky and muscular, able to trot across the gently sloping ground at a fair pace while half-carrying his wriggling victim.

Left alone, Maurice was suddenly galvanised into action and, grabbing the sack with the money and treasures, he raced after Gilbert. When they had covered a few hundred paces, Gilbert stopped and listened for any sounds of pursuit. His keen ears picked up some shouts in the distance, but none that seemed to be coming their way.

‘Go forward slowly and don’t make any noise!’ he hissed at the panting Maurice. Still keeping a hand firmly over Eldred’s mouth, he moved onward at a walking pace for a few score yards, before dropping to the ground behind a clump of hazel bushes. Pulling out his dagger again, he touched the point to Eldred’s neck. ‘Make a sound and you’re dead, damn you!’ he hissed.

He motioned Maurice to lie down nearby and they waited and listened. A few distant shouts eventually died away and there was silence, but the cautious Gilbert, knowing his neck may depend on it, waited almost motionless for many more minutes, his knife still drawing a small bead of blood from Eldred’s neck.

The pause gave him time to get his breath back after his exertions and also provided time to think out a plan of campaign. The original idea of riding to Southampton was ruined. Their horses were lost to them and no doubt search parties would soon be combing these woods. On the positive side, he still had his loot and now also a hostage, who might be of some value if they were trapped.

When the silence had lasted for what seemed to be an age, but was probably no more than half an hour, he rose cautiously and pulled Eldred up with him, his knife now being brandished in front of the terrified lay brother’s face.

‘Those others have gone in another direction, so there’s no point in your yelling – and if you do, I’ll cut your damned throat!’ he snarled. With a jerk of the head at the almost equally terrified Maurice, he grabbed Eldred by the collar of his tunic and began marching him up the lower slopes of Solsbury Hill.

Selwyn and Riocas stood in the clearing and shouted repeatedly for Eldred, but silence was the only response. They made a few forays into the undergrowth and trees surrounding them, but soon returned to the clearing, as there was no indication of which direction the fugitives had taken.

‘We’re townsmen, not trackers,’ exclaimed Selwyn in exasperation. ‘We need help to find the little fellow.’

‘You mean we need a damned big posse with hounds to search the area,’ growled Riocas, equally frustrated by the disappearance of their friend.

Although they had not yet guessed who had spirited him away, the horses tethered at the edge of the clearing soon raised their suspicions. Selwyn went over to the two rounseys to pacify them, as they were still skittish from all the recent disturbances. As he patted the neck of the nearest to soothe it, he gave a sudden exclamation.

‘Riocas, these are from the abbey stables! Their harness has the same cross stamped on the harness that Roger the saddler uses, like the one he put on that sandal.’