The Medieval Murderers - Hill of Bones

Some years earlier, Riocas had explored Solsbury Hill, hoping to trap animals for his trade. However, the effort of climbing up and down every few days proved not worth the few rabbits he managed to snare, but he had learned something of the layout of the hill. This proved helpful now, as he laboured straight up the steep slope, stopping every few yards to listen for any sign of Eldred or his captors. As Gilbert had gone diagonally to the left, their paths diverged and when Riocas came out of the trees below the ditch and bank, he was on the southern side, a considerable distance from the other men.

All was silent, apart from the birds and the breeze. The cat-catcher stood for a moment on the lip of the first embankment, uncertain what to do next. Deciding that the higher he could get, the better the view, he climbed down into the ditch and up the other side to gain the grassy field on top. Across on the other side of the enclosure, he could see the dense trees of the ridge, but there was no movement to be seen anywhere and no cries of help. He began walking around the edge, peering down as he went into the ditch and at the trees lower down the hill. He stayed wary and alert, his only weapons being his dagger and a heavy stick, part of a fallen branch that he had picked up in the woods.

As he neared the trees on the north side, his eye caught a distant movement, which at first he thought was due to the wind. Then, a few yards further on, he saw that something was thrashing up and down. Hurrying towards it, he saw a leg waving and kicking back against a tree. It belonged to a figure tied to the trunk and a seconds later, he saw it was Eldred, bound and gagged.

Racing towards him, Riocas tore off the crude gag and untied the bonds that held him. The frail lay brother promptly collapsed at his feet and Riocas, surprisingly gentle for such a hulking fellow, cradled him in his arms and murmured reassurance into his ear.

When Eldred had recovered a little, he managed to flap a hand towards the further trees and whisper, ‘They went that way – Gilbert and Maurice, just a few minutes ago!’

After making sure that his friend had suffered no serious injury, Riocas propped him sitting up against the tree.

‘Selwyn has ridden for help – there will be city men here very soon, so you’re quite safe now.’ He rose to his feet and grabbed his makeshift club. ‘I’m going to follow those swine! When Selwyn and the posse get here, they’ll need to know which way they’ve gone.’

Leaving a limp and very apprehensive Eldred slumped against the beech, Riocas ran back to the ditch and climbed once again to the summit, unknowingly stepping over the rabbit hole that contained a small fortune.

On top, he reasoned that the only safe way off the hill for the fugitives was northwards through the forest, so he marched across the ancient enclosure in that direction. As he once more reached the rampart, he heard a noise and stopped to listen. Right in front of him came the sounds of scrabbling and heavy breathing, and a moment later the ruddy face of Gilbert appeared over the edge.

Shock, surprise and rage passed in succession over those belligerent features as he recognised who was glaring down at him – for everyone in Bath knew the oversized cat-catcher. Riocas had similar emotions and with a roar of anger, raised his impromptu club to strike the head of the man who was now heaving himself over the lip of the embankment. But just as he had bested Maurice, Gilbert now grabbed Riocas’ leg and toppled him over. The cudgel flew from his hand.

Though not nearly as large as his opponent, Gilbert was strong and fit, and was now fighting for his very life. He crawled over the edge and grappled with the fallen Riocas, the two men rolling about, each trying to kick, punch or strangle the other, all the while shouting abuse at his adversary.

The combat was short, sharp and nasty. Riocas managed to get on top and, lifting his huge body momentarily, let it fall on to Gilbert, squeezing the breath out of him like the closing of a bellows. Then the furrier leaned back and punched the other in the face with a fist the size of a boot. Somehow, both men crawled to a crouch, but Riocas ended the fight by seizing Gilbert by the throat and an ankle and throwing him bodily over the edge into the ditch.

Panting, and with blood running into one eye from a cut, Riocas staggered to his feet to look into the ditch, prepared to go down and continue the fracas, but there was no need. Gilbert was lying motionless at the bottom, his head against a large stone, a remnant of the ancient fortifications.

Riocas waited for a few moments to get his breath back, then clambered down the bank and warily approached the inert figure, in case he was shamming. Close up, the furrier thought that Gilbert must be dead, but then saw his chest moving slightly. Prodding him with the toe of his boot produced a guttural sigh, but he was obviously deeply unconscious.

‘I hope you’ll live long enough to be hanged!’ muttered Riocas, as he turned and began making his way back to where he had left Eldred.

The lay brother had recovered a little and was now leaning against the tree, rubbing his throat, which was sore after Gilbert’s prolonged armlock.

‘I heard you shouting just now,’ he croaked. ‘What’s happened? Have they escaped?’

‘I don’t know where Maurice has gone, but that swine Gilbert is lying up there, his wits completely lost from a blow on the head.’

Riocas picked up the two girdles that had fallen to the ground and went back to the fallen man. As he was tying Gilbert’s flaccid arms and legs together with the plaited cords, Eldred appeared, having stumbled wearily after his friend.

‘What’s going to happen now?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Am I still accused of this theft?’

The cat-catcher shook his head. ‘Everyone knows that you’re as innocent as a newborn lamb, Eldred! It looks as if Maurice has made off with the chalice and pyx, but that’s not our concern now.’

That evening, Selwyn and Riocas called at Eldred’s dwelling, where Gytha was fussing over her man like a hen with one chick. Tearfully grateful to the two men for saving her husband, she plied them with rabbit stew and ale before being brought up to date with events.

‘Gilbert is in the city gaol, as the prior has disowned him as a monk and won’t have him in the abbey infirmary,’ reported Selwyn. ‘He has regained his senses, but won’t admit to anything. That evil man blames it all on Maurice, whom he says has run away with the treasure.’

‘No one believes it was all Maurice’s idea, surely?’ exclaimed Eldred. He looked pale and wan, but unharmed after his ordeal on Solsbury Hill.

‘Of course not. The facts speak for themselves,’ said Selwyn. ‘He’ll hang for this. The bishop has waived his right to try him before his own court and has left him to the custody of the sheriff’s men.’

The King’s steward had met the search party just outside the city that morning and twenty men had hastened back to Solsbury, where they found Riocas and Eldred on top of the hill, guarding Gilbert, who was trussed like a fowl.

They talked about these momentous happenings for a while, until there was a rap on the door into the lane. It was Hubert of Frome, come to enquire after his assistant.

The black-robed sacrist looked uneasy at being out of the abbey, which he rarely left, but was very solicitous about Eldred’s health. ‘You must rest for a few days, brother, before you return to your duties.’

This was the most welcome thing he could have said to Eldred, who had feared for his beloved job in the cathedral.

‘I will miss my task of cleaning the chalice and the pyx, sir,’ he said sadly. ‘I am told that the posse comitatus found no sign of Maurice or the treasure he stole, even though they searched the forest almost as far as Sodbury.’