The Medieval Murderers: Hill of Bones

‘You seem troubled, Father Prior,’ Robert said, all kindly concern. ‘May I help?’

Hugh itched to tell him to mind his own business, but several other monks were listening, and Robert was popular – unlike Hugh himself, who was resented for the strict way he ran his abbey. Rebuking the sacrist would be more trouble than it was worth.

‘Adam,’ he explained, forcing a patient smile. ‘I am sure he died unlawfully, no matter what our bishop says.’

Robert shrugged. ‘Then go to Solsbury Hill, and look for clues.’

Hugh regarded him askance. ‘It will be dark soon. Besides, I must prepare for vespers.’

‘I will lead vespers,’ offered Robert eagerly.

He was always trying to preside over sacred offices, a habit Hugh found intensely annoying. The prior forced another smile.

‘Thank you, Robert. However, I cannot visit Solsbury so near dusk. Adam did, and look what happened to him.’

‘Adam went considerably later,’ argued Robert. ‘I am sure you will be quite safe. And if you do believe he was murdered, you have a moral obligation to prove it.’

Hugh felt his jaw drop that the sacrist should dare lecture him, and was about to put him in his place when he became aware that the other monks were waiting with interest for his answer. He knew why, of course: recently, a rumour had started about Solsbury Hill – one that said only the pure in heart could survive a night there when the moon was full. There was a full moon that night, so declining to accept Robert’s challenge was tantamount to admitting to some serious personal flaws.

Normally, Hugh would not have cared what the eavesdroppers thought, but Bishop Savaric was eager to dismiss him and appoint a more malleable prior – and Hugh’s strict rule meant the monks were on Savaric’s side. Any hint of impropriety might be used against him, even gossip that said he was too steeped in sin to brave Solsbury Hill.

‘Then I shall go,’ he said, thinking that if he walked fast, he could be back before nightfall. While not superstitious, he had no wish to loiter in a place where a man had died. ‘Will you come with me?’

‘No,’ replied Robert with a smile that Hugh thought sly. ‘I shall pray for Adam’s soul.’

One of the abbey’s many sources of income was the tolls paid by those wishing to sell their goods in the market. These were collected at the town gates by lay-brothers, and the one on duty that day was named Eldred. As Hugh strode through the gate, he recalled that it had been Eldred who had found Adam’s body. He was surprised to note that Eldred was with Brother Walter, though. Walter was well known for being Savaric’s spy, which meant most of the abbey’s staff gave him a wide berth.

‘What are you doing here, Walter?’ The question emerged more sharply than Hugh had intended, and he saw resentment flash in Walter’s eyes.

‘Just talking,’ Walter replied coolly. ‘About Adam and Reginald.’

‘We were saying how much we miss them,’ elaborated Eldred. ‘Especially Adam. I still have not recovered from the shock of finding his poor, torn body.’

So Walter had gone to gossip, thought Hugh disapprovingly. Yet Walter’s unseemly penchant for chatter had its advantages. In this case, it provided an opportunity to solicit a few opinions, and Hugh desperately needed new information if he were to unmask a killer.

‘How do you think Adam died?’ he asked, looking at each man in turn.

‘A wolf,’ replied Eldred promptly.

‘There are no wolves in Bath,’ countered Walter scornfully. ‘I believe the bishop’s theory: that Adam lost his footing and fell.’

He smiled insincerely, and the expression sent a shiver down Hugh’s spine. Did Walter know more than he was telling about Adam’s fate?

Unhappy and agitated, Hugh resumed his walk. Eventually, he reached Solsbury Hill, and the path that wound steeply towards its summit. When he arrived, he sat to catch his breath, then automatically began reviewing his suspects again.

At the top of the list for involvement in the two deaths was Bishop Savaric, first for being so determined that Adam’s demise should be seen as accidental, and second because he had inherited a lot of money from Reginald – the two had been cousins. Hugh found Savaric’s brazen ambition distasteful, particularly in his actions regarding Glastonbury: Savaric had contrived to have its abbot promoted, then declared himself its new head, styling himself ‘Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury’. As a Glastonbury man himself, Hugh thought closer relations between the two foundations was a good thing, but Savaric had gone about it far too aggressively.

The bishop would not have soiled his own hands with murder, of course. His henchmen, Sir Osmun and Sir Fevil, would have done it for him. These two loutish knights had, Hugh was sure, organised ‘accidents’ before.

Next on the list was someone who had argued bitterly with both Adam and Reginald, and who made no secret of his dislike. His name was William Pica, a fierce bantam of a fellow, whom the monks at Glastonbury had elected as their new abbot – an election that was their way of saying they did not recognise Savaric’s claim. They had chosen Pica not because he was popular, but because he was one of few men who was not afraid of Savaric.

Then Hugh had two suspects in his own abbey – the slippery Walter and the nauseatingly pious Robert. Both had been in the party that had been escorting Reginald to Canterbury, and neither could account for his whereabouts on the night that Adam had died. They had no obvious motive for either murder, but there was something about both that Hugh found unsettling. And he had not reached his lofty position by ignoring his instincts.

And finally, there was Reginald’s chaplain. Dacus had been distraught when his bishop had died, so much so that Hugh had feared for his sanity. Had guilt prompted his wild display of mourning – that he had not loved Reginald as much as he had claimed, and had killed him for some warped reason known only to himself? By contrast, Dacus had received the news of Adam’s death with an indifferent shrug. Hugh could not fathom the man at all, but wished Savaric had not appointed him as Adam’s replacement at the hospital. Compassionate and patient Dacus might be, but Hugh considered him unstable.

He came out of his reverie when he noticed that the sun had set. He swore softly. He was supposed to be looking for clues to tell him what had happened to Adam, not sitting around doing more brooding. And now it was too late – it would be dark soon. With an irritable sigh, he stood, and started to make his way back down the path.

He stopped when he heard a sound behind him. It sounded like panting. He peered into the shadows, but there was nothing to see. Had he imagined it? He began walking again, more quickly this time, then whipped around a second time when a grunt told him he was not alone.

‘Who is there?’ he demanded.

The only reply was a growl that made his blood run cold. He turned and ran, stumbling over the uneven ground. Then he fell, and when he stopped rolling, something was looming over him. Sobbing his terror, he tried to push it away, but it was too strong. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came, and all he could hear was enraged snarls as teeth fastened around his throat.

October 1199

Winter had come early, bringing with it biting winds, slashing rain and even the odd flurry of snow. Gwenllian shivered, and wished she could have stayed in Carmarthen, the great castle her husband was building in west Wales. She glanced at him as he rode beside her. He seemed oblivious to the foul weather, and was humming under his breath.

‘You are enjoying yourself!’ she said accusingly. ‘We leave our comfortable home and our baby son, to spend days trudging along dreary roads to Bath, and you are happy!’