The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

‘When did you last see the hand?’ asked Cole, speaking quietly to calm him.

‘Last night,’ replied Frossard. ‘We came out here to pray with Mayor Rupe, and then we returned to the castle to sleep. It must have been stolen from us there, probably by the same person who killed the deputy.’

Cole regarded him icily. ‘There are no thieves in my house. Are you sure you went there? And before you answer, be aware that my soldiers keep a record of who comes and goes after dark. Any tale you tell will be checked.’

‘Well, perhaps we did pass the night in a tavern instead,’ admitted Frossard reluctantly. ‘And the relic was with us…’

Kediour’s patience was at an end. ‘How many more lies must we hear from this pair? They have no relic, and there is nothing to prove they ever did. It is obvious what happened: Miles guessed they were imposters and threatened to expose them. So they killed him.’

‘No!’ cried Reinfrid, appalled. ‘We are monks, men of God.’

Kediour promptly embarked on a detailed interrogation about Ramsey Abbey, and it quickly became apparent that neither had ever been there.

‘They are liars,’ stated Kediour, as the pair stuttered into silence. ‘They claim the saint’s hand is stolen from them, but look at their reliquary – it is silver. Do they really expect us to believe that a thief took a cluster of old bones but left such a precious chest?’

‘But it is what happened,’ objected Rienfrid. ‘It-’

‘Arrest them both, Cole,’ ordered Avenel. ‘The prior is right: they murdered Miles when he threatened to expose their dishonesty. I shall enjoy seeing them hang.’

The townsfolk were shocked and silent as soldiers marched the two tricksters away, both howling their innocence.

Rupe quickly recovered his wits. He had not survived so long in the turbulent world of politics without learning the skill of turning a disaster to his advantage.

‘Beornwyn was petitioned and she sent us rain,’ he declared. ‘It does not matter that the monks are charlatans. The fact is that she graced us with a spring, and will be pleased by the shrine we are building. If we continue, she may send another storm.’

‘That is true,’ nodded Odo. ‘The stars are favourable to such a scheme at the moment. I read them myself last night. We should persist with our chapel, and pray at Beornwyn’s spring – the real sign that she is among us.’

Kediour tried to reason with them, but Rupe’s voice was louder, and people were more inclined to listen to promises of miracles than denunciations, so he soon gave up. The people went back to their building, led by Mayor Rupe singing a psalm.

‘I do not know how to convince them,’ said the prior in despair. ‘The spring does not come from Heaven – I feel it in my very bones – and it grieves me to see people led spiritually astray. I am glad Rupe will not be mayor for much longer.’

‘People have short memories,’ said Cole soberly. ‘They will forget the money that disappeared under his stewardship, and the dishonest arrangements he made. They will see him as the man with land blessed by a saint, which may be enough to see him re-elected.’

‘Lord!’ muttered Kediour, appalled. ‘Yet perhaps we misjudge him. He did buy nails for the shrine. Maybe his devotion is genuine, no matter how misguided.’

‘It is the prospect of money that turns Rupe devout,’ said Cole to Gwenllian, when the prior had gone. ‘But we had better speak to Frossard and Reinfrid again. They are liars, certainly, but I do not see them as killers.’

Neither did Gwenllian, and the conviction was strengthened further still when she saw them huddled in a cell, pale and frightened. She felt sorry for them, and wondered what circumstances had led them to such a pass.

‘You are in serious trouble,’ said Cole gravely. ‘Sheriff Avenel wants you hanged, and I am tempted to oblige him. Or will you earn a reprieve by telling the truth? You say you are monks, so I would be within my rights to send you to the bishop instead.’

The pair seized the offer eagerly, and it was not long before the whole miserable story emerged: the prank that had ended in disaster, their banishment, and the confession that Reinfrid had stolen one of Beornwyn’s hands and a box in which to keep it.

‘I thought it would be easy,’ he finished miserably. ‘That people would pay us to pray, and we would live well. But Beornwyn is not very good at granting requests, and last night’s rain was the only miracle she has ever performed for us. We shall starve this winter.’

‘We could not believe our luck when Mayor Rupe gave us a penny,’ added Frossard. ‘After we had eaten, we hurried to his wood and prayed as hard as we could.’

‘And then?’ asked Cole.

‘We went to the Coracle tavern, and spent the coin on ale and new sandals,’ said Frossard sheepishly. ‘Whoever stole the relic must have waited until we were drunk…’

‘If you had it at the castle last night, why did you refuse to show it to us?’ asked Gwenllian, not sure what to believe.

‘Because it is holy,’ said Frossard earnestly. ‘You may not think much of us, but we do treat it with respect. We have never displayed it for all to gawp at. And it is fragile, anyway. Too much pawing makes bits flake off.’

‘And we can prove it was stolen after you saw us in the castle, sir,’ said Reinfrid. ‘You inspected the box very closely – you would have noticed if the lock had been broken.’

‘I would,’ said Cole to Gwenllian. ‘There was nothing wrong with it then.’

‘But we did not kill the deputy,’ added Frossard tearfully. ‘I saw him in the woods just after we left Rupe. He was watching us, and I had the sense that he was waiting for us to go so he could work unimpeded. Then you came along, sir, and I watched the pair of you argue.’

‘You did?’ asked Gwenllian uneasily. ‘You did not mention this in the clearing.’

Frossard shrugged. ‘Because your husband cannot be the killer, lady. We followed him back to town after the quarrel, and he was in our sight the whole time. Besides, he was kind to us – he offered us food, even after what that nasty prior said about us and Beornwyn.’

‘Did Rupe and his henchmen see Miles too?’ asked Gwenllian.

‘It depends on how observant they are,’ replied Frossard. ‘He was well hidden, and Reinfrid did not spot him – just me.’

‘Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?’ asked Cole.

Reinfrid nodded earnestly in his attempt to be helpful. ‘The same people as you, sir: Rupe and his two men, the sheriff and his friend; your chaplain; and the fat merchant with his wife.’

‘Odo and Hilde,’ said Gwenllian coolly. ‘So who do you think killed Miles?’

Frossard and Reinfrid exchanged a glance. ‘The mayor is the obvious candidate,’ replied Reinfrid. ‘Neither he nor his henchmen are very nice. However, any of the others might have done it, although I imagine the chaplain is too puny for strangling.’

There was no more to be learned, so Gwenllian and Cole took their leave.

‘They are telling the truth,’ she said, once they were in the cleaner air of the bailey. ‘They did not kill Miles.’

‘Do you want me to release them?’

‘No, they will only run away and ply their nasty trade on others. We shall hand them to the bishop, as you suggested, and let him decide their fate.’

She glanced up to see Sergeant Iefan hurrying towards them.

‘You had better come quickly,’ he said to Cole. ‘There is trouble brewing at the spring.’

There was trouble indeed. The crowd had grown since they had left, because Odo had fallen in the spring, and when he had been tugged upright, he claimed the pains in his back were cured. There was now a veritable army of people working on the chapel, and Rupe, Gunbald and Ernebald were selling holy water as quickly as they could put it in flasks. The heat was making people irritable, and there were scuffles and hissed arguments in the queue.