The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

‘How do you know a window was open?’ Cole whispered back.

‘Because the hinges on the bedroom shutter are broken, and it has been tied back to stop it from rattling. I saw it from the road and so, doubtless, did the killer.’

‘Rupe had lost favour since you have been away, Sir Symon,’ said Philip, stepping forward to speak. ‘He raised the price of his holy water, and imposed a fee for visiting the shrine. People have stopped coming, and you will find many who wished him ill. This will not be an easy crime to solve. Perhaps you should not waste your time trying.’

Gwenllian was surprised to see her cousin there. She had sent him to give last rites to someone in Abergwili, and she had imagined he would stay the night. Why was he back so soon? And why was he suggesting that they not bother to investigate a murder?

‘Mayor Rupe was a businessman,’ growled Ernebald, glaring at the chaplain. ‘Of course he turned this opportunity to his advantage. However, it cannot be coincidence that the poor man is slaughtered the moment he returns.’ He jabbed his finger at Cole.

‘Of course it is coincidence,’ said Odo impatiently, while Hilde nodded her agreement. Gwenllian was startled that they should be among the spectators: they were not usually ghoulish. ‘And he is not the only one who came back yesterday, anyway.’

He did not look at Avenel and Fitzmartin, but the accusation hung heavy in the air.

‘We heard the commotion when we were praying in the shrine,’ said Hilde, apparently reading Gwenllian’s mind and feeling the need to explain their presence. ‘We had been asking for another miracle. Philip was with us.’

The chaplain gave a nervous smile. ‘There is no fee at night, when Rupe and Ernebald are asleep. It was a good time for a poor chaplain to come here.’

‘Never mind this,’ snapped Fitzmartin. ‘The question we should be considering is who killed Rupe. Personally, I agree with Ernebald: Cole is the obvious suspect. Even I, a stranger to Carmarthen, could see that he and the mayor hated each other.’

Avenel said nothing, and Gwenllian thought again of Hilde’s contention that he was plotting something. Her blood ran cold. Had he killed Rupe, to blame Cole and give the King an excuse to be rid of him? She was devising a way to find out when a soldier arrived to report that the cattle thieves had been spotted near the bridge. Gwenllian did not know whether to be relieved or suspicious when the sheriff and his crony asked if they might be excused joining the expedition to hunt them this time.

When Cole had gone, Gwenllian made a determined effort to identify Rupe’s killer by asking questions. She dismissed Ernebald as a suspect because the mayor’s death had deprived him of a home, an employer and a livelihood. No other local would hire such a vicious lout, and he was now faced with a choice of leaving Carmarthen to find a new master, or a life of miserable poverty.

Assuming there was only one garrotter at large, and that a townsman had not killed Rupe for charging exorbitant prices at the shrine, she was left with three suspects from her original List: Avenel, Fitzmartin and Philip. Despite Cole’s suspicions, she refused to include Odo and Hilde. She started her enquiries with the sheriff and his friend, but they were uncooperative, and professed not to recall when they had arrived at the Eagle or how long they had stayed.

‘Our movements are none of your concern,’ snapped Fitzmartin. He reeked of ale and his eyes were red-rimmed. Had he tried to wash the memory of murder from his mind with drink? ‘And do not think that telling lies about us will help you. The King will take no notice.’

It was a peculiar remark, and Gwenllian had no idea what it meant, but before she could ask, Avenel had grabbed his companion’s arm and pulled him away, muttering something about going to see what was happening at the shrine. Gwenllian could see what was happening from the window: two or three pilgrims were inside the chapel, but that was all. Building work had slowed since Rupe had started to charge for the honour of praying there, and although it had four walls, there was no roof. She wondered whether it would ever be finished now the mayor was dead.

‘You were right,’ said Kediour, following the direction of her gaze. ‘The spring is half the size it was, and the town’s ardour for Beornwyn is fading fast. However, a dogged minority remains, and they are fervent in their love for this so-called saint. Odo and Hilde are among them, and I fear for their souls.’

Gwenllian could see both kneeling at a makeshift altar. Then Philip approached and whispered something to them. They held a brief conversation, but all three had gone by the time she had left Rupe’s house and reached the chapel.

Determined to have answers, she visited the Eagle. The landlord was reluctant to discuss his customers at first, and it took an age to persuade him, so she was tired and irritable by the time she had cajoled him into confirming that the sheriff and his friend had indeed visited the previous evening. However, Avenel had pleaded exhaustion and had left around midnight; Fitzmartin had stayed, eventually falling asleep on the table.

‘His snores kept me awake all night,’ the landlord grumbled. ‘I would have poked him, but he has a nasty temper so I did not dare. He slept until dawn, when word came about Rupe.’

So, thought Gwenllian, Fitzmartin was not the killer, but the landlord’s testimony put Avenel out alone at the salient time. She walked slowly back to the castle, deep in thought.

As she passed the shrine she saw Avenel slouching towards it from the direction of the town. Hilde was right, she thought, watching him covertly: the sheriff had changed from the arrogant, superior man he had been when he had first arrived. He was quieter, sombre and definitely troubled. Was it his conscience, uneasy with murdering civilians?

After a moment, Fitzmartin appeared, and stalked towards the priory gate, where Kediour was chatting to a lay-brother. The henchman snarled something in a low voice, and ended his words with a hard poke in the chest that made Kediour stagger. Gwenllian ran towards them, ready to berate Fitzmartin for laying hands on a priest. He sneered at her before going on his way.

‘He is vexed with me for asking questions about the churches he is said to have despoiled,’ explained Kediour, rubbing the spot where he had been jabbed. ‘He threatens to kill me if I persist, which hardly leads me to think him innocent.’

‘Then stop,’ said Gwenllian, alarmed. ‘Symon will lose his post for certain if you are murdered. A mayor and a deputy may be overlooked, but not an important churchman.’

Kediour smiled fondly at her. ‘Do not worry about me. I have not forgotten all the skills I learned as a Hospitaller, and besides, I suspect Fitzmartin is all wind.’

Gwenllian was not so sure. Then she frowned. ‘Is Odo rubbing his back?’

‘Unfortunately, his “cure” was only temporary. It is a pity. I would have liked to have seen something good come out of this miserable business.’

They glanced up at the sound of hoofs, and Gwenllian felt a surge of joy when she saw Cole. Behind him, his soldiers grinned as they escorted a score of bound men. The prisoners were sullenly defiant, and nearly all wore the conical hats popular in Dinefwr – the kind that Rupe had favoured.

‘There is a good reason why we caught them so quickly this time,’ said Cole as he dismounted. ‘Their leader – and fellow Dinefwr man – was not available to give them details of our patrols and plans.’

Gwenllian gaped as she struggled to understand the import of his remark. ‘What are you saying? That Rupe controlled them?’