The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

‘Lord!’ muttered Sergeant Iefan, veteran of many campaigns and Cole’s right-hand man. ‘I have never seen the valley so dry.’

Neither had Cole, and it grieved him to see the rich forest turned brown and parched, and the once-lush pastures baked to a dusty yellow. If there was no rain soon, the crops would fail completely, and they would all starve that winter.

When the horses had finished drinking, they rode on, and Cole’s thoughts turned to the family that would be waiting for him. He had not wanted to marry Gwenllian ferch Rhys any more than she had wanted to marry him, but the King had been keen for a political alliance with a princess of Wales, so neither had been given a choice. After a stormy beginning, they had grown to love each other, and their marriage was now blessed with two small children. He hoped there would be more, and ached to see them again.

As he reached the Austin priory, the gate opened and Prior Kediour stepped out. Kediour’s face was grim, and it became more so when Cole shook his head to indicate that he had not caught the raiders. The prior was an imposing man with thick grey hair, deep-set eyes and a dignified, sombre manner. He was respected by his brethren and the townsfolk alike. Like Cole, he had taken part in the Third Crusade, when he had been a Hospitaller – a warrior-knight. Penance for the lives he had taken in God’s name had later caused him to transfer to a more peaceful Order.

‘This cannot continue,’ he said testily. ‘We lost another cow last night, and we shall have no herd left if you do not stop these villains.’

‘They are well organised,’ said Cole, a little defensively. ‘One group distracts us while the others strike. Yet if I divide my men, we are stretched too thin.’

‘Then you will have to catch them by cunning. Ask your wife for ideas.’

Cole smiled. Gwenllian was by far the cleverest person he knew, and while other men might have bristled at the implication that their spouses were more intelligent than they, Cole was inordinately proud of his, and was always pleased when her skills were acknowledged.

‘Much has happened since you left,’ Kediour went on. ‘You have visitors.’

‘From the King?’ asked Cole uneasily.

John had been crowned the previous year, following the death of Richard the Lionheart. He was a weak, vacillating, deceitful man, and Cole, plain-speaking and honest, had been unable to shower him with the flowery compliments John felt he deserved. The silence had been noted, and Cole had acquired an implacable enemy. Cole’s marriage meant he had a lot of in-laws who would fight if he was dismissed without good cause, so John was busy looking for one, and a veritable flood of emissaries came to assess his accounts, watch the way he built his castle, and monitor his rule. Gwenllian was determined they should not succeed, and had managed to send each one away empty-handed. So far.

‘Nicholas Avenel,’ replied Kediour. ‘The new Sheriff of Pembroke. He has an evil reputation, and is accused of despoiling churches and kidnapping wealthy burgesses for ransom. His henchman William Fitzmartin comes with him.’

‘I do not know either.’

‘John’s creatures,’ said Kediour disapprovingly. ‘Here to find fault. They have not managed yet, but there are those in the town who aim to help them.’

‘Adam de Rupe,’ sighed Cole, knowing who he meant. ‘The mayor.’

Kediour nodded. ‘You exposed him as corrupt, which means he will not be re-elected next month. And his servants Gunbald and Ernebald hate you for gaoling them last year.’

‘But they stole from the church,’ protested Cole. ‘They were caught red-handed.’

‘Yes, but all three think they were misused regardless. And then there are Miles de Cogan and Philip de Barri. I do not trust either, despite your kindness towards them.’

‘Miles is my deputy. He is not an enemy!’

‘He is jealous of what you have – namely Gwenllian. He is in love with her.’

Cole gaped at him. ‘He is not!’

‘He is, and everyone knows it. However, Philip worries me more.’

Cole made an impatient sound. ‘He is Gwen’s cousin – family. Besides, if I am ousted from Carmarthen, he will lose his post as chaplain.’

‘Just be careful,’ warned Kediour. ‘However, they and the raiders are not the only problem you need to solve. Come to the Market Square, and I shall show you another.’

Cole would rather have gone straight to Gwenllian and the children, but he dutifully followed the prior into the town centre. A crowd had gathered, and there was an atmosphere of excited anticipation, all centred on two young men in Benedictine habits.

‘They claim they are taking a holy relic to Whitland Abbey,’ explained Kediour with obvious disapproval. ‘The hand of a saint named Beornwyn, no less. But they are Benedictines and Whitland is Cistercian. Why would one Order bestow such a favour on another?’

‘I suppose it is odd,’ said Cole. ‘But hardly my business.’

‘Oh, yes, it is,’ said Kediour firmly. ‘They announced earlier that Beornwyn grants most prayers if her palm is crossed with silver, and several people plan to invest in a boon. However, I have never heard of this saint, and I suspect they are charlatans.’

‘Damn!’ muttered Cole. He hated problems where religion was involved.

‘I shall look her up in my library this evening. However, even if she does transpire to be genuine, I do not see why scruffy lads like these should have been entrusted with her.’

‘I will speak to them tomorrow and suggest they leave.’ Cole glanced towards the castle and wished he was in it. Not only was he acutely uncomfortable standing in the sun in full armour, but he objected to being kept from his family.

‘They have offered to end the drought for a shilling,’ said Kediour, scowling at both the monks and the crowd they had attracted. ‘Mayor Rupe thinks we should pay.’

‘Perhaps we should,’ said Cole, squinting up at the cloudless sky. ‘We are desperate for rain, and I am sure no Benedictine would cheat us.’

Kediour regarded him askance. The constable had a reckless habit of taking people at their word, a facet of his character that often stunned the prior. ‘Do you really believe that everyone who wears a habit is a good man?’

Cole considered the question carefully, although it had been rhetorical. ‘Yes, generally. I may not like them, but God does or He would not have called them to serve Him.’

Kediour gaped his disbelief, but was spared the need to reply by the appearance of Cole’s family – Gwenllian, raven-haired and lovely; his little son, Meurig; and the gurgling bundle that was baby Alys. Even Kediour’s stern visage relaxed into a smile as he watched the unbridled joy of their reunion.

Gwenllian was relieved to have her husband home. Despite the recent appointment of a deputy, everyone knew it was really she who was in charge when Cole was away, and she had found the responsibility burdensome. Not only was it difficult to keep Sheriff Avenel and his unsavoury companion, Fitzmartin, entertained, but the unrelenting heat was driving even the mildest of men to ill-tempered spats. Moreover, there was a decision about the new tower that only Cole could make, and people were beginning to fear that drought and the cattle thieves would see them all starve that winter.

As soon as she could, she sent the children home with their nurse, and pulled Cole into the shop owned by Odo and his wife, Hilde, knowing the couple would leave them to talk undisturbed. Odo and Hilde sold cloth, and had been Gwenllian’s friends for years, although Cole was lukewarm about Odo’s gentle manners and unmanly fondness for the arts.

‘There is trouble,’ she began. ‘Avenel and Fitzmartin arrived shortly after you left, and have been prying into every aspect of our lives ever since. They have a letter from the King, giving them leave to do whatever they like here.’