The False Virgin

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘It is just as I feared,’ he said, coming to speak to her and Cole. ‘The rain did more harm than good, yet those monks – if they are monks – bask in their role as saviours.’

  ‘They certainly wasted no time in buying themselves new sandals with the money intended for Beornwyn,’ remarked Gwenllian. ‘And they reek of ale.’

  Kediour was obviously distressed. ‘Desperate people are easily led, and there is something of the Devil in this cult of theirs. I fear for people’s souls.’

  ‘I fear for their purses,’ said Cole. ‘If the monks do not empty them, Rupe will. I thought exposing his corruption would make him mend his ways, but he is just as greedy and unscrupulous as ever.’

  Gwenllian watched the mayor, who was proclaiming that last night’s deluge was just the beginning of the favour Beornwyn would show him. While Kediour strode forward to inform the crowd that the Church did not recognise this particular saint, Cole drew the mayor aside. Rupe’s henchmen followed, and Gwenllian did not like the way that Gunbald pulled a dagger from his belt and looked as though he would very much like to use it. She beckoned to the two monks over, too, hoping the presence of monastic habits would forestall any violence.

  ‘Did you see Miles here last night, Rupe?’ Cole was asking.

  ‘No,’ replied Rupe shortly, while the henchmen and the monks indicated with shaken heads that they had not either. ‘We were too intent on our prayers.’

  ‘He believed he had discovered an underground stream beneath this wood,’ pressed Cole. ‘Which means your spring is not sacred, but was here all the time.’

  ‘He was a fool with his hazel twigs and silly theories,’ spat Rupe. ‘And I would have told him so had I caught him poking around on my land. However, we did not see him.’

  ‘Perhaps Beornwyn struck him down,’ suggested Frossard. ‘She disliked what he was doing, so she took a killer to him. There was a butterfly on him, after all.’

  ‘Is she a spiteful kind of saint then?’ asked Cole.

  ‘No,’ said Reinfrid, shooting his companion a cautionary glance. ‘Yet it is strange that he should die next to her spring – the very thing he might have denied was miraculous.’

  Gwenllian questioned all five closely for some time, but was unable to catch any of them in an inconsistency, and while she did not believe that this was indicative of innocence, it did mean that she was wasting her time. When she and Cole took their leave, Rupe was smug, the monks relieved, and the henchmen disappointed, as if they had hoped the encounter would end in the opportunity to stab someone.

  As there were so many familiar faces in the crowd, it was a good opportunity to ask whether anyone else had seen Miles the previous night. One or two folk had spotted him near the castle, but no one admitted to seeing him near the wood. Cole, it seemed, was the last man to see him alive. Other than the killer. After a while, Rupe made an announcement.

  ‘We should show Beornwyn our appreciation for her miraculous gift. I have bought nails for the chapel that will cover her spring, but who will provide timber for the walls and tiles for roof ? Who will build an altar, and purchase candles, crosses and flowers?’

  ‘Whoever does will be blessed,’ added Ernebald, and Gwenllian could tell he had been told what to say by his master. ‘Gunbald and I will give a door – you can see it over there.’

  ‘The moment we decided to make the donation, there was a miracle,’ added Gunbald, all pious gratitude. ‘Our cow, which has been dry all summer, gave us milk today.’

  People hastened to pledge materials and labour, and it was with astonishment that Gwenllian saw a building begin to fly up in front of her eyes. Cole muttered something about the cow benefiting from drinking her fill of rainwater, but no one listened. Avenel and Fitzmartin watched it all, their expressions disdainful.

  ‘We should speak to them,’ whispered Gwenllian to Cole. ‘It will distract them from our people’s foolish gullibility, if nothing else.’

  She began by asking whether Cousin Philip’s scribing skills had been satisfactory in the Eagle the previous night, maliciously adding that his writing was notoriously poor. Avenel exchanged a bemused glance with Fitzmartin.

  ‘We never asked Philip to write anything,’ said Fitzmartin. ‘Why would we? I can write myself – an unusual skill for a knight, I admit, but one that is useful even so.’

  ‘Did he meet you in the Eagle?’ pressed Gwenllian.

  ‘Yes.’ Avenel shrugged. ‘He has taken to following us around. It is a nuisance, but he wants what is best for Carmarthen. Indeed, he is rather fanatical about his hopes for the place.’

  Gwenllian declined to ask what he meant, reluctant to acknowledge that she did not know her cousin as well as she had thought. ‘Did you see or hear anything that might allow us to catch the killer?’

  ‘No,’ replied Avenel. ‘We did not stay out long, and were back in the castle hours before the storm struck. You may confirm this with your guards. They saw us.’

  They walked away, leaving Gwenllian thinking they might well have dispatched the deputy on their way home. They certainly could not prove otherwise. She glanced up as Odo approached, Hilde at his side.

  ‘I heard what the sheriff told you, and it is the truth,’ Odo said. ‘We were studying the stars last night, and we saw him and his friend. They did not stay long in the Eagle, perhaps because the heat had spoiled the ale.’

  ‘Then did you spot anything that might help us find Miles’s killer?’ asked Gwenllian.

  Odo shook his head apologetically. ‘My attention was on the heavens, I am afraid. I saw the storm come in, though, like a herd of horses. It was a magnificent sight, and we are indeed blessed by Beornwyn. I spent the rest of the night praying to her.’

  ‘We both did,’ asserted Hilde. ‘We feel privileged to have witnessed her celestial power, and to prove our devotion to her, we shall pay for the altar in her new chapel.’

  She smiled dreamily, then hurried to rejoin the builders. Odo was not long in following. Gwenllian watched, aware that there was more hammering and sawing around the shrine than there was at the new tower in the castle.

  ‘I know they are your friends, but I think it is odd that they spend hours staring at the sky,’ said Cole, also observing them thoughtfully.

  ‘They are good people,’ said Gwenllian firmly. ‘They would never commit murder. They are too devout, and would fear for their immortal souls.’

  ‘Not if they believe they were carrying out Beornwyn’s wishes,’ persisted Cole, then turned away to watch Rupe and his henchmen sanding the door. Gwenllian’s inclination was to ignore the remark, but then it occurred to her that Odo and Hilde did seem particularly taken by the saint and her so-called miracle, and they had been out all night with no alibi but each other. Then she shook herself. How could she question such dear friends?

  Hot and dispirited, Gwenllian stepped into the shade of the trees to think. Her attention was immediately taken by Kediour, who had approached the two monks and was addressing them in a ringing voice.

  ‘Show us this hand you claim to have. You declined to do it last night, but now we have been “blessed” by this miracle, we must have earned the right to see the thing.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Rupe eagerly. ‘And then we shall dip it in the spring to make doubly sure of its holiness.’

  He dropped to his knees and put his hands together in an attitude of prayerful expectation. The folk labouring on the shrine did likewise, and silence descended on the clearing, broken only by a faint breeze rustling through the trees. Reinfrid gave a strained smile as he picked up the little reliquary and handed it to Kediour.

  ‘We are not worthy to attempt such a thing, so perhaps you will oblige, Father.’

  He stepped away, head bowed, leaving Kediour grimacing his annoyance. The prior tried to open the box, but something was wrong with the lock. After several moments of futile fiddling, he thrust it at Cole.

  ‘It is broken,’ Cole said, peering carefully at it. ‘Someone has tried
to force it.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ declared Frossard. ‘Perhaps poor Beornwyn just wants to be left in peace.’

  All eyes were on Cole as he took a dagger to the lock. It clicked open after a moment, and the lid sprang up.

  ‘There is nothing here except a piece of folded material,’ he said, upending the box and shaking it with more vigour than was appropriate for a reliquary, even an empty one.

  ‘There! What did I tell you?’ said Kediour in satisfaction. ‘There is no hand, and this pair are frauds.’

  ‘No!’ Horrified, Frossard snatched the box to look for himself. ‘The hand is stolen! What shall we tell Whitby?’

  ‘Surely you mean Whitland?’ said Kediour, watching him closely. ‘That is where you claimed you were heading yesterday.’

  ‘He said Whitland,’ said Reinfrid. ‘You misheard. But how could this have happened? Beornwyn granted Carmarthen a miracle and look at how she is repaid – her relic stolen and a murder at her spring! What kind of town is this?’

  ‘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.
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br />   ‘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.

  ‘Lord!’ muttered Cole, as Odo and Hilde came to greet them. ‘Their shrine has two walls built already. I have never seen anything raised so fast in my life.’

  ‘Everyone is eager to do Beornwyn’s bidding,’ Odo explained, his plump face beatific. ‘I feel young again now she has cured me.’

  ‘But Prior Kediour persists in his efforts to denigrate her,’ said Hilde unhappily. ‘We have explained that what happened here is a good thing, but he will not listen. Perhaps you can talk some sense into him. But do it soon. People are beginning to resent his hostility.’

  Gwenllian glanced towards the spring, where Kediour and his canons were imploring people to go home or, better yet, attend evening service in the church. But Rupe urged them to stay, and it was to the mayor that they listened. Moreover, there were resentful murmurings against the Austins for presuming to give orders, and it would not be long before it turned physical. Gunbald and Ernebald were armed with cudgels and knives, and it was clear they were ready to join in any trouble.