‘Tell Kediour to take his canons home,’ Gwenllian whispered to Cole. ‘The spring will run dry soon, and when it does, people will lose interest in Beornwyn. He will not have to endure this nonsense for long.’
Cole began to weave his way through the throng, but people were packed tightly together, and he could not help but jostle a few. Inevitably, someone took exception.
‘You shoved me!’ screeched Rupe. He turned to the crowd. ‘Did you see that? He deliberately barged into me, and almost knocked me from my feet.’
‘My apologies,’ said Cole. ‘I was only trying to reach Kediour, so I can escort him and his canons back to their priory.’
‘Then do it,’ snapped Rupe. ‘They are a nuisance here, and we do not want them.’
‘I am not going anywhere,’ declared Kediour indignantly, and Gwenllian saw with a sinking heart that he, too, was on the verge of losing his temper. ‘How can I, when I see souls in peril? They will be bound for Hell if—’
‘It is you who is bound for Hell,’ shrieked Rupe, his voice high with indignation. He stabbed his finger at Cole. ‘And you. Beornwyn will not stand by while I am battered by a lout who has falsely accused me of corruption. How can I be dishonest? If I were, Beornwyn would not have put her spring on my land.’
‘Come,’ said Cole, taking Kediour’s arm. ‘There is no reasoning here—’
‘And now he accuses me of lying,’ squealed Rupe. ‘He has already murdered Miles for ogling his wife, and now he insults me. He—’
He did not finish, because Gunbald swung his cudgel at Cole, who ducked away, but in so doing he stumbled into Ernebald. With a roar of outrage, Ernebald attacked. It was all that was needed to start a fight. Most of the canons backed away from the mêlée, but a handful of novices remained, trying to extricate their prior from the flailing fists.
With horror, Gwenllian saw Gunbald prepare to swipe at Symon again. She shouted a warning, but too many others were yelling, and Rupe’s piercing screeches were especially loud. Her voice went unheard. She saw the bludgeon begin to descend towards her husband’s head, but Avenel was there to block it, after which his sword made short work of its wielder.
Then Cole was on his feet, his strong voice breaking through those of the others. She had never heard him so angry, and the effect on the rioters was immediate. Knives were sheathed, sticks and coshes furtively concealed, and fists lowered. But Gunbald did not move.
Rupe rounded on Cole. ‘This is your fault. You should not have interfered. Gunbald is dead, and I will have vengeance.’
‘Vengeance?’ asked Kediour quietly. ‘I cannot see your saint approving of that.’
‘Of course she will,’ snarled Rupe. ‘She was murdered by villains herself, and will not sit idly while good men are slaughtered by those who are supposed to protect us. She will rise up to exact payment for what has happened. You wait and see!’
Cole’s face was dark with fury and, unwilling to risk annoying a man who could put them in prison, the hotheads who had joined the brawl prudently melted away. Soon all that remained were the more sober folk, who wanted only to work quietly on the shrine. Kediour ordered his novices home in a voice that was uncharacteristically subdued, while Rupe kneeled next to Gunbald and wailed his grief. Gwenllian was sure it was insincere, that he was taking the opportunity to gain public sympathy in the hope that his past misdeeds would be forgotten, and he would be elected for another term as mayor.
‘I am sorry,’ said Kediour to Cole, stricken. ‘I was following my conscience. I would never have pressed my point if I thought it would end in a death.’
‘Go home, and keep your brethren inside,’ ordered Cole shortly. ‘Folk have taken this saint to their hearts, so please do not disparage her again.’
‘But it is a heathen business,’ objected Kediour, ashen-faced. ‘I cannot keep silent, especially when this place is so close to my priory.’
‘You must. Or Gunbald will not be the only casualty.’
Kediour shot an anguished glance at the unfinished shrine, which was already bright with votive candles. Then he gave a brief nod of acquiescence and walked after his brethren, his shoulders slumped in defeat. When Ernebald started to follow with a murderous gleam in his eye, Cole indicated that Iefan was to intercept him before more blood was spilled.
‘Well?’ asked Avenel, sheathing his sword. His expression was superior. ‘Will you not thank me for saving your life?’
Cole grasped his hand, catching him off guard with his open sincerity. ‘I will, and gladly. My wife is not ready to be a widow just yet.’
Gwenllian agreed, and was about to say so when her attention was caught by the fact that Philip had abandoned his duties at the chapel, and was whispering to Odo and Hilde. The chaplain flushed red when she approached.
‘I will return to my vigil now,’ he stammered, chagrined at being caught disobeying orders. ‘I only left for a moment, but then the trouble started . . .’
Gwenllian pulled him to one side so they could talk without being overheard. ‘Avenel claims you wrote no letter for him last night. Why did you lie?’
Philip’s expression was furtive. ‘I did not lie – not exactly. He did ask me to scribe for him, but Fitzmartin offered to do it instead. As I was there, I thought I may as well enjoy an ale before returning home. It was too hot to sleep anyway.’
‘Did you see Miles?’
The chaplain shook his head. ‘I would have told you earlier if I had.’
He hurried away before she could ask him anything else, leaving her staring after him thoughtfully.
‘He is a fine young man,’ said Odo, coming to stand next to her and smiling fondly. ‘Cole is fortunate to have him as a chaplain.’
‘Yes,’ said Gwenllian noncommittally.
Later that evening, as the sun began to dip and the shadows lengthen, Iefan arrived at the castle to say that the cattle rustlers had been spotted a mile south. Cole prepared to ride out at once, and Gwenllian was alarmed when Avenel and Fitzmartin offered to go with him.
‘Symon, no! They are suspects for garrotting Miles, and may dispatch you once they have you away from witnesses.’
Cole waved her concerns away. ‘I want them to come, to see for themselves how difficult it is to trap these thieves. Besides, it is a good opportunity to question them about Miles. Who knows? Perhaps they will confess to his murder as we sit around a campfire.’
Gwenllian gulped her horror, before he grinned to show he was jesting. It was not funny, and she was angry with him for making light of such matters. Others also thought he was reckless to include the sheriff and his henchman in the party.
‘Please,’ said Odo quietly, while Hilde nodded at his side. ‘I know Avenel saved your life today, but it was an instinctive reaction, and I am sure he is cursing himself now. He has changed since you came home. While you were away, he was loud and brash; now he is quiet, watchful and brooding.’
‘As if he is planning something,’ elaborated Hilde. ‘And Fitzmartin is a beast. He punched his squire this morning for no reason. Odo and I are sure something evil is afoot.’
‘I agree,’ said Kediour uneasily. ‘Do not forget what they are accused of – desecrating churches and holding parishioners to ransom. These are not gentle crimes.’
But Cole remained resolute, and Gwenllian could do nothing but watch as he rode away, Avenel and Fitzmartin far too close behind him for her liking. Cousin Philip stood next to her, and she happened to glance at him as he was exchanging a meaningful nod with someone. When she saw it was Odo she was bemused, but then news came that there was bloody flux in the nearby village of Abergwili, and her attention was taken in sending aid.
For the next three days, she had little time for worrying, as she struggled to run the castle, quell trouble at the shrine and be a mother to her children. Whenever she could, she continued her enquiries into Miles’s murder, but despite questioning as many people as would talk to her, she came no closer to learning the identity of the kille
r. Rupe persisted in his claim that Cole was responsible, although few believed him, most preferring to blame the two ‘monks’.
Stunned by the violence that his well-intentioned entreaties had caused, Kediour kept to his priory. Gwenllian visited him on the evening of the fourth day after the trouble, to beg more medicine for Abergwili. While she was in the priory, he voiced his continuing fear that Carmarthen was being led down a spiritually dangerous path.
‘Rupe has turned Beornwyn into a very profitable business,’ he said unhappily. ‘He has sold countless flasks of “holy” water, and now he claims she appears to him regularly in dreams, along with “poor murdered” Gunbald.’
‘I know,’ said Gwenllian. ‘But he is too greedy, and people resent the money he is making from them. Most have abandoned him already, and he has only a few devoted followers left. The cult will soon fizzle out completely.’
‘I hope you are right,’ said Kediour worriedly. ‘I hate to see people misled where matters of faith are concerned. It pains me to hear him slandering Symon, too.’
It pained Gwenllian as well, but there was nothing she could do about it, especially while Cole was away. She longed for him to return, and hoped he would not be gone three weeks, like the last time. To take her mind off her worries, she reviewed what she had learned about Miles’s murder.
The deputy had gone to Rupe’s wood to investigate the underground stream he believed he had discovered, hoping the late hour would see the place deserted. Cole thought Miles had been dead for several hours before he was found, which meant he had been killed not long after the two of them had argued. Frossard had witnessed their quarrel, and she supposed she should be grateful that Rupe and his henchmen had not.
From ten possible culprits when she had started her enquiries, she now had six. She had never seriously considered Odo and Hilde; they were friends, and she could not believe they would garrotte anyone. Reinfrid and Frossard could also be eliminated, because they had been close on Symon’s heels as he had returned to the castle, close enough that they had seen him stop to speak to the other suspects. That left Avenel, Fitzmartin, Philip, Rupe and his two henchmen, one of whom was now dead.
Her favoured suspect was Rupe, who wanted everyone to believe that Beornwyn had blessed him with a spring, and who would certainly not want Miles to claim that water had been there all along. Moreover, Rupe’s alibi had been provided by his henchmen, a brutal pair who would certainly kill on his orders – and who would lie for him, too.
Avenel and Fitzmartin had no reliable alibi either. They had left the Eagle to walk back to the castle, but no one had accompanied them, and there was nothing to say they had not killed Miles en route. They were, as Kediour had reminded her, alleged to have committed other nasty crimes, so why not murder? And they certainly had a motive: the King would be delighted to hear that there was trouble in Carmarthen. Hilde and Odo were wary of them, too, and believed they were plotting something untoward.
And finally, Philip had also been near the scene of the murder with no good explanation, and he had been caught out in lies. He might be her kinsman, but she neither liked nor trusted him, and she was uncomfortable with the secret glances he kept exchanging with Avenel – and with Odo, for that matter.
She was torn from her ponderings by a rattle of hoofs in the bailey. She ran to the window, and sighed her relief when she saw Cole. Avenel and Fitzmartin were there too, and she could tell by the general air of dejection that the cattle rustlers had not been caught.
That evening, after Cole had washed away the filth of travel and had drunk more watered ale than Gwenllian had thought was possible without exploding, she told him all that she had learned during his absence. He listened without interruption.
‘I think we can cross Avenel off your list,’ he said when she had finished. ‘He saved my life. Gunbald would certainly have killed me if he had not acted.’
‘Odo says it was base instinct that drove him,’ argued Gwenllian. ‘I imagine he is dearly hoping that no one tells the King what he did. And do not say he went with you to catch the thieves out of goodness – he went to witness your failure for himself.’
Cole did not agree, and they debated the matter until they fell asleep, both worn out by the stresses and strains of the last four days. At dawn, the door opened and Iefan crept in.
‘You can cross Rupe off your list of suspects, Gwen,’ said Cole, after hearing his sergeant’s whispered report. ‘He is dead – garrotted, like Miles.’
Word of the murder had spread through the town long before the castle was informed, and Rupe’s house was ringed by spectators when Gwenllian and Cole arrived. The more important ones were inside, where they stood in the bedchamber, staring at the body. The only sound was Kediour’s voice as he murmured prayers for the dead man’s soul. Gwenllian looked around the room in distaste: it was mean and poor, suggesting that Rupe was a miser, hoarding his money and refusing to pay for clean bedclothes and decent furniture.
When Kediour had finished his petitions, Cole stepped forward to examine the body. There was not much to see: the mayor wore a thin nightshift, and had probably been asleep when his attacker had come. The bedclothes were rumpled where he had kicked with his feet, and his nails were broken, but there was nothing in the way of clues. Gwenllian’s eyes were drawn to the conical hat Rupe had always worn, and she could not prevent a superstitious shudder when she saw a dead butterfly adhering to it.
‘Who found him?’ Cole asked.
‘Me.’ Ernebald’s voice was hoarse with shock. ‘When I brought him his morning ale.’
‘When did you last see him alive?’
‘Midnight. We were making plans for the chapel. His wife is away, so he slept alone.’
‘She had gone to stay with her sister, because she dislikes pilgrims tramping through her vegetables,’ explained Avenel. His face was impossible to read in the dim light, and his voice was flat. ‘Or so Fitzmartin and I were told in the Eagle last night.’
‘If he and Fitzmartin were in the Eagle, they would have had to pass this house to return to their beds in the castle,’ Gwenllian whispered to Cole. ‘It would have been simple to climb through an open window and dispatch him.’
‘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 min
d 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.
The False Virgin Page 8