Hill of Bones

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘Their throats were terribly mangled – they must have rolled a long way. But necks are vulnerable. I know, because I usually aim for them when I dispatch my enemies.’

  The smile he gave Cole made Gwenllian shudder. ‘Where were you when these men died?’ she asked.

  Osmun’s grin did not falter. ‘Playing dice together, on both occasions.’

  At that point, he and Fevil were distracted by a messenger from the King. The exchange that followed told Gwenllian that monarch and bishop were in regular contact, which confirmed what Trotman had said: they were allies. She would indeed need to be careful when dealing with Savaric.

  ‘They were not at Acre,’ whispered Cole.

  ‘How do you know?’ she whispered back.

  ‘Because Constantinople has striped walls, not Acre. And any real crusader knows it.’

  ‘What made you want to catch them out?’

  ‘You told me not to trust anyone, so I decided to test their truthfulness. They are liars, Gwen, and we should not believe them when they say Adam and Hugh fell.’

  ‘I agree. Osmun and Fevil are suspects, as far as I am concerned.’

  ‘I suppose they might have helped Dacus.’ Cole shrugged at her exasperation. ‘I am keeping an open mind, Gwen. I am quite happy to believe that Dacus had accomplices.’

  The bishop was in a magnificent hall, which was decked out in hangings of purple and red. He was a handsome man, with dark eyes, smooth olive skin and silver hair, and when he stood to greet his guests, he moved with a haughty grace.

  ‘I am afraid you have had a wasted journey,’ he said. ‘Poor Hugh wandered up Solsbury Hill in the dark, and his death was an accident. There is no mystery to solve.’

  ‘Your monks do not think so,’ said Cole. ‘Two of them told my wife that Hugh was murdered. So was Adam, for that matter, and he was my friend.’

  Savaric’s lips compressed into a hard, thin line, and Gwenllian glimpsed ruthlessness behind the suave exterior. ‘Then they are mistaken.’

  ‘We have also been told that these deaths were acts of God,’ added Gwenllian.

  ‘Now that is possible,’ nodded Savaric. ‘I liked Adam, but he was vain about his medical skills, while Hugh was dour and sanctimonious. The Almighty may well have decided to provide me with an opportunity to appoint better men.’

  ‘Dacus is not better than Adam,’ declared Cole indignantly.

  Savaric regarded him silently for a moment. ‘Perhaps “better” was the wrong word to have used, when what I meant was “different”. As I said, I liked Adam.’

  ‘Do you like Dacus?’ asked Cole, a little dangerously.

  ‘Not particularly. But he is a good medicus, and he was a devoted chaplain to Reginald – my cousin. He was mad with grief after Reginald’s death, but he is well again now.’

  ‘But you believe Walter is a better man than Hugh?’ asked Gwenllian, thinking that Dacus must have been raving indeed, if he was now considered to have recovered.

  ‘Without question. Bath is a much happier place now. It will be happier still when the business involving Glastonbury is resolved, and its monks accept me as their rightful ruler. But what do you intend to do here, Sir Symon? Or will you take my word that nothing untoward has happened, and leave us in peace?’

  ‘Is that what you would like us to do?’ asked Gwenllian probingly.

  Savaric continued to address Cole, dismissing her as of no importance. ‘Tell the King the truth: Hugh had an accident. I am sure we can find a little something to make your journey home more agreeable.’

  Cole gaped at him. ‘Are you trying to bribe me?’

  Savaric looked pained, clearly unused to dealing with plain-speaking men. ‘I am suggesting ways in which your commission can be discharged to our mutual advantage. The King will be delighted to learn that Hugh’s death was unavoidable, and I always aim to please him. I assume you are similarly loyal?’

  Cole hesitated, not sure how to answer without condemning himself.

  Gwenllian came to his rescue. ‘We shall do what is appropriate.’

  Savaric frowned at the ambiguity of her response. ‘Keep me apprised of your progress, then. However, do not forget that Bath is a holy place, and I am the favoured recipient of a miracle. Have you heard about my crosier? Here it is – I always keep it in this hall.’

  The staff was unexpectedly plain to be the property of so vain and grand a man, although there were three large jewels in its handle. Gwenllian inspected them.

  ‘But they are only glass,’ she blurted in surprise.

  Savaric nodded. ‘It belonged to Reginald, and he was a man of simple tastes. I was appalled and shocked when it disappeared.’

  ‘Was it stolen?’ asked Cole.

  ‘Possibly. All I can tell you is that it was here one day, and gone the next. But I prayed to Reginald for its safe return, and it appeared on the high altar the following morning.’

  ‘Did it now?’ murmured Gwenllian sceptically.

  ‘It was the first miracle of many,’ Savaric went on happily. ‘Pilgrims pay a fortune to pray at his tomb now.’

  ‘Your knights claim to have had their virtue proved on Solsbury Hill,’ began Cole. ‘Do you think Adam and Hugh were—’

  Savaric snorted his disdain. ‘Superstitious nonsense! My monks are always clamouring at me to be tested – especially that pious Robert – but I am not a man for grubbing about in the dark. Besides, I have no wish to see seraphim. I do not like the sound of them at all.’

  ‘What about wolves?’ asked Cole.

  ‘Not those, either. However—’ At this point, Savaric was interrupted by a commotion outside. He closed his eyes wearily. ‘Will that damned villain never leave me in peace?’

  The ‘damned villain’ entered the hall in a flurry of snarling words and jabbing elbows. Osmun and Fevil tried to stop him, but – although only half their size – he simply put his head down and battered his way past them. The newcomer was a Benedictine, and he was quivering with rage, small fists clenched at his sides.

  ‘This is William Pica,’ explained Savaric heavily. ‘From Glastonbury.’

  ‘Abbot Pica,’ spat Pica. ‘Legally elected. You have stolen my title, but you will not keep it. I shall travel to Rome, and the new Pope will condemn your vile behaviour. You only want Glastonbury because we have King Arthur’s bones, and they are proving to be lucrative.’

  ‘Nonsense! It makes good administrative sense for Glastonbury and Bath to be united,’ argued Savaric. ‘Besides, Reginald wanted me to join the abbeys. He said so on his deathbed.’

  ‘Lies!’ screeched Pica. ‘I was with him – and he did not sully his lips with your name.’

  ‘And was that because he was poisoned, so could not speak?’ demanded Savaric, suave demeanour evaporating. ‘There are tales that say he did not die a natural death, and I have not forgotten that you were present. I have not forgotten that you happened to be in Bath when Hugh and Adam perished, either. You claim you were asleep, but you cannot prove it.’

  Pica turned purple with rage, and while he spluttered incoherently, Gwenllian addressed the bishop.

  ‘You just told us that those three deaths were not suspicious. Yet now you accuse Pica of being complicit in them?’

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Savaric shortly, taking a deep breath to compose himself. ‘Pica always goads me into saying things I do not mean.’

  ‘Is that so?’ shrieked Pica. ‘Because I suspect you of killing them. One of your minions poisoned Reginald, while you have no alibi for when Adam and Hugh died, either.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ snapped Savaric. ‘I was praying. God is my witness.’

  ‘Then tell Him to say so to the King’s officer,’ snarled Pica, waving a hand at Cole, who looked alarmed by the prospect. ‘Ask for a divine sign.’

  ‘There has already been one,’ argued Savaric, becoming angry again. ‘My crosier would not have been returned to me if I did not own God’s favour.’

  Pica was evidently unwilling
to argue with this, because he changed the subject. ‘Then tell the King’s officer what Hugh was doing when he died. Let us see what he makes of that.’

  Savaric sighed as he addressed Cole. ‘Hugh thought there was something odd about the deaths of Reginald and Adam, and had been pondering and asking questions—’

  ‘He was investigating their murders,’ interrupted Pica harshly. ‘Personally, I suspect he learned something that implicated Savaric, but was killed before he could make his findings public. It is a pity he did not write anything down.’

  ‘Do either of you know why Hugh went to Solsbury Hill?’ asked Cole. ‘Was it to be tested for—’

  ‘Hugh was not a fool,’ snapped Pica. ‘Only saintly men, like me, dare take that challenge. He would not have risked it, and neither would Adam. Savaric has never tried it, of course.’

  ‘The test is a lot of nonsense,’ said Savaric, flushing angrily. ‘Moreover, Reginald died of a fever, and Hugh and Adam had accidents. And anyone who disagrees with me is a fool.’

  There was no more to be learned at the Bishop’s Palace, so Gwenllian and Cole spent the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon talking to Bath’s monks, lay brothers and servants. These numbered more than two hundred people, but Gwenllian had not questioned a third of them before Cole decided he had had enough.

  ‘We cannot stop yet, cariad,’ she said reproachfully. ‘We do not have any answers.’

  ‘We have the only answer we need: that Dacus murdered Reginald, Adam and Hugh. And tomorrow, we shall confront him with the evidence.’

  ‘What evidence?’ asked Gwenllian, exasperated. ‘However, we may learn something useful if we speak to the man who found Adam and Hugh’s bodies.’

  ‘A lay brother named Eldred,’ mused Cole. ‘I suppose we could interview him today, although it is tedious work, and I would rather tend my horse.’

  ‘It will not take long. And the sooner we have answers, the sooner we can go home.’

  Enquiries revealed that Eldred was collecting tolls on one of the city gates.

  ‘Yes, I found Hugh and Adam,’ he nodded. ‘And I was in Reginald’s retinue when he died. Now there was a sad day. Personally, I suspect Savaric had him poisoned, because he was jealous of his goodness.’

  ‘On what grounds do you make such an accusation?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘Did you see one of Savaric’s minions administer a toxin? Or overhear a confession by the killer?’

  ‘Well, no,’ admitted Eldred. ‘But Savaric would not have hired a fool for such a task. He would have chosen a villain who knew how to be careful.’

  Gwenllian supposed that was true, but even so, she was inclined to dismiss the testimony as yet more gossipy speculation. Cole was thoughtful, though.

  ‘A number of people accompanied Reginald on his fatal journey to Canterbury – Dacus as his chaplain, Fevil, Pica, Robert, the two canons from Wells, you . . .’

  Eldred nodded. ‘And any one of them might have killed Reginald on Savaric’s orders. Except Dacus. He loved Reginald dearly.’

  ‘What about Prior Hugh?’ asked Gwenllian, frustrated that the lay brother’s testimony was so light on facts, and heavy on unfounded opinion. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He had been sitting in the cloister all afternoon, fretting about the deaths of Adam and Reginald. So Robert suggested he go to Solsbury Hill, to look for evidence of foul play. Robert also offered to take vespers for him, which was nice.’

  ‘Robert did?’ asked Cole, exchanging a glance with Gwenllian. Was this evidence of a victim being manoeuvred into a desired location?

  Eldred nodded. ‘Prior Hugh stopped by this gate for a moment, to chat with me, then he went on his way. Walter was here, too.’

  ‘What did Hugh say?’ asked Cole.

  ‘He asked about Adam. I said I thought a wolf had killed him, although Walter disagreed, and repeated the bishop’s theory about an accident. But Hugh did not believe that nonsense – he was not stupid. And Adam’s wounds were not caused by falling on sharp stones. They were made by teeth. Wolf’s teeth.’

  ‘How do you know it was not a dog?’ asked Cole.

  ‘I just do,’ replied Eldred firmly. ‘And the same beast killed Hugh, because there cannot be two such creatures in the area.’

  Gwenllian regarded him sceptically. ‘Are you not afraid to be out here, then?’

  ‘I am safe enough in daylight. But there is a full moon the day after tomorrow, and wild horses will not drag me outside the abbey then.’

  Cole and Gwenllian argued about what they had learned as they walked back to the Angel. He was of the opinion that Dacus had trained an animal to kill. She believed the injuries could have been made by a weapon, and felt Savaric and his henchmen, the smugly pious Robert, Walter and the belligerent Pica made far more convincing suspects.

  ‘I know dogs,’ Cole insisted. ‘And I have Dacus’ measure, too. I am right, Gwen.’

  ‘But Bath is a small town. How could Dacus keep such a beast hidden? Someone would see it, and the game would be over.’

  He had no answer, and they walked the rest of the way in silence. A group of minstrels was singing near the abbey gates, and it was apparently an unusual event, because a crowd had gathered to listen. It included all their suspects. Frustrated by their lack of progress, Cole advanced on Bishop Savaric before Gwenllian could stop him.

  ‘Hugh’s throat was torn out,’ he said bluntly. ‘So was Adam’s. Yet you claim their deaths were accidental. Surely, you must see that is unlikely?’

  ‘Unlikely, but not impossible,’ replied Savaric curtly. ‘Besides, there are no wolves in Bath. You are wasting your time here, and I strongly advise you to leave the matter alone.’

  ‘You heard him,’ said Osmun, coming to loom menacingly. Fevil did the same, crowding forward in an effort to intimidate. Cole turned on him.

  ‘You accompanied Reginald to Canterbury, but you did not protect him from—’

  ‘How could he protect Reginald from a fever?’ sneered Osmun, interposing himself between them. ‘And it was a fever, not poison, before you make any unfounded accusations.’

  ‘We have already discussed this,’ said Savaric quickly, as hands dropped to the hilts of swords. ‘But I will repeat it. There is nothing suspicious about the deaths of Reginald, Adam or Hugh, no matter what the gossips tell you.’

  Cole stared at him for a moment, then stalked towards a gaggle of clerics that included Robert, Walter, Pica, Trotman and Lechlade. Savaric rolled his eyes when he saw his assurances had not been believed, and Osmun and Fevil exchanged furious glances. Gwenllian stifled a sigh. Antagonising men who might be murderers was reckless, and she wished her husband would leave the talking to her.

  ‘You told Hugh to climb Solsbury Hill,’ Cole said, homing in on Robert. ‘Why?’

  The sacrist jumped at the irate voice behind him, but quickly regained his composure. ‘Because he had spent the day agonising over Adam and Reginald. I suggested a walk to clear his head. Unfortunately, someone – or something – was waiting for him.’

  ‘Seraphim,’ nodded Trotman, pig-like face earnest. ‘With sharp claws.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ declared Pica. ‘Savaric killed them, just as he killed Reginald. He never saw eye to eye with Hugh, while Adam’s virtue put him in a bad light. He – or his henchmen – dispatched all three.’

  ‘No,’ said Robert quietly. ‘Reginald died of a fever. However, Adam and Hugh were murdered, although I cannot believe the bishop did it. It must be someone else.’

  ‘Dacus?’ asked Cole, looking to where the master of the hospital stood with his patients. He was solicitously gentle with them, wholly different from the man who had broken the news of Adam’s death with such calculated cruelty.

  ‘Definitely not Dacus,’ said Robert. ‘He speaks hotly, but there is no harm in him. If he has offended you, ignore it. He cannot help his untamed tongue.’

  ‘There is harm in him – he is responsible for the rumour that Reginald was murdered,’ count
ered Trotman. ‘He has never accepted that Reginald died of natural causes.’

  ‘His claims are a nuisance,’ agreed Walter. ‘And I wish he would not waylay strangers and challenge them to visit Solsbury on a full moon, either. It creates a bad first impression of our town. But his virtues outweigh his faults. Look at how his patients love him.’

  They turned, and even Cole was forced to acknowledge that Dacus had a way with his charges. They jostled for his attention, and the affection they felt was clear in their faces. Cole watched for a while, then turned to leave, but Walter caught his sleeve.

  ‘Listen to Savaric,’ he whispered. ‘The King ordered you here because he had to appoint someone to assess what happened to Prior Hugh, but he is not interested in the truth. All he wants is a verdict of accidental death, so he can put the matter from his mind.’

  Cole freed his arm. ‘What are you saying? That Hugh was murdered?’

  Walter grimaced. ‘No! It was an accident, as I have already told you. I merely suggest that you give John what he wants. No good will come of doing otherwise – not for you, and not for Bath, either.’

  Cole watched him slink away, then turned to Gwenllian. ‘When I hear remarks like that, it makes me even more determined to uncover what really happened.’

  ‘We have a number of suspects for these murders,’ said Gwenllian as they sat in their room at the Angel that night. It was late, because Cole had been trawling the taverns for information, although with scant success. ‘And Adam and Hugh were murdered, no matter what else we are told. I am not sure what to think about Reginald, though.’

  ‘I have one suspect,’ said Cole. ‘Dacus.’

  ‘Dacus is on the list,’ said Gwenllian, more to humour him than because she believed it. ‘So is Savaric. He does not want us here, and maintains, suspiciously, that Hugh and Adam had accidents. He also benefited from Reginald’s will. I doubt he killed anyone himself, but he may have ordered Osmun and Fevil to do it. They claim to have been dicing together when Hugh and Adam died, which is no alibi at all.’

  ‘Dacus may have enlisted them as accomplices,’ conceded Cole. ‘Or Pica, who claims to have been sleeping when Adam and Hugh were killed. Moreover, Pica was also in Reginald’s retinue on that fateful journey to Canterbury.’