Hill of Bones

by The Medieval Murderers

  As dawn broke, Eldred left his hole in the cliff and, stiff in the limbs and empty in the stomach, made his way down the hill to meet Riocas, hoping for both food and good news.

  He reached the bottom of the steepest part of Solsbury and began cautiously to aim for the lane up to Swainswick, where Riocas arranged to meet him. He was too early, he knew, as the city gates were not opened until first light and then his friend had to trot for a few miles in his little cart.

  Eldred squatted on a fallen tree to wait, still well inside the belt of trees. The birds were still at their morning chorus and, if it were not for his fugitive state and his absence from wife and hearth, he could have found it a quiet and restful interlude in his life.

  However, after a few minutes he realised that a distant noise was not part of this arboreal idyll. Into his consciousness crept the sound of a horse neighing, well away to his left. Riocas had a donkey to pull his cart, so it couldn’t be his.

  Curious, but fearful of strangers, Eldred rose and quietly moved through the trees in the direction of the sounds, which were repeated several times, becoming clearer as he approached. Warily, moving his feet a step at a time to avoid breaking fallen sticks, he closed on the horse until he stopped short and dropped behind a large bramble bush, for he had heard someone berating the animal, telling it to be quiet. But more than that, he swore he knew the voice – and a moment later, his suspicions were confirmed, as another person spoke, one he knew equally well. This was Brother Maurice and the first utterance had come from Gilbert, the cellarer!

  Eldred sank to his haunches behind the bush, quivering with fright. He assumed that brother Gilbert and his weedy assistant were part of a search party sent out by the prior to seize him and drag him back to the abbey for trial and probable execution. But how did they know he was on Solsbury Hill? Perhaps Selwyn or Riocas had been interrogated, maybe even tortured by the sheriff’s men – or had Riocas been followed on his journeys to bring food to the hill?

  Petrified with fright, he hardly dared breathe, but his ears still functioned well. The other two were barely a score of paces away and were not guarding their voices, as the main road was far enough away at this point.

  ‘By the Virgin, my back is breaking after a night on this ground!’ growled Gilbert. ‘I’ll not complain about the pallets in the abbey dormer after this – not that I need to, now.’

  There was some coughing and scuffling, then Maurice’s familiar voice filtered through the brambles.

  ‘Here, take the last of this bread and cheese. What are we going to do about finding something else to eat today?’

  ‘As soon as we get well beyond Chippenham, we can stop in a tavern and fill our bellies. God knows I’ve got enough money now.’

  This conversation puzzled Eldred. If they were part of the abbey’s hunt for him, what was this about them going beyond Chippenham? And why the comment about money? The truth never occurred to him, as it was so far removed from his present concerns. His ears almost wagged as he listened for more.

  ‘How can we keep up this pretence that we are simple merchants, travelling in pursuit of our lawful business?’ whined Maurice. ‘Even though we’ve discarded our habits, we both have shaven heads that mark us instantly as being in holy orders!’

  ‘I have a wide pilgrim’s hat, don’t I?’ retorted Gilbert roughly. ‘And you had better tie the laces of that coif under your chin and keep it on, if you don’t want your neck stretched on the gallows!’

  Though now totally confused, Eldred gathered from this that he was not the target of their search and that they themselves were on the run. They were two of the people he had disliked most in the abbey, and indeed, when the chalice and pyx had gone missing, their names had passed through his mind when he was seeking culprits. Now it gradually dawned upon him that he had been right, but did the rest of the world know that?

  He heard them moving around and feared that they were on the point of leaving, as Gilbert was telling his clerk to wrap the treasure in the redundant habits to protect them inside their sack. Eldred saw no way of preventing them from escaping, and all he could do was to move back to where he was to meet Riocas and tell the cat-catcher what he had learned, so that some kind of hue and cry could be mounted – though by then they would probably be far away.

  Carefully, he rose to a crouch and started to move back the way he had come. Then disaster struck, as his foot caught in a loop of bramble that had sent down sucker roots to anchor itself firmly in the soil. He pitched forwards on to his hands and knees with a crash and, seconds later, cries of fury heralded the arrival of Gilbert, closely followed by his clerk.

  The burly monk grabbed him and hooked a brawny arm around his neck, hoisting him to his feet in one powerful movement.

  ‘Who the hell are you, you damned spy?’ roared the former cellarer, able only to see the back of Eldred’s head. Then Maurice, nervously circling around them, saw to his shock that it was the sacrist’s lay brother.

  ‘It’s Eldred, Gilbert!’ he shrieked. ‘We are discovered!’

  The older man grabbed his captive by the hair and jerked his head round to confirm his identity.

  ‘What in hell’s name are you doing here?’ he bellowed. ‘Is this where you’ve been hiding out as well?’

  Half-strangled, Eldred was unable to answer, especially as Gilbert began dragging him back into the clearing where the horses were tethered.

  ‘What do we do?’ screeched the terrified Maurice. ‘He will betray us!’

  ‘I’ll kill the bastard! We’ve murdered already, so another will make no difference, either on earth or in hell,’ grated Gilbert callously. He reached with his free hand for the dagger he carried in a sheath on his belt, but as he did so, his hold on Eldred’s throat slackened. Convinced that he was about to die, his prisoner let out a scream of terror and a loud plea for help, in which he was joined by the two horses, who, frightened by the noise, gave out loud whinnies and thrashed their hoofs against the undergrowth.

  ‘Shut up, blast you!’ howled Gilbert, who, regaining his grip on the struggling victim, hauled the knife clear of its scabbard.

  Maurice was paralysed with horror, for it was one thing to beat a burly, outraged goldsmith on the head during a fight, but another to cold-bloodedly cut the throat of a lay brother.

  ‘Gilbert, stay your hand, for the sake of Christ!’ he blubbered, but his former master appeared to take no notice of his entreaties.

  However, a stay of execution was close at hand . . .

  When the sacrist had left the meeting in the Chapter House the previous evening, he found the King’s steward and the cat-catcher waiting for him outside the door. As it was they who had exposed the truth about the murderous scandal that was rocking the abbey, they felt entitled to be the first to know if their friend Eldred was now officially considered to be innocent.

  ‘The prior and chapter have lost interest in him now,’ confirmed Hubert sarcastically. ‘They are too concerned with pursuing our cellarer and his acolyte to be concerned with my brass-polisher! They are more interested in both retribution and recovering the abbey’s gold and silver.’

  ‘So we can get a message to Eldred that it is safe for him to return home, Brother Hubert?’

  The scrawny old sacrist nodded. ‘Yes, bring him back when you like. In the circumstances, I won’t ask who aided his escape nor where he has been hiding himself.’

  Relieved, the two men went back to Selwyn’s kitchen and celebrated with some of the best ale he had there, then went around to Eldred’s mean lodging, where they gave the anxious Gytha the good news.

  ‘We’ll both go first thing in the morning to Riocas’ usual rendezvous and fetch the poor fellow back,’ said Selwyn. ‘No need for the donkey-cart now, the time for that subterfuge is past, thank God. I’ll borrow a couple of rounseys from my friend who keeps the livery stable in Goat Street. Eldred can ride back behind my saddle.’

  As soon as the North Gate was opened at dawn, the two friends
rode out on a pair of rather short-legged mounts, the general-purpose rounseys used for a variety of purposes. They covered the couple of miles to Solsbury in half an hour and reined in on the lower part of the side road to Swainswick, where Eldred should appear from the trees. After some time, there was no sign of him and Riocas began to get concerned.

  ‘He’s usually waiting for me; let’s hope nothing has befallen him.’

  ‘We rode faster than your poor old ass can pull that cart,’ soothed Selwyn. ‘We’re probably earlier than he expected.’

  They sat in their saddles for another quarter of an hour, when the big furrier became too impatient to wait any longer.

  ‘Let’s go in a little way and see if we can find him. Knowing his luck, he may have twisted an ankle scrambling down the hill.’

  They led their steeds some way into the trees and tied them to saplings where there was a patch of grass for them to browse.

  Then the pair stood irresolute for a moment, unsure whether to start climbing the slope in the hope of meeting Eldred. Their minds were made up for them when a distant, but quite clear scream was heard, way off towards the main road. Without a word, they both turned and ran through the leaf-mould and sparse undergrowth in the direction of the noise, obviously made by a human voice. A couple of minutes later, they heard horses neighing and then, as they got nearer, another scream of terror and a cry for help resounded through the trees, followed immediately by more sounds of agitated horses.

  ‘I’ll swear that’s Eldred!’ panted Selwyn, running at the heels of his stronger companion. ‘Let’s shout for him. He can’t be far away now.’

  Riocas let out a mighty bellow that echoed through the forest, followed by similar shouts from Selwyn, as they continued to run in what they hoped was the right direction. There were no more cries from ahead, but the uneasy stamping and neighing of horses soon led them to the clearing.

  As they burst past the bramble clump, they saw the two beasts tethered to trees and a pair of saddlebags on the ground. But of human beings, there was no sign.

  The moment Gilbert heard the distant shouts, he knew they must run for it. His captive, still squirming in his arms, managed to scream for help, and instantly the cellarer slapped a hand over his mouth and increased his choking grip.

  ‘Bring that sack, then run!’ he yelled at Maurice, who was standing in the clearing, paralysed with fear. Without waiting for him, Gilbert dragged Eldred bodily into the trees, still stifling his attempts at crying for help. He was a powerful man, stocky and muscular, able to trot across the gently sloping ground at a fair pace while half-carrying his wriggling victim.

  Left alone, Maurice was suddenly galvanised into action and, grabbing the sack with the money and treasures, he raced after Gilbert. When they had covered a few hundred paces, Gilbert stopped and listened for any sounds of pursuit. His keen ears picked up some shouts in the distance, but none that seemed to be coming their way.

  ‘Go forward slowly and don’t make any noise!’ he hissed at the panting Maurice. Still keeping a hand firmly over Eldred’s mouth, he moved onward at a walking pace for a few score yards, before dropping to the ground behind a clump of hazel bushes. Pulling out his dagger again, he touched the point to Eldred’s neck. ‘Make a sound and you’re dead, damn you!’ he hissed.

  He motioned Maurice to lie down nearby and they waited and listened. A few distant shouts eventually died away and there was silence, but the cautious Gilbert, knowing his neck may depend on it, waited almost motionless for many more minutes, his knife still drawing a small bead of blood from Eldred’s neck.

  The pause gave him time to get his breath back after his exertions and also provided time to think out a plan of campaign. The original idea of riding to Southampton was ruined. Their horses were lost to them and no doubt search parties would soon be combing these woods. On the positive side, he still had his loot and now also a hostage, who might be of some value if they were trapped.

  When the silence had lasted for what seemed to be an age, but was probably no more than half an hour, he rose cautiously and pulled Eldred up with him, his knife now being brandished in front of the terrified lay brother’s face.

  ‘Those others have gone in another direction, so there’s no point in your yelling – and if you do, I’ll cut your damned throat!’ he snarled. With a jerk of the head at the almost equally terrified Maurice, he grabbed Eldred by the collar of his tunic and began marching him up the lower slopes of Solsbury Hill.

  Selwyn and Riocas stood in the clearing and shouted repeatedly for Eldred, but silence was the only response. They made a few forays into the undergrowth and trees surrounding them, but soon returned to the clearing, as there was no indication of which direction the fugitives had taken.

  ‘We’re townsmen, not trackers,’ exclaimed Selwyn in exasperation. ‘We need help to find the little fellow.’

  ‘You mean we need a damned big posse with hounds to search the area,’ growled Riocas, equally frustrated by the disappearance of their friend.

  Although they had not yet guessed who had spirited him away, the horses tethered at the edge of the clearing soon raised their suspicions. Selwyn went over to the two rounseys to pacify them, as they were still skittish from all the recent disturbances. As he patted the neck of the nearest to soothe it, he gave a sudden exclamation.

  ‘Riocas, these are from the abbey stables! Their harness has the same cross stamped on the harness that Roger the saddler uses, like the one he put on that sandal.’

  The bigger man came across to see for himself. ‘Two abbey horses hidden in a forest! It’s those two thieving, murdering swine from the cellarium! And now they’ve got our Eldred!’

  After an agitated discussion, they had to accept that there was nothing the two of them could do alone, as they had no idea where to look for the fugitives and their captive.

  ‘You ride back to Bath as fast as you can, Selwyn,’ suggested Riocas. ‘That search party was supposed to be leaving early. If you can find some of them, raise the alarm and bring them back straight away.’

  ‘What about you?’ demanded the steward. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll follow with these two animals on head ropes. We can’t just leave them here,’ replied the cat-catcher, though he was lying about his intentions. When Selwyn had left to hurry back to their own horses, Riocas untied the tethers on the two abbey rounseys and hitched them up where they could crop a fresh patch of grass.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t forget you’re here,’ he reassured them, and then slipped into the trees, heading for the top of the hill.

  Gilbert reached it a good twenty minutes before the furrier, in spite of having to march his captive in front of him. He took a diagonal path up the incline to lessen the gradient, steering Eldred between the trees and bushes, his knife still prominent in his left hand. Maurice stumbled after him, clutching the precious bag with the valuables and mumbling a litany of anxiety and fear as he went.

  The trees thinned, and almost abruptly they found themselves at the lower edge of the grassy rampart and ditch that encircled the top of Solsbury Hill. The renegade monk shoved Eldred over the rim and down into the gully beyond, a good ten feet below the level of the flat summit.

  ‘Keep going or I’ll skewer your kidneys,’ he snarled, pricking the small of Eldred’s back with the point of his dagger. With Maurice trailing behind, they hurried along the flat bottom of the ditch until they had reached a point almost halfway round the circuit. This was the furthest point away from the ‘nose’ of the hill that looked south over the Chippenham road far below and was nearest to where the forest came along the ridge from the north. Here the trees were in a small valley, their tops almost level with the crest of the hill. Gilbert used a break in the lower rampart to climb out again and pushed his captive across to the forest edge, forcing him to stand with his back to a slim birch, just inside the tree line.

  ‘Our habits are in that bag,’ he snapped at Maurice. ‘Take the gi
rdles from them and tie this fellow up.’

  The plaited black cords that had belted their robes were now used to lash Eldred to the tree, one from wrist to wrist around the trunk. At Gilbert’s direction, the other was passed around his neck – firmly, but not enough to strangle him unless he struggled. Satisfied that the lay brother was now immobilised, Gilbert used his knife to cut a strip of cloth from one of the habits. He gagged Eldred with it, the material cutting between his lips to produce a maniacal grin. Frightened and exhausted, the captive’s head dropped on to his chest and he seemed uncaring as to what happened to him. After all the panic and exertion, there now seemed to be a sense of anticlimax, as the two criminals regained their breath and stared at each other.

  ‘Now what do we do, brother?’ demanded Maurice, with a fragile show of defiance. ‘We have no horses, no food and we are stuck on top of a hill, miles from anywhere – especially Southampton!’

  Gilbert had his own ideas about solving this dilemma, but he had no intention of sharing them with his former assistant.

  ‘We get away from here as soon as possible, before they come searching for us. We’ll keep to the forest and aim north towards Sodbury, then go east, giving Chippenham a wide berth.’

  He dipped into the bag and retrieved a few handfuls of silver pennies, which he stuffed into the pouch on his belt.

  ‘I’ll hide the rest, we can’t lug it all across England. Then we can creep back here in a few weeks to collect it, when all the hue and cry has died down.’

  He lifted the leather sack and began walking back to the ditch, Maurice following him uneasily.

  ‘What about Eldred?’ he whined. ‘You can’t just leave him there!’

  ‘Why not? He’ll either be found by the searchers – or he’ll die of starvation, I don’t care which,’ Gilbert grunted callously, striding along the deep cutting. He scanned the sides of the ditch as he went and stopped opposite a patch of loose earth where a rabbit had kicked the soil out while digging a burrow. It was one of many such excavations around the top of the hill, where conies, foxes and badgers had dug shelters for themselves.