The First Murder

by The Medieval Murderers

  Unfortunately, it was true, although the merchants had never flexed their muscles in so disagreeable a manner before. Then Gwenllian happened to glance to one side, and saw Norrys watching from a doorway. He was smirking maliciously.

  With sudden clarity, she recalled Archdeacon Osbert saying that William and Tancard had been Norrys’s friends when he was constable. And then she understood exactly why the knight had been so sleepy that morning, and why William had not been at home the previous night. They had spent the time plotting together.

  She could see Luci watching too, his scholar’s face creased into a frown. Had he identified Norrys as the killer, committing murder as part of his plan to reinstate himself as constable? It seemed likely. She felt anger burn inside her at the enormity of what Norrys had done, and was about to stalk towards him and demand an explanation when there was a commotion nearby. It was Gerald, striding confidently through the crowd with an uneasy Foliot at his heels. The bishop elect looked every inch a prince of the Church with his haughty bearing and elegant robes. People instinctively parted to let him through.

  ‘If the King hears about your ridiculous antics, he will arrange for Norrys to replace Cole as constable,’ he said loudly, looking imperiously at merchants and paupers alike. ‘Do you want Norrys?’

  ‘Yes!’ shouted William immediately. ‘He will protect honest merchants from mobs.’

  ‘He will protect the poor too,’ added Tancard. ‘So bring back Norrys!’

  ‘Actually, I would rather have Cole,’ countered a merchant named Jung, while his fellows nodded agreement. ‘Norrys levied illegal taxes to line his own pockets when he was in power, and threatened to burn down my warehouse if I did not pay.’

  ‘Norrys taxed everyone, even the very poor,’ added a ditcher called Kedi. ‘He took bread from the mouths of children, and was a brutal tyrant. We do not want him back, thank you.’

  There was a growl of agreement from the crowd, and Gwenllian saw Norrys’s face turn white with anger and indignation.

  ‘Think about what you wish for,’ said William to his fellow merchants. ‘Norrys will not side with paupers when we feel compelled to raise our prices. He will take our part.’

  ‘No, he will take ours,’ said Tancard to the crowd. ‘Because he is fair and decent.’

  A lot of people laughed at this claim, rich and poor alike, and Norrys’s hands clenched into fists of rage at his side. He started to step forward, but then decided against it.

  ‘How much did Norrys pay you to cause trouble, William?’ asked Gerald. He swivelled round to include Tancard in his icy glare. ‘And you? I know for a fact that you spent an evening drinking together. Luci told me.’

  William blanched and Tancard swallowed hard. Both began to deny the charges, but their guilt was so obvious that no one believed them. Meanwhile, Norrys was glowering furiously, and Luci had made himself scarce.

  ‘Norrys told William to persuade the merchants to raise their prices, and Tancard to make sure the poor were vocal in their objections,’ Gerald explained to the startled populace. ‘And you all reacted exactly as he hoped.’

  ‘No!’ cried William. ‘He is lying. Norrys never paid us to—’

  ‘But you did tell us to increase the cost of bread,’ interrupted Jung. ‘You said everyone would have to pay, because they would have no choice, and we could all make a quick profit. We knew it was wrong, but you were very persuasive, and we all like money . . .’

  ‘Put the prices back to where they were,’ said Cole tiredly. ‘William and Tancard, you are coming with me.’

  ‘You cannot arrest me!’ yelled William, outraged. ‘I am too important to—’

  ‘Do what you like with him, Sir Symon,’ said Jung, eyeing the corviser in distaste. ‘He no longer has our support.’

  The mob surged forward, and it was not easy for Cole to extricate William and Tancard from the resulting mêlée. Both were bloody and bruised by the time he managed, and were glad to be incarcerated in a place where they would be safe from vengeful fists. Norrys was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Gwenllian gratefully to Gerald. ‘You averted a crisis.’

  ‘All in a day’s work for the bishop elect of St Davids,’ said Gerald loftily. ‘Besides, I do not want Norrys as constable in my See – not a creature who is in the pay of Canterbury. And Cole will return the favour some day. Please make sure he does not forget it.’

  Gwenllian was sure Gerald was quite capable of reminding Symon himself.

  It was noon by the time the guests returned from inspecting the roads, and all agreed that it would be unwise to leave that day. However, the sunshine was warm, and more rain was expected that night, so they planned to leave Carmarthen first thing the following morning. It meant that Gwenllian had one afternoon and one evening to prevent more murders – and hope that Luci would be willing to share his conclusions. Or perhaps Foliot would have answers, given that he had intimated that he was exploring the matter too.

  ‘I am surprised you dare show your face here,’ she said coldly to Norrys, when the Hospitaller strutted boldly into the hall for the midday meal. ‘After what you did.’

  Norrys shrugged. ‘You cannot prove Gerald’s accusations, and the King will not believe them. He will make me constable, and force Cole to answer for failing to keep the peace.’

  Gwenllian was so taken aback by his audacity that she could think of nothing to say as he strode to where the food was waiting. She was about to follow him when Foliot approached, the other guests at his heels. Cole was with them after a morning working on the castle walls.

  ‘We must do something to repay you for your hospitality,’ he said, smiling shyly. ‘Shall we perform The Play of Adam for the town? We have been practising, after all.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Robert quickly. ‘But I shall agree to lending you my manuscript only on condition that I can play God.’

  ‘You play God?’ Gerald gave a short bark of laughter that made the youth glower. ‘I hardly think you possess the necessary gravitas to depict the Almighty.’

  ‘No, you do not,’ said Dunstan, agreeing with him for the first time since they had arrived. ‘But why should we not oblige the town with a performance? We have nothing else to do for the rest of the day. We shall stage it in the late afternoon, so that darkness will fall as we finish the final scene. It will be very atmospheric.’

  ‘I suppose the townsfolk will enjoy it,’ acknowledged Gerald. ‘And it may heal the rifts that Norrys has created with his selfish obsessions. It will also give them an opportunity to see that their bishop elect is a man of the people.’

  Norrys regarded him with dislike. ‘Do not blame me for Cole’s inability to rule. And I do not think we should perform that play. We owe Carmarthen nothing, except to report its constable’s ineptitude to the King.’

  ‘I shall be making a report, too,’ said Gerald coldly. ‘One that will inform His Majesty that not only did you plot to see one of his towns in flames, but that you murdered Pontius and Hurso into the bargain.’

  ‘My knights have murdered no one,’ snapped Dunstan. ‘You did it, so that we—’

  ‘Enough!’ roared Cole, and Gwenllian saw their carping had finally penetrated even his genial equanimity. ‘What is wrong with you? Do you want me to lock you in your rooms like errant children? Because I will, if you persist with your squabbling.’

  There was silence, and Gwenllian wondered whether he had gone too far. It was hardly politic to threaten senior churchmen. Norrys was smirking, evidently anticipating anger from Dunstan and Gerald, but Foliot came to the rescue.

  ‘Shall we don our costumes? We have much to do if we are to perform today.’

  Once the decision was made, the castle erupted into frenzied activity. The players disappeared to learn their lines; Cethynoc and his labourers were conscripted to build a stage; the servants set about preparing refreshments; and Cole and his soldiers went to announce the event in the town.

  The task of overseeing ever
ything fell to Gwenllian, and it was not easy to direct helpers and monitor guests at the same time. Gerald was a nuisance, because he was full of hubris from his victory in the market. His remarks aimed to enrage Norrys and the Austins, and they succeeded. Osbert was helpful in keeping the peace, though, and so was Foliot. She would have liked Burchill’s assistance too, but he had gone out, although not with Cole.

  During a lull in the preparations, she cornered Luci, and begged him to share what he had learned.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said stubbornly. ‘What if I am wrong? I would never forgive myself.’

  ‘But time is running out,’ she said desperately. ‘A t least tell me what you still need to know. I may be able to help you find the proof you require.’

  ‘But that would entail me telling you my suspect. Do not worry – I am almost there. I shall speak to Cole when the play is finished. Did you tell him to meet me by the walls?’

  Terrified that Luci might continue to be difficult if answers still eluded him, she mulled over the killer’s identity in her mind. The germ of a solution glimmered, and she cornered Cethynoc, learning several details that she thought might be important, including the fact that he had known one of the stones in Gerald’s room was unstable.

  ‘Then why did you not report it?’ she demanded. ‘Pontius might be alive if you had.’

  The mason shrugged. ‘I am paid to build walls, not act as a safety inspector.’

  He slouched away, and Gwenllian watched him with dislike. No wonder Cole was keen for the project to be finished as quickly as possible – he wanted to minimise the time he was obliged to spend with his obnoxious master-mason!

  The townsfolk began to arrive early, obliging her to oversee the provision of food and ale from the kitchens to keep some semblance of order. Then the play began, heralded by a blare from a trumpet. The ‘musician’ was Iefan, who was greeted by an enthusiastic cheer from the audience, many of whom were his family and friends. Gwenllian happened to glance at Cethynoc, and saw him scowling jealously, envious of Iefan’s popularity.

  ‘The Creation of the World’ passed off uneventfully, although Gerald and Dunstan confused their fellow actors when they deviated from the script to give themselves grander roles. Then Norrys stepped onto the stage, but was heckled so violently that he could not make himself heard. Fuming, he flung off his hat and stalked away.

  Next was the section about Cain and Abel, and Gwenllian’s fears that Gerald and Dunstan might use the opportunity to do each other physical harm were fanned by Robert’s whispered suggestion that this particular scene tended to bring bad luck.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded uneasily.

  ‘I mean that it has only ever been performed twice, and someone has died afterwards both times,’ replied the lad with sly glee. ‘Perhaps there will be another murder in Carmarthen Castle before the night is out.’

  In alarm, Gwenllian watched him slither away, but her attention quickly returned to the stage, where the first murder was being so valiantly resisted that she wondered whether the people of Carmarthen might go away believing that Cain had been foiled. But Abel fell eventually, although not without giving his killer a sly kick in his death throes that had the audience roaring its appreciation.

  The performance finished with the Ordo Prophetarum – a series of scenes containing prophecies about Christ. Gerald inserted a long monologue of his own devising and, not to be outshone, Dunstan did likewise. Robert chanced his hand too, although with considerably less panache, and he was hissed off the stage when the audience grew bored.

  It was over eventually, and more refreshments were distributed. Having thoroughly enjoyed themselves, the audience lingered, chatting and laughing. Gwenllian felt the tension rise inside her, and longed to throw them all out so that Cole could speak to Luci – and if the Hospitaller had no answers for them, be about investigating herself. But that would be ungracious in a woman brought up in the tradition of Welsh hospitality, so she forced herself to smile and nod at friends and acquaintances.

  Fortunately, the weather came to her rescue. Clouds had rolled in with dusk, and the promised rain arrived. A sharp shower encouraged people home, although it was pitch-black by the time the last of them had trailed away.

  ‘Find Luci,’ she instructed Symon, acutely aware of how much faith she was putting in the Hospitaller’s skills at detection. ‘He should know the killer’s identity by now.’

  Cole nodded. ‘He said I should go alone. Return to the hall and watch our other guests.’

  ‘No,’ said Gwenllian firmly. ‘I like Luci, but I do not trust him. He is a brother knight to Norrys, for a start. I am coming with you.’

  Cole laughed. ‘You think you can stop a fight? Go inside, Gwen. You will be safer.’

  He should have known better than to issue her with an order she did not like and expect her to follow it. She waited until he was some distance ahead, then trailed him towards the walls, taking care to stay in the shadows.

  Suddenly, Cole gave a shout and darted forward. Two shadows emerged from the scaffolding, and Gwenllian’s stomach lurched. Had Luci been lying about investigating the murders, and his real plan was to get Cole alone so that he and Norrys could kill him?

  She snatched up a spade and ran towards them, but then ducked back into the shadows quickly. It was not the Hospitallers who were there, but Cethynoc and Burchill, both swearing at the fright Cole had given them with his yell. Gwenllian eased forward, aiming to hear what they were saying without being seen herself.

  ‘. . . need a drink,’ said Cethynoc sullenly. ‘You two can waste your time lurking out here in the rain if you like, but I am off to a dry tavern.’

  ‘And are you sure he is not the saboteur?’ asked Cole of Burchill, when the mason had gone. ‘It would be a tidy answer, and no one would mind us accusing him. His sullen manners have not made him popular.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Burchill. ‘But I have watched him very carefully since the first mishap, and I can tell you without the shadow of a doubt that he is innocent.’

  ‘Watched him carefully?’ echoed Cole. ‘Is that what you have been doing these last few days, so that you were never available when you were needed? I wanted you in the town, and Gwen would have appreciated your help with the guests.’

  ‘These last few weeks,’ corrected Burchill. ‘I have invested a lot of time trying to catch your saboteur, lad. Besides, you did not need me, and neither did she – she is more than capable of managing awkward visitors. Come further into the shadows – I believe the saboteur will strike tonight, but not if he sees us.’

  ‘I am supposed to meet Luci here,’ said Cole. ‘He knows the identity of the killer.’

  ‘Good,’ said Burchill. ‘We can watch for him and our saboteur at the same time – two birds with one stone.’

  Cole stepped back obligingly, while Gwenllian gripped her spade, ready to race forward and brain Burchill if he showed even the slightest hint of treachery. Both knights were silent, and as still as statues. Gwenllian shivered, more from tension than cold, and the spade grew heavy in her hands. Then she saw Cole stiffen and point. Someone was creeping along the wall, swathed in a cloak.

  The person reached a pile of ropes, and there was a flare of light. He was burning them! Cole waited until they were well alight, and there could be no doubt of the culprit’s guilt, then surged forward and grabbed him by the hood, spinning him round so he could see his face in the light from the fire.

  ‘Iefan,’ he said heavily. ‘Damn! I had my suspicions, but I hoped I was wrong.’

  ‘Iefan?’ echoed Burchill in shock. ‘No! He is your most trusted officer.’

  Iefan hung his head, and when he spoke his voice was an agonised whisper. ‘I had to do it. You are working too fast. We are months ahead of where we should be, thanks to Lady Gwenllian’s organisation of supplies and Sir Symon’s close supervision.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Burchill. ‘Why should you object to the walls being finished early?
Wooden ones burn, and we shall be much safer inside a ring of stone.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Iefan wretchedly. ‘But the labourers are my kin . . . ’

  ‘So you arranged “accidents” to slow us down,’ said Cole flatly. ‘Purely so they will be paid for a longer period of time. But you might have killed someone, man!’

  ‘No! I was always careful.’ Iefan winced. ‘The frayed rope did not go according to plan – it was meant to break the moment it took the weight of the stones, not when the basket reached the top of the wall. I shouted a warning, and you managed to jump away . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ acknowledged Cole ruefully. ‘But only just.’

  ‘I knew you were worried,’ said Iefan miserably. ‘But our people will starve if you finish too soon. All I wanted was for the work to last until it is time to sow the new crops.’

  ‘Did you tamper with the stone that killed Pontius?’ asked Cole.

  ‘No!’ cried Iefan. ‘Of course not! That had nothing to do with me.’

  Cole waved his hand to say he could go, although Burchill regarded him sharply, evidently thinking there should be some reckoning for what Iefan had done. Head hanging in misery, the sergeant slunk away into the rain-swept night.

  ‘You can come out now,’ said Cole, turning to look at the place where Gwenllian was hiding. ‘Burchill and I are quite safe, and there is no need for your spade.’

  Somewhat sheepishly, Gwenllian emerged.

  ‘You were not surprised when you recognised Iefan,’ said Burchill, ignoring her to study Cole intently in the fading light of the flames. ‘You knew he was the culprit. How?’

  ‘His dogged insistence that there was no saboteur, when we all knew there was,’ replied Cole. ‘His assertion that the mishaps were minor, representing no danger to the workmen. His constant objections that the work was proceeding too fast. And I almost caught him in the act yesterday, when he spun a tale about looking for the culprit himself.’

  ‘You did not tell me any of this,’ said Burchill reproachfully.

  ‘Or me,’ added Gwenllian, sorry for it. If he had confided, she would have found a way to make Iefan desist without the humiliation of being caught red-handed. He had done wrong, but he had been a faithful retainer for years, and she could not find it in her heart to condemn him. Neither would Cole.