‘But we made a financial arrangement with Londres,’ argued Henry.
‘So?’ asked Belat archly. ‘What can he do? Complain that we failed to write lies about a royally appointed official? Forget Londres! He can rot here for the rest of his life for all I care. We have bigger fish to fry – namely seeing Walter installed in this priory. The King will not be pleased if his writ is contested.’
‘No,’ agreed Henry. ‘His barons challenge his authority at every turn, and he will not want monasteries doing it, too. But what shall we do about the accounts written by the others? Walter’s will match ours, but Cole’s, Cadifor’s and the bishop’s will not.’
‘Londres paid the castle scribe to write what we tell him, while the bishop’s secretarius is a friend of mine. Four accounts will tally, so Cadifor’s will be disregarded. Now write.’
They returned to their work, leaving Gwenllian thoughtful. Then she became aware of a shadow at her side, and was unsettled to see that it was Stacpol, tall and menacing in the gloom.
‘They have not changed,’ he said softly. ‘One day, they will be caught, and then all the lies in the world will not save them.’
He strode away before she could ask about his own dealings with the pair. Then, Cole shouted that he was ready, and led the way through the burned gates with the bishop’s retinue following. Stacpol and Elidor brought up the rear with the cart that carried Asser’s body.
‘Did you see that?’ Cole asked suddenly, reining in and staring into the bushes that lined the side of the road. ‘That flicker of movement?’
‘That is the second time you claim to have seen someone watching us today,’ called Stacpol. ‘Are you sure you are not imagining it?’
‘Yes,’ replied Cole shortly. ‘Quite sure.’
In the small hours of the morning, Cadifor slipped out of the dormitory and aimed for the gate. The guards Cole had set at the guesthouse pretended not to notice him: they had been told what Walter had come to do, and their sympathies lay firmly with the local monks. Once through the gate, Cadifor hurried to the castle, aiming to put his case to Bishop Geoffrey alone.
He was conducted to the solar. The fire had gone out hours before, so it was cold and dark. It was elegantly decorated, though, and he recognised Gwenllian’s hand in the tapestries that hung on the wall and the cushions that were strewn about the benches. It smelled of lavender and sage, and of the fresh rushes that had been scattered on the floor.
The bishop entered rubbing sleep from his eyes, but Cadifor’s arrival had also woken others. Cole, Stacpol and Elidor were fully dressed, unwilling to remove their armour while there was trouble in their town; Gwenllian wore a thick woollen cloak over her nightclothes.
‘I know this is an odd time for an audience, Your Grace,’ Cadifor began apologetically. ‘But I could not sleep for worry. I felt I was not sufficiently eloquent earlier – not like Walter.’
‘You were eloquent enough for me.’ Geoffrey smiled. ‘I do not believe Hempsted has a right to Carmarthen. I am on your side, Cadifor.’
Cadifor sighed his relief. ‘Thank God! Will you help me to challenge Walter?’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘And we shall begin by contesting that deed. I studied it carefully, and I am far from sure that it is genuine.’
‘I wish I could agree,’ said Cadifor unhappily. ‘But it came from the King sure enough. Belat and Henry are disagreeable characters, but they are not fools – it would be reckless to forge that sort of thing when it is likely to be inspected by the head of our Order.’
‘Cadifor is right,’ said Gwenllian. ‘I know the King’s seal, and I suspect His Majesty has given his support to Walter. Probably for a price.’
‘Why is Walter so keen to have Carmarthen?’ asked Elidor curiously. ‘It is not a wealthy house.’
‘Because of our wool,’ explained Cadifor. ‘Walter’s empire has now expanded to include several hundred monks, lay brothers and servants, all of whom need clothes and blankets. That is why he set greedy eyes on us.’
‘But how did he know about the wool?’ asked Cole. ‘You only sell it locally.’
‘I imagine Londres told him,’ surmised Gwenllian. ‘He must have heard that Hempsted was expanding, and wrote to inform Walter that Carmarthen is a plum ripe for the picking.’
‘Why would he do such a spiteful thing?’ asked Cole doubtfully.
‘His remit was to catch you doing something wrong, so you could be dismissed,’ she reminded him. ‘But he has failed. He is angry and resentful, and knows he will only escape from Carmarthen – which he has grown to hate – by discrediting you.’
‘Which this will,’ said Geoffrey soberly. ‘He will either report you for failing to protect the priory from hostile invaders, or for challenging the King’s writ. Either will see you in trouble, and allow him to return to Westminster.’
‘Politics,’ said Cole in distaste. ‘Prior Walter is a fool for letting Londres use him in his machinations. He should have just bought Carmarthen’s wool instead.’
‘Why, when this writ will let him get it for free?’ asked Cadifor bitterly. ‘Wool is currently fetching very high prices, so seizing our assets will save him a fortune.’
‘It is a pity that John allows his favour to be bought,’ sighed Geoffrey. ‘He is God’s anointed, and should set a better example. No wonder his barons oppose him.’
‘The greater pity is that Prior Roger is such a lazy scoundrel,’ said Stacpol. ‘He should keep his former daughter house in order, but instead, he trails along in Walter’s wake, moaning about the misery of winter travel.’
‘He is the epitome of sloth,’ said Cadifor. ‘Like his predecessor, Martin. Did I ever tell you about him? He was murdered on the very day that Walter came to declare Hempsted independent. Later, a message warning against the sin of sloth was etched on his coffin.’
‘Murdered by whom?’ asked Gwenllian, intrigued.
‘The killer was never caught, although I expect the culprit was one of Walter’s men, smarting over insults that were issued during a spat in Martin’s solar.’
‘Walter is slothful, too,’ remarked Geoffrey.
Cole blinked. ‘No! He is the opposite of sloth – willing to do anything to get what he wants.’
‘You think sloth means lazy,’ lectured Geoffrey. ‘But it is more insidious than that. It is a sluggishness of the mind that neglects to do good – an evil that oppresses man’s spirit, and draws him away from good deeds.’
‘The bishop is right,’ agreed Cadifor. ‘Walter is bored with himself and his life, and boredom represents an emptiness of the soul and a lack of passion. It—’
‘Walter has an abundance of passion,’ interrupted Cole, although he should have known better than to tackle two senior clerics about the nature of sin. ‘Especially for other people’s property. Unlike Roger. He is the one who lacks passion.’
‘He does,’ acknowledged Geoffrey. ‘But Walter is so obsessed by enlarging his domain that he fails to appreciate the beauty around him. Overwork is a form of sloth.’
‘Quite,’ nodded Cadifor. ‘It is easier to dedicate one’s life to obvious goals, like manipulating monarchs to grant you priories, than to sit back and appreciate God’s wondrous gifts. In my opinion, sloth is the deadliest of sins and—’
‘We need a plan,’ interrupted Gwenllian, suspecting the discussion might last all night if it was allowed to continue. ‘One that will see our priory keep its independence without bringing the King down on us in a fury.’
‘Oh, I know how to do that,’ said Geoffrey. ‘We simply find out how much Walter paid His Majesty for the writ, then offer to double it if he agrees to a retraction.’
Cole laughed. ‘And this is advice dispensed by a bishop?’
But Cadifor was dismayed. ‘Why should we resort to underhand tactics? Walter is in the wrong, and any decent person will see it.’
Geoffrey patted his arm. ‘In an ideal world you would be right, but this is one ruled by King John. If you want Car
marthen to remain independent, it will cost you in money.’
Cadifor closed his eyes in despair. ‘But we do not have that sort of capital.’
‘Then I shall lend you some,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Not from the diocesan coffers, as my treasurer will not approve, but from my personal finances. I am not a wealthy man, and the loan will beggar me until you repay it, but it will be worth the inconvenience.’
Cadifor sighed his relief. ‘Thank you! Although I fail to see what you will gain.’
‘I will gain not having Walter in my See,’ explained the bishop. ‘Four of my brother prelates have him in theirs, and they say he is nothing but trouble. Moreover, I admire what you have done here, and I should hate it to be undone.’
Cadifor gripped his hand. ‘You are a good man. I shall pay you back within ten years.’
Geoffrey gulped. ‘I hope it will be sooner than that – six months at the most! You will have to drive harder bargains with that fine wool you mentioned.’
‘Then all we need do is find out how much Walter paid the King,’ said Cole. He frowned. ‘I cannot imagine he will be very forthcoming when we ask, though.’
‘No,’ agreed Gwenllian. ‘We shall have to be subtle. Leave it to me.’
Suddenly, there was shouting in the bailey below. Cole opened the window and leaned out, letting in a chill blast of air that had everyone drawing their cloaks more closely around their shoulders. Iefan shouted up.
‘You are asked to go to the priory as soon as possible. There has been a death.’
‘Who?’ asked Cole.
‘Prior Roger. Apparently, he fell asleep in the chapel during yesterday’s hearing and failed to wake up.’
Cole took Stacpol and Elidor with him to the priory, partly to show the Austins a suitable degree of respect for a deceased member of their Order – three knights made for a better display than one – but mostly because he did not believe that Roger had ‘fallen asleep’, and he would need help if there were signs of foul play.
‘No,’ he said, when Gwenllian emerged fully clothed from the bedchamber to accompany him. ‘Not this time. You were right to be anxious: Roger’s death is unlikely to be natural, given all the antagonism that raged yesterday.’
‘Quite,’ she said, equally resolute as she pushed past him. ‘You will need me if you hope to uncover the truth. You cannot do it alone.’
She was right and he knew it, although he was not happy. ‘Very well, but only if you promise not to wander off alone.’
She inclined her head to accept the condition, and they set off. Bishop Geoffrey also insisted on going, to pray over the remains of the colleague he had known for years.
‘I neither liked nor respected him as a man,’ he said. ‘But as a youth, he was a charming, entertaining companion. It is a pity he learned bad habits from Martin. Had he moulded himself on Cadifor, he would have been an asset to Llanthony.’
Cadifor inclined his head at the compliment. ‘Yet I do not remember Roger being charming or entertaining, and as far as I am concerned, he had no redeeming qualities at all. But I am sorry he is dead, because now he will never have the chance to mend his slothful ways.’
Cole set a rapid pace through the town. Geoffrey did his best to keep up, but soon fell behind, while Gwenllian and Cadifor panted hard. The knights were not breathless at all, kept fit by their duties. Their vigour made Gwenllian wonder how Asser had managed to deceive them about the precarious state of his health.
They passed the houses by St Peter’s church, then the woods that separated the town from the priory, after which Cole stopped, so abruptly that Cadifor cannoned into the back of him.
‘Did you see that?’ he demanded. ‘Someone is moving through the trees.’
‘Not this again,’ groaned Stacpol. ‘There is no one here, Cole. If you saw movement, it was the wind among the leaves.’
‘Actually, I thought I saw someone, too,’ said Gwenllian, not liking Stacpol’s discourteous tone. ‘Besides, there is no wind. It is calm and the leaves are still.’
Stacpol regarded her with cold eyes. ‘Then you were mistaken as well. It is still not fully light, so it is easy to imagine things.’
She opened her mouth to argue, but Cole was already moving away, so she did no more than favour Stacpol with a glare before following.
They reached the monastery and were admitted by the soldiers on duty. However, they were then made to wait in the yard until Walter and Gilbert deigned to emerge from the guesthouse, an insult that had even the tolerant Geoffrey grumbling. The Llanthony monks were wiping their lips on pieces of linen, suggesting that they had finished their breakfast before attending the officials they themselves had summoned.
Londres, Belat and Henry were with them. The bailiff’s face was flushed, and Gwenllian suspected he had spent the night drinking. She regarded him in distaste. He was smug, delighted to be the author of a situation that had seen the King win a handsome bribe from Walter, that had resulted in Hempsted obtaining another foundation, and that had put Cole in a difficult situation. He did not care that it would be the monks of Carmarthen who would suffer for his poisonous schemes.
‘Prior Roger is dead,’ Walter announced. ‘He fell asleep during the hearing yesterday, and Cadifor gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. However, when I went to say matins and saw he had not moved, I poked him. It was then that I discovered that he had passed away.’
‘I did suggest we let him be,’ said Cadifor, a little defensively as everyone looked at him. ‘He seemed tired, and I thought he might need the rest.’
‘Liar!’ hissed Gilbert. ‘You ordered him left because you wanted everyone to see how lazy he was – that he could sleep for hours when he should have been reciting his offices.’
‘He did not need me to reveal him as a slothful man,’ Cadifor shot back, although the guilty flash in his eyes suggested there was truth in Gilbert’s accusation. ‘He did that himself, by his own words and actions.’
‘Are you sure he was there all night?’ asked Cole. ‘He did not leave and then go back?’
‘How would we know?’ asked Gilbert archly. ‘We were confined to the guesthouse, allowed out only to pray. However, Roger was in the same position each time we passed him, so he probably died hours ago.’
‘So we have a second odd death just as you happen to be visiting a sister house, Walter,’ said Cadifor coldly. ‘The same thing happened at Llanthony, when Martin died. Do you have an explanation?’
‘I do not need to provide one,’ replied Walter haughtily. ‘The incident has nothing to do with me.’ He addressed Cole. ‘Do you want to see the corpse? We have left it as it was found.’
‘Have you?’ gulped Geoffrey, crossing himself. ‘How very unpleasant! Why did you not move it somewhere more appropriate?’
‘Like the refectory or the dormitory,’ muttered Cadifor acidly. ‘Eating and sleeping were Roger’s favourite activities, so where more appropriate than those?’
In the chapel, Roger was on the same bench he had occupied during the meeting. It looked as though he was asleep, but when Cole stepped forward to feel for a life-beat, the skin was cold to the touch. He then examined the body more closely, but found no suspicious lumps or marks, and it appeared as though the Prior of Llanthony had simply passed away peacefully in his sleep.
‘He probably ate so much during the hearing that he overloaded himself,’ said Walter in distaste. ‘Gluttony killed him.’
‘And sloth,’ whispered Bishop Geoffrey. ‘If he had been a more vigorous man, he would not have grown so fat. The great Greek physician Galen warns against the perils of too much food combined with too little exercise.’
He began to recite prayers for the dead, which obliged the other Austins to do the same, although they did so reluctantly. Roger had not been popular, and it was clear that few would mourn his passing. Londres, Belat and Henry stood nearby, muttering together. It looked as though they were arguing, and Gwenllian wondered whether Roger’s death aided or hi
ndered their plans. Or perhaps Londres had learned that his accomplices planned to cheat him.
When the monks had finished their devotions, six burly lay brothers carried Roger to a storeroom, where he would be prepared for the journey back to his own foundation. There was silence after the body had gone, although it did not last long.
‘I repeat what I said earlier,’ declared Cadifor. ‘It is odd that there should be another death at a priory which Walter has wronged.’
Walter sniffed, and did not grace the remark with a reply.
Elidor was thoughtful, though. ‘Cadifor makes an interesting point. There were no marks on Prior Martin either, but we all knew he was unlawfully slain.’ He looked at Cole. ‘Do you think it possible that both were poisoned?’
‘If so, then it was with a substance that cannot be detected,’ replied Cole. ‘There are no burns or redness in Roger’s mouth or on his hands. However, I can tell you that he was cold and stiff, which means he probably died hours ago – perhaps even during the hearing. We all saw him sitting here with his eyes closed, and he did not move as we walked out past him . . .’
Gwenllian had been making her own assessment of the situation, staring down at the place where the body had been. ‘Roger ate stolen marchpanes, but there is no trace of them now.’
‘Of course not,’ said Cadifor, bemused. ‘He scoffed the lot.’
Gwenllian nodded. ‘Yes, and I saw crumbs all over his habit. However, there are no crumbs now – his robe is clean. And do not say he shook them off himself, because the floor would be littered with them and it is not. It seems to me that someone has swept them up.’
‘Why would anyone do that?’ asked Cole, puzzled. Then the answer came. ‘You mean that someone has removed the evidence? That the food was poisoned, so the killer cleared away any remaining fragments to prevent us from proving it?’
‘Specifically, the marchpanes,’ said Gwenllian. ‘Asser also ate some, and within moments, he collapsed in a stupor. You woke him, but with difficulty. I suspect Roger also slipped into a stupor, but no one shook him awake, and he passed quietly into death.’
The Deadliest Sin Page 19