King Arthur's Bones

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘I did not manage to speak to Spilmon yesterday,’ Boleton said, seeing her look and understanding what it meant. He was unconcerned by her immediate exasperation. ‘He was out when I did my rounds, and I forgot to return later.’

  Gwenllian did not know whether to believe him. She turned to the grocer. ‘Did you see Daniel with a spade?’

  ‘No, but he walked past my house not long before these strange noises started, so it must have been him. The man was a fool, wandering about in a town that is the domain of violent robbers.’

  ‘Violent robbers?’ echoed Boleton, regarding him contemptuously. ‘Do you refer to the minor thefts that have occurred of late? Really, man! You exaggerate!’

  ‘And you understate!’ countered Kyng, stepping forward belligerently. ‘But I know why you make light of the matter – because you have failed to catch the culprits.’

  ‘Those scoundrels stole a fortune from me,’ added Spilmon before Boleton could respond to the charge. ‘And they are growing increasingly brazen. Did you hear that they had the audacity to attack the priory and make off with its finest cross – a great heavy gold one?’

  ‘A cross?’ asked Cole sharply. ‘I thought they had lost some altar dressings.’

  Kyng sneered at him. ‘A cross is an altar dressing, constable.’ He managed to inject considerable scorn into the last word, and might just as well have said ‘stupid’.

  But Cole was looking at Boleton. ‘You visited the priory and recorded their complaint. Why did you not tell me an item of such great value was taken?’

  Boleton shrugged. ‘Because the modus operandi was different from the other thefts – it took place in a crowded priory and the culprit stole only the one piece. There was no need to bother you with it, not when you are so busy at the castle. And I am quite capable of investigating the business myself.’

  Cole nodded acceptance of the explanation, although Gwenllian frowned. Why had Boleton used the term ‘altar dressings’ to describe the stolen property, when ‘cross’ would have sufficed? And was his intention really to save a busy man from worry? But there were more important issues to ponder than Boleton’s curious behaviour.

  ‘Where were you the night Daniel died?’ she asked of Kyng. ‘We understand you and Spilmon were notable by your absence at the vigil in St Peter’s Church.’

  ‘We had other business,’ Kyng replied smoothly, although the flash of alarm in Spilmon’s eyes did not escape Gwenllian’s attention. ‘Spilmon and I stayed in his house all night, going over ledgers. We can account for each other, but there is no one else to verify our tale.’

  ‘What about your wife?’ asked Gwenllian of the grocer. ‘Was she not with you?’

  ‘She was at the vigil,’ replied Spilmon.

  But the cobbler had told them she was not, and he had had no reason to lie. Gwenllian could only assume that Mistress Spilmon had taken the opportunity to spend time with Daniel. But then how had Daniel come to die? Surely, if she had seen the attacker, she would have spoken out? Or had she tired of her monastic lover, and murder seemed a good way to end the situation?

  ‘No,’ said Cole, when Gwenllian pulled him to one side and suggested Mistress Spilmon as a culprit. ‘She was distraught when I told her what had happened. And I do not see her offering to clean his corpse if she were the killer either. She would have been keen to stay away from it.’

  He had a point, and Gwenllian was beginning to feel frustrated. There were simply too many questions and too few reliable answers. She nodded a curt farewell to the merchants, and saw their relief. It aroused her suspicions, but she did not want to raise the question of Mistress Spilmon’s infidelity without good cause – not to spare the grocer’s feelings, but for the sake of the shy, colourless woman who was his wife.

  Gwenllian happened to glance back at the two merchants when she was halfway down the street and saw them jump away from each other. Spilmon looked positively furtive, but Kyng had the audacity to wave. She was not sure what it meant, but there was something about their odd behaviour that set the glimmer of a solution burning at the back of her mind.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Gilbert the Thief, who immediately shoved a cloth-wrapped bundle behind his back. Cole regarded him wearily.

  ‘What have you stolen now?’ He held out his hand. ‘Come on. Give it to me.’

  ‘I found it,’ said Gilbert defensively.

  ‘Oh, let him be,’ said Boleton impatiently. ‘It should be beneath your dignity to treat with such creatures, and he is not worth your time. Leave him, and I will deal with him tomorrow.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Gilbert, beginning to edge away. ‘Thank you, sir. Feel free to come any time. I shall be waiting for you. We might even have a mug of ale together.’

  ‘Do not push your luck,’ growled Boleton, although Gwenllian could see he was amused by the man’s cheek.

  But Cole did not find the situation funny. He moved suddenly, faster than the thief anticipated, and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Gilbert squealed in alarm and tried to keep his prize out of the constable’s reach, but to no avail. Cole snatched it from him, shoved Gilbert into Boleton’s arms and began to pull off the wrappings. Then Boleton yelped suddenly, wringing his hand, and Gilbert darted away, disappearing down a nearby lane. Immediately Cole started after him, but Boleton yanked him back, hard enough to make him stagger.

  ‘Remember your dignity,’ he hissed. ‘Knights of your standing do not hare after felons like common foot soldiers, and we know where the man lives. I shall visit him later and invite him to spend a few days in the dungeons. He is due for a spell under lock and key anyway – for biting me, if nothing else.’

  But Cole’s face was white with anger. He leaned down and retrieved the bundle he had dropped. ‘It was different this time,’ he snapped. ‘Look at what he stole!’

  He hauled the last of the sacking away to reveal a heavy jewelled cross.

  ‘We wasted a day,’ said Cole gloomily as he sat with Gwenllian in their bedchamber that evening. The daylight was fading, sending an orange glow around the little room. She was straining her eyes to sew, and he was honing his sword. ‘We learned nothing useful, and Daniel will go to his grave unavenged.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she exclaimed, surprised he should think so. ‘We discovered a great many interesting facts. For example, I have narrowed my list of suspects down to six men – all of whom had the opportunity and a reason to want Daniel dead.’

  ‘Six men?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Do you mean the robbers from the forest? Witnesses tell me they come to do their sly work in a pack.’

  ‘Not them – Boleton is right about that, at least. I asked a few questions around the castle this evening and learned that they have been disturbed at least twice – their response is not to stand and fight but to run away as fast as their legs will carry them. They are not killers.’

  ‘Then who are these six? One must be Spilmon. His motive would be that he learned about the affair between Daniel and his wife, while you told me that he owns a pot with a cruciform base. Another will be Kyng – he wore a heavy dagger in his belt today, which might well match the wound in Daniel’s head.’

  She smiled. ‘That was observant of you – I did not notice it. And Kyng, like Spilmon, has no proper alibi for Daniel’s death. Of course, there is the question of Kyng’s motive.’ She tapped her chin thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps he did it to avenge Spilmon’s injured pride. Or perhaps he resented the fact that Daniel was your friend – you know how he hates you.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Cole did not sound convinced, but Gwenllian would not put anything past the vitriolic cheese-maker.

  ‘My third suspect is Gilbert, for obvious reasons,’ she went on. ‘He is an inveterate thief, and Daniel may well have caught him stealing. And he had that cross from the priory. Were they pleased to have it back, by the way?’

  ‘Very – they said it is the most valuable thing they own. But I wish Boleton had kept a firmer hold on G
ilbert, because the wretched man has disappeared. I know he will not stay away long – he never does – but I want to talk to him now, not in several days’ time.’

  ‘My fourth suspect is John,’ Gwenllian continued. ‘His writing desk has a cruciform bottom, and he was furtive when he spoke to us earlier. He eavesdropped on you and Daniel on the night of the murder, and I am unconvinced by his tale of being interested in horses. He listened for some other reason.’

  ‘What about Hywel? Does he feature on this list?’

  Gwenllian nodded unhappily. ‘Yes, although it grieves me to say it. He is sullen, bitter and unpredictable, and he owns a sword with a cross-shaped hilt. My last suspect is Boleton.’

  A pained look crossed Cole’s face. ‘No. I will not entertain—’

  ‘He exhibited a curious desire to dog our footsteps today, and his sword looks a better match for the murder weapon that any of the other items we have seen. Moreover, he was jealous of your friendship with Daniel – he likes to think he is the constable’s indispensable confidant.’

  ‘No,’ repeated Cole angrily. ‘You are wrong. Boleton is not a cold-blooded killer.’

  Knowing there was no point in arguing with him, she let the matter drop. ‘These men are the same ones I suspect for stealing Arthur’s bones,’ she said, aiming to dilute his irritation by piquing his interest in another matter. It worked, as she knew it would.

  ‘Really?’ he asked, mystified. ‘How in God’s name did you reach that conclusion?’

  ‘Because of the reasons we have already discussed. Kyng and Spilmon recouped their losses suspiciously quickly after my father’s raid – perhaps they sold the relics. Meanwhile, Hywel has access to money that allows him to drink all day and never lift a finger.’

  ‘And you essentially told Gilbert there was something valuable under the tree,’ mused Cole. ‘While John likes to listen to other men’s private discussions. You said at the time that all five were in the vicinity when Meurig told you about the bones.’

  She nodded. ‘Any one of them could have overheard him. As could Daniel.’ And so could Boleton, she thought, although it did not seem a good idea to mention it.

  Cole yawned. ‘Well, I can make no sense of it, and it has been a long day. Perhaps answers will come tomorrow.’

  It was in the deepest part of the night when the alarm was raised. Iefan burst into the bedchamber to announce that something was happening in Priory Street. Snapping into instant wakefulness, like the warrior he was, Cole dragged on tunic and hose, and was buckling a sword around his waist as he ran from the room moments later.

  Because it was Priory Street, and she thought it might have a bearing on Daniel’s murder, Gwenllian threw a cloak over her nightshift and followed him down the stairs.

  ‘No,’ he said, seeing she intended to accompany him. ‘The thieves have been spotted creeping about, so this is our opportunity to catch them red-handed. You cannot come with me this time.’

  ‘Then be careful.’

  But Cole did not hear, because he was already halfway across the bailey, sprinting to catch up with the party of men who were heading out under Iefan’s direction. They were all armed to the teeth, grim-faced and determined. She waited until they were out of sight, then followed, fixing the guard on gate duty with one of her regal glowers when he tried to stop her.

  She kept to the shadows, although the soldiers did not once look behind them. They moved quickly, and she found herself obliged to run to keep up. The town was silent, other than their soft footfalls. They passed the dark mass of St Peter’s Church, with its spacious churchyard and grassy knoll, and slowed down when they reached the town end of Priory Street.

  Cole issued a series of low-voiced instructions, and the soldiers split into two groups – he led one down a nearby alley, while the other stayed with Iefan. It did not take Gwenllian long to understand his plan – furtive shadows could be seen massing near Kyng’s home, in the middle of the street, and Cole aimed to ambush them in a pincer-like movement. A quick count told her that there were probably a dozen thieves, all cloaked and hooded against identification. By contrast, Cole and Iefan had eight soldiers, four in each little band.

  Blissfully unaware of the trap that was springing, the burglars approached Kyng’s house. Gwenllian was mystified. With its iron-studded door and sturdy window-shutters, it was by far the most secure house in the town, although she knew it was stuffed to the gills with treasure – she remembered seeing it when she had commandeered the place after Lord Rhys’s raid.

  The felons seemed to be looking at the large window on the upper floor, but it was a long way off the ground and would be unreachable by all but the very longest ladder. She wondered what they intended to do.

  Then one villain, taller than the others, beckoned his cronies towards him and began to mutter. When he had finished, a handful went to crouch directly beneath the window. As soon as they were in position, others moved forward and began to climb on top of them. Fascinated, Gwenllian saw a human pyramid begin to form. Despite his disguise, Gwenllian knew it was Gilbert the Thief who was assisted to the top, because she recognized his lanky frame. He opened the latch with consummate ease and disappeared inside the house.

  Moments later, a bundle was handed out, followed quickly by another. With silent efficiency, they were passed down to the leader, who deftly packed them into sacks. More items followed, and Gwenllian was amazed by the skill and speed of the operation. It was not long before several bags had been filled. Then there was a low whistle, and Gilbert began to climb out.

  With a blood-curdling yell, Iefan leaped into action, tearing forward with his dagger raised. The pyramid immediately disintegrated, leaving Gilbert dangling from the window-ledge by his fingertips. He began to screech, but his accomplices were more interested in saving themselves than rescuing him. As one, they turned from Iefan and began to run towards Merlin’s oak. But it was to find themselves facing Cole and his men, who stood in a line across the street, weapons at the ready. A few tried to jig around them, but most seemed to accept that the situation was hopeless and offered no resistance as they were rounded up.

  But their leader fought like a tiger. Unlike his accomplices, he had brought a sword, and he slashed viciously at the soldiers who tried to bar his way. Unnerved by the ferocity of the attack, they fell back. Cole dived towards him, and they exchanged a series of brutal blows that made both men stagger. Iefan hurried to help, but his timing was poor and Cole was obliged to twist awkwardly to avoid striking him instead. The leader took advantage of the constable’s momentary loss of balance to escape down a nearby alley.

  Cole set off after him. Seeing their leader make a bid for freedom encouraged several burglars to do likewise, and Iefan was hard-pressed to keep them in order. Meanwhile, the sudden racket had woken Priory Street’s residents. Lights gleamed under window-shutters, and doors opened as people came to see what was going on. Their curiosity turned to outrage when it became known that here were the thieves who had been relieving decent folk of their belongings, and then Iefan was obliged to turn protector, as well as captor.

  Gwenllian stared at the alley, heart thumping as she willed Symon to return unscathed. It was not long before he did, empty-handed and furious. He growled to Iefan that his quarry had backtracked unexpectedly and ambushed him. He had managed to deflect the killing blow, but it had sent him sprawling, granting the felon vital moments to disappear into the night.

  ‘These vermin say they do not know his name,’ said Iefan, jerking his head towards the subdued prisoners. ‘They claim he just appears in the forest and guides them to the houses he wants them to burgle. A likely story!’

  Cole did not reply. He strode towards Kyng’s house, flung open the door and marched inside, appearing moments later at the window from which Gilbert still dangled. Gwenllian abandoned her hiding place and moved forward to help – she could tell by the stiff way Cole walked that he had jolted his old stab wound, and he would not be able to rescue Gilbert
one-handed.

  ‘Your leader,’ Cole said, making no attempt to reach down to the thief. ‘What is his name?’

  ‘No, I will never betray him,’ cried Gilbert. He sounded terrified. ‘His secret is safe with me.’

  ‘Really?’ said Cole. His voice held an odd timbre that Gwenllian had never heard before. She froze, uncertain and uneasy.

  ‘Please!’ wailed Gilbert. ‘My fingers are numb – I will fall at any moment!’

  ‘Then you had better give me a reason to help you,’ said Cole coldly.

  He leaned forward when Gilbert whispered something. For a moment he did nothing, but then he reached out of the window and gripped Gilbert’s wrist, hauling him upwards until the thief was able to gain a better purchase on the window-sill. He could not manage more with one arm, but it was enough for Gilbert to gasp his gratitude.

  Gwenllian heaved a sigh of relief, afraid Symon might really have let the man fall for refusing to cooperate, but sure it would have plagued his conscience later.

  She was not sure what happened next. Suddenly Cole bellowed John’s name in a voice loud enough to have been heard at the castle, and she turned just in time to see the clerk slinking along the opposite side of the road. He was cloaked and hooded, like the burglars. Cole’s yell had stopped him dead in his tracks, but then he started to run, aiming for the alleys that led to the river. Next, there was a cry and a thump, and when Gwenllian whipped around to look back at Kyng’s window, it was to see Gilbert crumpled beneath it. Cole shot through the door moments later, and tore after his clerk.

  John had a head start on the constable, but Cole was faster and fitter and caught him with ease. In the faint lamplight from one of the houses, Gwenllian saw the glint of steel as a dagger was wielded. Without stopping to consider the consequences, she raced towards them.

  By the time she arrived, John was lying on the ground and Symon was standing over him. A spreading stain of red seeped from under the clerk, and he was gasping for breath. He saw Gwenllian, and murmured just one sentence before he went limp.