King Arthur's Bones

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘Beware the one you love.’

  ‘Damn!’ muttered Cole angrily. ‘He killed himself rather than face justice. But what are you doing here, Gwen? I thought I told you to stay in the castle.’

  Gwenllian gazed numbly at him. ‘Face justice? You mean he was one of the thieves?’

  Cole gestured to the clerk’s clothing. ‘Apparently so. Why else would he run when I called?’

  ‘What happened to Gilbert? Did he also kill himself, rather than face justice?’

  Cole swivelled around, looking towards the unmoving figure under the window. ‘He fell? I thought I had pulled him far enough inside to save himself. I suppose his hands must have been too fatigued to hold him. What a nuisance! Now there are no witnesses to identify the leader.’

  ‘Not the other burglars?’ asked Gwenllian. But then she recalled what Iefan had said.

  ‘He disguised himself – they would not know him if he stood in front of them.’

  ‘I see,’ said Gwenllian, aware of a cold hand of fear gripping her heart. The only two witnesses were permanently silenced, and Cole had been near both when they had died. And John had warned her to beware the one she loved. What was going on?

  When Gwenllian said nothing else, Cole took her hand and tugged her towards Kyng’s house. She tried to pull away, but he was too strong. He did stop, however, and turn to look at her.

  ‘If you have been watching,’ he said impatiently, ‘you will be aware that Kyng is the only Priory Street resident who is not out demanding to know what is happening. Something is wrong, and we need to investigate. As you are here, you may as well come with me.’

  As he spoke, Gwenllian saw that the cheese-maker’s house was the only one not ablaze with lanterns, and although the stairs to the upper chambers could be negotiated using light from outside, the parlour was pitch black. Cole fiddled with a tinder and lit a lamp. It illuminated a scene neither could have anticipated.

  Hywel was lying on the floor, grey-faced and immobile. With a cry of horror, Gwenllian ran towards him. There was a cup near his hand, and when she picked it up she saw a frothy residue at the bottom. Poison.

  ‘Kyng offered me wine,’ Hywel said in a low, strained voice. ‘And, like a fool, I accepted.’

  ‘Why should you not have accepted?’ asked Cole, puzzled. ‘Drinking with neighbours is—’

  ‘Not with neighbours you have wronged,’ interrupted Gwenllian quietly.

  She knelt next to her nephew and rested his head in her lap. She could tell by his pallor and laboured breathing that he was dying, and she was grateful the cheese-maker had used a substance that did not seem to be causing his victim pain.

  ‘I only learned about Mistress Spilmon and Daniel yesterday,’ she went on softly, ‘but Meurig knew, and so did you. You acquire money, but not by working. It is obvious now that you earn it from blackmail – you have been extorting money from Spilmon. And from Kyng too.’

  ‘Kyng?’ echoed Cole, hopelessly bewildered. ‘What does Kyng have to do with it?’

  Gwenllian recalled the strange behaviour of the two men earlier, when they had jumped apart as she had turned to look at them. She had known then that their reaction was significant, and she had been right.

  ‘A woman cannot possibly deceive her husband for so many years,’ she began. ‘At least, not in a functional marriage. But Kyng and Spilmon are always together, which is probably why Spilmon’s wife turned elsewhere for affection. They are respected merchants, and no doubt paid handsomely to keep their relationship quiet.’

  Hywel inclined his head, but there was no sign of remorse. ‘Their sordid secret has kept me in ale and meat for more than two years. But then I decided to leave Carmarthen, and needed a more substantial sum. I should have been suspicious when they agreed and poured wine to seal our bargain . . .’

  Gwenllian was full of sorrow for what Hywel had become. ‘Your father did not teach you to capitalize on the vulnerability of others. You soil his precious memory.’

  Hywel looked away. ‘Why should I care about his memory? He did not love me. He should have told me where he hid the bones, but instead he chose you – his favourite.’

  Gwenllian smoothed the hair from his forehead. ‘Actually, I believe he did tell you. I think he knew it was you who was listening behind the door when he gave me his secret.’

  ‘The eavesdropper was Hywel?’ asked Cole, startled. ‘He stole the bones?’

  ‘I did not steal them,’ objected Hywel weakly. ‘I—’

  Cole ignored him and addressed Gwenllian. ‘How did you guess it was him?’

  ‘Because he has just admitted to knowing that Meurig told me about the bones – you are the only person I have ever told about that, which means Hywel must have been the eavesdropper. There is no other way he can have known.’

  ‘I was listening behind the door,’ acknowledged Hywel. ‘But how did my father know?’

  ‘After I discovered the bones were missing, I went to the place where he had died and lay down there. He would have been able to see shoes from where he lay.’

  ‘And he recognized mine,’ breathed Hywel. ‘He trusted me after all.’

  ‘I should have guessed this years ago,’ Gwenllian went on. ‘Because it is obvious now that the bones have been in the custody of someone who cares about them. They have not been sold for a quick profit, but have disappeared – kept safe. My other suspects would not have been so restrained.’

  ‘Where are they, Hywel?’ asked Cole, adding bluntly: ‘You are dying, so you had better tell someone, or they will be lost for ever.’

  ‘I will confide in Gwenllian,’ said Hywel softly. ‘But not you.’

  Cole shrugged. ‘As you please. I will hunt down Kyng and Spilmon instead – they have committed murder here and must answer for their crime.’

  When Cole’s footsteps had died away, Hywel shot Gwenllian an anguished look. ‘I have been so bitter and angry. I might not have tormented Kyng and Spilmon had I known . . . Things could have been so different!’

  ‘Perhaps you would not have stabbed my husband either. No, do not deny it – I know he was attacked to distract me while the bones were removed. You pretended to hunt for a coffin, but instead you hunted Symon – and you almost killed him!’

  ‘He started to turn when I came up behind him, and panic made me strike harder than I intended. I was about to fetch you, but Daniel arrived and took over. So I went to dig up the chest instead.’

  ‘What did you do with it?’

  ‘Buried it in the priory. But the whole business preyed on my conscience, and one night, in an agony of guilt, I went to my confessor.’

  ‘Daniel,’ said Gwenllian, beginning to understand at last.

  ‘He was not a good man, although he hid his dark nature well. He wanted me to tell him where I had put the bones, and when I refused he began to follow me.’

  ‘I know he was deceitful,’ said Gwenllian softly. ‘He said he tended the wounded on the night of the raid, but no one saw him praying. And he escaped from Symon’s sickroom with unseemly haste. I suspect he spent his time stealing – for a monk, he had expensive tastes.’

  ‘You are right.’ Hywel coughed wetly, struggling for breath. ‘Your fool of a husband considered him a friend, but Daniel was interested only in the fine food and wine available at the castle. And he stole in his capacity as chaplain too. John suspected, and he was going through old accounts to learn how.’

  ‘Is that why he eavesdropped on Symon and Daniel?’ asked Gwenllian, more of herself than Hywel. ‘But John was a thief himself – in league with forest felons, no less. Why would he work so hard to catch a fellow criminal?’

  ‘John was a reluctant villain – he stole because he was bullied into it. But he did not like the notion of Daniel cheating the castle.’

  ‘Why did John not tell us what he was doing? We could have helped.’

  ‘You? Do not be a fool! He was terrified of you, while Cole was Daniel’s friend. You were the last people on Eart
h he would have confided in. He was probably frightened of Daniel too. Incidentally, it was Daniel who stole that big gold cross from his priory.’

  Gwenllian stared at him. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because the chapel is locked up as tight as a prison at night – no common thief could ever get inside. The thief had to be a monk. Besides, I saw it next to his body.’ Hywel’s voice was growing weaker.

  Gwenllian frowned. ‘But you told me earlier that you saw nothing suspicious that night.’

  Hywel looked away. ‘I lied – I did not want to help Cole. The cross was just lying there, so I took it, and Gilbert offered to sell it for me.’

  He was fading fast, but Gwenllian still needed answers. She spoke more quickly. ‘I found a bone in Daniel’s purse. Was it one of Arthur’s? Did Daniel find where you buried him?’

  Hywel managed a wan smile. ‘I gave him an animal bone – told him it was Arthur’s finger in the hope that it would make him leave me alone. He dipped it in water, which he decanted into bottles to sell as relics. But I do not have long left, so I had better tell you where I hid the chest.’

  ‘You have told me – in the priory grounds.’

  ‘I was afraid of Daniel, so I moved it. I was going to take it to Abbey Dore tomorrow – their sexton is sympathetic to Welsh interests, and where better to hide Arthur’s bones than right under Norman noses? But I came here first, to get my blood money from Kyng and Spilmon.’

  Then he whispered his secret, much as his father had done two years before. After that, it was not long before he began to slip away. Just before he died, he opened his eyes.

  ‘Have you asked Cole for his whereabouts on the night Daniel was murdered?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded, recalling uncomfortably that Cole had not come directly to bed after Daniel had left – he said he had been raiding the kitchens for food.

  But Hywel was dead.

  Gwenllian wept when her nephew had gone, although few of the tears were for him. The night had exposed so many dark secrets that she wished she had done as Cole had ordered and remained in the castle. She came to her feet when she heard footsteps outside, and her heart began to hammer in her chest. Was it Symon, coming to ask the whereabouts of Arthur’s bones? Kyng and Spilmon, to see whether their victim was dead? But it was Boleton.

  ‘My husband is not here,’ she began. ‘He—’

  But Boleton put his finger to his lips, and she saw that his face was pale and filmed with sweat. ‘Do not give me away,’ he whispered. ‘Please! He is hunting for me.’

  She regarded him in confusion. ‘Who is?’

  ‘Cole. He has accused me of being the forest thieves’ leader.’

  Gwenllian felt her jaw drop. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because the real leader is him. But he knows the game is up, and intends to evade justice by having me blamed in his place. And I thought we were friends!’

  Gwenllian’s thoughts whirled. ‘But he—’

  ‘Just think about it,’ urged Boleton desperately. ‘Who, as constable, is well placed to round up outlaws and make a bargain with them – they burgle Carmarthen homes and he looks the other way for a share of the proceeds? Who else could force malleable locals, like John and Gilbert, to join his vile game – to say which houses to rob and when? But they have been arrested, so he is covering his tracks by saying I am the one who organized the whole affair.’

  ‘But John and Gilbert are dead. One from being stabbed and the other from a fall. And Iefan said the forest folk do not know the name of the man who recruited them. Symon has no need—’

  ‘Dead?’ echoed Boleton. His face was ashen. ‘Was Cole nearby when they met their ends?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was unable to control the tremble in her voice.

  ‘Then he has eliminated the only witnesses to my innocence,’ breathed Boleton.

  ‘I do not understand,’ she said, backing away. She was beginning to be frightened.

  ‘Surely you must have worked it out by now? Why do you think I have not shared details of my investigation with him? Why do you think I have tried to keep him away from Gilbert – an important witness? Why do you think John was so terrified when he was summoned at the crack of dawn yesterday? And why do you think I insisted on coming with you while you asked questions about Daniel’s murder?’

  Gwenllian felt sick. ‘Are you saying Symon killed Daniel with the priory’s cross?’

  Boleton nodded. ‘He is a dangerous man and must be stopped. Will you help? He is a better swordsman than me, and I cannot best him alone. You must distract him while I—’

  He broke off when there was a clatter of footsteps. He drew his sword and stepped behind the door just as Cole burst in, breathless and gasping.

  ‘We caught them! They were on a ship, ready to sail for Ireland. They confessed everything – how they were lovers and Hywel blackmailed them. How they poisoned him and were discussing how to dispose of the body when my soldiers arrived – they did not realize the rumpus was for someone else’s crime, so they tried to escape. I doubt they will hang, because they can claim benefit of—’

  ‘Symon! Watch out!’ Gwenllian screamed.

  Only Cole’s instinctive duck saved him from decapitation. Boleton’s blade smashed into a table, which flew into pieces. Cole’s sword was in his hand even before he had recovered his balance, ready to do battle.

  ‘Why did you warn him?’ cried Boleton, ripping his weapon from the shattered wood. ‘Did you not hear a word I said?’

  ‘He is not this criminal mastermind,’ shouted Gwenllian, tears spurting. ‘You are.’

  For a moment no one moved. Then Boleton backed away from Cole, sword held defensively.

  ‘You are making a terrible mistake, My Lady.’ He was pale and his voice shook. ‘He has just killed the two men who can testify to his identity – you told me that yourself.’

  ‘Gilbert is not dead,’ said Cole, looking from one to the other in confusion. ‘He is knocked out of his wits. Perhaps I should have pulled him further through the window, but I saw John—’

  ‘And you knifed him,’ finished Boleton. He appealed to Gwenllian. ‘Help me make an end of this evil—’

  ‘John knifed himself,’ said Cole, his face a mask of bewilderment. ‘His weapon is still embedded in his stomach, if you care to look. But my dagger is here, at my side.’

  ‘Mistress, please,’ begged Boleton. ‘You were beginning to be convinced by my reasoning—’

  ‘Actually I was encouraging you to talk, to give Symon time to rescue me,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘He is not the leader of these thieves, and you will never make me believe otherwise. So put up your sword, and let us be done with this nonsense before someone is hurt.’

  Cole regarded his friend in shock. ‘You told her I committed these burglaries?’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ said Gwenllian, going to stand next to him. ‘But there are many reasons why that cannot be true.’

  ‘Then name them,’ challenged Boleton, gripping his sword in both hands.

  She might have said Symon did not possess the wits for such sly subterfuge, but she refused to denigrate him to his treacherous friend. She began to outline what she had deduced instead.

  ‘First, you accuse him of being in a position to forge an alliance with outlaws, but the same applies to you – more so, because you are the knight in charge of solving crime and you often meet villains. Second, he can barely persuade John to raise his pen, let alone join a criminal fraternity. Third, you did not dog our footsteps yesterday to prevent him from destroying evidence, but to protect yourself. Fourth, look at your fine new clothes. I do not believe your tale about a recent inheritance.’

  ‘That did seem odd, brother,’ said Cole quietly. ‘We have been friends for years, and you never mentioned this dowager aunt before.’

  ‘Then there is your relationship with Gilbert,’ Gwenllian went on. ‘You stopped Symon from arresting him yesterday, and you were in his company during Lord Rhys�
�s raid – like Daniel, you stole at a time when it would be blamed on the invaders. Gilbert said he had things to do that night and seemed frightened – you were using him to make the most of the chaos.’

  ‘You draw ridiculous conclusions,’ shouted Boleton angrily. ‘It is not—’

  ‘Afterwards, when theft became too dangerous, you fled to the forest,’ Gwenllian cut across him. ‘You spun a wild tale about single-handedly fending off forest-dwelling robbers, which I did not believe. But I should have done, because that part was true – and later you decided to put your new acquaintances to good use.’

  ‘This is arrant rubbish,’ objected Boleton hotly. ‘I am not a—’

  ‘Gilbert betrayed you before he fell,’ Gwenllian forged on. ‘I saw the distress on Symon’s face when the name of the leader was whispered, although I could also tell he had already guessed it – it was confirmation of what he feared. Meanwhile, Gilbert misunderstood his reason for asking – he thought he was being tested, to see whether he would inform on the constable’s closest friend.’

  Cole regarded him unhappily. ‘I had already guessed, brother. You see, you doubled back to ambush me when I chased you towards the river, and I recognized the manoeuvre – we used it together many times in France.’

  ‘And then there was poor John,’ Gwenllian went on. ‘You recruited him to your nasty cabal, knowing he did not have the strength of character to resist. Was he really so useful?’

  ‘He was about to expose Daniel as a villain.’ Boleton rounded on Cole. ‘Your so-called friend, who was stealing from the castle. Another few days with the accounts, and John would have had all the evidence he needed.’

  ‘You always were jealous of Daniel’s relationship with Symon,’ said Gwenllian in distaste. ‘You must have been delighted to learn he was dishonest. No wonder you did not want John to take holy orders – who else would trawl through old records on your behalf ? But you drove him to suicide.’

  Boleton was outraged. ‘It was not me at his side when he died. It was Cole.’