The False Virgin

by The Medieval Murderers

  His voice was so loud and authoritative that the two monks scrambled quickly to their feet, and even Fitzmartin’s derisive guffaws died away. After a brief and rather tense silence, Cole announced that it was time for everyone to retire.

  ‘Go to the kitchen,’ he said kindly to the monks, seeing them look hungrily at the remains of the feast. ‘The cook will feed you. You may sleep there, too, if you wish.’

  ‘It is more than they deserve,’ grumbled Kediour, watching the two lads hurry away. ‘They are scoundrels, aiming to take advantage of the gullible, and their relic is a fake.’

  The guests dispersed, stretching and yawning, all complaining about the sultry heat of the night. Cole escorted Kediour to his priory – he always did after dark, despite Kediour’s assurance that an ex-Hospitaller was perfectly capable of looking after himself. It was some time before he returned to the castle.

  ‘The weather must be preventing people from sleeping,’ he reported, sitting wearily on the bed. ‘I must have met half of Carmarthen when I was out.’

  ‘Who?’ Most of Gwenllian’s attention was on little Meurig, who was shifting uncomfortably in his sleep, face flushed from the warmth of the room.

  Cole listed a number of friends and acquaintances he had seen on his way to the priory, which lay on the northern outskirts of the town; he and Kediour had been obliged to stop and exchange pleasantries with them all. Then he came to those he had encountered on his way home, when he had been alone.

  ‘Odo and Hilde were near the priory gate as I came out. They claimed they were going to walk to Merlin’s Hill, to watch the stars from the top of it.’

  ‘Then they were,’ said Gwenllian sharply, not liking the scepticism in his voice. ‘Odo is interested in astronomy, and he sleeps badly because of his sore back. They often rise in the night to study the heavens together.’

  ‘Then I met Avenel and Fitzmartin, who said they were going to the Eagle tavern – the one out past the priory. Your cousin Philip was not far behind, and he told me he was following them to ensure they caused no mischief. I did not believe him.’

  Nor did Gwenllian, and she wondered whether the chaplain had been going to tell the sheriff more gossip about Cole, his castle and his family. If so, the town’s most remote alehouse was a good place to do it.

  Cole continued, ‘But the oddest thing was Rupe, with his henchmen and those two monks. They were in his wood. I saw a lamp there, you see, and went to investigate. All five were praying to Beornwyn. I suppose I should have stopped them, after what Kediour said, but I do not see what harm it can do. I left them to it.’

  ‘Good,’ said Gwenllian, not liking to imagine Rupe’s reaction to being told where he could pray. His righteous indignation would have known no bounds.

  ‘And finally there was Deputy Miles,’ said Cole, disapproval thick in his voice. ‘He hid behind a tree when he saw me coming, so I rousted him out like a rat.’

  ‘You did not fight him, did you?’ asked Gwenllian in alarm.

  ‘I merely asked why he was not out on patrol, guarding our cattle as I had ordered. He said he was going to survey the coppice for that underground stream.’

  ‘At night?’ queried Gwenllian.

  ‘I asked the same thing: he said he prefers to work without an audience. I told him to forget wild theories and concentrate on the thieves, but I doubt he will oblige. He wants to impress you with an endless supply of water. The wretched man is head over heels in love with my wife, and I was the last one to know it.’

  Later that night there was a colossal clap of thunder, so loud that Cole was not the only one who thought the castle was under attack from war machines. He and Gwenllian stood at the window, watching lightning illuminate the entire countryside in almost continuous flashes.

  ‘Is this Beornwyn’s doing?’ asked Cole in an awed voice, as the first drops of rain began to fall. ‘Rupe paid for a miracle, and here it is?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Gwenllian, although she was less sure than she sounded. ‘It is just a coincidence.’

  Then all conversation was impossible as the heavens opened, and the rain pounded down with such force that she feared the roof might cave in. The deluge stopped as quickly as it had started, and all that could be heard was water splattering from overtaxed gutters.

  When it was light, she and Cole walked into the bailey which was heavily waterlogged. She smiled her relief at this sign of plenty, but he was anxious as he squinted up at the sky.

  ‘I thought you would be pleased,’ said Gwenllian. ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘The storm has not broken the weather. It will be just as hot today as it was yesterday, and that violent rain will have flattened any corn that has survived the drought. Moreover, I suspect that most of the water has run off without soaking into the soil. If this was a miracle, then it was not a very useful one.’

  ‘Here is Kediour,’ said Gwenllian, spotting the tall prior picking his way across the morass. ‘I imagine he will have something to say on the subject of miracles.’

  ‘I spent most of last night in my library,’ Kediour reported without preamble, ‘and I found mention of Beornwyn eventually. I was right: she is not recognised by the Church, although her cult thrives in and around Whitby. However, there is no suggestion that her hand was ever in Ramsey – or Romsey, for that matter. Those young men are lying.’

  ‘I saw them and Rupe praying to her last night, in his wood,’ said Cole. ‘Do you think she made it rain?’

  Kediour regarded him in dismay. ‘You witnessed an act of desecration and did nothing to stop it?’

  ‘They were praying,’ said Cole uncomfortably. ‘It is not for me to interrupt people’s private devotions.’

  ‘This from a man who has set eyes on the Holy Land?’ Kediour was shocked. ‘How could you ignore such an outrage? And so close to my priory, too! I must see about having the spot cleansed. You had better come with me, and point out exactly where this vile deed took place.’

  ‘Hardly a vile deed,’ mumbled Cole, disconcerted by the prior’s hot words.

  Kediour fixed him with a baleful eye. ‘You should keep your role in this shameful affair quiet, because that rain did far more harm than good – homes flooded, crops flattened, cattle drowned. We do not want you blamed for the disaster. Can you imagine what Rupe and Avenel would say about it? They would use it to destroy you.’

  ‘But it was Rupe who prayed for—’ began Cole.

  ‘He will deny it,’ interrupted Kediour tartly. ‘Like the liar he is.’

  Cole nodded acquiescence, knowing he was right.

  Gwenllian went with them as they walked to the coppice, noting a number of broken roof tiles, several people sweeping water from inside their homes and a tree fallen across the road. The sun was already hot, and the few remaining puddles were evaporating fast.

  ‘That is odd,’ said Cole, stopping to inspect a rivulet of water. ‘This part of the road never usually floods.’

  ‘It has been flowing since the storm,’ explained Mayor Rupe, making them jump by speaking close behind them. ‘It is running into my garden, so I hope it dries up soon. My vegetables are currently standing in a bog.’

  ‘Perhaps you will show me the place where you and those two young vagabonds prayed last night,’ said Kediour coolly. ‘No, do not ask how I know. Suffice to say that I disapprove.’

  Rupe began to argue, but a cold stare from the indignant prior made his words falter. Muttering resentfully under his breath, he led the way into the wood, where there was a small clearing not far from the road, reached by a narrow path. He stopped in astonishment,

  ‘We prayed there,’ he gulped, pointing with a shaking finger. ‘And look! A spring now gushes from that very place. Beornwyn has granted us a miracle!’

  ‘It is excess water from the storm,’ said Kediour. ‘There is no evidence to—’

  ‘What is that?’ asked Cole suddenly, pointing to a flash of yellow behind a tree. Gwenllian recognised the smart new tunic immedia
tely, and ran forward with a cry.

  It was Miles, sightless eyes gazing up at the sky above, and a vicious red line around his neck to show where he had been garrotted. A butterfly had settled on the wound.

  Cole and Gwenllian tried to explore the wood for clues, but Rupe’s horrified wails had attracted a crowd. Kediour did his best to keep them back, but not even his commanding figure could control them for long, and they were soon trampling everywhere, exclaiming in excited voices about the miracle of the storm – the damage it had caused conveniently forgotten – and the spring that had appeared like manna from Heaven.

  ‘There is another butterfly, settling on the wound of this murdered man,’ cried Rupe. ‘It is Beornwyn’s spirit, weeping for the wrong that has been done next to her sacred waters.’

  ‘Actually, it is attracted by the moisture,’ explained Cole. ‘They—’

  ‘There is nothing more to be seen here,’ interrupted Gwenllian quickly, aware of the revolted glances that were being exchanged that the constable should own such grisly knowledge. ‘Now please go home, all of you.’

  ‘No, stay,’ countered Rupe. ‘And feast your eyes on this holy spring – a gift from the saint herself. She truly has bestowed her favour on us – on me! I prayed to her, and she has sited her stream on my land, at the exact spot where I kneeled to petition her.’

  ‘Actually, you were a little farther to the left,’ said Cole.

  Rupe’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know? Or were you here, too, spying on us?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Gwenllian hastily, not wanting Rupe to know that Symon had been alone in the woods where his deputy had been murdered. ‘He was too tired after his three-week patrol for ferreting about in dark coppices.’

  ‘So you say,’ sneered Rupe. ‘But he would have had to come past here to reach the castle after seeing Kediour home, and Miles is dead. And we all know that Miles lusted after you.’

  ‘Symon knows he need not fear losing my affections to Miles or any other man,’ said Gwenllian firmly. She was aware of Avenel and Fitzmartin on the fringes of the crowd, listening intently and doubtless eager to report Rupe’s accusations to the King.

  ‘A wife can provide no alibi,’ declared Rupe scornfully. ‘You would lie to save Cole, if for no other reason than that the next constable is likely to have a wife already.’

  ‘Enough,’ snapped Kediour, while Gwenllian gripped Cole’s arm hard to prevent him from reacting to the insult. ‘It is unseemly to quarrel over a corpse. Philip? Fetch a bier and arrange for the deputy to be carried to the castle chapel.’

  ‘Your priory is closer,’ said Cole.

  Kediour’s voice became gentle. ‘Yes, but that is not where he belongs. And it is Philip’s prerogative to stand vigil over a castle official until he is buried.’

  The little chaplain looked disappointed to be dispatched on an errand when there was so much to see, and Gwenllian noted that he did not go without exchanging a quick glance with Avenel. She was thoughtful, remembering the people Cole had met on his way home the previous night: Philip, Avenel and Fitzmartin were among them. Had one of them strangled Miles? Or were the culprits Rupe and the two monks? Cole had seen Odo and Hilde, too, of course, but they were her friends and she could not believe they would throttle anyone.

  ‘Why did you choose to pray in a wood, Rupe?’ asked Cole, while they waited for Philip to return. ‘Why not in the church?’

  ‘I thought that if we were asking for rain, then we should do it outside,’ explained the mayor. ‘And my grove is a pleasant place to be of an evening.’

  ‘It is not pleasant now,’ remarked Kediour. ‘It is a morass. My canons will fetch some stones, and we shall block the spring before it damages the road – or drowns your vegetables.’

  ‘I do not mind, not now I know it is sacred water,’ said Rupe. His eyes gleamed. ‘I shall gather it in flasks and sell it to pilgrims.’

  ‘It is not sacred,’ said Kediour impatiently. ‘Water often oozes from odd places after a violent storm, especially after weeks of drought. It will run dry in a day or two.’

  ‘It will not,’ stated Rupe loftily. ‘I paid Beornwyn for a miracle and she gave me one. This wood belongs to me, and I shall build a chapel here to protect her spring, and to accommodate the pilgrims who will come. No one will block it with rocks.’

  There was a determined jut to his chin, and next to him, his henchmen Gunbald and Ernebald gripped cudgels, obviously eager to use them on anyone inclined to argue. Cole’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword and he drew breath to speak, but Gwenllian stopped him.

  ‘Let them be,’ she whispered. ‘As Kediour says, the spring will soon run dry. It is not worth a quarrel.’

  ‘No,’ cried Kediour, overhearing. ‘I will not permit it. Not so close to my priory. It would be blasphemous!’

  ‘It is the will of God,’ said Rupe gloatingly. ‘You cannot stop it and neither can Cole. The land is mine, and so is the spring. If you interfere, I shall complain to the King.’

  ‘And the King will support you,’ said Sheriff Avenel. ‘He will say that a man has a right to use his own woods as he pleases. Especially when a percentage of the takings are sent to the royal coffers as an expression of fealty.’

  Rupe scowled, but nodded reluctant agreement. Kediour also knew when he was beaten, although his face was black with anger as he stalked away.

  ‘Well, I am pleased there will be a shrine,’ said Odo, while Hilde nodded at his side. ‘If any town deserves a miracle, it is Carmarthen. I am delighted with Beornwyn’s favour.’

  ‘The King’s coffers will be, too,’ smirked Fitzmartin.

  ‘We need to catch Miles’s killer quickly,’ said Gwenllian to Cole, as they walked after the bier a little later. ‘Too many people know you disliked his unseemly ogling, and Rupe will relish the opportunity to hurt you with malicious lies. We must find the real culprit.’

  ‘Miles did annoy me last night,’ admitted Cole. ‘However, he was garrotted, and I am not a man to sneak up behind rivals and strangle them.’

  ‘That will not stop Rupe and his henchmen from saying so, and Avenel and Fitzmartin will delight in carrying such a tale to the King. So might Cousin Philip, who is remarkably treacherous for a kinsman. You saw all six and those two monks on that road last night – one might be the villain, and may accuse you to draw attention away from himself.’

  ‘So how do we catch him?’ asked Cole, touchingly confident that she would know.

  ‘You examined Miles’s body.’ As a warrior, used to violent death, he was well qualified for such a task. ‘Were you able to deduce anything from it?’

  ‘Only that he was choked with something hard – not rope, which would have left fibres. And he was cold, so I imagine he died last night rather than this morning. However, it is impossible to be certain of such things. In the Holy Land, there was once a corpse—’

  ‘What about the place where Miles died?’ interrupted Gwenllian. Few of Symon’s tales from the Crusade made for pleasant listening. ‘Or was it too thoroughly trampled?’

  ‘We would not have found footprints anyway – the ground is too hard.’

  Gwenllian nodded. ‘So all we have is what you saw last night: Miles walking alone to the coppice to look for water, ignoring your order to hunt for cattle thieves. And six suspects out here with an opportunity to kill him. Eight, if we include those two monks.’

  ‘I saw Odo and Hilde, too,’ Cole reminded her.

  ‘Odo and Hilde are not killers.’

  Cole sighed. ‘Well, the culprit is obvious to me. Rupe did not want Miles telling everyone that the water was under his wood all along – and thus not holy – so he murdered him.’

  ‘It is certainly a possibility,’ agreed Gwenllian. ‘Although it would mean that he did it after the storm, and only pretended to be surprised by the discovery of the spring today.’

  ‘I would not put it past him,’ said Cole. ‘Do not forget his corrupt activities as mayor. He is more skil
led at lies and deception than anyone I have ever known.’

  They delivered Miles to the chapel, where Cole ordered Philip to keep vigil until the deputy was buried the following morning. The little chaplain was not amused.

  ‘But so much is happening! The discovery of a sacred spring, talk of a holy storm. I will miss it all if I am stuck in here with a corpse. And I wanted to talk to the sheriff about . . .’

  ‘About what?’ asked Gwenllian coolly, as he trailed off guiltily.

  ‘About Sir Symon’s hunt for the cattle thieves,’ said Philip with a sickly and unconvincing smile. ‘How hard he has tried to lay hold of them with patrols and traps.’

  ‘Right,’ said Gwenllian flatly. ‘You can do it tomorrow, when I am there to hear you. Until then, you can say Masses for poor Miles.’

  ‘Poor Miles indeed,’ muttered Philip. ‘He did not deserve such a terrible death.’

  ‘No one ever does,’ said Cole grimly. ‘But since we are discussing him, tell me where you went last night.’

  ‘I was here,’ said the chaplain. ‘Praying for rain.’

  Cole regarded him askance. ‘Was it your twin I saw trailing after Avenel then?’

  Philip looked away. ‘Oh, yes. I forgot. The sheriff wanted me to write him a letter, so I went to the Eagle to oblige. It was afterwards that I prayed for rain.’

  ‘What manner of letter?’ asked Gwenllian, not bothering to point out that it was an odd time for clerkly activities. Most people preferred to do it in daylight, when they could see.

  Philip became haughty. ‘A confidential letter to the King. More than that I cannot say.’

  Gwenllian nodded calmly, but she was alarmed. What had the spiteful chaplain and the sheriff written together at such a peculiar hour?

  ‘Did you see Miles?’ asked Cole.

  ‘No, and I assumed he was out patrolling for cattle rustlers, as you had ordered. I was as surprised as anyone to hear he was discovered in the wood.’

  Leaving Philip to his vigil, Gwenllian suggested that she and Cole revisit the scene of the murder to resume their hunt for clues. They walked through the town slowly, enervated by the heat, and arrived at the wood to find the little clearing thronged with people. Avenel and Fitzmartin were standing to one side, watching, while Rupe and his henchmen had filled a barrel with water from the spring, and were selling it in bowls. The two Benedictines were giving an impromptu sermon, and Gwenllian was dismayed to see Odo and Hilde among the eager listeners. Kediour was there, too, tight-lipped with disapproval.