Hill of Bones

by The Medieval Murderers

  ‘They found nothing? Have they been to our home?’

  Selwyn nodded. ‘Yes, I spoke to one of the proctor’s bailiffs. Your dwelling was one of the first places they searched.’

  ‘It would take them no more than a minute to discover there was nothing in our part of that humble room,’ she said bitterly. ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘Eldred will be interrogated by the prior and other members of the Chapter this evening. Then if he does not confess and tell them where the treasure is hidden, he will be sent before the consistory court tomorrow.’ Selwyn sighed. ‘I know that Bishop Savaric is returning in the morning. I fear it will go badly with poor Eldred when he is hauled before him.’

  Gytha sobbed quietly. ‘If they hand him over to the sheriff and his gang of ruffians, it will be the end of him. Maybe they will torture him to get him reveal where he put the stolen vessels – but how can he tell them what he does not know?’

  The tall steward paced up and down the kitchen, where clean cooking pots and ladles awaited the next batch of guests.

  ‘We must get him out of the abbey and hide him until the real culprits are found. You go home now, Gytha, and stay quietly until I come to you with news. It is best if you know nothing of this; then you cannot be accused of being involved.’

  She nodded mutely, trusting this good friend even with her husband’s life. As she went to the door to leave, she had one further question.

  ‘Can you do this alone, Selwyn? Can you not find help?’

  He nodded. ‘Eldred has another good friend. I will ask Riocas to share this task.’

  It was getting dusk when they eventually came for him. The two proctor’s men grabbed him by the elbows and hauled him off to the Chapter House, a semi-circular building attached to the back of the monks’ dormitory, near the south transept. This was where the abbey’s hierarchy met daily to settle their business, but this evening, only five of them were there when the guards hustled Eldred inside to stand before them. The half-circle of benches was empty and the interrogators sat on chairs on the low dais at the front, near the lectern from which a chapter of the Rule of St Benedict was read before each meeting, a ritual that gave the place its name.

  Prior Robert, from his seat in the centre, began the proceedings.

  ‘You wretched man, tell us where you have hidden those sacred vessels!’ he demanded. Tonight, there was no trace of his usual oily benevolence, and he glowered at Eldred with a face like thunder. ‘We have searched everywhere, but there is no sign of them.’

  ‘You must have taken them out of the abbey, into the city,’ rasped Brother Gilbert, the cellarer. ‘Tell us what you did with them, if you want any chance of saving your neck!’

  Two of the others also had their turn at haranguing the luckless lay brother, threatening him with every penalty from excommunication to flaying alive. One was Brother Thomas, the treasurer, the other the precentor, Brother Seymour, who was responsible for organising the cathedral services.

  The only one of the five who did not castigate Eldred was Hubert of Frome, under whose supervision the lay brother worked. The sacrist looked sadly at him, either from sorrow at the man’s present plight or disillusionment at his presumed treachery. Though usually a miserable, carping fellow, Hubert now seemed inclined to defend his lowly assistant.

  Eldred had done all he could to protest his innocence, but he could hardly get a word in between the harsh accusations pouring from the senior monks. Only when their vituperations eased off from lack of breath, did the sacrist manage to speak on Eldred’s behalf.

  ‘Brothers, I fail to see what evidence we have of this man’s guilt,’ he offered tentatively. ‘As he pointed out, he has a key, so why should he break the lock?’

  ‘For the very reason that you are making the suggestion, Hubert,’ ranted the cellarer. ‘It is a device to mislead us. I too have a key, but if I were to pillage the aumbry, I would also break it open to deflect suspicion.’

  ‘That is a very illogical argument, Brother Gilbert,’ answered Hubert, stubbornly. ‘Eldred has not left the abbey since the theft and he has had no chance to secrete the stolen items, as he was arrested straight away.’

  ‘You too are lacking in logic,’ snapped the prior. ‘How do we know when the treasures were stolen? He could have taken them during the night and only claimed to have discovered their disappearance today.’

  ‘That would have given him plenty of opportunity to hide them away,’ agreed the precentor, a stout, blustering émigré from Brittany.

  The bad-tempered dispute went on for a time, again with no chance for Eldred to protest his innocence. Eventually, Prior Robert tired of their attempt to bully a confession from him and brought the meeting to a close.

  ‘The bishop returns tomorrow and he will be appalled to hear of this loss. I will ask him to hold an immediate session of the Consistory Court to try this miserable wretch. Eldred, you have until the morning to confess your great sin and to tell us what you have done with those priceless relics. Bailiffs, take him back to his cell!’

  Riocas of Dinan was a Breton who had lived in Bath for many years, since he had been chased out of his home town over the Channel for seducing the daughter of the harbour master.

  He had a shop-house and a stall in the street market selling cheap fur linings and trimmings, mainly coney, squirrel, otter and cat. In fact, he was known locally as ‘Riocas the Cat-Catcher’, as this was how he obtained much of his stock.

  Selwyn found him in one his usual evening haunts, the Black Ox alehouse in Fish Lane, an alley off High Street. They met there once or twice a week to grumble and put the world to rights over quarts of thin ale. Tonight, Riocas was sitting on a plank seat below a small window in the crowded taproom, staring out at the twilight. Selwyn dropped down alongside him and signalled a slatternly girl to bring him a pot of ale.

  ‘We have a problem, friend,’ he began without any preamble, then went on to tell the cat-catcher about Eldred’s predicament and Gytha’s plea for help. He paused as the serving wench, who looked about ten years old, banged an empty pewter pot on the window sill and filled it from a large earthenware jug, before topping up Riocas’ half-empty quart. When she had moved away, Selwyn explained that they needed to get Eldred out of the abbey that very night.

  ‘Unless we do, the next time we see him might well be from the foot of the gallows!’ he concluded in sombre tones.

  His companion nodded gravely. ‘We can’t let the poor little devil swing, I agree,’ he grunted. Though Eldred was indeed rather small, he was almost a dwarf compared to these two men. Selwyn was tall, but Riocas was enough of a giant for the mothers of Bath to use him to frighten their misbehaving children. Not only was he huge in height and girth, but his massive head and spade-like hands seemed straight from some ancient forest legend. His face was a rocky crag, with heavy eyebrow ridges, a bulbous nose and a lantern jaw like the prow of a ship.

  Selwyn resumed his story after a long swig from his tankard.

  ‘We must get him out before the morning, because that bastard of a prior is intent on finding a culprit – any culprit – so that he can appease the bishop when he returns tomorrow.’

  ‘I suppose he’s in that fleapit that the proctors use, next to the stables?’ growled Riocas. ‘That’s no problem – a pig with the palsy could break into that – but where could we take him?’

  ‘It will have to be out of the city. Bath is too small to hide him for long. We’ll have to keep him hidden until the real thief is discovered.’

  Riocas ran sausage-like fingers through the wiry black stubble that passed for his hair. ‘Out in the country then! Somewhere that most folk keep clear of, but near enough for us to get food to him.’

  Their commitment to a friend in need was assumed without question and Selwyn responded with a suggestion.

  ‘What about Solsbury Hill? Not too far away for us – and all these daft tales of haunting and evil spirits will help keep folk from snooping around there.’r />
  They discussed details for the space of two more quarts and agreed to meet at the King’s House as soon as they heard the abbey bell for matins, soon after midnight. When he left the alehouse, Selwyn called on Gytha and told her what they had planned.

  ‘I’ll hide him in the King’s House for the rest of the night; we could never get him out of the city until morning, when the gates are opened. They’ll come here to seek him straight away as soon as they discover he’s gone, but just play dumb. You know nothing, right?’

  Leaving the wife worried but hopeful, the steward went back to his kitchen, thankful that his fellow servant, the bottler, was away. With the house empty and no guests expected for several weeks, he was free to find a hiding place for Eldred. The cellar, with its stores of food and wine, were obvious targets for a search and, deciding that boldness was the best solution, he went upstairs to the four bedchambers and chose the largest, the one reserved for King John himself. A thick mattress stuffed with lambswool lay on a wooden plinth and two large clothes chests stood opposite. A chair and a table were the only other furniture, set near the empty fireplace. As steward, Selwyn knew every inch of the house and decided that here was the best place for concealing his unfortunate friend.

  Soon after the abbey bell rang out its midnight summons to matins, the first holy office of the day, Riocas slipped into the house, moving very quietly for a man of such bulk. After a quick consultation, he and Selwyn went out into the abbey yard and sidled along the back of the stables, taking care not to awaken any of the grooms and cleaners, young boys who slept on the hay with the horses. Rounding the far end, they went to the last door, that of the proctor’s cell, where Riocas examined the securing bar in the dim starlight.

  ‘Not even a lock on it!’ he whispered, as he carefully lifted the stout piece of oak from its iron brackets. It was never contemplated that any outsider would wish to rescue the usual run of prisoners, mostly drunks and petty thieves.

  Selwyn vanished inside and almost immediately reappeared with a dishevelled Eldred, who seemed quite composed, considering the tribulations of the day. The cat-catcher quietly replaced the bar and they slid back behind the row of stables and made their way back along the palace wall to the King’s House.

  Once in the kitchen, Selwyn sat Eldred by the fire and gave him a wooden bowl of potage, which he filled from an iron pot hanging from a trivet hanging over the glowing logs.

  ‘Get this down you, boy, compliments of King John!’ he said, as he added a hunk of coarse bread. ‘He doesn’t know it, but I doubt he’d begrudge you.’

  He got the same for Riocas and himself, and the three conspirators sat on stools around the fire to discuss how they would manage Eldred’s escape.

  ‘They’re bound to come here looking for you in the morning, but I think I can keep you safe. Then later in the day, we’ll get you out of the city and up to Solsbury Hill.’

  Eldred shivered, but not from the cold. ‘They say it’s haunted and is the lair of demons!’ he muttered. ‘How can I survive up there?’

  ‘Better than you’d survive the gallows-tree with a hemp rope around your neck!’ retorted Riocas bluntly.

  At dawn, there was a rumpus in the abbey yard, started by William, the proctor’s bailiff when he found his prisoner flown. Then a succession of abbey seniors arrived, and soon the prior himself added to the fury. His normally ingratiating manner had vanished and he was livid with anger at having his prize scapegoat spirited away only hours before he intended parading him before Bishop Savaric as the perpetrator of the dastardly theft.

  Once again, all the abbey brothers and servants were mobilised to search for the sacrist’s assistant. The gatekeepers on the two abbey gates into the city were interrogated and all swore that no one resembling Eldred had passed through their portals.

  ‘He must still be within the precinct,’ fumed Prior Robert. ‘Seek him out, wherever he might be hiding. There are others involved in this; they must also be rooted out and punished!’

  Inevitably, the King’s House was included in this frantic search, though as it was royal property, not within the jurisdiction of the prior or bishop, the ecclesiastical faction had to tread carefully.

  The cellarer, Brother Gilbert, was deputed to tackle this task and though he tried to browbeat Selwyn, everyone knew that the steward was a royal servant, not beholden to the Abbey in any way. However, he could hardly refuse them entry without arousing grave suspicion, but did so grudgingly, saying that he would have to send word of the intrusion to Gloucester, where the King was currently quartered. He followed Gilbert, his assistant, Maurice, and William the bailiff everywhere in the house, muttering his protests. When they went upstairs to peer into the upper chambers, Selwyn at first refused to produce the key to the royal bedroom.

  ‘That would be too much, Brother Gilbert!’ he complained. ‘He is your sovereign lord as much as he is mine. Would you dare to do this if you were in Westminster or Windsor?’

  The cellarer looked uneasy, but was adamant. ‘What is there to hide, steward? Let us just glance within from here. That can hardly amount to treason!’

  Having calculated the risks, Selwyn made a great show of reluctantly producing the key from his pouch.

  ‘This is the only room with a lock, with good reason!’ he growled, and pushed open the door, but stood with his body half in the entrance. ‘See, it is as bare as a widow’s pantry!’

  Gilbert glared around the room. ‘What’s in those large chests?’

  ‘Nothing, until the King’s chamberlains arrive with his robes. Send your man here to look, if nothing less will satisfy you!’

  The steward grabbed Maurice, a weedy young man with a long nose, and pushed him into the room.

  ‘May God grant that the King never learns that you defiled his bedchamber!’

  The cellarer’s monk scurried across the room and with quick movements raised the lids of each chest and banged them down almost instantly. ‘Empty, Brother Gilbert!’ he squeaked.

  ‘Check the bed, now that you’re there,’ snapped Gilbert defiantly.

  As he hurried back to the door, Maurice made a couple of panic-stricken prods into the mattress. ‘No one hiding there, brother!’ he panted, as he pushed his way out of the room and the imagined wrath of the irascible monarch.

  Gilbert scowled at Selwyn, then led his fellow searchers back down the stairs, stamping his feet to mark his irritation.

  ‘If you see hide or hair of that damned fellow, you will let me know at once – or face the consequences!’ he blustered as he went out into the abbey yard once again.

  Selwyn spent a few minutes needlessly brushing the kitchen floor, to make sure that the cellarer did not make a surprise return visit. Then he went back up to the King’s chamber and stood by the bed.

  ‘Are you still alive, Eldred?’ he asked in a low voice. He was answered by a muffled cry of distress and going to the back of the plinth that supported the mattress, gave it a hefty tug to pull it away from the wall. It was really an inverted wooden box, open at the end against the wall. From the gap, a dishevelled figure crawled out crabwise and lay gasping on the floor.

  ‘Another few minutes and I would have suffocated,’ he croaked. ‘Thank God I’m thin, for the space was the same height as my body. I could hardly breathe!’

  Selwyn helped him up and dusted the dirt and cobwebs from his habit. ‘You’d not have breathed very well with a rope around your neck, either,’ he said unsympathetically. ‘Come down and have some food and drink. We’ll have to decide what to do with you next.’

  When Eldred was reminded of the plan to smuggle him out of the city to a hiding place several miles away, he refused to countenance the idea.

  ‘I cannot leave my wife so far away,’ he protested, to the exasperation of his two friends. ‘How will she survive without me being nearby?’

  ‘What good can you do here, skulking in some cellar, afraid to show your face to any man?’ demanded Riocas.

  ‘And
where will you find such a cellar, eh?’ snapped Selwyn, annoyed that Eldred was proving so difficult after all the effort and risks that he and the cat-catcher had taken. ‘No way can you be hidden here in the King’s House, for the other steward will be returning in a day or two. Also I would not put it past the prior or sheriff to make another search in their desperation to find you.’

  They argued the matter for several minutes, then the lay brother came up with another suggestion, which the other two received with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘I could seek sanctuary in one of the churches,’ proposed Eldred. ‘That would give me more than a month of immunity from arrest. Surely evidence of my innocence will be forthcoming long before then!’

  Riocas, whose fondness for the Church and all its attributes was sadly lacking, was scathing about the idea. ‘And if it doesn’t, you’ll be dragged out at the end and will have gained nothing.’

  ‘I could claim “benefit of clergy”,’ replied Eldred, stubbornly. ‘I am able to recite “the neck verse” well enough.’

  This was a device whereby men, including lay brothers, could avoid being tried in the secular courts by showing that they could read and were therefore in holy orders. The ability to recite a short excerpt of the Twenty-first Psalm was accepted as a convenient test of literacy, even though it was often learned parrot-fashion by illiterates. This had saved many a man from being hanged and was therefore cynically known as ‘the neck verse’.

  ‘In the circumstances, I doubt the bishop’s court would resist handing you over to the Commissioners of Assize for sentence,’ retorted Riocas. ‘So you’d still end up dancing on the end of a rope.’

  Selwyn’s brow was furrowed in thought. ‘It would be a terrible gamble, for if the real villains were not found in that time, you would be doomed.’

  Eldred was still obdurate about his intention, but Selwyn had not finished. ‘If you are really intent about seeking sanctuary, why seek a church in the city? You are already on consecrated ground – an abbey, no less.’