The First Murder

by The Medieval Murderers

  The remainder of the rehearsal passed without incident, although Gerald heckled Dunstan’s performance, and Dunstan heckled Gerald’s. The remarks grew steadily more acerbic as the afternoon wore on, and Gwenllian was relieved when the servants arrived to light lamps and prepare the hall for the evening meal. All smirked at Norrys, who had spent most of the time since his dunking sitting in a corner, seething silently.

  ‘We shall all go to the chapel,’ Gwenllian announced, because it was not somewhere Gerald and Dunstan could continue to score points off each other with their witticisms.

  Archdeacon Osbert hurried away to prepare, while the guests divested themselves of their costumes and donned normal clothes. The service was quiet and peaceful, and went some way to soothing Gwenllian’s ragged nerves. She put murder from her mind, hoping answers would come when it was not so cluttered with questions and worries.

  When the service was over, everyone trailed into the bailey, which was lit with pitch torches. Cole was just riding through the gate, Iefan at his heels. He dismounted, saw Burchill and began to brief him. Gwenllian wondered where the older man had been all day – not with Symon, if he needed a report of what had been happening. Iefan began to walk to the kitchens, an uncharacteristic heaviness in his tread. Gwenllian intercepted him.

  ‘What is wrong? The trouble in the town?’

  The sergeant nodded, his face unhappier than she had ever seen it. ‘People cannot afford bread as it is, and Cethynoc decided this afternoon to stop all work on the walls because of the weather. It is all very well for him – he gets paid whether he works or not – but others have families.’

  ‘Most of the labourers are your kin,’ said Gwenllian, understanding his concern. She smiled encouragingly. ‘But the snow is melting. Building will start again soon, and folk will be able to leave the town in search of cheaper bread too.’

  ‘Unfortunately, all the merchants in the area have united in greed,’ said Iefan bitterly. ‘They realise they are a powerful force when they stand together, and I doubt they can be broken. Sir Symon says he does not have the authority to force them, but I think he should.’

  ‘I will speak to him,’ promised Gwenllian. ‘And the merchants too, if necessary. Do not worry. The wages of Carmarthen’s poor will not line the pockets of the rich.’

  Iefan smiled at last, and grasped her hand in thanks. Then Gerald and Dunstan began to quarrel in response to something Norrys had said. The Hospitaller’s face was vindictive as he watched the results of his handiwork.

  ‘You preside over dinner,’ said Cole to Burchill, promptly reaching for the reins of his horse again. ‘Quelling insurrection is infinitely preferable to listening to that all evening.’

  Burchill opened his mouth to object, but Cole was in the saddle and riding away before he could speak. Gwenllian beamed sweetly at him. He eyed her warily.

  ‘Have you had a busy day?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Burchill shortly. He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we? Perhaps food will render these querulous clerics more benign.’

  Gwenllian was not sure how long she had been asleep before Cole returned that night. He groped his way to the bed and sat next to her.

  ‘I thought I had better come to make sure no one else has been murdered,’ he said.

  ‘If they had, I would have sent for you. I am afraid I am no further forward with catching the killer, Symon.’ She sat up, worried. ‘Our guests might leave tomorrow, and they will have a terrible tale to take to the King.’

  ‘Not tomorrow – the roads are still too icy. But the day after is a strong possibility.’

  ‘You are exhausted,’ said Gwenllian, hearing the strain in his voice. ‘Sleep a little. Iefan and Burchill can manage without you for an hour.’

  ‘And let Norrys tell the King that I dozed while my town needed me? Still, at least I know who is responsible for the merchants’ cabal. It is William the corviser.’

  ‘He has always been a troublemaker, and he has disliked you ever since you fined him for cheating his customers. He will leap at any opportunity to cause you problems.’

  ‘Burchill and I eavesdropped on a speech he made in the Coracle tonight. He told his fellow merchants to raise their prices as high as they liked, saying that as long as they stand united, the townsfolk will have no choice but to pay.’

  ‘I assume you brought him to the castle? The others will crumble without his oily tongue to lead them astray, and I am sure I can persuade him to see the error of his ways.’

  ‘It was what I intended, but he escaped. Burchill was guarding the back door, but William managed to slip past him. I have no idea where William might have gone – he is not in his house. Still, I imagine he will reappear tomorrow.’

  ‘Burchill lost him?’ asked Gwenllian sharply.

  ‘There was nothing suspicious about it, Gwen.’ Cole sounded too tired to be angry. ‘Burchill is not as quick-footed as he was, and I should have taken that into account. It was my fault, not his.’

  Gwenllian did not argue. ‘If you plan to lay hold of William tomorrow, be discreet. The other merchants will be outraged if you do it in front of them, and technically he has done nothing wrong. Profiteering is unethical, but not illegal.’

  Cole was silent for a moment. ‘I do not suppose you have had time to investigate the saboteur, have you?’

  ‘No, I considered the murders more pressing,’ she replied rather shortly.

  ‘Quarrelsome clerics are not more important than my workmen,’ he said firmly. ‘But I shall catch the villain tonight. Obviously, he does not tamper with the walls during the day, when someone might see him, so logic dictates that he must work after dark. I plan to keep watch until dawn.’

  ‘You will be wasting your time,’ predicted Gwenllian. ‘First, because you cannot know he will strike tonight. And second, even if he does, you may already have missed him.’

  ‘It is a chance I am willing to take.’

  ‘Then I shall come with you,’ she determined, climbing off the bed and reaching for her outdoor clothes. ‘It will give me a chance to review all I know, and talking is good for clarifying confusion. Besides, it will help you to stay awake.’

  ‘It is too cold, and in your condition—’

  ‘I have a beautifully warm cloak, and my condition is irrelevant. Besides, I am sure you can find me a sheltered spot.’

  Cole grumbled all the time she dressed, but fell silent as they left the hall, walking as stealthily and sure-footed as a cat while Gwenllian stumbled along behind him. He found a place where he could watch the entire wall, and arranged a tarpaulin so it would shelter her from the rain. It was a miserable night, but milder than it had been, and she was sure most of the snow would be washed away by dawn.

  ‘We have five suspects,’ she began, once they were settled. ‘None has an alibi for either death, and all have reasons to want Pontius and Hurso dead. Obviously, Norrys is at the top of the list, for the simple reason that their deaths will harm you. Next is that horrid Robert.’

  ‘Who may have killed Canon Wilfred too,’ added Cole. ‘A bully whom he hated.’

  ‘Prior Dunstan says it was a natural death, but the more I think about it, the more I believe that Wilfred was murdered, and that he is part of whatever is unfolding. Our next suspects are Dunstan and Gerald, both of whom are ruthless, and may well view two deaths as a necessary sacrifice to their ambitions. Although I like Gerald, and he is kin . . . ’

  ‘Who is the last suspect? I thought you had eliminated Foliot and Luci.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gwenllian, reluctant to mention Burchill. ‘Luci has an alibi in me for Hurso’s death, while Foliot has Osbert. And there is the shoulder Foliot injured in his fall; he would have been in too much pain to clamber up a wall and start hacking at the mortar.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ asked Cole, surprised. ‘Those bruises would not slow me down.’

  ‘But Foliot is a priest, not a warrior trained to make light of such matters. You can
not compare him to yourself.’

  Frustrated, she realised that talking had clarified nothing. When she said no more Cole began to tell her his ideas regarding the saboteur. He refused to believe that one of his soldiers or labourers was responsible, so his suspicions revolved around a stranger breaking in.

  ‘And what does this mysterious outsider gain from his tampering?’ asked Gwenllian.

  ‘We shall ask when we catch him,’ replied Cole, thus indicating that his theory had not taken the question of motive into account.

  ‘Then tell me how he gets in?’ pressed Gwenllian. ‘You run a tight ship, and strangers are not permitted inside the castle after dark.’

  Cole could not answer that either, and fell silent. Time passed slowly. He kept himself awake by standing up, but Gwenllian drowsed, despite the creeping chill. Eventually, the sky began to lighten in the east, and she heaved a sigh of relief that their futile vigil was at an end. She was about to suggest they repair to the kitchens for hot ale when Cole stiffened, and his hand dropped to his sword.

  ‘What?’ she whispered softly, straining her eyes in the gloom. Then she saw it: a shadow moving among the supplies.

  Cole motioned for her to stay put, and crept towards it. She watched, heart thumping. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself, but she grabbed a piece of wood anyway, ready to race forward and defend him if the skirmish did not go according to plan.

  Unfortunately, the wood was tied to something else, which clattered as she picked it up. The shadow whipped round, then made a run for it. Cole followed with a battle cry learned on the crusade, before launching himself forward in a flying tackle. It looked painful, and she was not surprised that his victim made no attempt to escape once pinned to the ground.

  Cole peered at his captive in the gloom, then sat back in astonishment. ‘Iefan?’

  ‘Sir Symon!’ gasped the sergeant. ‘You scared the life out of me!’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Cole climbed off him and hauled him to his feet.

  ‘I came to see whether you are right about the saboteur,’ Iefan replied. ‘If he does exist – and I am not saying he does – he will operate about now, when there is light enough to see by, but before the workmen arrive.’

  ‘He does exist,’ said Cole firmly. ‘And when I saw you moving through the supplies I thought you were him.’

  ‘And I thought you were a Saracen after my blood.’ Iefan scowled. ‘Did you have to wrestle me so roughly? If I had been a weaker man, you might have broken my neck.’

  ‘If you had been the saboteur, I would not have cared,’ retorted Cole.

  Iefan started to say something else, but footsteps made them turn. It was Cethynoc. The mason stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Cole and Iefan, and had taken several steps away before realising that he had already been seen. He advanced reluctantly, his blunt face sullen and unsmiling.

  ‘You are here early,’ said Gwenllian, immediately suspicious. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it will be a fine day, and I wanted to make an inspection of the site before the labourers arrive in the hope that we can resume building,’ Cethynoc replied, regarding her with an expression that was difficult to read in the dim light. She had no idea if he was telling the truth. ‘And you?’

  He smirked when Cole told him about the misunderstanding with Iefan, and then began to prowl. It was not long before he pointed at a pile of stones.

  ‘You both wasted your time,’ he growled. ‘Look at that.’

  ‘What is wrong with it?’ asked Gwenllian, nonplussed.

  Cethynoc touched the top one. It teetered ominously. ‘I did not stack it like that, and it was stable when I went home last night. Your saboteur was here sure enough.’

  ‘One stone moved hardly constitutes a—’ began Gwenllian.

  ‘You would think it was dangerous if you brushed against it and it fell on you,’ snapped Cethynoc. ‘It would not kill, but it might break toes – and it would delay us yet again, because Sir Symon would insist on yet another safety inspection before work resumed.’

  ‘You see?’ said Cole, looking at Gwen and Iefan in vindication. ‘There is your evidence. A saboteur is at work, and I will find him if it is the last thing I do. No one puts my men at risk and gets away with it.’

  When Cole went to track down the greedy merchant William, Gwenllian had breakfast with the guests. Then, as Osbert was there, she suggested morning prayers in the chapel, charging the hapless archdeacon to make the ceremony as lengthy as possible. As soon as it was underway, she slipped out and hurried to the hall. Iefan was there, warming himself by the fire, so she commandeered his help, and together they explored the guests’ chambers and searched their baggage. Unfortunately, their illicit operation brought forth nothing in the way of clues.

  ‘The Mass has finished,’ said Iefan, glancing out of the window. He looked around quickly, to ensure all had been left as they had found it. ‘We should go.’

  She followed him down the stairs. ‘I hope Symon did not hurt you with his energetic tackle this morning.’

  Iefan shot her a rueful glance. ‘There is no saboteur. If there were, he would do something a lot more damaging than arranging a stone so it wobbled, or loosening a few knots. Besides, these things would not happen if he did not insist on working so fast.’

  ‘You think his eagerness to finish is making people careless?’

  Iefan shook his head. ‘If a labourer is injured in an accident and cannot work, he and his family will starve. They know better than to take needless risks by rushing.’

  ‘Who then?’ pressed Gwenllian. ‘Cethynoc? Symon?’

  ‘Not Sir Symon.’ Iefan sighed. ‘And probably not Cethynoc, either, although I cannot bring myself to like the man. He cares for nothing except making money and telling tales to glorify himself in the taverns of an evening.’

  He slipped away when they reached the bailey, to avoid the guests who were there, all glancing up at the sky and remarking to each other that the sun was already warm. It would soon melt what was left of the snow, and open the roads again.

  Norrys was uncharacteristically silent, though. He was rubbing sleep from his eyes, suggesting he had dozed through the service, and Gwenllian strongly suspected that she and Cole had not been the only ones who had abandoned their bed the previous night. She wondered what Norrys had been doing.

  ‘Your archdeacon needs to learn the art of brevity,’ said Prior Dunstan sourly. ‘I have never heard such a rambling and inconsequential homily.’

  ‘I was not expecting to give one,’ objected Osbert. ‘I shall be better tomorrow.’

  ‘Do not bother on my account,’ said Gerald haughtily. ‘I shall leave this afternoon. The snow is disappearing rapidly, and it is time the bishop elect was home in his cathedral.’

  ‘St Davids is not your cathedral, and never will be,’ said Robert, his young face full of defiance. ‘The archbishop says so. You are dreaming.’

  ‘How dare you!’ cried Gerald. He rounded on Dunstan. ‘Keep your whelp in order, or I shall box his ears. He is not fit to wear an Austin habit.’

  ‘It is difficult to tell the condition of the roads from here,’ said Foliot, speaking quickly to prevent another spat. ‘So I suggest we inspect them for ourselves.’

  There was a general move towards the gate, leaving Gwenllian uncertain as to whether she should go with them. The St Davids men turned right and began to walk towards the market, while the two Austins took the opposite direction. As his appointed guardian, Norrys should have gone with Prior Dunstan, but he followed Gerald instead.

  ‘I think I know the identity of the killer,’ said Luci, speaking urgently in her ear and making her jump. ‘I need the answer to one more question, and then I shall be sure.’

  ‘Thank God!’ breathed Gwenllian in relief. ‘Who is it?’

  But Luci shook his head. ‘I cannot say until I am absolutely certain, lest I have made a mistake. But I will have my answer by tonight. Tell Cole to meet me by the ca
stle walls at dusk – alone. I do not want our conversation overheard.’

  He had gone before Gwenllian could offer to help him find his last answer.

  Uneasy that Norrys was trailing Gerald, Gwenllian set off after them, Iefan walking solicitously at her side. She noted with alarm that there was far less snow than there had been the previous day, so that the killer might well leave in a matter of hours.

  Carmarthen’s streets were oddly deserted, and there was none of the usual morning bustle. She saw why when she arrived at the market. A mass of ordinary folk thronged the middle, while a number of merchants had assembled outside the guildhall, resplendent in robes that flaunted their wealth. They were separated by a very thin line of soldiers.

  ‘Go home,’ Cole was shouting. ‘All of you. Fighting will solve nothing.’

  ‘We have no intention of fighting,’ came the arrogant tones of William the corviser, safely ensconced behind his fellow merchants. ‘You will do it for us. It is why we pay taxes, after all.’

  ‘Let me take you home, my lady,’ begged Iefan, tugging on Gwenllian’s cloak. With alarm, she saw that a number of the townsfolk held cudgels, knives and stones. ‘Sir Symon will never forgive me if anything happens to you.’

  ‘We are not going anywhere until we can buy bread at a decent price,’ shouted a brewer named Tancard, a man noted for his loud opinions. Gwenllian was not surprised that he was the spokesman for what might soon become a mob.

  ‘William and I will discuss it,’ said Cole shortly. ‘But not until you leave.’

  ‘Yes, leave,’ jeered William. ‘Scurry back to your hovels. And tomorrow, you will find that bread costs what we decide – not you, and certainly not Cole.’

  ‘One more remark like that, and I am going back to the castle,’ said Cole shortly. ‘You can defend yourselves against the people you are trying to cheat.’

  ‘Don’t you dare side with them!’ snarled William. ‘We are the ones who count in this town – the ones with power and money, who make things work. The poor are nothing.’