King Arthur's Bones (12 page)

‘Very – they said it is the most valuable thing they own. But I wish Boleton had kept a firmer hold on Gilbert, 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.

‘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.’