Hill of Bones (10 page)

Just before they parted ways, Trotman intercepted them, to express his shock over what had happened the previous night.

‘Perhaps you will join me in a prayer of thanks for your deliverance,’ the canon said. ‘I am going to meet Pica in the abbey, and you are welcome to join us. Ah! Here he is now.’

‘My husband has made arrangements to visit St Michael’s instead,’ said Gwenllian, before Cole could respond with a more pithily worded refusal. ‘He will—’

‘Good,’ said Pica unpleasantly. ‘Let us hope God tells him to ditch his stupid enquiries about Hugh, and take up
my
cause instead.’

It was dark by the time Gwenllian had finished. Iefan was waiting to escort her back to the inn, and they were just passing St Michael’s when they heard a commotion. They joined a crowd of people hurrying to see what was amiss.

Lechlade was lying on the ground, dead from a wound near the groin.

Those in authority did not take long to arrive. Walter was first. He had brought a lantern, and Gwenllian looked away when she saw the amount of blood that had been spilled. Next came Trotman, Robert at his side. Trotman dropped to his knees and began to weep when he saw his friend’s corpse, and Robert laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then the bishop appeared, his henchman-knights slouching behind him.

Cole arrived, holding the tool he used for paring hoofs. Dacus was not far behind, and Gwenllian realised the stables were near the hospital; Cole might have been tending his horse, but he had also been monitoring the man he considered a villain.

‘Lechlade was killed with a sword,’ Cole said, kneeling next to the body. As a soldier, he was familiar with such injuries and well qualified to judge.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ wailed Trotman. ‘And why did Lechlade not fight back? He always carried a dagger and a mace when away from Wells.’

‘He must have been taken by surprise,’ replied Cole. ‘His weapons are still in his belt.’

‘A knight did it,’ stated Osmun. ‘Who else wears a sword? Fevil and I have been with the bishop all afternoon, so we are not responsible. It is
another
knight.’

His reptilian gaze settled on Cole, and Gwenllian’s stomach lurched. Was this how they would thwart the investigation, given that cajolery, bribes and threats had not worked?

‘No!’ said Trotman unsteadily. ‘Sir Symon has been in St Michael’s, attending Mass.’

‘And where are we now?’ demanded Walter archly. ‘Outside St Michael’s! Obviously, he said his prayers first, and murdered Lechlade afterwards.’

Gwenllian watched in horror as Osmun and Fevil drew their swords. Cole started to do the same, but his scabbard was empty.

‘Symon cannot be the culprit,’ she said, seizing in relief the way to exonerate him. ‘His blade was broken in last night’s attack, and it is with the smith. You can see he is unarmed.’

‘Then he used another one,’ snapped Osmun. ‘There are plenty available in Bath.’

‘But you just said only knights wear swords,’ said Robert. ‘You cannot have it both—’

‘Arrest him,’ chanted Dacus. He began to dance in small circles. ‘He is an evil killer, who refuses to face the wolf on Solsbury Hill. Throw him in prison! Hang him in chains!’

‘What is going on?’ came an imperious voice. It was Pica. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Lechlade, and his hands flew to his mouth. ‘God save us! What happened?’

‘A knight has murdered Lechlade,’ explained Trotman brokenly. ‘But Sir Symon’s sword is broken, which means Savaric’s henchmen—’

‘Now just a moment,’ began Savaric. ‘My advisers have no reason to harm Lechlade. Besides, they have an alibi in me, whereas Cole has been alone in the stables.’

‘How do you know he was alone in the stables?’ pounced Gwenllian. ‘Have you been spying on him?’

‘I may have ordered him monitored,’ acknowledged Savaric reluctantly. ‘For his own safety. He was almost killed last night, in case you had forgotten.’

‘I had not,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘However, your confession is excellent news. Let this spy step forward.
He
will tell you Symon is innocent.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Savaric. He turned to Walter. ‘Well? Speak.’

Walter grimaced that the bishop should so blithely reveal the demeaning way in which he had spent his afternoon, while Gwenllian experienced a pang of alarm. Walter was Savaric’s toady. Would he tell the truth, or lie to curry his master’s favour?

‘Cole never left the stables,’ Walter said eventually, although it was clear he wished he could have reported something different. ‘He did not murder Lechlade.’

‘You might have mentioned it sooner,’ sighed Savaric irritably. ‘Osmun was on the verge of arresting him, and the King does not like his officers imprisoned without a decent pretext.’

‘Arrest him anyway,’ sang Dacus, then laughed wildly. ‘He deserves it. He is evil, like Adam and Hugh. Throw him in the dungeons and lose the key.’

‘I had better take Dacus home,’ said Walter, clearly thankful for an excuse to be away from the bishop’s admonishing glare. ‘Incidents like this distress him.’

‘He does not look distressed to me,’ muttered Cole to Gwenllian, as the master of the hospital was ushered back to his domain. ‘He looks vengeful.’

But Gwenllian was more interested in Walter. Had
he
abandoned his surveillance to go a-killing? But what reason could he have for stabbing Lechlade? When Walter and Dacus had gone, she turned her attention to the others who had gathered.

Savaric was angry, although it was unclear whether it was because another murder had been committed, or because Cole was still free to pursue his investigation. Meanwhile, Robert was comforting Trotman, but seemed distracted. Osmun and Fevil were impossible to read, and Gwenllian was disinclined to believe that they had been with the bishop. And Pica, white and shocked, was uncharacteristically subdued. Was guilt responsible for the change?

She sighed. Any of them might be the culprit.

There were no attacks that night, although Gwenllian slept poorly, despite the fact that Iefan was standing guard outside. She woke when it was still dark, and opened the window to see the moon bright and clear in a cloudless sky. The next night would see it full, and she recalled the challenge Dacus had issued.

When she sensed dawn was near, she nudged her husband awake. He snapped into instant wakefulness, and reached for his sword, cursing softly when he found it was not there.

‘We need to review what we have learned,’ she said. ‘Perhaps discussing it will see answers emerge.’

Cole looked as if he would rather go back to sleep, but nodded acquiescence.

‘We have four deaths,’ she began. ‘First, Reginald may have been poisoned. His cousin Savaric is the obvious suspect, because he was a beneficiary of his will. Of course, Walter, Robert, Pica and God knows how many others were with him when he died. He was a good man, and miracles have been occurring at his tomb, although only in the last two months.’

‘Which coincides with Adam’s murder.
He
was a good man, too.’

‘Adam died second,’ nodded Gwenllian. ‘And Hugh third. Both had their throats torn out on Solsbury Hill. Rumours say they were savaged by a wolf, but some dogs look like wolves, and they can be trained to kill.’

‘They can. And that explanation makes a lot more sense than seraphim.’

‘So let us consider dogs. Pica gave one to Savaric, the whereabouts of which is unknown to us; and Osmun and Fevil have a pack of them, including some they declined to show you.’

‘Dacus will have one, too. There were hairs on his habit, and his hospital has grounds and outhouses aplenty for concealing such an animal. If you had let me search them last night, we would not be having this conversation.’

Gwenllian ignored him. ‘As regards motive for killing Hugh, Walter is at the top of my list, because he was awarded Hugh’s post. However, it was Robert who encouraged Hugh to walk up the hill in the first place. Then there is Savaric, who was at loggerheads with Hugh, and who has the dubious talents of Osmun and Fevil at his disposal.’

‘What about their motive for killing Adam? He and Hugh died in identical manners, so I think we can assume a single culprit.’ Cole looked triumphant when Gwenllian was unable to answer. ‘Dacus hated Adam, and the moment he was dead,
he
became master of the hospital. And he does not have alibis, either.’

‘He is barely sane,’ said Gwenllian irritably. ‘Do you really believe he is wily enough to commit murder and conceal the evidence?’

‘Of course. He may not be clever, but he has an animal’s cunning.’

There was no point arguing. ‘Lechlade is the last victim, killed with a sword. Osmun said only a knight would use such a weapon, but then claimed they are readily available in Bath. If his second remark is true, then any of our suspects might be responsible. And so might Trotman, for that matter. He wept bitterly over the corpse, but perhaps it was an act.’

‘No – his grief was sincere. But even if I am wrong, he would not have dispatched an ally from Wells, because it leaves him battling Savaric alone. And I do not believe Robert would be so callous as to comfort him if he was the killer, either.’

Gwenllian supposed he was right. ‘So who do you think murdered Lechlade? And please do not say Dacus.’

‘It was not Dacus,’ said Cole, albeit reluctantly. ‘I spent the afternoon watching him, and would have noticed. Walter did not do it, either – not if he was following me.’

‘So, we have eliminated Dacus, Walter, Robert and Trotman. That leaves Pica, Savaric and the henchmen.’

‘It was not Osmun or Fevil.’ Cole feinted with an imaginary blade. ‘The fatal blow was inflicted clumsily and awkwardly, not the work of a professional warrior.’

Gwenllian sighed. ‘Then we can eliminate Savaric, too, because I do not think he would bloody his own hands. That leaves Pica.’

‘He certainly has a temper. So is that the answer? Pica?’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘We shall speak to him as soon as it is light.’

‘Savaric will be delighted when we tell him Glastonbury’s Abbot Elect is a killer.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Gwenllian soberly. ‘He will.’

The sun was shining by the time they left the inn, and the only clouds were high and wispy. Unfortunately, the fine weather did nothing to ease Gwenllian’s growing sense of disquiet, and her nervousness transmitted itself to Cole, who insisted on collecting his sword before tackling Pica. He was not pleased with the result: the blade was unbalanced and nowhere near sharp enough. There was a sly look in the smith’s eye when he offered to make amends, and Gwenllian stared at him. Had he been paid to ensure Cole continued to be unarmed?

‘Borrow Iefan’s,’ she whispered. ‘I have a bad feeling about today.’

Cole did not question her, and it was not long before he was buckling his sergeant’s weapon around his waist. As they left the inn a second time, they met Trotman.

‘I am leaving today.’ The canon’s piggy eyes were red, as if he had spent the night crying. ‘I must take the news of Lechlade’s death to Wells. I wish you well in your investigation, but be careful what you tell the King. John is the kind of man to mangle words and use them to harm you later. Write your dispatches with care.’

Gwenllian stared after him, suspecting they had just been given some very sound advice, then she and Cole began to walk towards the abbey.

‘Pica was with Reginald when he died,’ Cole began tentatively. ‘Do you think he killed him, as well as Lechlade?’

‘It is possible, although poison seems too discreet a weapon for him . . .’

But the question had sparked the germ of an answer, and by the time they arrived, she had at least part of a solution. Pica’s responses would determine the rest. They found the feisty little man in the abbey’s guesthouse, pacing back and forth.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded. ‘I have nothing to say to people who stood by and did nothing while Savaric excommunicated me.’

‘But we have something to say to you,’ said Gwenllian quietly. ‘You stabbed Lechlade, although we know it was a mistake.’

‘We do?’ blurted Cole, startled.

Pica stared at Gwenllian. ‘I did not stab Lechlade.’

‘You did,’ said Gwenllian in the same calm voice. Pica was volatile, and she did not want to precipitate an attack: it would not look good for Symon to engage in fisticuffs with senior clerics. ‘You were angry because Savaric is using us as an excuse to postpone discussions—’

‘Of course I am angry,’ snarled Pica. ‘But that does not make me Lechlade’s killer.’

‘Symon said he was going to St Michael’s Church, but the truth was that he wanted to spend time with his horse. You waited until dark, and you struck the man who emerged. Unfortunately for you, it was someone else.’

‘Pica wanted to kill me?’ asked Cole, shocked.

‘No,’ said Pica, although his face was white. ‘She cannot prove these nasty allegations.’

‘I can. You see, you and Trotman were the only people who knew where Symon was going, and we know Trotman did not kill his friend. Then there was your horror when you saw Lechlade’s body – your realisation that you had claimed the wrong victim.’

‘No,’ said Pica again, but unsteadily. ‘I am not a fool, to attack a Norman warrior.’

‘Which is why you waited until dark,’ Gwenllian pressed on. ‘To give yourself the advantage of surprise. Moreover, you held back until your victim left the church – good monk that you are, you did not want to spill blood on holy ground.’

‘Lechlade’s injury!’ exclaimed Cole suddenly. ‘I see how it happened now.’

He crouched, which made him Pica’s height, and stabbed with Iefan’s sword, using Gwenllian as his ‘victim’. The wound he would have inflicted, had he been in earnest, was exactly where Lechlade had been struck.

‘I would never . . .’ stammered Pica. ‘I do not . . .’

‘Symon is following the King’s orders, and you were going to murder him for it,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘Just to deprive Savaric of an excuse to procrastinate. As it is, you killed an innocent man instead.’

Pica closed his eyes. ‘I did not mean to kill, only incapacitate. But surely, you understand? I cannot wait days until your investigation is complete, when every hour that passes sees Savaric grow more powerful, to Glastonbury’s detriment. Something had to be done.’