Hill of Bones (7 page)

‘Seraphim?’ echoed Gwenllian, startled.

Trotman nodded keenly. ‘There are fiendishly sharp claws on every one of a seraph’s six wings, and God sent them after Adam and Hugh, although I cannot tell you why – they seemed like decent men to me. However, seraphim did not kill Reginald – he died of a fever. I know this for a fact, because Lechlade and I were there.’

‘Lots of people were there,’ elaborated Walter. ‘Reginald wanted friends from Glastonbury, Bath
and
Wells to see him enthroned in Canterbury. Naturally, I was among his honoured guests. So were Robert, Pica, Sir Fevil and Dacus.’

‘Dacus?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘We just met a man named Dacus. He told my husband to go to Solsbury Hill on Thursday, when there will be a full moon . . .’

Trotman grimaced. ‘Dacus has not been in his right mind since Reginald died. Savaric was wrong to have made him Master of the Hospital.’

‘He did it because he thought the responsibility might help Dacus regain his wits,’ explained Walter defensively. Then he sighed ruefully. ‘Although it does not seem to be working.’

‘Did Dacus tell you that spending a night on Solsbury will prove your virtue?’ asked Trotman, adding when Gwenllian nodded, ‘Then do not take the challenge lightly. If you go in an irreverent frame of mind, you will die. Seraphim do not approve of levity.’

The Angel was a pleasant inn that smelled of burning pine cones and fresh rushes. Gwenllian was allocated a chamber that was clean, warm and inviting. Hot water was available for washing, along with a meal of bread and roasted meat.

She was exhausted, but refused to sleep until Cole returned. He was quite capable of looking after himself, but her anxiety still increased as the night wore on, and she was near to panic by midnight, when he eventually appeared.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded angrily. ‘I have been worried!’

‘There was no need.’ He went to kneel by the fire; its faint light showed him to be wet, scratched and muddy.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What have you been doing, to get so bedraggled?’

‘I went to Solsbury Hill. But it was devoid of wolves.’

‘Of course it was! Even if one is in the area, it will not frequent the place regularly, or people would kill it.’ Gwenllian regarded him coolly. ‘Or was it a different kind of wolf you were hoping to meet? Dacus, for example?’

Cole winced that she should read him so easily. ‘I thought he might appear, after tempting me there with all those remarks about the danger.’

‘I think they were intended to frighten, not entice you! Besides, he suggested you go on Thursday, when the moon is full – presumably so he can see what he is doing as he kills you.’

Cole began to remove his sodden boots. ‘He has had his chance. I am not climbing up there again. It was not a comfortable jaunt, especially in the rain.’

‘Did you learn anything that might tell us what happened to Prior Hugh?’

Cole nodded. ‘The same thing that happened to Adam: Dacus lured him up there, then set some savage beast on him.’

‘And why would Dacus do that?’ asked Gwenllian tiredly.

‘Presumably because he had decided that they were evil. We both heard him say so.’

‘We shall bear it in mind – but not to the point where we are blind to other possibilities.’

‘There are no other possibilities. I
know
Dacus killed Adam, which means he killed Hugh, too. All you need to do is prove it.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said Gwenllian wearily. ‘However, there are other suspects. Walter, who succeeded Hugh as prior, is Savaric’s creature – perhaps they conspired to be rid of an awkward customer. Meanwhile, Brother Robert is nauseatingly pious, and I am always wary of such men. Then there is Reginald to consider.’

‘He died years ago,’ said Cole, startled. ‘He cannot be a suspect.’

‘I meant we cannot overlook the possibility that Dacus is right, and
he
was murdered, too,’ explained Gwenllian patiently. ‘Which means we have three odd deaths to investigate.’

‘I disagree. The King mentioned neither Adam nor Reginald in his letter.’

‘No,’ agreed Gwenllian acidly. ‘Although I imagine he has certainly heard the rumours of foul play. But let John play his sly games – he will not best us.’

‘We had better pay our respects to the bishop this morning,’ said Gwenllian, after a breakfast of smoked pork, eggs and dried fruit. ‘We do not want to offend him by delaying.’

‘Very well,’ said Cole unenthusiastically. He rarely enjoyed the company of senior clerics, mostly because they tended to be deficient in their knowledge of horses and dogs.

The Bishop’s Palace was an elegantly appointed mansion in the southern quarter of the abbey precinct, which boasted windows of real glass. There were also arrow slits in the walls, and a crenellated roof. Cole surveyed it with a professional eye.

‘It is better defended than Carmarthen Castle! I could hold out for months here.’

Gwenllian was less impressed. ‘So Savaric feels the need for defence. I wonder what he does that makes him unpopular.’

They were ushered into a solar, where two knights were waiting, both wearing leather leggings and mail tunics. Gwenllian could not suppress a shudder when her eyes met those of the first. They were pale green, like a serpent’s, and she did not think she had ever seen a colder expression. He was Cole’s height, but thinner. His companion was a giant, with the blankly stupid expression of a man who followed orders without question. Instinctively, she sensed that neither was a man to be crossed.

‘Carmarthen’s castellan,’ said Reptile Eyes, treating Cole to a smile that was far from friendly. ‘Why have you brought your wife? Do you plan to be here a while?’

‘As long as it takes,’ replied Cole evenly, although Gwenllian bristled at the man’s tone. ‘We will not leave without seeing a murderer brought to justice.’

The pair exchanged glances that were easy to read: alarm. Gwenllian wondered why.

‘I see.’ Reptile Eyes cleared his throat. ‘I am Sir Osmun d’Avranches, and my companion is Sir Fevil. We had the honour of escorting King Richard to Acre on the last Crusade, where we played a vital part in breaking the siege. Now we are advisers to Bishop Savaric.’

‘Advisers?’ Gwenllian wondered what kind of advice these brutes could offer a prelate.

‘He values our opinions,’ elaborated Osmun, while behind him Fevil scowled, sensing an insult in the question, but not quite sure what to do about it.

‘I was at the Siege of Acre, too,’ said Cole. ‘Did you see the red and white striped walls?’

‘Of course,’ replied Osmun. ‘They are very fine. But we had better save our reminiscing for when the bishop is not waiting. We shall take you to him.’

‘Tell us what you know of Hugh’s death,’ said Cole, as they walked along corridors that told them the Bishop’s Palace was large as well as elegant. ‘And Adam’s.’

‘Why?’ asked Osmun suspiciously.

‘Because we respect the views of knights who advise the bishop,’ lied Gwenllian. She favoured him with a disarming smile, although it was not easy to simper at such a man.

Osmun was flattered. ‘Then you shall have them. There is a rumour that Hugh and Adam were savaged by an animal, but Fevil and I do not believe it – there are no wolves in Bath. It is our contention that they fell, and caught their necks against jagged rocks.’

‘What, both of them?’ asked Gwenllian incredulously.

‘Yes, both of them,’ replied Osmun smoothly.

‘We have been told that a seraph is the culprit,’ said Cole.

Osmun laughed. ‘I doubt they were wicked enough to warrant the attentions of seraphim. When others fail Solsbury’s test, they are just sent home screaming, not harmed physically.’

‘Do many folk accept this challenge, then?’ asked Cole.

Osmun smirked. ‘Yes, but few pass. Fevil and I did, though. We took it when we first arrived, and our success means we are courageous, true and bold.’

Gwenllian decided to reserve judgement on that. ‘Did you see the bodies?’

Both men nodded, although it was Osmun who answered again, and Gwenllian began to wonder whether Fevil was capable of forming a sentence.

‘Their throats were terribly mangled – they must have rolled a long way. But necks are vulnerable. I know, because I usually aim for them when I dispatch my enemies.’

The smile he gave Cole made Gwenllian shudder. ‘Where were you when these men died?’ she asked.

Osmun’s grin did not falter. ‘Playing dice together, on both occasions.’

At that point, he and Fevil were distracted by a messenger from the King. The exchange that followed told Gwenllian that monarch and bishop were in regular contact, which confirmed what Trotman had said: they were allies. She would indeed need to be careful when dealing with Savaric.

‘They were not at Acre,’ whispered Cole.

‘How do you know?’ she whispered back.

‘Because Constantinople has striped walls, not Acre. And any real crusader knows it.’

‘What made you want to catch them out?’

‘You told me not to trust anyone, so I decided to test their truthfulness. They are liars, Gwen, and we should not believe them when they say Adam and Hugh fell.’

‘I agree. Osmun and Fevil are suspects, as far as I am concerned.’

‘I suppose they
might
have helped Dacus.’ Cole shrugged at her exasperation. ‘I
am
keeping an open mind, Gwen. I am quite happy to believe that Dacus had accomplices.’

The bishop was in a magnificent hall, which was decked out in hangings of purple and red. He was a handsome man, with dark eyes, smooth olive skin and silver hair, and when he stood to greet his guests, he moved with a haughty grace.

‘I am afraid you have had a wasted journey,’ he said. ‘Poor Hugh wandered up Solsbury Hill in the dark, and his death was an accident. There is no mystery to solve.’

‘Your monks do not think so,’ said Cole. ‘Two of them told my wife that Hugh was murdered. So was Adam, for that matter, and he was my friend.’

Savaric’s lips compressed into a hard, thin line, and Gwenllian glimpsed ruthlessness behind the suave exterior. ‘Then they are mistaken.’

‘We have also been told that these deaths were acts of God,’ added Gwenllian.

‘Now that
is
possible,’ nodded Savaric. ‘I liked Adam, but he was vain about his medical skills, while Hugh was dour and sanctimonious. The Almighty may well have decided to provide me with an opportunity to appoint better men.’

‘Dacus is not better than Adam,’ declared Cole indignantly.

Savaric regarded him silently for a moment. ‘Perhaps “better” was the wrong word to have used, when what I meant was “different”. As I said, I liked Adam.’

‘Do you like Dacus?’ asked Cole, a little dangerously.

‘Not particularly. But he is a good
medicus
, and he was a devoted chaplain to Reginald – my cousin. He was mad with grief after Reginald’s death, but he is well again now.’

‘But you believe Walter is a better man than Hugh?’ asked Gwenllian, thinking that Dacus must have been raving indeed, if he was now considered to have recovered.

‘Without question. Bath is a much happier place now. It will be happier still when the business involving Glastonbury is resolved, and its monks accept
me
as their rightful ruler. But what do you intend to do here, Sir Symon? Or will you take my word that nothing untoward has happened, and leave us in peace?’

‘Is that what you would like us to do?’ asked Gwenllian probingly.

Savaric continued to address Cole, dismissing her as of no importance. ‘Tell the King the truth: Hugh had an accident. I am sure we can find a little something to make your journey home more agreeable.’

Cole gaped at him. ‘Are you trying to bribe me?’

Savaric looked pained, clearly unused to dealing with plain-speaking men. ‘I am suggesting ways in which your commission can be discharged to our mutual advantage. The King will be delighted to learn that Hugh’s death was unavoidable, and I always aim to please him. I assume you are similarly loyal?’

Cole hesitated, not sure how to answer without condemning himself.

Gwenllian came to his rescue. ‘We shall do what is appropriate.’

Savaric frowned at the ambiguity of her response. ‘Keep me apprised of your progress, then. However, do not forget that Bath is a holy place, and
I
am the favoured recipient of a miracle. Have you heard about my crosier? Here it is – I always keep it in this hall.’

The staff was unexpectedly plain to be the property of so vain and grand a man, although there were three large jewels in its handle. Gwenllian inspected them.

‘But they are only glass,’ she blurted in surprise.

Savaric nodded. ‘It belonged to Reginald, and he was a man of simple tastes. I was appalled and shocked when it disappeared.’

‘Was it stolen?’ asked Cole.

‘Possibly. All I can tell you is that it was here one day, and gone the next. But I prayed to Reginald for its safe return, and it appeared on the high altar the following morning.’

‘Did it now?’ murmured Gwenllian sceptically.

‘It was the first miracle of many,’ Savaric went on happily. ‘Pilgrims pay a fortune to pray at his tomb now.’

‘Your knights claim to have had their virtue proved on Solsbury Hill,’ began Cole. ‘Do you think Adam and Hugh were—’

Savaric snorted his disdain. ‘Superstitious nonsense! My monks are always clamouring at me to be tested – especially that pious Robert – but I am not a man for grubbing about in the dark. Besides, I have no wish to see seraphim. I do not like the sound of them at all.’

‘What about wolves?’ asked Cole.

‘Not those, either. However—’ At this point, Savaric was interrupted by a commotion outside. He closed his eyes wearily. ‘Will that damned villain never leave me in peace?’

The ‘damned villain’ entered the hall in a flurry of snarling words and jabbing elbows. Osmun and Fevil tried to stop him, but – although only half their size – he simply put his head down and battered his way past them. The newcomer was a Benedictine, and he was quivering with rage, small fists clenched at his sides.

‘This is William Pica,’ explained Savaric heavily. ‘From Glastonbury.’