The False Virgin (8 page)

Later that night there was a colossal clap of thunder, so loud that Cole was not the only one who thought the castle was under attack from war machines. He and Gwenllian stood
at the window, watching lightning illuminate the entire countryside in almost continuous flashes.

‘Is this Beornwyn’s doing?’ asked Cole in an awed voice, as the first drops of rain began to fall. ‘Rupe paid for a miracle, and here it is?’

‘Of course not,’ said Gwenllian, although she was less sure than she sounded. ‘It is just a coincidence.’

Then all conversation was impossible as the heavens opened, and the rain pounded down with such force that she feared the roof might cave in. The deluge stopped as quickly as it had started, and
all that could be heard was water splattering from overtaxed gutters.

When it was light, she and Cole walked into the bailey which was heavily waterlogged. She smiled her relief at this sign of plenty, but he was anxious as he squinted up at the sky.

‘I thought you would be pleased,’ said Gwenllian. ‘What is wrong?’

‘The storm has not broken the weather. It will be just as hot today as it was yesterday, and that violent rain will have flattened any corn that has survived the drought. Moreover, I
suspect that most of the water has run off without soaking into the soil. If this was a miracle, then it was not a very useful one.’

‘Here is Kediour,’ said Gwenllian, spotting the tall prior picking his way across the morass. ‘I imagine he will have something to say on the subject of miracles.’

‘I spent most of last night in my library,’ Kediour reported without preamble, ‘and I found mention of Beornwyn eventually. I was right: she is not recognised by the Church,
although her cult thrives in and around Whitby. However, there is no suggestion that her hand was ever in Ramsey – or Romsey, for that matter. Those young men are lying.’

‘I saw them and Rupe praying to her last night, in his wood,’ said Cole. ‘Do you think she made it rain?’

Kediour regarded him in dismay. ‘You witnessed an act of desecration and did nothing to stop it?’

‘They were praying,’ said Cole uncomfortably. ‘It is not for me to interrupt people’s private devotions.’

‘This from a man who has set eyes on the Holy Land?’ Kediour was shocked. ‘How
could
you ignore such an outrage? And so close to my priory, too! I must see about
having the spot cleansed. You had better come with me, and point out exactly where this vile deed took place.’

‘Hardly a vile deed,’ mumbled Cole, disconcerted by the prior’s hot words.

Kediour fixed him with a baleful eye. ‘You should keep your role in this shameful affair quiet, because that rain did far more harm than good – homes flooded, crops flattened, cattle
drowned. We do not want
you
blamed for the disaster. Can you imagine what Rupe and Avenel would say about it? They would use it to destroy you.’

‘But it was Rupe who prayed for—’ began Cole.

‘He will deny it,’ interrupted Kediour tartly. ‘Like the liar he is.’

Cole nodded acquiescence, knowing he was right.

Gwenllian went with them as they walked to the coppice, noting a number of broken roof tiles, several people sweeping water from inside their homes and a tree fallen across the road. The sun was
already hot, and the few remaining puddles were evaporating fast.

‘That is odd,’ said Cole, stopping to inspect a rivulet of water. ‘This part of the road never usually floods.’

‘It has been flowing since the storm,’ explained Mayor Rupe, making them jump by speaking close behind them. ‘It is running into my garden, so I hope it dries up soon. My
vegetables are currently standing in a bog.’

‘Perhaps you will show me the place where you and those two young vagabonds prayed last night,’ said Kediour coolly. ‘No, do not ask how I know. Suffice to say that I
disapprove.’

Rupe began to argue, but a cold stare from the indignant prior made his words falter. Muttering resentfully under his breath, he led the way into the wood, where there was a small clearing not
far from the road, reached by a narrow path. He stopped in astonishment,

‘We prayed there,’ he gulped, pointing with a shaking finger. ‘And look! A spring now gushes from that very place. Beornwyn
has
granted us a miracle!’

‘It is excess water from the storm,’ said Kediour. ‘There is no evidence to—’

‘What is that?’ asked Cole suddenly, pointing to a flash of yellow behind a tree. Gwenllian recognised the smart new tunic immediately, and ran forward with a cry.

It was Miles, sightless eyes gazing up at the sky above, and a vicious red line around his neck to show where he had been garrotted. A butterfly had settled on the wound.

Cole and Gwenllian tried to explore the wood for clues, but Rupe’s horrified wails had attracted a crowd. Kediour did his best to keep them back, but not even his
commanding figure could control them for long, and they were soon trampling everywhere, exclaiming in excited voices about the miracle of the storm – the damage it had caused conveniently
forgotten – and the spring that had appeared like manna from Heaven.

‘There is
another
butterfly, settling on the wound of this murdered man,’ cried Rupe. ‘It is Beornwyn’s spirit, weeping for the wrong that has been done next to
her sacred waters.’

‘Actually, it is attracted by the moisture,’ explained Cole. ‘They—’

‘There is nothing more to be seen here,’ interrupted Gwenllian quickly, aware of the revolted glances that were being exchanged that the constable should own such grisly knowledge.
‘Now please go home, all of you.’

‘No, stay,’ countered Rupe. ‘And feast your eyes on this holy spring – a gift from the saint herself. She truly has bestowed her favour on us – on
me
! I
prayed to her, and she has sited her stream on my land, at the exact spot where I kneeled to petition her.’

‘Actually, you were a little farther to the left,’ said Cole.

Rupe’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know? Or were you here, too, spying on us?’

‘Of course not,’ said Gwenllian hastily, not wanting Rupe to know that Symon had been alone in the woods where his deputy had been murdered. ‘He was too tired after his
three-week patrol for ferreting about in dark coppices.’

‘So you say,’ sneered Rupe. ‘But he would have had to come past here to reach the castle after seeing Kediour home, and Miles is dead. And we all know that Miles lusted after
you.’

‘Symon knows he need not fear losing my affections to Miles or any other man,’ said Gwenllian firmly. She was aware of Avenel and Fitzmartin on the fringes of the crowd, listening
intently and doubtless eager to report Rupe’s accusations to the King.

‘A wife can provide no alibi,’ declared Rupe scornfully. ‘You would lie to save Cole, if for no other reason than that the next constable is likely to have a wife
already.’

‘Enough,’ snapped Kediour, while Gwenllian gripped Cole’s arm hard to prevent him from reacting to the insult. ‘It is unseemly to quarrel over a corpse. Philip? Fetch a
bier and arrange for the deputy to be carried to the castle chapel.’

‘Your priory is closer,’ said Cole.

Kediour’s voice became gentle. ‘Yes, but that is not where he belongs. And it is Philip’s prerogative to stand vigil over a castle official until he is buried.’

The little chaplain looked disappointed to be dispatched on an errand when there was so much to see, and Gwenllian noted that he did not go without exchanging a quick glance with Avenel. She was
thoughtful, remembering the people Cole had met on his way home the previous night: Philip, Avenel and Fitzmartin were among them. Had one of them strangled Miles? Or were the culprits Rupe and the
two monks? Cole had seen Odo and Hilde, too, of course, but they were her friends and she could not believe they would throttle anyone.

‘Why did you choose to pray in a wood, Rupe?’ asked Cole, while they waited for Philip to return. ‘Why not in the church?’

‘I thought that if we were asking for rain, then we should do it outside,’ explained the mayor. ‘And my grove is a pleasant place to be of an evening.’

‘It is not pleasant now,’ remarked Kediour. ‘It is a morass. My canons will fetch some stones, and we shall block the spring before it damages the road – or drowns your
vegetables.’

‘I do not mind, not now I know it is
sacred
water,’ said Rupe. His eyes gleamed. ‘I shall gather it in flasks and sell it to pilgrims.’

‘It is not sacred,’ said Kediour impatiently. ‘Water often oozes from odd places after a violent storm, especially after weeks of drought. It will run dry in a day or
two.’

‘It will not,’ stated Rupe loftily. ‘I paid Beornwyn for a miracle and she gave me one. This wood belongs to me, and I shall build a chapel here to protect her spring, and to
accommodate the pilgrims who will come. No one will block it with rocks.’

There was a determined jut to his chin, and next to him, his henchmen Gunbald and Ernebald gripped cudgels, obviously eager to use them on anyone inclined to argue. Cole’s hand rested on
the hilt of his sword and he drew breath to speak, but Gwenllian stopped him.

‘Let them be,’ she whispered. ‘As Kediour says, the spring will soon run dry. It is not worth a quarrel.’

‘No,’ cried Kediour, overhearing. ‘I will not permit it. Not so close to my priory. It would be blasphemous!’

‘It is the will of God,’ said Rupe gloatingly. ‘You cannot stop it and neither can Cole. The land is mine, and so is the spring. If you interfere, I shall complain to the
King.’

‘And the King will support you,’ said Sheriff Avenel. ‘He will say that a man has a right to use his own woods as he pleases. Especially when a percentage of the takings are
sent to the royal coffers as an expression of fealty.’

Rupe scowled, but nodded reluctant agreement. Kediour also knew when he was beaten, although his face was black with anger as he stalked away.

‘Well,
I
am pleased there will be a shrine,’ said Odo, while Hilde nodded at his side. ‘If any town deserves a miracle, it is Carmarthen. I am delighted with
Beornwyn’s favour.’

‘The King’s coffers will be, too,’ smirked Fitzmartin.

‘We need to catch Miles’s killer quickly,’ said Gwenllian to Cole, as they walked after the bier a little later. ‘Too many people know you disliked his
unseemly ogling, and Rupe will relish the opportunity to hurt you with malicious lies. We must find the real culprit.’

‘Miles did annoy me last night,’ admitted Cole. ‘However, he was garrotted, and I am not a man to sneak up behind rivals and strangle them.’

‘That will not stop Rupe and his henchmen from saying so, and Avenel and Fitzmartin will delight in carrying such a tale to the King. So might Cousin Philip, who is remarkably treacherous
for a kinsman. You saw all six and those two monks on that road last night – one might be the villain, and may accuse you to draw attention away from himself.’

‘So how do we catch him?’ asked Cole, touchingly confident that she would know.

‘You examined Miles’s body.’ As a warrior, used to violent death, he was well qualified for such a task. ‘Were you able to deduce anything from it?’

‘Only that he was choked with something hard – not rope, which would have left fibres. And he was cold, so I imagine he died last night rather than this morning. However, it is
impossible to be certain of such things. In the Holy Land, there was once a corpse—’

‘What about the place where Miles died?’ interrupted Gwenllian. Few of Symon’s tales from the Crusade made for pleasant listening. ‘Or was it too thoroughly
trampled?’

‘We would not have found footprints anyway – the ground is too hard.’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘So all we have is what you saw last night: Miles walking alone to the coppice to look for water, ignoring your order to hunt for cattle thieves. And six suspects out
here with an opportunity to kill him. Eight, if we include those two monks.’

‘I saw Odo and Hilde, too,’ Cole reminded her.

‘Odo and Hilde are not killers.’

Cole sighed. ‘Well, the culprit is obvious to me. Rupe did not want Miles telling everyone that the water was under his wood all along – and thus not holy – so he murdered
him.’

‘It is certainly a possibility,’ agreed Gwenllian. ‘Although it would mean that he did it
after
the storm, and only pretended to be surprised by the discovery of the
spring today.’

‘I would not put it past him,’ said Cole. ‘Do not forget his corrupt activities as mayor. He is more skilled at lies and deception than anyone I have ever known.’

They delivered Miles to the chapel, where Cole ordered Philip to keep vigil until the deputy was buried the following morning. The little chaplain was not amused.

‘But so much is happening! The discovery of a sacred spring, talk of a holy storm. I will miss it all if I am stuck in here with a corpse. And I wanted to talk to the sheriff about . .
.’

‘About what?’ asked Gwenllian coolly, as he trailed off guiltily.

‘About Sir Symon’s hunt for the cattle thieves,’ said Philip with a sickly and unconvincing smile. ‘How hard he has tried to lay hold of them with patrols and
traps.’

‘Right,’ said Gwenllian flatly. ‘You can do it tomorrow, when I am there to hear you. Until then, you can say Masses for poor Miles.’

‘Poor Miles indeed,’ muttered Philip. ‘He did not deserve such a terrible death.’

‘No one ever does,’ said Cole grimly. ‘But since we are discussing him, tell me where you went last night.’

‘I was here,’ said the chaplain. ‘Praying for rain.’

Cole regarded him askance. ‘Was it your twin I saw trailing after Avenel then?’

Philip looked away. ‘Oh, yes. I forgot. The sheriff wanted me to write him a letter, so I went to the Eagle to oblige. It was afterwards that I prayed for rain.’

‘What manner of letter?’ asked Gwenllian, not bothering to point out that it was an odd time for clerkly activities. Most people preferred to do it in daylight, when they could
see.

Philip became haughty. ‘A confidential letter to the King. More than that I cannot say.’

Gwenllian nodded calmly, but she was alarmed. What had the spiteful chaplain and the sheriff written together at such a peculiar hour?