Read Online King Arthur's Bones by The Medieval Murderers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: The Medieval Murderers
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did not like mysteries.
She had been pondering the matter for some time before it occurred to her that Cole was unusually quiet. He was normally full of chatter at the end of the day, eager to tell her whom he had met and what he had done, and it was rare for him to be silent. She regarded him in concern.
‘What is wrong, Symon?’
He pulled himself from his reverie and shot her an unconvincing smile. ‘Nothing.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Do not lie – we both know you are hopeless at it. So tell me what is the matter. I am sure we will be able to find a solution – we usually do.’
‘ You usually do,’ he corrected glumly. ‘Very well, then. Daniel was murdered last night.’
‘Our chaplain?’ she cried in horror. ‘Why would anyone kill him? Who have you arrested?’
Cole grimaced. ‘No one – I do not know who was responsible.’
‘Then what are you doing to find the culprit? I cannot imagine Daniel had enemies – he had his faults, of course, but he was a tolerant, patient confessor and that alone made him popular.’
‘What faults?’ asked Cole, a little sharply. Daniel was his friend – two Normans a long way from home, who shared a fondness for horses and fine wine.
Gwenllian touched his arm sympathetically, seeing it was not a good time to remind him that the monk had been rather worldly for a man sworn to poverty – he preferred the rich foods available at the castle to the simple fare of his priory, and never declined gifts from his flock. But his gentle compassion in the confessional meant people tended to view his weaknesses with indulgent affection. She doubted anyone would have killed him over them.
‘He was wealthy for a monk,’ she mused, trying to think of another motive. ‘Perhaps he was the victim of a robbery.’
‘No, because he still had his purse – it was the first thing I checked. It contained six pennies and a little phial of something I assumed to be holy water.’
‘Tell me what you know of his death,’ she ordered, not bothering to point out that felons tended to run away if they were disturbed, so the presence of the purse proved nothing one way or the other.
‘He celebrated a special Mass for the castle carpenters last night. Afterwards he and I shared a jug of wine in the hall, and it was dark by the time he left. He was killed on his way home.’
‘How did he die?’
‘He was hit over the head with something heavy.’
‘Where did it happen?’
‘By Merlin’s oak, which is within spitting distance of his priory.’ Cole’s voice broke as he added: ‘He was almost home.’
‘When was he found?’ asked Gwenllian, touching his arm a second time.
‘This morning. His brethren did not worry when he failed to return last night, because his duties as castle chaplain often keep him out late. His body was discovered at dawn, by my clerk.’
‘What was John doing there at such an hour?’ Gwenllian was immediately suspicious. ‘He lives here in the castle and has no reason to be on the other side of town at dawn.’
‘I did not ask. I suppose I shall have to interview him again.’ Cole did not sound enthusiastic.
‘Are there any witnesses to this horrible crime?’
‘If there were, they would have told me the name of the culprit, and he would be in my prison,’ replied Cole, uncharacteristically curt. ‘So, no, Gwen. No one saw what happened.’
But she knew what was really troubling him. ‘You offered to escort him home after the wine was finished. I heard you. But he refused. Do not even think of blaming yourself.’
He stared morosely into the bailey below. ‘I should have insisted. The people of Carmarthen have a poor bargain in me – I fail to protect them from raiders, and I fail to protect their monks.’
‘They could do a lot worse,’ she said briskly before he could grow too dejected. ‘And we shall avenge Daniel’s death by bringing his killer to justice.’
Cole regarded her doubtfully. ‘And how will we do that,
She had been pondering the matter for some time before it occurred to her that Cole was unusually quiet. He was normally full of chatter at the end of the day, eager to tell her whom he had met and what he had done, and it was rare for him to be silent. She regarded him in concern.
‘What is wrong, Symon?’
He pulled himself from his reverie and shot her an unconvincing smile. ‘Nothing.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Do not lie – we both know you are hopeless at it. So tell me what is the matter. I am sure we will be able to find a solution – we usually do.’
‘ You usually do,’ he corrected glumly. ‘Very well, then. Daniel was murdered last night.’
‘Our chaplain?’ she cried in horror. ‘Why would anyone kill him? Who have you arrested?’
Cole grimaced. ‘No one – I do not know who was responsible.’
‘Then what are you doing to find the culprit? I cannot imagine Daniel had enemies – he had his faults, of course, but he was a tolerant, patient confessor and that alone made him popular.’
‘What faults?’ asked Cole, a little sharply. Daniel was his friend – two Normans a long way from home, who shared a fondness for horses and fine wine.
Gwenllian touched his arm sympathetically, seeing it was not a good time to remind him that the monk had been rather worldly for a man sworn to poverty – he preferred the rich foods available at the castle to the simple fare of his priory, and never declined gifts from his flock. But his gentle compassion in the confessional meant people tended to view his weaknesses with indulgent affection. She doubted anyone would have killed him over them.
‘He was wealthy for a monk,’ she mused, trying to think of another motive. ‘Perhaps he was the victim of a robbery.’
‘No, because he still had his purse – it was the first thing I checked. It contained six pennies and a little phial of something I assumed to be holy water.’
‘Tell me what you know of his death,’ she ordered, not bothering to point out that felons tended to run away if they were disturbed, so the presence of the purse proved nothing one way or the other.
‘He celebrated a special Mass for the castle carpenters last night. Afterwards he and I shared a jug of wine in the hall, and it was dark by the time he left. He was killed on his way home.’
‘How did he die?’
‘He was hit over the head with something heavy.’
‘Where did it happen?’
‘By Merlin’s oak, which is within spitting distance of his priory.’ Cole’s voice broke as he added: ‘He was almost home.’
‘When was he found?’ asked Gwenllian, touching his arm a second time.
‘This morning. His brethren did not worry when he failed to return last night, because his duties as castle chaplain often keep him out late. His body was discovered at dawn, by my clerk.’
‘What was John doing there at such an hour?’ Gwenllian was immediately suspicious. ‘He lives here in the castle and has no reason to be on the other side of town at dawn.’
‘I did not ask. I suppose I shall have to interview him again.’ Cole did not sound enthusiastic.
‘Are there any witnesses to this horrible crime?’
‘If there were, they would have told me the name of the culprit, and he would be in my prison,’ replied Cole, uncharacteristically curt. ‘So, no, Gwen. No one saw what happened.’
But she knew what was really troubling him. ‘You offered to escort him home after the wine was finished. I heard you. But he refused. Do not even think of blaming yourself.’
He stared morosely into the bailey below. ‘I should have insisted. The people of Carmarthen have a poor bargain in me – I fail to protect them from raiders, and I fail to protect their monks.’
‘They could do a lot worse,’ she said briskly before he could grow too dejected. ‘And we shall avenge Daniel’s death by bringing his killer to justice.’
Cole regarded her doubtfully. ‘And how will we do that,
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