Read Online The False Virgin by The Medieval Murderers - Free Book Online

conversation. ‘I do so love a
long
Welsh ballad.’
    ‘I would rather hear these monks tell us about their relic,’ countered Avenel.
    As Gwenllian doubted that he, Fitzmartin or even Miles would stay silent during a lengthy song in a language none of them could understand, the Benedictines seemed the better option. She stood
to fetch them, but Miles anticipated her.
    ‘Let me go,’ he said, ‘for
you
, my lady.’ He smirked rather challengingly at Cole, and if Gwenllian had not been holding Symon’s hand tightly under the
table, she was sure he would have surged to his feet and dismissed Miles from his post on the spot. Then sides would have been taken, and who could say how such a quarrel would have ended?
    The two monks were ushered in. They had smartened themselves up for their audience by washing and shaving, and their habits had been carefully brushed. They were still shabby, but at least they
were clean. Reinfrid carried the little reliquary.
    ‘We are monks from Romsey Abbey,’ he began. ‘And our—’
    ‘Romsey is a house for nuns,’ interrupted Kediour, eyes narrowing.
    ‘Forgive me,’ said Reinfrid with a bow. ‘The sun has addled my wits. I meant Ramsey. We are monks from
Ramsey
Abbey, en route to Whitland, to deliver this sacred
relic—’
    ‘Why should Benedictines give Cistercians a gift?’ Kediour interrupted again.
    ‘I am coming to that,’ said Reinfrid, a little curtly. ‘Our abbot had a dream in which Beornwyn appeared and said she wanted her hand taken to Whitland. Obviously, he was no
more keen to lose a relic than you would be, but she appeared a second night, and a third, until he appointed Frossard and me to do as she commanded.’
    ‘I see,’ said Kediour, still full of suspicion. ‘And why you, pray?’
    ‘Because we are the youngest, strongest and best able to travel,’ replied Reinfrid, so glibly that Gwenllian suspected the question had been put before. ‘We care nothing for
the rigours of the road.’ He indicated his tatty habit. ‘As you can see.’
    ‘Who is this Beornwyn?’ asked Cole. ‘I have never heard of her.’
    ‘A virgin princess murdered by sea-pirates,’ supplied Frossard. ‘She was a good lady, and she has left a trail of miracles in her wake as we have journeyed west.’
    ‘Sea-pirates?’ asked Cole, startled. ‘But Ramsey is nowhere near the coast.’
    ‘She was not murdered in Ramsey,’ said Reinfrid, exasperated. ‘It happened in Lythe, a small village near Whitby. Have you heard of Whitby?’
    ‘I have heard of its Benedictine abbey,’ said Cole warily.
    ‘A fine place, so we are told,’ said Frossard blandly. ‘Are you interested in petitioning Beornwyn for a miracle? Perhaps she led us here so she can help you. She has never
failed us yet when we have petitioned her for mercy, and this town is clearly in need of good fortune.’
    ‘May I see it first?’ asked Cole. ‘I am familiar with holy relics, having inspected many in the Holy Land – and touched them, too.’
    ‘You
handled
sacred objects?’ asked Kediour, shocked. Fitzmartin stifled a laugh at the prior’s horror, although Avenel’s face was stern and unsmiling.
    ‘Do you anticipate being able to sense the sanctity of this hand, then?’ asked Rupe. The question was innocent, but Gwenllian knew it was intended to cause trouble for Cole.
    ‘No one will touch her,’ said Reinfrid firmly. ‘She is not for mauling by seculars. In fact, we never open her box. It would be impious to expose her to gawpers.’
    ‘Very wise,’ said Fitzmartin drolly. ‘We would not want Cole struck down for irreverent behaviour, would we? It might make a mess in this beautifully clean hall.’
    Rupe sniggered, then tossed a coin on the table. ‘Here is a penny, and I will give you eleven more if Beornwyn brings us rain. A shilling is what you asked, is it not?’
    Reinfrid grabbed it quickly. ‘It is not for us, you understand. It is for Beornwyn – to continue her good