The False Virgin (11 page)

From ten possible culprits when she had started her enquiries, she now had six. She had never seriously considered Odo and Hilde; they were friends, and she could not believe they would garrotte
anyone. Reinfrid and Frossard could also be eliminated, because they had been close on Symon’s heels as he had returned to the castle, close enough that they had seen him stop to speak to the
other suspects. That left Avenel, Fitzmartin, Philip, Rupe and his two henchmen, one of whom was now dead.

Her favoured suspect was Rupe, who wanted everyone to believe that Beornwyn had blessed him with a spring, and who would certainly not want Miles to claim that water had been there all along.
Moreover, Rupe’s alibi had been provided by his henchmen, a brutal pair who would certainly kill on his orders – and who would lie for him, too.

Avenel and Fitzmartin had no reliable alibi either. They had left the Eagle to walk back to the castle, but no one had accompanied them, and there was nothing to say they had not killed Miles en
route. They were, as Kediour had reminded her, alleged to have committed other nasty crimes, so why not murder? And they certainly had a motive: the King would be delighted to hear that there was
trouble in Carmarthen. Hilde and Odo were wary of them, too, and believed they were plotting something untoward.

And finally, Philip had also been near the scene of the murder with no good explanation, and he had been caught out in lies. He might be her kinsman, but she neither liked nor trusted him, and
she was uncomfortable with the secret glances he kept exchanging with Avenel – and with Odo, for that matter.

She was torn from her ponderings by a rattle of hoofs in the bailey. She ran to the window, and sighed her relief when she saw Cole. Avenel and Fitzmartin were there too, and she could tell by
the general air of dejection that the cattle rustlers had not been caught.

That evening, after Cole had washed away the filth of travel and had drunk more watered ale than Gwenllian had thought was possible without exploding, she told him all that she had learned
during his absence. He listened without interruption.

‘I think we can cross Avenel off your list,’ he said when she had finished. ‘He saved my life. Gunbald would certainly have killed me if he had not acted.’

‘Odo says it was base instinct that drove him,’ argued Gwenllian. ‘I imagine he is dearly hoping that no one tells the King what he did. And do not say he went with you to
catch the thieves out of goodness – he went to witness your failure for himself.’

Cole did not agree, and they debated the matter until they fell asleep, both worn out by the stresses and strains of the last four days. At dawn, the door opened and Iefan crept in.

‘You can cross Rupe off your list of suspects, Gwen,’ said Cole, after hearing his sergeant’s whispered report. ‘He is dead – garrotted, like Miles.’

Word of the murder had spread through the town long before the castle was informed, and Rupe’s house was ringed by spectators when Gwenllian and Cole arrived. The more
important ones were inside, where they stood in the bedchamber, staring at the body. The only sound was Kediour’s voice as he murmured prayers for the dead man’s soul. Gwenllian looked
around the room in distaste: it was mean and poor, suggesting that Rupe was a miser, hoarding his money and refusing to pay for clean bedclothes and decent furniture.

When Kediour had finished his petitions, Cole stepped forward to examine the body. There was not much to see: the mayor wore a thin nightshift, and had probably been asleep when his attacker had
come. The bedclothes were rumpled where he had kicked with his feet, and his nails were broken, but there was nothing in the way of clues. Gwenllian’s eyes were drawn to the conical hat Rupe
had always worn, and she could not prevent a superstitious shudder when she saw a dead butterfly adhering to it.

‘Who found him?’ Cole asked.

‘Me.’ Ernebald’s voice was hoarse with shock. ‘When I brought him his morning ale.’

‘When did you last see him alive?’

‘Midnight. We were making plans for the chapel. His wife is away, so he slept alone.’

‘She had gone to stay with her sister, because she dislikes pilgrims tramping through her vegetables,’ explained Avenel. His face was impossible to read in the dim light, and his
voice was flat. ‘Or so Fitzmartin and I were told in the Eagle last night.’

‘If he and Fitzmartin were in the Eagle, they would have had to pass this house to return to their beds in the castle,’ Gwenllian whispered to Cole. ‘It would have been simple
to climb through an open window and dispatch him.’

‘How do you know a window was open?’ Cole whispered back.

‘Because the hinges on the bedroom shutter are broken, and it has been tied back to stop it from rattling. I saw it from the road and so, doubtless, did the killer.’

‘Rupe had lost favour since you have been away, Sir Symon,’ said Philip, stepping forward to speak. ‘He raised the price of his holy water, and imposed a fee for visiting the
shrine. People have stopped coming, and you will find many who wished him ill. This will not be an easy crime to solve. Perhaps you should not waste your time trying.’

Gwenllian was surprised to see her cousin there. She had sent him to give last rites to someone in Abergwili, and she had imagined he would stay the night. Why was he back so soon? And why was
he suggesting that they not bother to investigate a murder?

‘Mayor Rupe was a businessman,’ growled Ernebald, glaring at the chaplain. ‘Of course he turned this opportunity to his advantage. However, it cannot be coincidence that the
poor man is slaughtered the moment
he
returns.’ He jabbed his finger at Cole.

‘Of course it is coincidence,’ said Odo impatiently, while Hilde nodded her agreement. Gwenllian was startled that they should be among the spectators: they were not usually
ghoulish. ‘And he is not the only one who came back yesterday, anyway.’

He did not look at Avenel and Fitzmartin, but the accusation hung heavy in the air.

‘We heard the commotion when we were praying in the shrine,’ said Hilde, apparently reading Gwenllian’s mind and feeling the need to explain their presence. ‘We had been
asking for another miracle. Philip was with us.’

The chaplain gave a nervous smile. ‘There is no fee at night, when Rupe and Ernebald are asleep. It was a good time for a poor chaplain to come here.’

‘Never mind this,’ snapped Fitzmartin. ‘The question we should be considering is who killed Rupe. Personally, I agree with Ernebald: Cole is the obvious suspect. Even I, a
stranger to Carmarthen, could see that he and the mayor hated each other.’

Avenel said nothing, and Gwenllian thought again of Hilde’s contention that he was plotting something. Her blood ran cold. Had
he
killed Rupe, to blame Cole and give the King an
excuse to be rid of him? She was devising a way to find out when a soldier arrived to report that the cattle thieves had been spotted near the bridge. Gwenllian did not know whether to be relieved
or suspicious when the sheriff and his crony asked if they might be excused joining the expedition to hunt them this time.

When Cole had gone, Gwenllian made a determined effort to identify Rupe’s killer by asking questions. She dismissed Ernebald as a suspect because the mayor’s death
had deprived him of a home, an employer and a livelihood. No other local would hire such a vicious lout, and he was now faced with a choice of leaving Carmarthen to find a new master, or a life of
miserable poverty.

Assuming there was only one garrotter at large, and that a townsman had not killed Rupe for charging exorbitant prices at the shrine, she was left with three suspects from her original List:
Avenel, Fitzmartin and Philip. Despite Cole’s suspicions, she refused to include Odo and Hilde. She started her enquiries with the sheriff and his friend, but they were uncooperative, and
professed not to recall when they had arrived at the Eagle or how long they had stayed.

‘Our movements are none of your concern,’ snapped Fitzmartin. He reeked of ale and his eyes were red-rimmed. Had he tried to wash the memory of murder from his mind with drink?
‘And do not think that telling lies about
us
will help you. The King will take no notice.’

It was a peculiar remark, and Gwenllian had no idea what it meant, but before she could ask, Avenel had grabbed his companion’s arm and pulled him away, muttering something about going to
see what was happening at the shrine. Gwenllian could see what was happening from the window: two or three pilgrims were inside the chapel, but that was all. Building work had slowed since Rupe had
started to charge for the honour of praying there, and although it had four walls, there was no roof. She wondered whether it would ever be finished now the mayor was dead.

‘You were right,’ said Kediour, following the direction of her gaze. ‘The spring is half the size it was, and the town’s ardour for Beornwyn is fading fast. However, a
dogged minority remains, and they are fervent in their love for this so-called saint. Odo and Hilde are among them, and I fear for their souls.’

Gwenllian could see both kneeling at a makeshift altar. Then Philip approached and whispered something to them. They held a brief conversation, but all three had gone by the time she had left
Rupe’s house and reached the chapel.

Determined to have answers, she visited the Eagle. The landlord was reluctant to discuss his customers at first, and it took an age to persuade him, so she was tired and irritable by the time
she had cajoled him into confirming that the sheriff and his friend had indeed visited the previous evening. However, Avenel had pleaded exhaustion and had left around midnight; Fitzmartin had
stayed, eventually falling asleep on the table.

‘His snores kept me awake all night,’ the landlord grumbled. ‘I would have poked him, but he has a nasty temper so I did not dare. He slept until dawn, when word came about
Rupe.’

So, thought Gwenllian, Fitzmartin was not the killer, but the landlord’s testimony put Avenel out alone at the salient time. She walked slowly back to the castle, deep in thought.

As she passed the shrine she saw Avenel slouching towards it from the direction of the town. Hilde was right, she thought, watching him covertly: the sheriff had changed from the arrogant,
superior man he had been when he had first arrived. He was quieter, sombre and definitely troubled. Was it his conscience, uneasy with murdering civilians?

After a moment, Fitzmartin appeared, and stalked towards the priory gate, where Kediour was chatting to a lay-brother. The henchman snarled something in a low voice, and ended his words with a
hard poke in the chest that made Kediour stagger. Gwenllian ran towards them, ready to berate Fitzmartin for laying hands on a priest. He sneered at her before going on his way.

‘He is vexed with me for asking questions about the churches he is said to have despoiled,’ explained Kediour, rubbing the spot where he had been jabbed. ‘He threatens to kill
me if I persist, which hardly leads me to think him innocent.’

‘Then stop,’ said Gwenllian, alarmed. ‘Symon will lose his post for certain if
you
are murdered. A mayor and a deputy may be overlooked, but not an important
churchman.’

Kediour smiled fondly at her. ‘Do not worry about me. I have not forgotten all the skills I learned as a Hospitaller, and besides, I suspect Fitzmartin is all wind.’

Gwenllian was not so sure. Then she frowned. ‘Is Odo rubbing his back?’

‘Unfortunately, his “cure” was only temporary. It is a pity. I would have liked to have seen something good come out of this miserable business.’

They glanced up at the sound of hoofs, and Gwenllian felt a surge of joy when she saw Cole. Behind him, his soldiers grinned as they escorted a score of bound men. The prisoners were sullenly
defiant, and nearly all wore the conical hats popular in Dinefwr – the kind that Rupe had favoured.

‘There is a good reason why we caught them so quickly this time,’ said Cole as he dismounted. ‘Their leader – and fellow Dinefwr man – was not available to give
them details of our patrols and plans.’

Gwenllian gaped as she struggled to understand the import of his remark. ‘What are you saying? That
Rupe
controlled them?’

Cole nodded. ‘I should have guessed when Reinfrid described what he had observed about the thieves – that their leader shouted orders in an unusually high voice.’

Gwenllian recalled Rupe’s falsetto screeches during the scuffle in which Gunbald had been killed. ‘A local leader would explain a great deal.’

‘Especially one who attended meetings in which our strategy for tracking the thieves was discussed. Moreover, several prisoners have already told me that the raids were all his
idea.’

‘But why?’ asked Gwenllian, shocked by the betrayal. ‘He is . . .
was
our mayor.’

‘Dinefwr is also suffering under the drought, and Rupe has family there. He knew he was finished here, so he decided to avenge himself by stealing our livestock – and helping his kin
at the same time. Of course, that was before the “miracle” he claimed to have funded. After it, he must have begun to hope that he might be re-elected.’

They both turned as someone approached. It was Fitzmartin, Avenel at his side.

‘We have just been informed that Rupe was behind these raids,’ the henchman growled. ‘When the King hears, he will confiscate every last penny that villain owned. He will crush
his treacherous relations, too.’

‘No,’ said Cole sharply. ‘The dry summer has brought death and famine to Dinefwr, and there is nothing to be gained from persecuting them.’

‘Besides, I suspect Rupe has already given them most of what he owned,’ added Gwenllian. ‘You must have noticed the shabby furnishings in his home. And there is the fact that
he was obliged to ask for donations to help him build Beornwyn’s chapel.’

‘But he publicly accused you of murdering your deputy,’ said Avenel softly to Cole. ‘Why not let his thieving kin pay the price for his flapping tongue?’

‘Because it is better for the region that we do not,’ replied Cole. ‘It would lead to all manner of feuds. Please do not mention it to the King. Simply say the culprits have
been caught.’