Hill of Bones (17 page)

Once well outside the city, Eldred emerged gasping from under the pile of rank skins, which he declared was worse than being hidden for an hour under the King’s bed. Looking around, he saw that they were already within sight of Solsbury Hill, which loomed up as a green cone on the north side of the road from Bath towards Chippenham.

The little cart jogged along the track, the old Roman Fosse Way, until it neared the base of the hill, the lower slopes of which were heavily wooded. Then the skinny donkey had a harder task, as Riocas pulled it off the road into a steep lane on the left, which went up the valley on the eastern side of the base of Solsbury Hill towards the hamlet of Swainswick, a collection of dismal huts.

‘We’ll stop here, before the village,’ announced Riocas. ‘They’re a nosy lot, best that they don’t see me dropping you.’

As Eldred clambered out, Riocas handed him down a bundle tied up in a blanket provided by Gytha, in which was a fresh loaf, a lump of hard cheese and a cooked lamb shank wrapped in a cloth.

‘This will keep you alive until tomorrow morning. Be here about this time and I’ll bring you some more food and hopefully news of what’s happening back in the city.’

With that, he flicked the backside of the long-suffering donkey with his willow switch and clattered off, leaving a bemused Eldred to his lonely sojourn on Solsbury Hill.

The fugitive lay brother slung the bundle over his shoulder and with a quick glance up and down the lane to make sure no one was spying on him, vanished into the bushes at the side of the track. After a few hundred yards, the ground began to rise steeply and soon he was puffing as he climbed through the dense thickets of spindly ash, birch and beech that clothed the lower slopes of the hill. There were bigger oaks and elms here and there, but charcoal burners had felled many of them over the years, leaving clearings clogged with brambles, coarse grass and seedling trees.

Eldred kept wary eyes and ears open for signs of other men, as he knew that Solsbury was the haunt of outlaws and other fugitives, but at present it seemed deserted, apart from the sound of birds and the occasional rustle of unseen animals in the undergrowth. With only a blanket for protection, he needed somewhere to shelter for the night – and perhaps for many nights to follow, if his friends failed to discover who had really stolen the abbey treasures.

Though he was a city dweller rather than a countryman, Eldred had plenty of common sense and felt confident of surviving for a time on his own, as long as he was supplied with a little food. But he needed somewhere to hide, as much from other people on the hill as from the inevitable rain and cold winds, even though so far it had been a mild September. As he climbed towards the summit, he saw several fox and badger dens, but they were too small for him to creep into. Several clear springs seeped out from under overhanging banks, but again there was insufficient shelter for him under these.

Panting with the effort of hauling himself up the incline, he was almost at the end of the trees, where they gave way to the earth rampart that encircled the flat top, before he found a place to settle. Here a very steep part of the hill had crumbled, exposing a weathered rock-face a few yards long and a dozen feet high. He thought perhaps the ancient people who had occupied the top of Solsbury long ago had used this as a quarry to obtain the yellow-grey stone for their defences up above. But whatever the cause, he was happy to see a small cavity at the bottom, where rock had either fallen out or been taken way. The hole was too small to be called a cave, but was enough for him to crouch inside under a lintel formed by a band of the limestone strata. In front was a narrow weed-covered platform, with brambles loaded with ripe blackberries growing part-way across the hole.

Relieved, Eldred evicted a pair of squawking magpies from the hole and kicked away some loose stones from the bottom of the crude shelter. Dropping his bundle outside, he collected an armful of loose bracken and grass to pad the floor of his new home. Sinking down on it with a sigh of relief, he found that he could manage to sit with his head just clear of the rock above – and that if he pulled his knees up, he could lie sideways under the overhang. It was just as well, for at that moment, it started to rain.

Riocas was back in Bath by noon, having completed his business in Swainswick. Though he often went there during his tour of the surrounding villages for skins, he had made a point of visiting it today as a cover for dropping off Eldred at Solsbury. He had picked up a dozen coney and six red squirrel pelts there – and had only just missed catching a black cat on his way out of the village.

Now he was back with Selwyn at his shop, earnestly discussing how they should proceed. They were in the cat-catcher’s back room, out of hearing of Riocas’ young apprentice, who sat in the shop at the front, the window-shutter opened down to form a counter to display their goods to passers-by.

‘Eldred can’t stay up there for long,’ declared Selwyn. ‘The autumn is upon us, the nights are getting colder. We have to lift the suspicion hanging over the little fellow – or else smuggle him and his wife somewhere far away if we wish to save his neck.’

‘Any news from the abbey today?’ demanded Riocas, his coarse features glowering over the rim of a tankard.

‘The prior is still smarting over the harsh words that the bishop no doubt gave him. They searched the abbey again this morning, then came once more to the King’s House and virtually ransacked it, without any result. They knew that I had befriended Eldred, so probably only my status as a King’s servant prevented them from arresting me.’

Riocas grunted. ‘I doubt many know that he was also my friend, so we should be safe enough there. But what can we do now?’

‘Discover the true culprits – and the whereabouts of that chalice and pyx. Any ideas?’

The Breton rubbed his massive jaw, now bristling with coarse stubble. ‘As it stands, that treasure is worth little to any thief. It’s too recognizable. They would want to sell it on for coinage, even at half its true value.’

Selwyn agreed. ‘And where would they be likely to do that?’

The giant shrugged his great shoulders. ‘Some jeweller or moneylender, almost certainly a Jew. Better to do it in Bristol or Winchester for safety.’

The royal steward looked dubious. ‘They’d have to get there first. Easier to dispose of it in Bath, even if they got less money for it. There are several gold- and silversmiths in the city.’

After more discussion, they agreed to tour the alehouses to listen discreetly to any gossip. They both had acquaintances who had an ear to the less savoury activities that went on in the narrow streets and more squalid alleys.

After sharing a bowl of potage and more ale, Selwyn went off to see Gytha, to tell her that her husband had been safely delivered to Solsbury Hill, and to collect another blanket and some more bread and meat for delivery next morning – to which he added a small wineskin filched from the King’s stores.

When the two conspirators met again in the evening, Riocas had some news from his spying around the city taverns.

‘I talked with Alfred, the night-soil collector, who I know well. He told me what he heard this morning at the shop of Ranulf of Exeter.’

Selwyn was dubious, not about Ranulf the goldsmith, but about Alfred, the lowliest of the low, who scratched a living from shovelling out the ordure from privies in the town and taking it in his stinking handcart to dump in the River Avon.

‘That Alfred is half-way mad!’ he objected. ‘Surely you don’t rely on anything he tells you?’

The furrier shook his head. ‘He’s odd, I grant you. But Alfred usually tells the truth as he sees it, being too lacking in imagination to make things up. Anyway, he says that when he was in Ranulf’s yard yesterday, emptying his privy-pit, he heard the goldsmith telling his journeyman that if they came back, not to have any dealings with the men who tried to sell him a gold-lined silver box.’

Selwyn’s eyebrows went up his forehead. ‘That would have to be the missing pyx! But everyone in Bath knows it’s been stolen from the abbey. Are you sure that Alfred wasn’t making this up?’

Riocas shook his formidable head. ‘Why should he pick on that one thing? He had no reason to invent it – and he didn’t mention the gold chalice, which would have been much more dramatic.’

‘But what about Ranulf ? He would know straight away where it came from. Why didn’t he rush off and tell the prior or the sheriff ?’

The cat-catcher gave a cynical grin. ‘Ranulf ? He’s well-known for buying stolen goods, but not ones this valuable – and from our own abbey! Yet he’d keep quiet about it, for if it became known that he had a loose mouth, he’d forever lose the custom from all the thieves for miles around.’

Selwyn stirred these new facts around in his mind for a moment. ‘Alfred didn’t hear who those men were, did he?’

‘No, I asked him that. The goldsmith only spoke to his journeyman for a moment, as they were standing at the back door. That’s all Alfred heard.’

Selwyn looked out of his friend’s unglazed window. The shutter was open and he could see that it was already getting dark.

‘Too late tonight, but first thing in the morning, I’ll be having a word with that Ranulf.’

But Fate had other plans.

Riocas could hardly visit Swainswick two days in succession, so next morning he stopped his cart on the main road at the junction of the lane and walked up a little way, trusting to Eldred’s common sense to look out for him. Soon, the fugitive emerged from the bushes and eagerly took the bundle from the cat-catcher. He was hungry and also grateful for another blanket; although he had slept fitfully in his rocky shelter, the autumn night had been chilly.

‘If Selwyn is successful today, you may not need to spend much longer here,’ announced Riocas, optimistically. He told Eldred what he had heard from the night-soil collector and the fact that the King’s steward was at that moment trying to discover who had offered the stolen pyx for sale.

The lay brother was so overcome with relief and gratitude that he flung his arms around Riocas, the difference in their sizes making him look like a squirrel clinging to an oak tree.

‘Have you any idea who the thieves might be?’ demanded the embarrassed giant. ‘From what Alfred heard there must have been more than one who approached the goldsmith.’

Eldred stepped back, then shrugged. ‘It surely has to be someone from the abbey,’ he said pensively, but their conversation was cut short, as they heard the clopping of hoofs coming along the main road and Eldred rapidly vanished after a hurried farewell. Riocas ostentatiously stood emptying his bladder into the bushes as an excuse for stopping his cart in such a lonely spot, then as soon as two merchants had passed on their horses, he turned his donkey round and headed back towards Bath, anxious to hear if Selwyn had learned anything from Ranulf of Exeter.

When he had stabled his beast and walked to the King’s House, he discovered the sad fact that neither Selwyn nor anyone else would learn anything ever again from the goldsmith, for he had suffered a violent death.

‘His house was plundered late last night,’ said the steward, as they sat in the kitchen over quarts of the King’s best ale. ‘Ranulf lived alone, and his journeyman found him when he opened up this morning. He was lying in the shop, beaten to death, his head a bloody mess.’

Riocas shook his head in disgust. ‘So now we’ll never know who offered him the pyx! You say the place was robbed?’

‘It was in great disorder and his journeyman, after taking stock, said that some of the smaller, more valuable things were missing. Large objects, like silver plate, dishes and cruets, were left behind.’

Riocas used the back of his hand to wipe ale from the dark beard that rimmed his jutting jaw. ‘And I’d given poor Eldred hope that his exile would soon be over. Now he’ll have to stay on Solsbury Hill for a while longer until we find who those bastards were!’

The news of the goldsmith’s murder spread all over the city within minutes, rather than hours, including to the abbey.

They knew nothing about the fact that someone had offered the dead victim one of the objects stolen from the cathedral church and Selwyn pondered whether he should tell the sheriff, or even Prior Robert, what the night-soil man had alleged. The problem was that even if the feeble-minded man was believed, could it make matters even worse for Eldred? If the men who offered the pyx to Ranulf could not be identified, then Eldred might be accused not only of a sacrilegious theft, but also a callous murder! The steward decided to hold his tongue for the moment and hope that the murdering thieves would give themselves away by some other means.

That evening, Selwyn and Riocas met at Gytha’s humble dwelling in Binnebury Lane, to discuss the situation and for the furrier to pick up a clean pair of breeches and a tunic to take to Eldred. As Gytha was now virtually destitute, without even the few pence a week that lay brothers earned from the abbey, Selwyn and Riocas provided food for both Eldred and his wife.

‘It’s going be harder each day for me to take provisions to him,’ said Riocas gravely. ‘I can’t find an excuse to go every day to Swainswick, or even along the Chippenham road. The gate-keepers will get suspicious, even though they know me. There are plenty of spies about reporting to both the sheriff and the Abbey – and with this murder, they’ll be more vigilant that ever.’

Gytha became tearful, suggesting that it might be best for her husband to make a run for it and try to go somewhere like Gloucester or Salisbury to start a new life, where one day she could join him. Selwyn tried to calm and reassure her.

‘Running away would look as if he was admitting his guilt, woman! And how would he make a living elsewhere? There are few places where he could get employment polishing the brasses in a cathedral!’

Riocas nodded his agreement. ‘This murder and robbery is to his advantage, much as it inconvenienced poor Ranulf. Sooner or later, it will be learned who those villains are – and that will prove that Eldred must be innocent.’

In the Chapter meeting at the abbey that day, Eldred’s innocence was not on the agenda, only his assumed guilt and the frustrating fact of his disappearance.