King Arthur's Bones (11 page)

‘What trouble with thieves?’ she asked.

‘The spate of petty larceny,’ explained Boleton. His voice was tight, suggesting his temper was only just under control. ‘Cole believes outlaws from the forest are responsible.’

‘It is not
petty
larceny,’ argued Cole. ‘Spilmon lost a box of coins, while the priory was relieved of valuable altar dressings. The culprits know exactly which places to target, and when. It is uncanny.’

Gwenllian looked from one to the other. ‘Then surely it is possible that Daniel was attacked by these felons? Perhaps he saw them hiding their ill-gotten gains under the tree, and they killed him to ensure he could never identify them.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Boleton. ‘Personally I believe the culprit to be a local man – I am
sure
you are wrong about the thefts being the work of outsiders, brother. You and I have spent days scouring the forest, but we have found no trace of outlaw camps.’

Cole frowned. ‘But I have spoken to witnesses who have seen strangers—’

‘Drunkards and beggars who will say anything for a penny,’ interrupted Boleton. ‘We have no
credible
witnesses – and you will waste your time if you follow their testimony. But we are wasting time now – we want to know what happened to Daniel, and this discussion can wait.’

Cole turned back to Hywel. ‘Please think carefully. Are you sure you did not see anything—’

‘If I did, I would not tell you,’ said Hywel tauntingly. ‘Daniel got what he deserved anyway.’

‘Hywel!’ exclaimed Gwenllian, shocked. ‘What a terrible thing to say! Daniel was a gentle man who took his vows seriously.’

‘Only the ones that suited him,’ said Hywel, oozing malice. ‘Just ask your husband.’

And with that he turned on his heel and marched back inside his house, slamming the door behind him. It made a crack like a thunderclap, and echoed along the otherwise peaceful street. Gwenllian looked at Cole and raised her eyebrows to indicate that an explanation was in order.

‘I did not want to tell you,’ he said sheepishly.

‘Tell me what?’ demanded Gwenllian, hands on hips. She was aware of Boleton looking equally bemused – Symon had not confided in him either.

‘Daniel had a lady,’ Cole mumbled uncomfortably. ‘I learned about it the night you and I were married, but it was their secret, not mine.’ The last part was spoken defensively, as if he imagined his wife might think less of him for keeping silent for so many years.

Gwenllian regarded him in exasperation. ‘But the identity of this lover might have a bearing on his death. You should have told me about her last night.’

‘You should,’ agreed Boleton. ‘So you had better tell us now. Do not look troubled, brother! Hywel knows about her, so it will not be long before Daniel’s secret is out.’

‘Meurig knew,’ hedged Cole. ‘He was an observant man, and noticed comings and goings. We discussed it once, then agreed to forget about it. It was not our business.’

‘Who is she, Symon?’ asked Gwenllian, although facts were coming together in her mind and she thought she had the answer. ‘Is it Mistress Spilmon?’

Cole gaped at her. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because she offered to tend Daniel’s body, and because you were considerate enough to wash it for her, to spare her the sight of his blood.’

‘Well, then,’ said Boleton, looking towards the grocer’s house. ‘Perhaps there is your culprit for Daniel’s murder. No man likes to be a cuckold.’

Gwenllian did not need to knock on Spilmon’s door, because the grocer was already hurrying towards them, Kyng at his heels. Cole saw the scowl Gwenllian directed towards the cheese-maker and the malevolent expression she received in return, and he shook his head in incomprehension.

‘Lord Rhys attacked Carmarthen more than two years ago,’ he whispered to her. ‘Do you not think it is time to forget what happened?’

Gwenllian raised her eyebrows. ‘I do not – especially not today. My brother confided his secret to me on that fateful night, and someone stabbed you in order to steal Arthur’s chest from Merlin’s oak. And now Daniel is brained under that very same tree with a large bone in his purse. It is a time for
remembering
, not forgetting.’

‘Not if Boleton is right, and Spilmon has just learned his wife has had a lover for the last ten years. That would make Arthur’s bones irrelevant, while the relics in Daniel’s purse might be a coincidence.’

‘Of course they might,’ said Gwenllian flatly, wondering how he could even suggest such a thing. ‘But Boleton might be wrong, and Spilmon may still be in blissful ignorance. In which case I suggest that nothing can be gained from incautious words. You had better leave this to me.’

‘All right,’ said Cole, not bothering to hide his relief. He was not very good at the kind of subtle probing necessary to elicit answers without revealing what he knew. ‘I will just listen.’

‘I hope you are not planning to chop down Merlin’s oak,’ said Spilmon when he was close enough to speak. ‘You know the legend, do you not – that the town will fall if it is destroyed?’

‘A branch was lopped off two years ago, and look what happened then,’ added Kyng. ‘Lord Rhys stormed in and almost killed us all. We are lucky we survived – no thanks to some.’

‘The cheese-maker thinks to blame us,’ said Boleton to Cole, hand resting threateningly on the hilt of his sword. ‘But the raid was carried out by
his
countrymen, not ours.’

‘Actually the branch came off
during
the raid,’ said Cole to Kyng, although Gwenllian was sure the man knew it – he had just twisted the facts to make accusatory remarks. ‘It did not come down in advance, to warn of pending disaster. It was an accident.’

‘The tree does not allow accidents to befall it,’ said Spilmon. He sounded indignant on its behalf. ‘Everything that happens around it happens for a reason. Take Daniel, for example. His death was not a random act of violence, but will have a greater meaning.’

‘Really?’ asked Gwenllian, putting on her most winning smile. ‘What sort of meaning?’

Spilmon leaned towards her conspiratorially. ‘I heard odd sounds the night he died, and I am sure he was scrabbling about by its roots. Merlin’s oak does not appreciate tampering.’

Gwenllian glanced at Boleton. Cole had given the impression that the knight had already interviewed the residents of Priory Street about Daniel’s death, so why had Boleton not mentioned Spilmon’s testimony? It represented an important clue, after all.

‘I did not manage to speak to Spilmon yesterday,’ Boleton said, seeing her look and understanding what it meant. He was unconcerned by her immediate exasperation. ‘He was out when I did my rounds, and I forgot to return later.’

Gwenllian did not know whether to believe him. She turned to the grocer. ‘Did you see Daniel with a spade?’

‘No, but he walked past my house not long before these strange noises started, so it must have been him. The man was a fool, wandering about in a town that is the domain of violent robbers.’

‘Violent robbers?’ echoed Boleton, regarding him contemptuously. ‘Do you refer to the minor thefts that have occurred of late? Really, man! You exaggerate!’

‘And you understate!’ countered Kyng, stepping forward belligerently. ‘But I know why you make light of the matter – because you have failed to catch the culprits.’

‘Those scoundrels stole a fortune from me,’ added Spilmon before Boleton could respond to the charge. ‘And they are growing increasingly brazen. Did you hear that they had the audacity to attack the priory and make off with its finest cross – a great heavy gold one?’

‘A cross?’ asked Cole sharply. ‘I thought they had lost some altar dressings.’

Kyng sneered at him. ‘A cross
is
an altar dressing,
constable
.’ He managed to inject considerable scorn into the last word, and might just as well have said ‘stupid’.

But Cole was looking at Boleton. ‘You visited the priory and recorded their complaint. Why did you not tell me an item of such great value was taken?’

Boleton shrugged. ‘Because the
modus operandi
was different from the other thefts – it took place in a crowded priory and the culprit stole only the one piece. There was no need to bother you with it, not when you are so busy at the castle. And I am quite capable of investigating the business myself.’

Cole nodded acceptance of the explanation, although Gwenllian frowned. Why had Boleton used the term ‘altar dressings’ to describe the stolen property, when ‘cross’ would have sufficed? And was his intention really to save a busy man from worry? But there were more important issues to ponder than Boleton’s curious behaviour.

‘Where were you the night Daniel died?’ she asked of Kyng. ‘We understand you and Spilmon were notable by your absence at the vigil in St Peter’s Church.’

‘We had other business,’ Kyng replied smoothly, although the flash of alarm in Spilmon’s eyes did not escape Gwenllian’s attention. ‘Spilmon and I stayed in his house all night, going over ledgers. We can account for each other, but there is no one else to verify our tale.’

‘What about your wife?’ asked Gwenllian of the grocer. ‘Was she not with you?’

‘She was at the vigil,’ replied Spilmon.

But the cobbler had told them she was not, and he had had no reason to lie. Gwenllian could only assume that Mistress Spilmon had taken the opportunity to spend time with Daniel. But then how had Daniel come to die? Surely, if she had seen the attacker, she would have spoken out? Or had she tired of her monastic lover, and murder seemed a good way to end the situation?

‘No,’ said Cole, when Gwenllian pulled him to one side and suggested Mistress Spilmon as a culprit. ‘She was distraught when I told her what had happened. And I do not see her offering to clean his corpse if she were the killer either. She would have been keen to stay away from it.’

He had a point, and Gwenllian was beginning to feel frustrated. There were simply too many questions and too few reliable answers. She nodded a curt farewell to the merchants, and saw their relief. It aroused her suspicions, but she did not want to raise the question of Mistress Spilmon’s infidelity without good cause – not to spare the grocer’s feelings, but for the sake of the shy, colourless woman who was his wife.

Gwenllian happened to glance back at the two merchants when she was halfway down the street and saw them jump away from each other. Spilmon looked positively furtive, but Kyng had the audacity to wave. She was not sure what it meant, but there was something about their odd behaviour that set the glimmer of a solution burning at the back of her mind.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Gilbert the Thief, who immediately shoved a cloth-wrapped bundle behind his back. Cole regarded him wearily.

‘What have you stolen now?’ He held out his hand. ‘Come on. Give it to me.’

‘I found it,’ said Gilbert defensively.

‘Oh, let him be,’ said Boleton impatiently. ‘It should be beneath your dignity to treat with such creatures, and he is not worth your time. Leave him, and I will deal with him tomorrow.’

‘Good idea,’ said Gilbert, beginning to edge away. ‘Thank you, sir. Feel free to come any time. I shall be waiting for you. We might even have a mug of ale together.’

‘Do not push your luck,’ growled Boleton, although Gwenllian could see he was amused by the man’s cheek.

But Cole did not find the situation funny. He moved suddenly, faster than the thief anticipated, and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. Gilbert squealed in alarm and tried to keep his prize out of the constable’s reach, but to no avail. Cole snatched it from him, shoved Gilbert into Boleton’s arms and began to pull off the wrappings. Then Boleton yelped suddenly, wringing his hand, and Gilbert darted away, disappearing down a nearby lane. Immediately Cole started after him, but Boleton yanked him back, hard enough to make him stagger.

‘Remember your dignity,’ he hissed. ‘Knights of your standing do not hare after felons like common foot soldiers, and we know where the man lives. I shall visit him later and invite him to spend a few days in the dungeons. He is due for a spell under lock and key anyway – for biting me, if nothing else.’

But Cole’s face was white with anger. He leaned down and retrieved the bundle he had dropped. ‘It was different this time,’ he snapped. ‘Look at what he stole!’

He hauled the last of the sacking away to reveal a heavy jewelled cross.

‘We wasted a day,’ said Cole gloomily as he sat with Gwenllian in their bedchamber that evening. The daylight was fading, sending an orange glow around the little room. She was straining her eyes to sew, and he was honing his sword. ‘We learned nothing useful, and Daniel will go to his grave unavenged.’

‘Nonsense,’ she exclaimed, surprised he should think so. ‘We discovered a great many interesting facts. For example, I have narrowed my list of suspects down to six men – all of whom had the opportunity and a reason to want Daniel dead.’

‘Six men?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Do you mean the robbers from the forest? Witnesses tell me they come to do their sly work in a pack.’

‘Not them – Boleton is right about that, at least. I asked a few questions around the castle this evening and learned that they have been disturbed at least twice – their response is not to stand and fight but to run away as fast as their legs will carry them. They are not killers.’

‘Then who are these six? One must be Spilmon. His motive would be that he learned about the affair between Daniel and his wife, while you told me that he owns a pot with a cruciform base. Another will be Kyng – he wore a heavy dagger in his belt today, which might well match the wound in Daniel’s head.’

She smiled. ‘That was observant of you – I did not notice it. And Kyng, like Spilmon, has no proper alibi for Daniel’s death. Of course, there is the question of Kyng’s motive.’ She tapped her chin thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps he did it to avenge Spilmon’s injured pride. Or perhaps he resented the fact that Daniel was your friend – you know how he hates you.’

‘Perhaps.’ Cole did not sound convinced, but Gwenllian would not put anything past the vitriolic cheese-maker.

‘My third suspect is Gilbert, for obvious reasons,’ she went on. ‘He is an inveterate thief, and Daniel may well have caught him stealing. And he had that cross from the priory. Were they pleased to have it back, by the way?’