Hill of Bones

I

Bath Abbey, September 1199

Something rotten was unfolding in Bath. Two good men were dead, and Prior Hugh suspected murder. The first had happened eight years ago, when the saintly Bishop Reginald had died en route to Canterbury, where he was to have been invested as archbishop; his body had been returned to Bath, and over the last few weeks, miracles had been occurring at his tomb. And second, there was Adam.

Adam had not wanted to be Master of St John’s Hospital, but Reginald’s successor, Bishop Savaric, had been insistent. And no one refused the ruthless, uncompromising Savaric. Adam had been a talented healer, but he had not enjoyed running a large and busy foundation, and it had probably been a desire for peace that had led him up Solsbury Hill a month before.

No one knew exactly what had happened, but Adam’s torn body had been found at the foot of the hill the following morning. Opinions in the abbey were divided: some monks thought a wolf was at large, while others believed Adam had fallen to his death. Fallen! Savaric had been the one to propose that ridiculous notion, determined – suspiciously, as far as Hugh was concerned – that the matter should be dismissed as a tragic accident.

Hugh stood with difficulty. He had been sitting in the cloister all afternoon, thinking, and his legs were stiff. A walk would ease them, though, and he brightened at the prospect. It was a pretty evening for a stroll. He stifled a sigh when his sacrist stepped to intercept him. Robert was a portly, smiling man who always gave the impression of great piety; Hugh had yet to be convinced that it was sincere.

‘You seem troubled, Father Prior,’ Robert said, all kindly concern. ‘May I help?’

Hugh itched to tell him to mind his own business, but several other monks were listening, and Robert was popular – unlike Hugh himself, who was resented for the strict way he ran his abbey. Rebuking the sacrist would be more trouble than it was worth.

‘Adam,’ he explained, forcing a patient smile. ‘I am sure he died unlawfully, no matter what our bishop says.’

Robert shrugged. ‘Then go to Solsbury Hill, and look for clues.’

Hugh regarded him askance. ‘It will be dark soon. Besides, I must prepare for vespers.’

‘I will lead vespers,’ offered Robert eagerly.

He was always trying to preside over sacred offices, a habit Hugh found intensely annoying. The prior forced another smile.

‘Thank you, Robert. However, I cannot visit Solsbury so near dusk. Adam did, and look what happened to him.’

‘Adam went considerably later,’ argued Robert. ‘I am sure you will be quite safe. And if you do believe he was murdered, you have a moral obligation to prove it.’

Hugh felt his jaw drop that the sacrist should dare lecture him, and was about to put him in his place when he became aware that the other monks were waiting with interest for his answer. He knew why, of course: recently, a rumour had started about Solsbury Hill – one that said only the pure in heart could survive a night there when the moon was full. There was a full moon that night, so declining to accept Robert’s challenge was tantamount to admitting to some serious personal flaws.

Normally, Hugh would not have cared what the eavesdroppers thought, but Bishop Savaric was eager to dismiss him and appoint a more malleable prior – and Hugh’s strict rule meant the monks were on Savaric’s side. Any hint of impropriety might be used against him, even gossip that said he was too steeped in sin to brave Solsbury Hill.

‘Then I shall go,’ he said, thinking that if he walked fast, he could be back before nightfall. While not superstitious, he had no wish to loiter in a place where a man had died. ‘Will you come with me?’

‘No,’ replied Robert with a smile that Hugh thought sly. ‘I shall pray for Adam’s soul.’

One of the abbey’s many sources of income was the tolls paid by those wishing to sell their goods in the market. These were collected at the town gates by lay-brothers, and the one on duty that day was named Eldred. As Hugh strode through the gate, he recalled that it had been Eldred who had found Adam’s body. He was surprised to note that Eldred was with Brother Walter, though. Walter was well known for being Savaric’s spy, which meant most of the abbey’s staff gave him a wide berth.

‘What are you doing here, Walter?’ The question emerged more sharply than Hugh had intended, and he saw resentment flash in Walter’s eyes.

‘Just talking,’ Walter replied coolly. ‘About Adam and Reginald.’

‘We were saying how much we miss them,’ elaborated Eldred. ‘Especially Adam. I still have not recovered from the shock of finding his poor, torn body.’

So Walter had gone to gossip, thought Hugh disapprovingly. Yet Walter’s unseemly penchant for chatter had its advantages. In this case, it provided an opportunity to solicit a few opinions, and Hugh desperately needed new information if he were to unmask a killer.

‘How do you think Adam died?’ he asked, looking at each man in turn.

‘A wolf,’ replied Eldred promptly.

‘There are no wolves in Bath,’ countered Walter scornfully. ‘I believe the bishop’s theory: that Adam lost his footing and fell.’

He smiled insincerely, and the expression sent a shiver down Hugh’s spine. Did Walter know more than he was telling about Adam’s fate?

Unhappy and agitated, Hugh resumed his walk. Eventually, he reached Solsbury Hill, and the path that wound steeply towards its summit. When he arrived, he sat to catch his breath, then automatically began reviewing his suspects again.

At the top of the list for involvement in the two deaths was Bishop Savaric, first for being so determined that Adam’s demise should be seen as accidental, and second because he had inherited a lot of money from Reginald – the two had been cousins. Hugh found Savaric’s brazen ambition distasteful, particularly in his actions regarding Glastonbury: Savaric had contrived to have its abbot promoted, then declared himself its new head, styling himself ‘Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury’. As a Glastonbury man himself, Hugh thought closer relations between the two foundations was a good thing, but Savaric had gone about it far too aggressively.

The bishop would not have soiled his own hands with murder, of course. His henchmen, Sir Osmun and Sir Fevil, would have done it for him. These two loutish knights had, Hugh was sure, organised ‘accidents’ before.

Next on the list was someone who had argued bitterly with both Adam and Reginald, and who made no secret of his dislike. His name was William Pica, a fierce bantam of a fellow, whom the monks at Glastonbury had elected as their new abbot – an election that was their way of saying they did not recognise Savaric’s claim. They had chosen Pica not because he was popular, but because he was one of few men who was not afraid of Savaric.

Then Hugh had two suspects in his own abbey – the slippery Walter and the nauseatingly pious Robert. Both had been in the party that had been escorting Reginald to Canterbury, and neither could account for his whereabouts on the night that Adam had died. They had no obvious motive for either murder, but there was something about both that Hugh found unsettling. And he had not reached his lofty position by ignoring his instincts.

And finally, there was Reginald’s chaplain. Dacus had been distraught when his bishop had died, so much so that Hugh had feared for his sanity. Had guilt prompted his wild display of mourning – that he had not loved Reginald as much as he had claimed, and had killed him for some warped reason known only to himself? By contrast, Dacus had received the news of Adam’s death with an indifferent shrug. Hugh could not fathom the man at all, but wished Savaric had not appointed him as Adam’s replacement at the hospital. Compassionate and patient Dacus might be, but Hugh considered him unstable.

He came out of his reverie when he noticed that the sun had set. He swore softly. He was supposed to be looking for clues to tell him what had happened to Adam, not sitting around doing more brooding. And now it was too late – it would be dark soon. With an irritable sigh, he stood, and started to make his way back down the path.

He stopped when he heard a sound behind him. It sounded like panting. He peered into the shadows, but there was nothing to see. Had he imagined it? He began walking again, more quickly this time, then whipped around a second time when a grunt told him he was not alone.

‘Who is there?’ he demanded.

The only reply was a growl that made his blood run cold. He turned and ran, stumbling over the uneven ground. Then he fell, and when he stopped rolling, something was looming over him. Sobbing his terror, he tried to push it away, but it was too strong. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came, and all he could hear was enraged snarls as teeth fastened around his throat.

II

October 1199

Winter had come early, bringing with it biting winds, slashing rain and even the odd flurry of snow. Gwenllian shivered, and wished she could have stayed in Carmarthen, the great castle her husband was building in west Wales. She glanced at him as he rode beside her. He seemed oblivious to the foul weather, and was humming under his breath.

‘You are enjoying yourself!’ she said accusingly. ‘We leave our comfortable home and our baby son, to spend days trudging along dreary roads to Bath, and you are happy!’

‘No,’ he replied, although his guilty expression said otherwise. Sir Symon Cole was a terrible liar, which was one of the reasons Gwenllian loved him.

Of course, she thought wryly, it was his inability to prevaricate that had made their journey necessary in the first place. Other knights would have been able to look John – recently crowned King, following the death of his brother, Richard – in the eye and shower him with compliments, but not Cole. He considered the new monarch weak, treacherous and incompetent, and had elected to stay silent rather than say things he did not believe.

Unfortunately, John knew exactly what Cole thought, and was keen to replace him with one of his sycophants. Luckily for Cole, Gwenllian was the daughter of a powerful Welsh prince, and dismissing Cole without good cause would offend too many of her volatile kinsmen. So John had set him a challenge instead: if he could discover who had murdered Bath’s prior, he could keep Carmarthen; if he failed, he was to resign.

‘I miss Meurig,’ Gwenllian said, pulling her mind from politics. ‘By the time we go home, he will not know us.’

‘You think he is lacking in wits, then?’ asked Cole. ‘Like his father?’

Gwenllian knew what had prompted that remark. She was the clever one, who would catch the prior’s killer. Prudently, she changed the subject. ‘Will we reach Bath before dark?’

Cole squinted at the sky. ‘Yes, and I am looking forward to seeing the Master of St John’s Hospital again. You will like him, Gwen.’

Gwenllian decided to reserve judgement on that. Cole liked most people, and more villains than she cared to remember had been introduced with the earnest assurance that they were decent men.

‘Tell me again how you met,’ she said, to avoid passing comment.

‘I was injured during an ambush some years ago, and he helped me recover. He was a monk at Glastonbury, and was there when King Arthur’s relics were discovered.’

They exchanged a glance. They knew a great deal about King Arthur’s bones, and what had happened to them after they had been excavated. [1] Gwenllian eased her horse towards him, so they would not be overheard by Sergeant Iefan, who was riding behind.

‘I know the master of this hospital is your friend, but King John’s letter implied that Prior Hugh may have been murdered by a colleague. This master will be a colleague…’

Cole shook his head firmly. ‘He is the kindest, most generous man alive. I know I have said that about other people, but it really is true of him.’

Gwenllian stifled a sigh. Loyalty to friends was another of Cole’s virtues, but she hoped it would not impede their investigation. John’s determination to discredit him meant it was imperative that she solved the mystery, and she could not afford to be hindered by his blind affection for an old comrade.

Bath was a pretty place, its cluster of buildings dominated by the mighty abbey church. Its roads were well drained, and someone paid for them to be swept regularly, because they were almost as clean as Carmarthen’s. Cole led the way along the shop-lined main street.

‘I wish you had told the King what he wanted to hear.’ Gwenllian had never enjoyed travelling, and could not recall a time when she had been colder, wetter or more tired. ‘It would have saved a lot of trouble.’

‘Yes.’ Cole tried to sound apologetic, but he had a Norman’s love of horses, and for him, the prospect of days in the saddle was a delight. He liked dogs, too, and if she had not objected, he would have brought several with him and prolonged the journey by hunting.

He reined in outside a building with gracefully arched windows and a carving of St John the Baptist above the door.

‘This is the hospital. We shall visit it now, and find an inn afterwards – we cannot stay in the abbey, given that one of its monks might be a murderer.’

‘I would rather find an inn first,’ objected Gwenllian. ‘I am too wet and dirty for-’

‘No one will mind,’ said Cole, reaching up to lift her from the saddle.

He had opened the door before she could inform him that she had been thinking about her own comfort, not the impression she might make on Bath’s residents. She stepped inside reluctantly. The hospital was a pleasant building, and no expense had been spared on its construction. It comprised a chapel with a hall to house inmates on one side, and a chamber containing a pool of greenish water on the other. A corridor led to a yard at the back.

‘Bishop Reginald founded it,’ Cole explained, while they waited for someone to come to attend to them. ‘For the sick to enjoy the healing springs. He died eight years ago, and people have prayed at his tomb ever since. The merchant we met last night said that miracles started occurring there two months ago, beginning with the return of Bishop Savaric’s crosier.’

Gwenllian regarded him in confusion. ‘You mean his crook?’

Cole nodded. ‘It was stolen, apparently, but he prayed to Reginald, and the very next day, it appeared on the high altar. Since then, a number of people have been cured or granted boons. I intend to pray there myself – I should like our son to have a sister.’

His words startled Gwenllian enough that she was gaping when a priest arrived. He was a large, bulky fellow with a mane of black hair and wild eyes.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

‘To see Adam,’ replied Cole, unruffled by the hostile greeting. ‘He is an old friend.’

‘He is dead,’ said the priest, spite supplanting churlishness. ‘And it served him right. He was an evil man, and he came to an evil end.’

The announcement caused the colour to drain from Cole’s face. ‘He cannot be dead! And he is not evil, either. He is a healer!’

‘He was skilled at medicine,’ conceded the priest grudgingly. ‘But he was wicked in all else. I suppose you are the man charged to find out what happened to Prior Hugh? You took your time coming. We were beginning to think you had decided not to bother.’

‘The weather was bad,’ explained Cole shortly. ‘But who are you? And why-’

‘I am Dacus, Adam’s successor. He died two months ago, which was not a moment too soon, as far as I was concerned. Bath is a better place without his tainted presence in it.’

Cole stepped forward angrily, but Dacus did not shy away, as most people would have done when faced with an irate Norman warrior, and Gwenllian wondered whether he was entirely sane. She interposed herself between them, loath for the investigation to begin with violence.

‘If he really is dead, show us where he is buried,’ she ordered.

Dacus made a peculiar curtsy that made her even more convinced that something was awry, then led them to the yard. It was an odd combination of vegetable plot and cemetery, with graves in a line along the wall. He pointed to one in the corner.

‘How did he die?’ asked Cole hoarsely.

‘Throat torn out by a wolf,’ replied Dacus. ‘He was rash enough to visit Solsbury Hill on a full moon, and his body was found the following morning. Hugh died the same way, although I imagine you already know that.’

‘There are no wolves in England,’ said Gwenllian. ‘What really happened?’

Dacus glowered and became childishly sullen. ‘There are – ask anyone. Hugh was stupid to have lingered there after dark. Especially given what had happened to Adam.’

‘My wife is right,’ said Cole stiffly. ‘There are no wolves here, and if Adam and Hugh did die in the way you suggest, then some other beast did it. A dog, perhaps. Although it would take a monster to train one to act in such a way…’

Dacus laughed mockingly. ‘The manner of Hugh’s demise is news to you! I thought the King’s officer would have been better informed.’

‘Then enlighten us,’ suggested Gwenllian, reaching out to prevent Cole from grabbing the priest. ‘You can start by telling us about Solsbury Hill.’

Dacus pointed over the wall to a mound about three miles distant. His voice grew curiously singsong. ‘It is a malevolent place, and only those with pure souls can survive a night there. Adam and Hugh took the test, but failed.’

‘Hugh was not pure?’ asked Gwenllian, gripping Cole’s arm more tightly. Dacus was providing information, and she was willing to accept intelligence from anyone willing to talk, no matter how objectionable they were.

‘No,’ replied Dacus airily, ‘because otherwise he would have lived. Will you take the test, King’s man? There is a full moon on Thursday – three days’ time. Go to Solsbury then, and if you are honourable, God will protect you. But if you are sinful, you will die. Of course, you will have to do it alone.’

‘How do you know a wolf killed Adam and Hugh?’ asked Gwenllian quickly, before Cole was goaded into accepting the challenge.

‘It savaged them, but it was God who decided they should die,’ declared Dacus. ‘Of course, there was no need for avenging wolves in Bishop Reginald’s day. He was a saint, who kept good order in Bath. He should have been an archbishop, you know.’

‘He was offered the post,’ explained Cole, seeing Gwenllian’s eyebrows rise at the claim, ‘but he died on his way to Canterbury. He considered himself unworthy, and God apparently agreed, because he was struck down as he-’

‘How dare you say God killed Reginald!’ shrieked Dacus, lurching forward suddenly. ‘You stupid Norman! He was murdered. I was his chaplain, and I was there – I know.’

One of his fists shot out, but Cole had no trouble evading it. Dacus tried again, so Cole caught his arm and twisted it behind his back. Dacus struggled frantically, then began to weep and curse in equal measure.

‘He is demented,’ said Gwenllian quietly. ‘He does not know what he-’

‘I do know,’ shrieked Dacus. ‘I am glad Adam is dead. He was evil! He deserved to die.’

When the priest’s rage was spent, Cole released him. Dacus crawled into a corner and began to whisper to himself. Cole watched for a moment, then turned on his heel and strode outside. Gwenllian followed.

‘Do not let him upset you,’ she said gently. ‘His wits are awry, and-’

‘He would not have been appointed master of a hospital if he was truly mad,’ interrupted Cole tightly. ‘And it is obvious what happened: he hated Adam and Hugh, so he murdered them.’

Gwenllian gazed at him. ‘Symon! There is no evidence for-’

‘He killed Adam because he wanted his job, and he killed Hugh to prevent him from telling anyone. And he challenged me to go to Solsbury Hill on Thursday, because he intends to kill me, too. It is why he told me to go alone.’

Gwenllian regarded him askance. ‘Our task here will be difficult enough without you jumping to wild conclusions-’

‘Dacus murdered Adam,’ repeated Cole, in a tone of voice that she had never heard him use before. ‘I can see it in his eyes.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said soothingly. ‘But you will need evidence to bring charges against him.’

‘Then I shall find it.’ Cole sprang into his saddle, and wheeled the destrier round in a savage arc. ‘See Gwen settled in a decent inn, Iefan. I will join her later.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Gwenllian, alarmed.

‘To do as you suggest.’ Cole’s next words were called over his shoulder as he kicked the horse into a canter. ‘To find evidence that Dacus killed Adam.’

Gwenllian stared after him in astonishment. He did not usually abandon her in strange towns. Moreover, what sort of evidence did he think he was going to find, on horseback when daylight was fading? Regardless, she hoped he would do nothing rash.

Iefan regarded her rather helplessly – his English was not good enough to question passers-by about suitable accommodation – so Gwenllian waylaid two Benedictines, and asked them to recommend some. The first was a portly fellow with a beatific expression, and the second, who was thin with sly eyes, haughtily informed her that he was Prior Walter.

‘Hugh’s successor?’ asked Gwenllian.

Walter nodded as he led the way along a lane. ‘Bishop Savaric appointed me. He and I have always enjoyed an easy relationship, so I was the obvious choice. There is no unseemly wrangling between diocese and abbey with me in charge.’

‘No,’ agreed his chubby companion, rather ambiguously.

‘That knight who almost rode us down just now,’ said Walter, choosing to ignore the remark. ‘Is he the man charged to look into Hugh’s death?’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘Do you know anything that might help him?’

‘No,’ replied Walter. ‘Although we still grieve.’ He did not sound sincere.

‘We do,’ agreed the fat one. ‘Hugh was strict, cold and humourless, but we miss him.’

‘He was a decent man,’ countered Walter. ‘Of course, he was nothing compared to Bishop Reginald. Will you visit Reginald’s tomb, lady? He is granting petitions aplenty at the moment. For example, I prayed for more money for the abbey last month, and within a week, a benefactor died, leaving us a house. Now that is the kind of miracle I like!’

‘I see,’ said Gwenllian, not sure a benefactor’s death was something a monk should welcome so brazenly.

‘Tell her, Brother Robert,’ Walter urged. ‘Tell her of all the wonders that have occurred. You spend more time in the church than anyone else, so you have witnessed most of them.’ He smiled at Gwenllian. ‘Robert is our sacrist, you see.’

‘People have been healed,’ obliged Robert. ‘Back pains cured, headaches eased, lost items found-’

‘Like Bishop Savaric’s crosier,’ put in Walter.

‘Quite,’ agreed Robert. ‘He was distraught when it disappeared, because it had been a gift from Reginald himself. Its return was the first miracle.’

Gwenllian nodded politely, although none of the ‘miracles’ seemed especially dazzling to her – cured headaches and backaches were difficult to verify, while ‘lost’ objects reappeared all the time.

‘Tell me about Hugh,’ she said. ‘I understand he died on Solsbury Hill, as did Master Adam. Do you know what happened to them?’

‘Our bishop guessed it immediately,’ nodded Walter. ‘They fell, and the wounds to their throats were caused by sharp rocks.’

‘That is one interpretation,’ said Robert, earning an irritable glance from his prior. ‘However, I suspect murder, because it is not possible to die falling down Solsbury Hill. Not from those sorts of injuries, at least.’

‘Then who killed them?’ asked Gwenllian.

‘I do not know,’ replied Robert, although Gwenllian did not miss the look he flicked towards his prior. She tried to guess what it meant. Did he think Walter had killed Hugh? Or was he trying to mislead her?

She was about to resume her questions when two priests materialised out of the darkness. One looked like a pig, with small eyes and a snout-like nose, while the other was more warrior than cleric – he wore a dagger and carried a mace.

‘Good evening, Walter,’ said the pig. ‘I thought it was time for vespers. You will be late.’

‘I will oversee the ceremony,’ offered Robert eagerly. ‘It will be no trouble.’

‘I am sure it will not,’ said Walter coolly. ‘But our brethren can wait until we have escorted our guest to the Swan Inn.’ He turned to Gwenllian. ‘Allow me to introduce Canon Lechlade and Canon Trotman. They are from Wells Cathedral, here on business with the bishop.’

The pig bowed. ‘We heard the King’s agents had arrived – news travels fast in Bath. But you cannot install them in the Swan, Father Prior. It has fleas. They must go to the Angel. But you two go to vespers – Lechlade and I will take her there.’

Robert smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you. It is kind-’

‘I will do it,’ said Walter sharply. Then he grimaced. ‘Although it is late, so I suppose Robert had better take vespers in my stead.’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ gushed Robert smugly.

Gwenllian was glad of Iefan’s reassuring presence at her side as she followed the three clerics, and wished Cole had not abandoned her. Supposing one of them was the murderer? Trotman was chatting about Bath’s healing waters, an innocuous subject that should have put her at ease. It did not, and she became more uneasy with every step. When a dog barked suddenly, she jumped in alarm.

‘There is no need to be frightened,’ said Walter, smirking. ‘Bath is quite safe. Bishop Savaric sees to that.’

‘Does he?’ asked Gwenllian, heart hammering in her chest. ‘How?’

‘With henchmen,’ explained Trotman. He raised his hands defensively when Walter started to object. ‘They are henchmen. How else would you describe Osmun and Fevil?’

‘Knightly advisers,’ replied Walter shortly. ‘And please do not make disparaging remarks about Savaric. He is a fine man, and I am proud to serve him.’

‘Serve him?’ pounced Lechlade disapprovingly. ‘A prior should not serve anyone except God.’

‘I serve my King,’ Walter flashed back. ‘And Savaric is one of his favourite prelates.’

‘No one can deny that,’ agreed Trotman pointedly. ‘There is nothing Savaric would not do for John. And nothing John would not do in return.’

Gwenllian was not sure what was meant by the remark, but it was enough to tell her that she would need to be careful when she met the bishop the following day.

‘You are no doubt wondering why two canons from Wells should be in Bath,’ said Lechlade pleasantly, although the question could not have been further from her mind. ‘We are here to tell Savaric that he has no right to declare himself “Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury” without our approval.’

‘Wells is supposed to be consulted on all major decisions, you see,’ explained Trotman. ‘But Savaric made this one alone – and we do not approve. Glastonbury does not want him, for a start. They have elected their own abbot. His name is Pica, although Savaric refuses to recognise him.’

‘Who cares what Glastonbury wants?’ shrugged Walter. ‘Ever since King Arthur’s bones were discovered, they have been getting ideas above their station. Personally, I am delighted that Savaric cut them down to size by making them subordinate to Bath.’

‘He only did it because he wants to control their coffers,’ countered Lechlade acidly. ‘But they should decide who rules them, not him.’

‘The King and the Pope disagree,’ argued Walter. ‘They both support what he did.’

‘That Pope is now dead,’ snapped Lechlade. ‘And the King only gave his blessing to the scheme because Savaric offered him a share of Glastonbury’s profits in return. Do not deny it, Walter – you know it is true.’

‘Walter has been telling me about Prior Hugh,’ said Gwenllian, speaking before the quarrel could escalate further – she wanted to hear about Bath, not Glastonbury. ‘And about Master Adam and Bishop Reginald.’

‘All dead before their time,’ said Trotman sadly. ‘There are rumours of murder, but I do not believe them. Adam and Hugh were called by God. Well, by seraphim, to be precise.’

‘Seraphim?’ echoed Gwenllian, startled.

Trotman nodded keenly. ‘There are fiendishly sharp claws on every one of a seraph’s six wings, and God sent them after Adam and Hugh, although I cannot tell you why – they seemed like decent men to me. However, seraphim did not kill Reginald – he died of a fever. I know this for a fact, because Lechlade and I were there.’

‘Lots of people were there,’ elaborated Walter. ‘Reginald wanted friends from Glastonbury, Bath and Wells to see him enthroned in Canterbury. Naturally, I was among his honoured guests. So were Robert, Pica, Sir Fevil and Dacus.’

‘Dacus?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘We just met a man named Dacus. He told my husband to go to Solsbury Hill on Thursday, when there will be a full moon…’

Trotman grimaced. ‘Dacus has not been in his right mind since Reginald died. Savaric was wrong to have made him Master of the Hospital.’

‘He did it because he thought the responsibility might help Dacus regain his wits,’ explained Walter defensively. Then he sighed ruefully. ‘Although it does not seem to be working.’

‘Did Dacus tell you that spending a night on Solsbury will prove your virtue?’ asked Trotman, adding when Gwenllian nodded, ‘Then do not take the challenge lightly. If you go in an irreverent frame of mind, you will die. Seraphim do not approve of levity.’

The Angel was a pleasant inn that smelled of burning pine cones and fresh rushes. Gwenllian was allocated a chamber that was clean, warm and inviting. Hot water was available for washing, along with a meal of bread and roasted meat.

She was exhausted, but refused to sleep until Cole returned. He was quite capable of looking after himself, but her anxiety still increased as the night wore on, and she was near to panic by midnight, when he eventually appeared.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded angrily. ‘I have been worried!’

‘There was no need.’ He went to kneel by the fire; its faint light showed him to be wet, scratched and muddy.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What have you been doing, to get so bedraggled?’

‘I went to Solsbury Hill. But it was devoid of wolves.’

‘Of course it was! Even if one is in the area, it will not frequent the place regularly, or people would kill it.’ Gwenllian regarded him coolly. ‘Or was it a different kind of wolf you were hoping to meet? Dacus, for example?’

Cole winced that she should read him so easily. ‘I thought he might appear, after tempting me there with all those remarks about the danger.’

‘I think they were intended to frighten, not entice you! Besides, he suggested you go on Thursday, when the moon is full – presumably so he can see what he is doing as he kills you.’

Cole began to remove his sodden boots. ‘He has had his chance. I am not climbing up there again. It was not a comfortable jaunt, especially in the rain.’

‘Did you learn anything that might tell us what happened to Prior Hugh?’

Cole nodded. ‘The same thing that happened to Adam: Dacus lured him up there, then set some savage beast on him.’

‘And why would Dacus do that?’ asked Gwenllian tiredly.

‘Presumably because he had decided that they were evil. We both heard him say so.’

‘We shall bear it in mind – but not to the point where we are blind to other possibilities.’

‘There are no other possibilities. I know Dacus killed Adam, which means he killed Hugh, too. All you need to do is prove it.’

‘I shall do my best,’ said Gwenllian wearily. ‘However, there are other suspects. Walter, who succeeded Hugh as prior, is Savaric’s creature – perhaps they conspired to be rid of an awkward customer. Meanwhile, Brother Robert is nauseatingly pious, and I am always wary of such men. Then there is Reginald to consider.’

‘He died years ago,’ said Cole, startled. ‘He cannot be a suspect.’

‘I meant we cannot overlook the possibility that Dacus is right, and he was murdered, too,’ explained Gwenllian patiently. ‘Which means we have three odd deaths to investigate.’

‘I disagree. The King mentioned neither Adam nor Reginald in his letter.’

‘No,’ agreed Gwenllian acidly. ‘Although I imagine he has certainly heard the rumours of foul play. But let John play his sly games – he will not best us.’

‘We had better pay our respects to the bishop this morning,’ said Gwenllian, after a breakfast of smoked pork, eggs and dried fruit. ‘We do not want to offend him by delaying.’

‘Very well,’ said Cole unenthusiastically. He rarely enjoyed the company of senior clerics, mostly because they tended to be deficient in their knowledge of horses and dogs.

The Bishop’s Palace was an elegantly appointed mansion in the southern quarter of the abbey precinct, which boasted windows of real glass. There were also arrow slits in the walls, and a crenellated roof. Cole surveyed it with a professional eye.

‘It is better defended than Carmarthen Castle! I could hold out for months here.’

Gwenllian was less impressed. ‘So Savaric feels the need for defence. I wonder what he does that makes him unpopular.’

They were ushered into a solar, where two knights were waiting, both wearing leather leggings and mail tunics. Gwenllian could not suppress a shudder when her eyes met those of the first. They were pale green, like a serpent’s, and she did not think she had ever seen a colder expression. He was Cole’s height, but thinner. His companion was a giant, with the blankly stupid expression of a man who followed orders without question. Instinctively, she sensed that neither was a man to be crossed.

‘Carmarthen’s castellan,’ said Reptile Eyes, treating Cole to a smile that was far from friendly. ‘Why have you brought your wife? Do you plan to be here a while?’

‘As long as it takes,’ replied Cole evenly, although Gwenllian bristled at the man’s tone. ‘We will not leave without seeing a murderer brought to justice.’

The pair exchanged glances that were easy to read: alarm. Gwenllian wondered why.

‘I see.’ Reptile Eyes cleared his throat. ‘I am Sir Osmun d’Avranches, and my companion is Sir Fevil. We had the honour of escorting King Richard to Acre on the last Crusade, where we played a vital part in breaking the siege. Now we are advisers to Bishop Savaric.’

‘Advisers?’ Gwenllian wondered what kind of advice these brutes could offer a prelate.

‘He values our opinions,’ elaborated Osmun, while behind him Fevil scowled, sensing an insult in the question, but not quite sure what to do about it.

‘I was at the Siege of Acre, too,’ said Cole. ‘Did you see the red and white striped walls?’

‘Of course,’ replied Osmun. ‘They are very fine. But we had better save our reminiscing for when the bishop is not waiting. We shall take you to him.’

‘Tell us what you know of Hugh’s death,’ said Cole, as they walked along corridors that told them the Bishop’s Palace was large as well as elegant. ‘And Adam’s.’

‘Why?’ asked Osmun suspiciously.

‘Because we respect the views of knights who advise the bishop,’ lied Gwenllian. She favoured him with a disarming smile, although it was not easy to simper at such a man.

Osmun was flattered. ‘Then you shall have them. There is a rumour that Hugh and Adam were savaged by an animal, but Fevil and I do not believe it – there are no wolves in Bath. It is our contention that they fell, and caught their necks against jagged rocks.’

‘What, both of them?’ asked Gwenllian incredulously.

‘Yes, both of them,’ replied Osmun smoothly.

‘We have been told that a seraph is the culprit,’ said Cole.

Osmun laughed. ‘I doubt they were wicked enough to warrant the attentions of seraphim. When others fail Solsbury’s test, they are just sent home screaming, not harmed physically.’

‘Do many folk accept this challenge, then?’ asked Cole.

Osmun smirked. ‘Yes, but few pass. Fevil and I did, though. We took it when we first arrived, and our success means we are courageous, true and bold.’

Gwenllian decided to reserve judgement on that. ‘Did you see the bodies?’

Both men nodded, although it was Osmun who answered again, and Gwenllian began to wonder whether Fevil was capable of forming a sentence.

‘Their throats were terribly mangled – they must have rolled a long way. But necks are vulnerable. I know, because I usually aim for them when I dispatch my enemies.’

The smile he gave Cole made Gwenllian shudder. ‘Where were you when these men died?’ she asked.

Osmun’s grin did not falter. ‘Playing dice together, on both occasions.’

At that point, he and Fevil were distracted by a messenger from the King. The exchange that followed told Gwenllian that monarch and bishop were in regular contact, which confirmed what Trotman had said: they were allies. She would indeed need to be careful when dealing with Savaric.

‘They were not at Acre,’ whispered Cole.

‘How do you know?’ she whispered back.

‘Because Constantinople has striped walls, not Acre. And any real crusader knows it.’

‘What made you want to catch them out?’

‘You told me not to trust anyone, so I decided to test their truthfulness. They are liars, Gwen, and we should not believe them when they say Adam and Hugh fell.’

‘I agree. Osmun and Fevil are suspects, as far as I am concerned.’

‘I suppose they might have helped Dacus.’ Cole shrugged at her exasperation. ‘I am keeping an open mind, Gwen. I am quite happy to believe that Dacus had accomplices.’

The bishop was in a magnificent hall, which was decked out in hangings of purple and red. He was a handsome man, with dark eyes, smooth olive skin and silver hair, and when he stood to greet his guests, he moved with a haughty grace.

‘I am afraid you have had a wasted journey,’ he said. ‘Poor Hugh wandered up Solsbury Hill in the dark, and his death was an accident. There is no mystery to solve.’

‘Your monks do not think so,’ said Cole. ‘Two of them told my wife that Hugh was murdered. So was Adam, for that matter, and he was my friend.’

Savaric’s lips compressed into a hard, thin line, and Gwenllian glimpsed ruthlessness behind the suave exterior. ‘Then they are mistaken.’

‘We have also been told that these deaths were acts of God,’ added Gwenllian.

‘Now that is possible,’ nodded Savaric. ‘I liked Adam, but he was vain about his medical skills, while Hugh was dour and sanctimonious. The Almighty may well have decided to provide me with an opportunity to appoint better men.’

‘Dacus is not better than Adam,’ declared Cole indignantly.

Savaric regarded him silently for a moment. ‘Perhaps “better” was the wrong word to have used, when what I meant was “different”. As I said, I liked Adam.’

‘Do you like Dacus?’ asked Cole, a little dangerously.

‘Not particularly. But he is a good medicus, and he was a devoted chaplain to Reginald – my cousin. He was mad with grief after Reginald’s death, but he is well again now.’

‘But you believe Walter is a better man than Hugh?’ asked Gwenllian, thinking that Dacus must have been raving indeed, if he was now considered to have recovered.

‘Without question. Bath is a much happier place now. It will be happier still when the business involving Glastonbury is resolved, and its monks accept me as their rightful ruler. But what do you intend to do here, Sir Symon? Or will you take my word that nothing untoward has happened, and leave us in peace?’

‘Is that what you would like us to do?’ asked Gwenllian probingly.

Savaric continued to address Cole, dismissing her as of no importance. ‘Tell the King the truth: Hugh had an accident. I am sure we can find a little something to make your journey home more agreeable.’

Cole gaped at him. ‘Are you trying to bribe me?’

Savaric looked pained, clearly unused to dealing with plain-speaking men. ‘I am suggesting ways in which your commission can be discharged to our mutual advantage. The King will be delighted to learn that Hugh’s death was unavoidable, and I always aim to please him. I assume you are similarly loyal?’

Cole hesitated, not sure how to answer without condemning himself.

Gwenllian came to his rescue. ‘We shall do what is appropriate.’

Savaric frowned at the ambiguity of her response. ‘Keep me apprised of your progress, then. However, do not forget that Bath is a holy place, and I am the favoured recipient of a miracle. Have you heard about my crosier? Here it is – I always keep it in this hall.’

The staff was unexpectedly plain to be the property of so vain and grand a man, although there were three large jewels in its handle. Gwenllian inspected them.

‘But they are only glass,’ she blurted in surprise.

Savaric nodded. ‘It belonged to Reginald, and he was a man of simple tastes. I was appalled and shocked when it disappeared.’

‘Was it stolen?’ asked Cole.

‘Possibly. All I can tell you is that it was here one day, and gone the next. But I prayed to Reginald for its safe return, and it appeared on the high altar the following morning.’

‘Did it now?’ murmured Gwenllian sceptically.

‘It was the first miracle of many,’ Savaric went on happily. ‘Pilgrims pay a fortune to pray at his tomb now.’

‘Your knights claim to have had their virtue proved on Solsbury Hill,’ began Cole. ‘Do you think Adam and Hugh were-’

Savaric snorted his disdain. ‘Superstitious nonsense! My monks are always clamouring at me to be tested – especially that pious Robert – but I am not a man for grubbing about in the dark. Besides, I have no wish to see seraphim. I do not like the sound of them at all.’

‘What about wolves?’ asked Cole.

‘Not those, either. However-’ At this point, Savaric was interrupted by a commotion outside. He closed his eyes wearily. ‘Will that damned villain never leave me in peace?’

The ‘damned villain’ entered the hall in a flurry of snarling words and jabbing elbows. Osmun and Fevil tried to stop him, but – although only half their size – he simply put his head down and battered his way past them. The newcomer was a Benedictine, and he was quivering with rage, small fists clenched at his sides.

‘This is William Pica,’ explained Savaric heavily. ‘From Glastonbury.’

‘Abbot Pica,’ spat Pica. ‘Legally elected. You have stolen my title, but you will not keep it. I shall travel to Rome, and the new Pope will condemn your vile behaviour. You only want Glastonbury because we have King Arthur’s bones, and they are proving to be lucrative.’

‘Nonsense! It makes good administrative sense for Glastonbury and Bath to be united,’ argued Savaric. ‘Besides, Reginald wanted me to join the abbeys. He said so on his deathbed.’

‘Lies!’ screeched Pica. ‘I was with him – and he did not sully his lips with your name.’

‘And was that because he was poisoned, so could not speak?’ demanded Savaric, suave demeanour evaporating. ‘There are tales that say he did not die a natural death, and I have not forgotten that you were present. I have not forgotten that you happened to be in Bath when Hugh and Adam perished, either. You claim you were asleep, but you cannot prove it.’

Pica turned purple with rage, and while he spluttered incoherently, Gwenllian addressed the bishop.

‘You just told us that those three deaths were not suspicious. Yet now you accuse Pica of being complicit in them?’

‘Forgive me,’ said Savaric shortly, taking a deep breath to compose himself. ‘Pica always goads me into saying things I do not mean.’

‘Is that so?’ shrieked Pica. ‘Because I suspect you of killing them. One of your minions poisoned Reginald, while you have no alibi for when Adam and Hugh died, either.’

‘Yes, I do,’ snapped Savaric. ‘I was praying. God is my witness.’

‘Then tell Him to say so to the King’s officer,’ snarled Pica, waving a hand at Cole, who looked alarmed by the prospect. ‘Ask for a divine sign.’

‘There has already been one,’ argued Savaric, becoming angry again. ‘My crosier would not have been returned to me if I did not own God’s favour.’

Pica was evidently unwilling to argue with this, because he changed the subject. ‘Then tell the King’s officer what Hugh was doing when he died. Let us see what he makes of that.’

Savaric sighed as he addressed Cole. ‘Hugh thought there was something odd about the deaths of Reginald and Adam, and had been pondering and asking questions-’

‘He was investigating their murders,’ interrupted Pica harshly. ‘Personally, I suspect he learned something that implicated Savaric, but was killed before he could make his findings public. It is a pity he did not write anything down.’

‘Do either of you know why Hugh went to Solsbury Hill?’ asked Cole. ‘Was it to be tested for-’

‘Hugh was not a fool,’ snapped Pica. ‘Only saintly men, like me, dare take that challenge. He would not have risked it, and neither would Adam. Savaric has never tried it, of course.’

‘The test is a lot of nonsense,’ said Savaric, flushing angrily. ‘Moreover, Reginald died of a fever, and Hugh and Adam had accidents. And anyone who disagrees with me is a fool.’

There was no more to be learned at the Bishop’s Palace, so Gwenllian and Cole spent the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon talking to Bath’s monks, lay brothers and servants. These numbered more than two hundred people, but Gwenllian had not questioned a third of them before Cole decided he had had enough.

‘We cannot stop yet, cariad,’ she said reproachfully. ‘We do not have any answers.’

‘We have the only answer we need: that Dacus murdered Reginald, Adam and Hugh. And tomorrow, we shall confront him with the evidence.’

‘What evidence?’ asked Gwenllian, exasperated. ‘However, we may learn something useful if we speak to the man who found Adam and Hugh’s bodies.’

‘A lay brother named Eldred,’ mused Cole. ‘I suppose we could interview him today, although it is tedious work, and I would rather tend my horse.’

‘It will not take long. And the sooner we have answers, the sooner we can go home.’

Enquiries revealed that Eldred was collecting tolls on one of the city gates.

‘Yes, I found Hugh and Adam,’ he nodded. ‘And I was in Reginald’s retinue when he died. Now there was a sad day. Personally, I suspect Savaric had him poisoned, because he was jealous of his goodness.’

‘On what grounds do you make such an accusation?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘Did you see one of Savaric’s minions administer a toxin? Or overhear a confession by the killer?’

‘Well, no,’ admitted Eldred. ‘But Savaric would not have hired a fool for such a task. He would have chosen a villain who knew how to be careful.’

Gwenllian supposed that was true, but even so, she was inclined to dismiss the testimony as yet more gossipy speculation. Cole was thoughtful, though.

‘A number of people accompanied Reginald on his fatal journey to Canterbury – Dacus as his chaplain, Fevil, Pica, Robert, the two canons from Wells, you…’

Eldred nodded. ‘And any one of them might have killed Reginald on Savaric’s orders. Except Dacus. He loved Reginald dearly.’

‘What about Prior Hugh?’ asked Gwenllian, frustrated that the lay brother’s testimony was so light on facts, and heavy on unfounded opinion. ‘What happened to him?’

‘He had been sitting in the cloister all afternoon, fretting about the deaths of Adam and Reginald. So Robert suggested he go to Solsbury Hill, to look for evidence of foul play. Robert also offered to take vespers for him, which was nice.’

‘Robert did?’ asked Cole, exchanging a glance with Gwenllian. Was this evidence of a victim being manoeuvred into a desired location?

Eldred nodded. ‘Prior Hugh stopped by this gate for a moment, to chat with me, then he went on his way. Walter was here, too.’

‘What did Hugh say?’ asked Cole.

‘He asked about Adam. I said I thought a wolf had killed him, although Walter disagreed, and repeated the bishop’s theory about an accident. But Hugh did not believe that nonsense – he was not stupid. And Adam’s wounds were not caused by falling on sharp stones. They were made by teeth. Wolf’s teeth.’

‘How do you know it was not a dog?’ asked Cole.

‘I just do,’ replied Eldred firmly. ‘And the same beast killed Hugh, because there cannot be two such creatures in the area.’

Gwenllian regarded him sceptically. ‘Are you not afraid to be out here, then?’

‘I am safe enough in daylight. But there is a full moon the day after tomorrow, and wild horses will not drag me outside the abbey then.’

Cole and Gwenllian argued about what they had learned as they walked back to the Angel. He was of the opinion that Dacus had trained an animal to kill. She believed the injuries could have been made by a weapon, and felt Savaric and his henchmen, the smugly pious Robert, Walter and the belligerent Pica made far more convincing suspects.

‘I know dogs,’ Cole insisted. ‘And I have Dacus’ measure, too. I am right, Gwen.’

‘But Bath is a small town. How could Dacus keep such a beast hidden? Someone would see it, and the game would be over.’

He had no answer, and they walked the rest of the way in silence. A group of minstrels was singing near the abbey gates, and it was apparently an unusual event, because a crowd had gathered to listen. It included all their suspects. Frustrated by their lack of progress, Cole advanced on Bishop Savaric before Gwenllian could stop him.

‘Hugh’s throat was torn out,’ he said bluntly. ‘So was Adam’s. Yet you claim their deaths were accidental. Surely, you must see that is unlikely?’

‘Unlikely, but not impossible,’ replied Savaric curtly. ‘Besides, there are no wolves in Bath. You are wasting your time here, and I strongly advise you to leave the matter alone.’

‘You heard him,’ said Osmun, coming to loom menacingly. Fevil did the same, crowding forward in an effort to intimidate. Cole turned on him.

‘You accompanied Reginald to Canterbury, but you did not protect him from-’

‘How could he protect Reginald from a fever?’ sneered Osmun, interposing himself between them. ‘And it was a fever, not poison, before you make any unfounded accusations.’

‘We have already discussed this,’ said Savaric quickly, as hands dropped to the hilts of swords. ‘But I will repeat it. There is nothing suspicious about the deaths of Reginald, Adam or Hugh, no matter what the gossips tell you.’

Cole stared at him for a moment, then stalked towards a gaggle of clerics that included Robert, Walter, Pica, Trotman and Lechlade. Savaric rolled his eyes when he saw his assurances had not been believed, and Osmun and Fevil exchanged furious glances. Gwenllian stifled a sigh. Antagonising men who might be murderers was reckless, and she wished her husband would leave the talking to her.

‘You told Hugh to climb Solsbury Hill,’ Cole said, homing in on Robert. ‘Why?’

The sacrist jumped at the irate voice behind him, but quickly regained his composure. ‘Because he had spent the day agonising over Adam and Reginald. I suggested a walk to clear his head. Unfortunately, someone – or something – was waiting for him.’

‘Seraphim,’ nodded Trotman, pig-like face earnest. ‘With sharp claws.’

‘Nonsense,’ declared Pica. ‘Savaric killed them, just as he killed Reginald. He never saw eye to eye with Hugh, while Adam’s virtue put him in a bad light. He – or his henchmen – dispatched all three.’

‘No,’ said Robert quietly. ‘Reginald died of a fever. However, Adam and Hugh were murdered, although I cannot believe the bishop did it. It must be someone else.’

‘Dacus?’ asked Cole, looking to where the master of the hospital stood with his patients. He was solicitously gentle with them, wholly different from the man who had broken the news of Adam’s death with such calculated cruelty.

‘Definitely not Dacus,’ said Robert. ‘He speaks hotly, but there is no harm in him. If he has offended you, ignore it. He cannot help his untamed tongue.’

‘There is harm in him – he is responsible for the rumour that Reginald was murdered,’ countered Trotman. ‘He has never accepted that Reginald died of natural causes.’

‘His claims are a nuisance,’ agreed Walter. ‘And I wish he would not waylay strangers and challenge them to visit Solsbury on a full moon, either. It creates a bad first impression of our town. But his virtues outweigh his faults. Look at how his patients love him.’

They turned, and even Cole was forced to acknowledge that Dacus had a way with his charges. They jostled for his attention, and the affection they felt was clear in their faces. Cole watched for a while, then turned to leave, but Walter caught his sleeve.

‘Listen to Savaric,’ he whispered. ‘The King ordered you here because he had to appoint someone to assess what happened to Prior Hugh, but he is not interested in the truth. All he wants is a verdict of accidental death, so he can put the matter from his mind.’

Cole freed his arm. ‘What are you saying? That Hugh was murdered?’

Walter grimaced. ‘No! It was an accident, as I have already told you. I merely suggest that you give John what he wants. No good will come of doing otherwise – not for you, and not for Bath, either.’

Cole watched him slink away, then turned to Gwenllian. ‘When I hear remarks like that, it makes me even more determined to uncover what really happened.’

‘We have a number of suspects for these murders,’ said Gwenllian as they sat in their room at the Angel that night. It was late, because Cole had been trawling the taverns for information, although with scant success. ‘And Adam and Hugh were murdered, no matter what else we are told. I am not sure what to think about Reginald, though.’

‘I have one suspect,’ said Cole. ‘Dacus.’

‘Dacus is on the list,’ said Gwenllian, more to humour him than because she believed it. ‘So is Savaric. He does not want us here, and maintains, suspiciously, that Hugh and Adam had accidents. He also benefited from Reginald’s will. I doubt he killed anyone himself, but he may have ordered Osmun and Fevil to do it. They claim to have been dicing together when Hugh and Adam died, which is no alibi at all.’

‘Dacus may have enlisted them as accomplices,’ conceded Cole. ‘Or Pica, who claims to have been sleeping when Adam and Hugh were killed. Moreover, Pica was also in Reginald’s retinue on that fateful journey to Canterbury.’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘Pica wants to be Abbot of Glastonbury, and it would not be the first time an ambitious man has killed to achieve his objective. I am suspicious of Robert, too. He was the one who told Hugh to walk up Solsbury Hill – an excursion that cost the prior his life.’

‘But if Robert were guilty, he would not be insisting that Adam and Hugh were murdered,’ Cole pointed out. ‘He would be saying it was an accident or seraphim, like everyone else. Moreover, I am under the impression that he suspects Walter of the crime.’

‘Walter is a strong contender,’ acknowledged Gwenllian. ‘His grief for Hugh is insincere, he is Savaric’s toady, and he was made prior the moment Hugh died. He has plenty of reasons to kill, but no reliable alibi-’

Suddenly, Cole leaped to his feet, grabbed his sword and kicked over the lantern, plunging the room into inky darkness. An instant later, the door flew open and an arrow thudded into the mattress. Instinctively, Gwenllian dived for safety beneath the bed.

There followed the sounds of a clumsy skirmish – swords whipping through the air, mostly failing to connect but occasionally resulting in a clash or a grunt, and muttered curses. There was another sound, too: a deep, guttural growl. Had the invaders brought an animal? Gwenllian’s blood ran cold at the notion.

‘Kill him quickly!’ came a furious hiss. ‘You are making too much noise.’

Gwenllian tried to identify the voice, but she had never been good at recognising whispers. Sparks flew when a sword struck the stone wall. Then she heard a cudgel land with a sickening thud, and Cole gasped in pain. A second blow followed, and she sensed his assailants home in on the sound. Unwilling to cower while he was battered to death, she began to scream as loudly as she could.

‘Silence her!’ came the frantic voice.

Gwenllian kept yelling, punching away the hands that tried to lay hold of her. Then footsteps hammered on the stairs. Rescue! A sudden draught told her a window had been opened. The hands withdrew, and she scrambled from under the bed just in time to see three shadows jostling with each other to make their escape.

Cole struggled to his feet and started to follow, but reeled dizzily. Iefan jerked him back before he could tumble out.

‘You cannot fight with a broken sword,’ the sergeant said gruffly. ‘I will go.’

Cole glanced at the weapon in his hand, and swore when he saw the tip of the blade had sheared off. He sat on the bed, hand to his side, and smiled wanly at Gwenllian.

‘I thought I was dead once they had knocked me down, but your howls drove them off.’

Gwenllian inspected his ribs. The cudgel’s imprints were etched clearly into his skin, long red marks already darkening into bruises. There were lacerations at one end, too, where she assumed sharp objects had been hammered into it, to render it more deadly.

Eventually, Iefan returned to report that their attackers had escaped him. Tracking was difficult at night, and the culprits knew the city better than he. Then the landlord arrived, all horrified concern. Nothing like it had ever happened before, he told them; Gwenllian was sure he was telling the truth. He refused to leave until he was sure they believed him, so it was some time before she and Cole were alone again.

‘It was too dark to see, but they had an animal,’ she said. ‘I heard snarls…’

‘A dog,’ nodded Cole. ‘I heard it, too. And they were professional warriors – I could tell by the way they fought.’

‘Osmun and Fevil? Or soldiers hired by someone else? Regardless, it tells us that someone does not want us asking questions.’

Gwenllian dozed fitfully for the rest of the night, while Cole declined to sleep at all; he stood guard by the door, honing a dagger to keep himself awake. As soon as it was light, they went to find a smith who could mend his sword.

They were directed to a man who had set up business by one of the springs, the stench of hot metal vying with the sulphurous odour of steaming water. He was chewing a stick of dried meat, which he was evidently in the habit of sharing with local dogs, because a pack had gathered by his door. Gwenllian gave them a wide berth, but Cole stopped to pet a couple; they swarmed around him, tails wagging.

Once the smith had assured Cole that the sword would be repaired by the following day, they left for the abbey. Gwenllian wanted to see Reginald’s grave, although Cole grumbled that they would be better off confronting Dacus.

The tomb was a simple one, near the high altar, and was surrounded by pilgrims. Robert detached himself from the throng, and came to greet them.

‘The miracles started here two months ago,’ he said proudly. ‘Beginning with the return of Savaric’s crosier.’

‘But Reginald has been dead for eight years,’ said Gwenllian. ‘Why the delay?’

‘Who knows the minds of the saints?’ Robert turned his gaze heavenward.

‘Perhaps these miracles should be attributed to Adam, not Reginald,’ suggested Cole. ‘They coincide with his murder, after all.’

Robert’s beatific expression slipped a little. ‘I doubt Adam would have returned Savaric’s crosier. He was generally sympathetic to thieves – he often tended them in his hospital.’

‘Assuming the crosier was stolen in the first place,’ muttered Gwenllian.

‘What are you saying?’ cried Robert, loudly enough to attract the attention of Walter, who was collecting coins from hopeful penitents. ‘Of course it was stolen!’

‘It was,’ agreed Walter, coming to join them. ‘And to suggest otherwise infers that Reginald’s cult is based on deception.’

‘Do either of you own a vicious dog?’ asked Cole, changing the subject abruptly enough to make both monks blink their surprise.

‘No, of course not!’ replied Walter irritably. ‘I do not allow fierce creatures in my abbey.’

‘But Reginald kept hounds,’ mused Robert. ‘He had kennels built in the Prior’s Garden. These days, we use them to store the urine we shall use for tanning leather this winter.’

‘The wind blows the stench away from my house,’ said Walter. Then he added with a grimace, ‘Most of the time, at least. Would you like to see them? I can provide pomanders.’

‘No, thank you,’ said Gwenllian in distaste.

‘As you wish,’ said Walter. ‘What prompted you to ask about dogs?’

‘They probably think one was used to kill Adam and Hugh,’ explained Robert. He turned back to Cole. ‘Osmun and Fevil keep hounds – an entire pack of them.’

‘I doubt those animals are responsible,’ countered Walter. ‘They are used for hunting.’

‘Visit them, and decide for yourself,’ said Robert slyly, ignoring his prior’s immediate glare at the suggestion. Then he gave a small bow. ‘But you must excuse me: I have religious duties to perform.’

He hurried back to the pilgrims, and Walter followed, apparently unwilling to be seen as less devout than his sacrist. After a moment, Cole went to kneel at the tomb. When he had finished his prayers, Walter was ready with a bowl for his donation.

Cole took a deep, careful breath as they left the abbey, then winced. ‘It still hurts,’ he complained. ‘And if you are not pregnant by the time we leave, I am getting my money back.’

Gwenllian regarded him askance. ‘What did you-’

‘Can we look for this dangerous dog now?’ interrupted Cole impatiently. ‘When we have it, we shall know our killer. We shall begin with Dacus, at the hospital.’

Dacus was supervising his elderly charges as they took the healing waters. They splashed and wallowed like children, and he smiled indulgently as he sat in a chair, a fat ginger cat in his lap. His contented expression evaporated when he saw Cole.

‘The man who admits to befriending Evil Adam,’ he sneered, standing abruptly. The cat hissed its disapproval as it was deposited on the floor. ‘What do you want?’

‘Do you own a dog?’ asked Cole, manfully overlooking the slur on his friend.

‘I prefer cats.’ Dacus’ eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘Why? Is it because the wolf came after you last night, and you are eager to know who controls it?’

‘How do you know what happened last night?’ demanded Cole suspiciously.

‘News travels fast in Bath. But there is no wolf here at the hospital. Try asking Osmun and Fevil – they like savage beasts. Savaric has one, too; Pica gave it to him.’

‘Why would Pica give Savaric a gift?’ asked Cole, bemused. ‘They dislike each other.’

Dacus’ voice took on the curious singsong quality he had used the first time they had met. It made him sound demented. ‘It was a bribe, presented three months ago, to encourage Savaric to relinquish his claim on Glastonbury. It did not work, of course.’

‘Pica gave Savaric a dog?’

‘A big fierce one.’ Dacus laughed suddenly. ‘Do you think Savaric set it on you? He might have done. It is common knowledge that he does not want you here. But he should have waited until tomorrow.’

‘Why?’

‘Because dogs become wolves when the moon is full,’ chanted Dacus. He poked Cole in the chest, a liberty few dared take with Norman warriors, which told Gwenllian for certain that he was fey-witted. ‘Will you go to Solsbury tomorrow? Or are you as sinful as Adam, so fear to take the challenge?’

‘He will not,’ said Gwenllian, before Cole could reply for himself. ‘He does not believe these ridiculous tales of wolves, seraphim and full moons.’

Dacus regarded Cole with utter disdain. ‘Coward!’

‘We have the proof we need now,’ said Cole, the moment he and Gwenllian were outside. ‘Dacus denies owning a dog, but there were hairs all over his habit. Did you see them?’

‘I saw a cat in his lap. I imagine those came from her.’

‘No,’ stated Cole emphatically. ‘Cat hairs and dog hairs are not the same.’

Gwenllian doubted he could tell the difference. ‘Do you really think a cat would stay if a savage dog was at large?’ she asked, trying to keep the impatience from her voice.

‘Clearly, he keeps it tethered. I shall break into the hospital after dark tonight, and look for it.’

‘No! If you are caught committing burglary, the King will use it as an excuse to seize Carmarthen. Besides, we should inspect the dogs owned by Savaric, Osmun and Fevil, first.’

‘To eliminate them, thus reinforcing our case against Dacus,’ nodded Cole. ‘Good idea.’

Although Gwenllian was used to her husband’s occasionally stubborn moods, she wished he had not chosen to indulge in one when so much was at stake. It meant she was effectively investigating alone, and she was silent as they walked, hoping he would sense her irritation and adopt a more reasonable attitude. Unfortunately, he did not seem to notice.

Pica was in Savaric’s hall when they arrived. He was apoplectic with rage, and Osmun and Fevil had unsheathed their swords.

‘How dare you?’ he was howling. ‘You cannot excommunicate me! I am Abbot Elect.’

‘Your election was unlawful – the King says so,’ said Savaric. ‘And I would not have to excommunicate you had you shown a shred of restraint. But you strut about the city making disparaging remarks about me.’

Without further ado, he began reading the words that would banish Pica from the Church. Pica surged forward, his face dangerously red, but all he did was wag a shaking finger in Savaric’s face before storming out.

‘There,’ said Savaric, closing the book in satisfaction. ‘Let us see how he likes that. But what can I do for you, Sir Symon? Or are you here to tell me that you are going home?’

‘I want to see your dogs,’ said Cole bluntly.

Savaric blinked. ‘I do not have any. All dogs in the Bishop’s Palace belong to Osmun or Fevil. You may view those, if you wish.’

He led the way to a yard, where two outbuildings had been given over to the care of hounds. Fevil opened the door to the first, and Cole immediately forgot that he was meant to be looking for one that killed people, and waded among them in delight, calling compliments to their owners. His praise was effusive enough to make even the sour Fevil smile. Savaric watched in disdain.

‘I cannot abide dogs,’ he said to Gwenllian. ‘All they do is eat, bark, bite and shove their noses in embarrassing places.’

Gwenllian suspected that might be true of Osmun and Fevil’s collection; they seemed an unappealing pack to her.

‘These are all we have,’ said Osmun quickly, when Cole started to move towards the second shed. ‘Look at these pups. Their dam is that brindled bitch in the corner.’

While Cole was distracted, Gwenllian turned back to Savaric. ‘Which one is Pica’s gift?’

‘That thing is dead, thank God! Osmun, tell the good lady what you did with that vicious beast Pica had the temerity to press on me. That grey creation with the nasty yellow teeth.’

‘Fevil slit its throat, and we served it to Pica in a pie.’ Osmun’s reptilian gaze was bland, so Gwenllian had no idea whether he was telling the truth.

There was no more to be learned, so she indicated it was time to leave.

‘That was a waste of time,’ she said in disgust, once they were outside. ‘I have no idea whether the animal Pica gave Savaric is dead or alive, while you were more interested in admiring the quality of their breeding bitches than in assessing whether any were killers.’

‘I did assess them – none is savage. However, Osmun offered me a pup if we left Bath today. The fact that he tried to bribe me says he has something to hide.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Gwenllian. ‘But what?’

They decided to visit Pica next. They found him near the Chapter House, braying his fury to Walter and Robert about his treatment at Savaric’s hands.

‘It is your fault!’ he raged, stabbing a finger at Cole. ‘Savaric says he has no time for my complaints, because he is busy with you. It is your fault he excommunicated me.’

‘He excommunicated you because you rail at him,’ countered Cole shortly. ‘Besides we have spent very little time in his company since we arrived. He is fobbing you off with excuses.’

‘I am sure he will lift the interdict if you ask nicely,’ said Robert soothingly.

‘Offer him a little something to gain his favour,’ suggested Walter. ‘But make sure you say it is for the abbey. If you imply it is for him personally, the price will go up.’

Cole laughed, although Walter had apparently not intended to be amusing, because he looked too startled.

‘We are here to ask about another bribe, as it happens,’ Cole said. ‘A dog.’

‘I presented one to him three months ago.’ Pica scowled. ‘It cost me a fortune, but the gesture did nothing to make him more kindly disposed towards me. I should have kept it myself, because it was a lovely creature.’

‘We were told it was savage,’ said Cole. ‘Did you give it to him in the hope that he would be bitten?’

‘No,’ said Pica, in a way that told even Cole, who tended to take such remarks at face value, that he was lying.

‘Then did you eat a pie with him not long afterwards?’

‘I do not recall,’ replied Pica, frowning his puzzlement. ‘What a peculiar thing to ask!’

‘Have you seen the dog recently?’

Pica glared. ‘No, and I resent all these questions. What are you going to do about this excommunication? You must abandon your enquiries and intervene. In the King’s name!’

‘Meddle, and you will be sorry,’ warned Walter. ‘It is none of your concern.’

‘I disagree,’ said Robert softly. ‘No bishop should excommunicate someone over a private quarrel. Sir Symon should postpone his investigation, and attend to this matter.’

He and Walter began to argue, Pica interrupting angrily every few words. Gwenllian and Cole took the opportunity to slip away.

‘Savaric, Pica and Robert urge us to abandon our enquiries, Osmun offers you a new dog, and Walter threatens us,’ she mused. ‘I wonder what inferences we can draw from that.’

Cole had no answer. As they still had monks to interview, Gwenllian suggested returning to the abbey. Cole yawned hugely, weary after two nights of interrupted sleep, so she suggested he go back to the Angel, to rest.

‘And I mean rest. That does not entail confronting Dacus.’

‘I will attend Mass,’ he said, using the airy tone that told her he was lying. ‘But the abbey is too noisy, so I will go to St Michael’s instead.’

As St Michael’s was near where his horse was stabled, Gwenllian suspected he intended to spend time with it, but did not want her to think he was leaving her to do all the work. As it happened, she did not mind: the monks were more likely to confide in her without a bored knight looming over them.

Just before they parted ways, Trotman intercepted them, to express his shock over what had happened the previous night.

‘Perhaps you will join me in a prayer of thanks for your deliverance,’ the canon said. ‘I am going to meet Pica in the abbey, and you are welcome to join us. Ah! Here he is now.’

‘My husband has made arrangements to visit St Michael’s instead,’ said Gwenllian, before Cole could respond with a more pithily worded refusal. ‘He will-’

‘Good,’ said Pica unpleasantly. ‘Let us hope God tells him to ditch his stupid enquiries about Hugh, and take up my cause instead.’

It was dark by the time Gwenllian had finished. Iefan was waiting to escort her back to the inn, and they were just passing St Michael’s when they heard a commotion. They joined a crowd of people hurrying to see what was amiss.

Lechlade was lying on the ground, dead from a wound near the groin.

Those in authority did not take long to arrive. Walter was first. He had brought a lantern, and Gwenllian looked away when she saw the amount of blood that had been spilled. Next came Trotman, Robert at his side. Trotman dropped to his knees and began to weep when he saw his friend’s corpse, and Robert laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then the bishop appeared, his henchman-knights slouching behind him.

Cole arrived, holding the tool he used for paring hoofs. Dacus was not far behind, and Gwenllian realised the stables were near the hospital; Cole might have been tending his horse, but he had also been monitoring the man he considered a villain.

‘Lechlade was killed with a sword,’ Cole said, kneeling next to the body. As a soldier, he was familiar with such injuries and well qualified to judge.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ wailed Trotman. ‘And why did Lechlade not fight back? He always carried a dagger and a mace when away from Wells.’

‘He must have been taken by surprise,’ replied Cole. ‘His weapons are still in his belt.’

‘A knight did it,’ stated Osmun. ‘Who else wears a sword? Fevil and I have been with the bishop all afternoon, so we are not responsible. It is another knight.’

His reptilian gaze settled on Cole, and Gwenllian’s stomach lurched. Was this how they would thwart the investigation, given that cajolery, bribes and threats had not worked?

‘No!’ said Trotman unsteadily. ‘Sir Symon has been in St Michael’s, attending Mass.’

‘And where are we now?’ demanded Walter archly. ‘Outside St Michael’s! Obviously, he said his prayers first, and murdered Lechlade afterwards.’

Gwenllian watched in horror as Osmun and Fevil drew their swords. Cole started to do the same, but his scabbard was empty.

‘Symon cannot be the culprit,’ she said, seizing in relief the way to exonerate him. ‘His blade was broken in last night’s attack, and it is with the smith. You can see he is unarmed.’

‘Then he used another one,’ snapped Osmun. ‘There are plenty available in Bath.’

‘But you just said only knights wear swords,’ said Robert. ‘You cannot have it both-’

‘Arrest him,’ chanted Dacus. He began to dance in small circles. ‘He is an evil killer, who refuses to face the wolf on Solsbury Hill. Throw him in prison! Hang him in chains!’

‘What is going on?’ came an imperious voice. It was Pica. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Lechlade, and his hands flew to his mouth. ‘God save us! What happened?’

‘A knight has murdered Lechlade,’ explained Trotman brokenly. ‘But Sir Symon’s sword is broken, which means Savaric’s henchmen-’

‘Now just a moment,’ began Savaric. ‘My advisers have no reason to harm Lechlade. Besides, they have an alibi in me, whereas Cole has been alone in the stables.’

‘How do you know he was alone in the stables?’ pounced Gwenllian. ‘Have you been spying on him?’

‘I may have ordered him monitored,’ acknowledged Savaric reluctantly. ‘For his own safety. He was almost killed last night, in case you had forgotten.’

‘I had not,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘However, your confession is excellent news. Let this spy step forward. He will tell you Symon is innocent.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Savaric. He turned to Walter. ‘Well? Speak.’

Walter grimaced that the bishop should so blithely reveal the demeaning way in which he had spent his afternoon, while Gwenllian experienced a pang of alarm. Walter was Savaric’s toady. Would he tell the truth, or lie to curry his master’s favour?

‘Cole never left the stables,’ Walter said eventually, although it was clear he wished he could have reported something different. ‘He did not murder Lechlade.’

‘You might have mentioned it sooner,’ sighed Savaric irritably. ‘Osmun was on the verge of arresting him, and the King does not like his officers imprisoned without a decent pretext.’

‘Arrest him anyway,’ sang Dacus, then laughed wildly. ‘He deserves it. He is evil, like Adam and Hugh. Throw him in the dungeons and lose the key.’

‘I had better take Dacus home,’ said Walter, clearly thankful for an excuse to be away from the bishop’s admonishing glare. ‘Incidents like this distress him.’

‘He does not look distressed to me,’ muttered Cole to Gwenllian, as the master of the hospital was ushered back to his domain. ‘He looks vengeful.’

But Gwenllian was more interested in Walter. Had he abandoned his surveillance to go a-killing? But what reason could he have for stabbing Lechlade? When Walter and Dacus had gone, she turned her attention to the others who had gathered.

Savaric was angry, although it was unclear whether it was because another murder had been committed, or because Cole was still free to pursue his investigation. Meanwhile, Robert was comforting Trotman, but seemed distracted. Osmun and Fevil were impossible to read, and Gwenllian was disinclined to believe that they had been with the bishop. And Pica, white and shocked, was uncharacteristically subdued. Was guilt responsible for the change?

She sighed. Any of them might be the culprit.

There were no attacks that night, although Gwenllian slept poorly, despite the fact that Iefan was standing guard outside. She woke when it was still dark, and opened the window to see the moon bright and clear in a cloudless sky. The next night would see it full, and she recalled the challenge Dacus had issued.

When she sensed dawn was near, she nudged her husband awake. He snapped into instant wakefulness, and reached for his sword, cursing softly when he found it was not there.

‘We need to review what we have learned,’ she said. ‘Perhaps discussing it will see answers emerge.’

Cole looked as if he would rather go back to sleep, but nodded acquiescence.

‘We have four deaths,’ she began. ‘First, Reginald may have been poisoned. His cousin Savaric is the obvious suspect, because he was a beneficiary of his will. Of course, Walter, Robert, Pica and God knows how many others were with him when he died. He was a good man, and miracles have been occurring at his tomb, although only in the last two months.’

‘Which coincides with Adam’s murder. He was a good man, too.’

‘Adam died second,’ nodded Gwenllian. ‘And Hugh third. Both had their throats torn out on Solsbury Hill. Rumours say they were savaged by a wolf, but some dogs look like wolves, and they can be trained to kill.’

‘They can. And that explanation makes a lot more sense than seraphim.’

‘So let us consider dogs. Pica gave one to Savaric, the whereabouts of which is unknown to us; and Osmun and Fevil have a pack of them, including some they declined to show you.’

‘Dacus will have one, too. There were hairs on his habit, and his hospital has grounds and outhouses aplenty for concealing such an animal. If you had let me search them last night, we would not be having this conversation.’

Gwenllian ignored him. ‘As regards motive for killing Hugh, Walter is at the top of my list, because he was awarded Hugh’s post. However, it was Robert who encouraged Hugh to walk up the hill in the first place. Then there is Savaric, who was at loggerheads with Hugh, and who has the dubious talents of Osmun and Fevil at his disposal.’

‘What about their motive for killing Adam? He and Hugh died in identical manners, so I think we can assume a single culprit.’ Cole looked triumphant when Gwenllian was unable to answer. ‘Dacus hated Adam, and the moment he was dead, he became master of the hospital. And he does not have alibis, either.’

‘He is barely sane,’ said Gwenllian irritably. ‘Do you really believe he is wily enough to commit murder and conceal the evidence?’

‘Of course. He may not be clever, but he has an animal’s cunning.’

There was no point arguing. ‘Lechlade is the last victim, killed with a sword. Osmun said only a knight would use such a weapon, but then claimed they are readily available in Bath. If his second remark is true, then any of our suspects might be responsible. And so might Trotman, for that matter. He wept bitterly over the corpse, but perhaps it was an act.’

‘No – his grief was sincere. But even if I am wrong, he would not have dispatched an ally from Wells, because it leaves him battling Savaric alone. And I do not believe Robert would be so callous as to comfort him if he was the killer, either.’

Gwenllian supposed he was right. ‘So who do you think murdered Lechlade? And please do not say Dacus.’

‘It was not Dacus,’ said Cole, albeit reluctantly. ‘I spent the afternoon watching him, and would have noticed. Walter did not do it, either – not if he was following me.’

‘So, we have eliminated Dacus, Walter, Robert and Trotman. That leaves Pica, Savaric and the henchmen.’

‘It was not Osmun or Fevil.’ Cole feinted with an imaginary blade. ‘The fatal blow was inflicted clumsily and awkwardly, not the work of a professional warrior.’

Gwenllian sighed. ‘Then we can eliminate Savaric, too, because I do not think he would bloody his own hands. That leaves Pica.’

‘He certainly has a temper. So is that the answer? Pica?’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘We shall speak to him as soon as it is light.’

‘Savaric will be delighted when we tell him Glastonbury’s Abbot Elect is a killer.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Gwenllian soberly. ‘He will.’

The sun was shining by the time they left the inn, and the only clouds were high and wispy. Unfortunately, the fine weather did nothing to ease Gwenllian’s growing sense of disquiet, and her nervousness transmitted itself to Cole, who insisted on collecting his sword before tackling Pica. He was not pleased with the result: the blade was unbalanced and nowhere near sharp enough. There was a sly look in the smith’s eye when he offered to make amends, and Gwenllian stared at him. Had he been paid to ensure Cole continued to be unarmed?

‘Borrow Iefan’s,’ she whispered. ‘I have a bad feeling about today.’

Cole did not question her, and it was not long before he was buckling his sergeant’s weapon around his waist. As they left the inn a second time, they met Trotman.

‘I am leaving today.’ The canon’s piggy eyes were red, as if he had spent the night crying. ‘I must take the news of Lechlade’s death to Wells. I wish you well in your investigation, but be careful what you tell the King. John is the kind of man to mangle words and use them to harm you later. Write your dispatches with care.’

Gwenllian stared after him, suspecting they had just been given some very sound advice, then she and Cole began to walk towards the abbey.

‘Pica was with Reginald when he died,’ Cole began tentatively. ‘Do you think he killed him, as well as Lechlade?’

‘It is possible, although poison seems too discreet a weapon for him…’

But the question had sparked the germ of an answer, and by the time they arrived, she had at least part of a solution. Pica’s responses would determine the rest. They found the feisty little man in the abbey’s guesthouse, pacing back and forth.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded. ‘I have nothing to say to people who stood by and did nothing while Savaric excommunicated me.’

‘But we have something to say to you,’ said Gwenllian quietly. ‘You stabbed Lechlade, although we know it was a mistake.’

‘We do?’ blurted Cole, startled.

Pica stared at Gwenllian. ‘I did not stab Lechlade.’

‘You did,’ said Gwenllian in the same calm voice. Pica was volatile, and she did not want to precipitate an attack: it would not look good for Symon to engage in fisticuffs with senior clerics. ‘You were angry because Savaric is using us as an excuse to postpone discussions-’

‘Of course I am angry,’ snarled Pica. ‘But that does not make me Lechlade’s killer.’

‘Symon said he was going to St Michael’s Church, but the truth was that he wanted to spend time with his horse. You waited until dark, and you struck the man who emerged. Unfortunately for you, it was someone else.’

‘Pica wanted to kill me?’ asked Cole, shocked.

‘No,’ said Pica, although his face was white. ‘She cannot prove these nasty allegations.’

‘I can. You see, you and Trotman were the only people who knew where Symon was going, and we know Trotman did not kill his friend. Then there was your horror when you saw Lechlade’s body – your realisation that you had claimed the wrong victim.’

‘No,’ said Pica again, but unsteadily. ‘I am not a fool, to attack a Norman warrior.’

‘Which is why you waited until dark,’ Gwenllian pressed on. ‘To give yourself the advantage of surprise. Moreover, you held back until your victim left the church – good monk that you are, you did not want to spill blood on holy ground.’

‘Lechlade’s injury!’ exclaimed Cole suddenly. ‘I see how it happened now.’

He crouched, which made him Pica’s height, and stabbed with Iefan’s sword, using Gwenllian as his ‘victim’. The wound he would have inflicted, had he been in earnest, was exactly where Lechlade had been struck.

‘I would never…’ stammered Pica. ‘I do not…’

‘Symon is following the King’s orders, and you were going to murder him for it,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘Just to deprive Savaric of an excuse to procrastinate. As it is, you killed an innocent man instead.’

Pica closed his eyes. ‘I did not mean to kill, only incapacitate. But surely, you understand? I cannot wait days until your investigation is complete, when every hour that passes sees Savaric grow more powerful, to Glastonbury’s detriment. Something had to be done.’

‘What about Reginald?’ asked Cole. ‘Did you murder him, too?

‘Reginald was not poisoned, no matter what the gossips claim,’ said Pica wretchedly. ‘He died of a fever.’

‘Then what about Hugh and Adam?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘They were killed by a dog that tore out their throats. And you gave Savaric a large grey animal – one that looked like a wolf.’

Pica stared at her. ‘If that dog did attack Hugh and Adam, you cannot hold me responsible. Perhaps it was a little more savage than I led Savaric to believe, but Osmun and Fevil should have been able to control it. Besides, they told me yesterday that they had turned it into a pie weeks ago.’

‘They said the same to us,’ acknowledged Gwenllian. ‘But we cannot be sure they were telling the truth.’

‘If the creature is alive, then I know nothing about it,’ stated Pica. ‘I admit to stabbing Lechlade, but it was a mistake, and any court of law will see it.’

‘A mistake because you were aiming to kill the King’s officer?’ asked Gwenllian icily.

‘A mistake because Savaric fosters an atmosphere of fear and mistrust,’ countered Pica, finally regaining his composure. ‘Bath has an unsettled and dangerous feel, and I struck out in self-defence. That is what I shall say, and no one will be able to disprove it.’

‘Pica is right, you know,’ said Gwenllian, as she and Cole watched him escorted to the abbey cells. ‘It was dark, and Lechlade was armed. No one can prove he did not act in self-defence.’

‘Lechlade’s weapons were still in his belt. Of course it was not self-defence!’

‘I know that, but do not expect justice to be served for this particular crime. Royal pardons can be purchased, and Glastonbury is a wealthy foundation.’

‘So is Wells. Trotman will want Lechlade avenged.’

‘But Glastonbury has the revenues from King Arthur’s bones. It is richer and stronger.’

‘We could speak out – make sure the truth is known.’

‘Then John will arrest you for questioning the judiciousness of his pardons, and will give Carmarthen to one of his cronies. It is better to stay silent.’

‘Very well, but I will not look the other way while Adam’s killer walks free.’

Gwenllian sighed. ‘I know. But we had better give an account of our findings to Savaric now. He will want details of Pica’s crime, and we cannot afford to offend him.’

They walked to the Bishop’s Palace, where Savaric was eating breakfast with Walter; Osmun and Fevil were by the window, honing daggers. As Cole explained how they had cornered Pica, Gwenllian noticed that the famous crosier – which Savaric claimed was always kept in the hall – was missing. Another piece of the mystery snapped clear in her mind.

‘Where is your staff?’ she asked.

Savaric’s eyebrows went up at the question, but he went to the place where it was kept. His jaw dropped in dismay when he saw it had gone, but Walter hurried forward.

‘Here it is,’ he said soothingly, reaching behind a curtain. ‘I noticed it had been moved yesterday. One of the servants must have done it.’

Relieved, Savaric held out his hand.

‘Allow me to see it restored to its proper position,’ said Walter ingratiatingly, declining to pass it to him.

‘May I see it first?’ asked Gwenllian.

‘Certainly not,’ said Walter, holding it to his chest. ‘It is too holy to be pawed by women.’

‘I touched it the other day,’ she challenged. ‘And I want to see it again now.’

When Osmun and Fevil whipped out their swords, Gwenllian knew her suspicions were correct. She also saw that making them known had been a terrible mistake. Bewildered, Cole drew his own weapon.

‘Osmun, see to Cole!’ Walter bellowed, lashing out with the staff so suddenly that Gwenllian only just managed to avoid being brained with it. ‘I will deal with his wife.’

‘What are you doing?’ cried Savaric, aghast. ‘Put that down at once!’

‘Trust me!’ snapped Walter, gripping the crook more firmly. ‘I am acting in your best interests, just as I always have.’

He advanced on Gwenllian again, but she darted behind the startled prelate. On the other side of the room, Cole was engaged in a fierce battle with Osmun and Fevil. The clang of steel was deafening, and she wondered fleetingly how disadvantaged he would be with an unfamiliar sword. But she could not dwell on his predicament, because she had her own troubles. Walter grabbed her cloak and yanked her towards him. She drew a small knife and brandished it, causing him to leap back in alarm.

‘Afraid to fight me?’ she jeered. ‘Or do you only strike your victims when it is dark, and no one can see?’

‘What is she talking about?’ demanded Savaric. ‘Osmun, Fevil! Desist immediately!’

The two knights had Cole backed into a corner and were taking it in turns to attack. They ignored Savaric’s order.

‘What you do not know cannot harm you,’ said Walter to the bishop, lunging for Gwenllian again. ‘Look the other way, and pretend this is not happening.’

‘Overlook the slaughter of the King’s officer and his wife in my own hall?’ cried Savaric, aghast. ‘Do not be a fool, man! And give me my crosier before you damage it. It is a holy thing, touched by a miracle-’

‘Oh, come,’ scoffed Walter. ‘Do not tell me you believe that? You left the damned thing in the cloisters, and it was I who put it on the altar.’

Savaric’s jaw dropped a second time. ‘No! But Reginald… He cured people!’

‘After the so-called Miracle of the Crosier, I paid a beggar to say he was healed, and subsequently, people thought they were better because they wanted to be. But the ruse has earned our abbey a fortune, so I have no regrets.’

Savaric’s face was ashen. ‘I do not believe you would stoop to such a vile deception!’

‘No? Then why did you make me prior, if not as a reward for devising the plan that has generated so much money?’

‘Because my only other choice was Robert, and his piety makes me look irreligious,’ explained Savaric weakly. ‘Now give me my crosier before-’

‘No!’ snarled Walter, trying again to grab Gwenllian. ‘Let me resolve this matter as I deem fit, and we shall say no more about it. I know what I am doing.’

‘Walter will not let you see your staff because there is blood on it,’ said Gwenllian to Savaric, retreating further behind him. ‘Which is why it was hidden behind the curtain. He has not had time to clean it.’

‘Whose blood?’ whispered Savaric.

‘My husband’s. Walter and your two henchmen came to the Angel to kill him. But he is quick-witted in that sort of situation. He kicked over the lamp, and darkness prevented them from committing murder.’

‘What?’ cried Savaric, more appalled than ever. ‘But he is the King’s officer! You cannot kill him, Walter – especially with my crosier! It is a religious artefact, not a cudgel.’

Cole was tiring from the vicious two-pronged attack, and Gwenllian saw that unless she did something soon, the knights would kill him.

‘Symon has bruises that match your staff precisely,’ she said desperately. ‘Even down to the puncture marks caused by its three glass jewels. Tell your men to lay down their weapons, and he will show you.’

‘Osmun, stop!’ shouted Savaric. ‘End this madness at once.’

‘Keep fighting!’ Walter turned to Savaric. ‘It is them or you. If they live, they will accuse you of murder.’

Savaric gazed at him. ‘Murder? Me? What are you talking about?’

‘They think you killed Adam and Hugh,’ explained Gwenllian, ‘using Pica’s dog.’

‘What?’ exploded Savaric. ‘That vile creature? I assure you, I-’

‘You do not need to pretend with us,’ interrupted Walter briskly. ‘We know it was the dog Pica gave you that dispatched Adam and Hugh. We saw its hairs on their bodies.’

Savaric was horrified. ‘If that beast was responsible, then it had nothing to do with me! I thought Osmun had destroyed the thing. I swear on holy Reginald’s tomb that I had nothing to do with what happened to Adam and Hugh!’

The oath made Osmun falter, and it was enough for Cole to strike him on the side of the head with the hilt of his sword. Osmun staggered backwards, then collapsed in a heap. Fevil issued a peculiar growl, and Gwenllian stared at him.

‘The animal we heard in the Angel!’ she exclaimed. ‘It was you!’

‘Fevil cannot help the sounds he makes,’ said Savaric. He spoke distractedly, still trying to process what Walter had told him. ‘You would fare no better if you had no tongue.’

‘For God’s sake, Fevil!’ howled Walter, as the big man faltered. ‘We will lose everything if Savaric surrenders. Finish Cole!’

‘Wait!’ It was Osmun, climbing slowly to his feet. Fevil obeyed instantly, and Cole backed away, using the opportunity to catch his breath. Osmun addressed the bishop. ‘Are you saying you are innocent of killing Adam and Hugh?’

‘Of course I am innocent!’ cried Savaric. ‘What do you think I am?’

Osmun gazed at him in confusion. ‘But you used bribery and coercion to make Cole abandon his investigation. Why would you do that if you had nothing to hide?’

‘Because the King does not want me to co-operate,’ explained Savaric, clearly affronted. ‘But I had nothing to hide personally.’

Gwenllian grimaced. The news of John’s duplicity came as no surprise.

Walter was also staring at Savaric, his expression one of confusion. ‘But the dog was yours, and if you did not set it on Adam and Hugh, then who did?’

‘You should choose your followers more carefully,’ said Gwenllian to Savaric in the silence that followed Walter’s question. ‘They believe you capable of terrible things.’

‘My immortal soul may be stained with many sins, but murder is not one of them,’ said Savaric firmly.

Osmun exchanged a glance with Fevil, who nodded. ‘We believe you.’

‘Good,’ said the bishop drily. He glared at Walter. ‘And now you have some explaining to do. You can begin by telling me why you tried to kill Sir Symon with my crosier. Because his wife is right: there is blood on it.’

‘I planned to rinse it off,’ said Walter bitterly. ‘But I was shaken after our narrow escape in the Angel, and then I forgot.’

‘That does not explain why you took it in the first place,’ said Savaric angrily.

‘Because I needed something to defend myself with,’ snapped Walter. ‘Cole is a skilled warrior. And it was the only thing to hand.’

‘Beating him with it was not defending yourself,’ said Gwenllian icily.

‘I was frightened,’ said Walter sullenly. ‘We were supposed to shoot him while he was asleep. Instead, he was awake and fighting with terrifying ferocity.’

‘A misunderstanding, then.’ Savaric raised his hand when Gwenllian started to object.

Walter nodded eagerly. ‘Yes, and we did it for you. They had learned that a dog killed Hugh and Adam, and it was only a matter of time before they also learned that Pica had given you an especially savage one. We decided that if they died during a raid by robbers…’

‘The King would be unlikely to launch a second enquiry to Hugh’s death, and I would be spared,’ finished Savaric.

‘He was going to try to murder Symon again,’ said Gwenllian, angry that the matter was going to be ‘forgotten’. She regarded Walter contemptuously. ‘How much did you pay the smith to keep my husband’s sword, to ensure he was unarmed today?’

‘Too much,’ muttered Osmun. ‘Given that Cole just went out and borrowed another.’

But the knights and Walter were more interested in regaining Savaric’s approval than in answering Gwenllian’s accusations. When they went to clamour at him, she stood next to Cole, her mind working fast.

‘We now know that Walter, Osmun and Fevil are innocent,’ she said. ‘They would not have felt the need to protect Savaric if they were the culprits. And Savaric is innocent, too – his denials were convincing, and so was the oath he swore. So who is left?’

‘Dacus,’ replied Cole shortly.

‘And Robert, the man who sent Hugh to Solsbury Hill. And Pica.’

‘If you thought Pica was guilty, you should have raised the matter when we cornered him about Lechlade.’

‘It did not occur to me. However, he has no alibi for either death, and he was the one who brought this fierce grey dog to Bath.’

‘The dog,’ said Cole thoughtfully. ‘If Osmun and Fevil are innocent, then so are their hounds. Ergo, perhaps Pica’s grey hound is the animal that-’

‘Join me for a cup of wine,’ called Savaric, breaking into their discussion. He nodded that Walter, Osmun and Fevil were to leave; they did so reluctantly. ‘We must assess this situation, and discuss how it can be resolved to our mutual advantage.’

‘No,’ said Cole immediately. ‘I will not do anything against my conscience.’

Savaric gazed at him wonderingly, and shook his head. ‘No wonder the King wants rid of you! Conscience indeed!’

Gwenllian’s eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you think John wants rid of him? Did he say so when he wrote the letter asking you not to co-operate with his investigation?’

Savaric shot her a patronising glance. ‘He would never commit such a request to parchment! I deduced it from the fact that he sent Sir Symon here in the first place – too much time has passed since Hugh’s death, and there is no evidence to convict a culprit. The case is unsolvable, and John knows it. So of course he does not want me to co-operate.’

‘Then why did he order me to try?’ asked Cole, confused.

‘I imagine you have done something to annoy him – he wants an excuse to oust you.’

‘The solution lies in the grey dog,’ said Gwenllian to Savaric, as Cole winced. ‘Pica gave it to you, but now neither you nor your knights can tell us its whereabouts. I believe Pica took it back, and used it to kill.’

‘Pica!’ exclaimed Savaric, eyes gleaming. ‘I might have known! And his motive is obvious, of course: Adam and Hugh both thought Glastonbury and Bath should be united. They haled from Glastonbury themselves, and wanted to foster closer relations.’

‘Adam was from Glastonbury,’ acknowledged Cole. ‘But…’ He trailed off, and reluctantly began considering the possibility that Dacus might not be the culprit after all.

‘So now comes the difficult part.’ Savaric addressed Gwenllian, recognising her as the one with whom business could be done. ‘If you tell John that you have solved the case, he will be livid. In essence, you will have outwitted him. However, Pica is a thorn in my side, and I would like him gone. Another charge of murder against him would suit me very well.’

‘So what do you suggest?’ asked Gwenllian.

‘I own some skill in politics,’ said Savaric with a modest shrug. ‘So I shall draft the letter you will send the King. I shall phrase your findings in a way that will condemn Pica, but that will not antagonise John. Then we shall both have achieved our objective.’

‘No,’ said Cole uneasily. ‘It smacks of dishonesty and sly dealing.’

Gwenllian laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Consider our choices, Symon. We can submit our own report, and let John expel you from Carmarthen. Or we can accept Savaric’s help. I do not want to leave our home, and it is not just us who will suffer if you are ejected. The town deserves better than to be ruled by one of John’s creatures.’

Cole nodded reluctant agreement. Then he sat in the window, staring moodily into the street, while Gwenllian and the bishop worked.

Gwenllian felt vaguely tainted by the time they left the Bishop’s Palace. Cole did, too, and was angry about it.

‘What we have done is wrong. Your letter lists all the evidence that proves Pica stabbed Lechlade, but only hints that he murdered Adam and Hugh. Ergo, he will be charged only with Lechlade’s death – for which he will claim self-defence. And he will go free.’

Gwenllian sighed. ‘Very possibly, but he will never be Abbot of Glastonbury, and that will be his real punishment. I hate to admit it, but Savaric’s letter is a masterpiece of duplicity: it lets John know we solved the case, so he cannot accuse us of disobedience, but it does so in such a way that even he cannot take offence. We may keep Carmarthen yet.’

Cole pulled a face to register his distaste. ‘I wish Richard had not died. He was not much of a King, but he was better than the scheming devil we have now.’

‘Not so loud, cariad!’

‘I do not care,’ said Cole sullenly. ‘I hate devious politics.’

‘So do I, but we will go home tomorrow, and then we can forget about Bath. However, there is one question we have not yet answered: where did Pica keep this dog? He sleeps in the abbey guesthouse, and someone would have noticed if it was there.’

‘There is only one place it can be – the Prior’s Garden. Do you remember Walter telling us how Reginald built kennels there?’

‘Yes, but he also said they are used for storing the urine that will be used for tanning hides over the winter.’

‘Precisely! A dog will stink if kept in close confinement, and what better than urine to conceal it? Besides, such an unpleasant place will deter visitors. Shall we go there now?’

He led the way to an attractive arbour that was separated from the rest of the precinct by a wall. Once inside, it did not take them long to locate the row of sheds. They reeked, and Gwenllian gagged. Cole opened a door, and was greeted by a medley of snarls and grunts.

‘It has been starved,’ he said, disgusted, ‘and kept close-chained. It is muzzled, too, so it cannot bark. Pica is a monster to have done such a thing.’

Gwenllian poked her head around the door and saw an enormous grey animal. Before she could advise against it, Cole had removed the muzzle and was feeding it scraps of the dried meat he always carried with him – no soldier liked to be without supplies.

‘Please do not let it off the leash,’ she begged. ‘It looks half mad to me.’

‘It will have to be destroyed,’ said Cole sadly. ‘What a pity! It was once a fine animal.’

Walter’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment when he learned what had been happening in his domain, although his surprise quickly turned to indignation.

‘How dare Pica use my outbuildings for his private menagerie – especially for a beast that has claimed the lives of two men. What if it had escaped? It might have attacked me.’

‘Yes,’ said Cole, and Gwenllian was under the impression that he wished it had. ‘But it would have been Pica’s fault, not the dog’s.’

‘I suppose it would.’ Walter softened. ‘I shall tell Eldred to feed it well tonight, and dispatch it tomorrow. Do not worry, he will not let it suffer.’

Cole nodded, although Gwenllian could see he was not much comforted. They left the abbey in silence, and it was some time before he spoke.

‘Are you sure Pica is the culprit? Dacus seems a much more likely candidate for abusing animals than he.’

‘He does,’ agreed Gwenllian, taking his arm sympathetically. ‘But yes, I am sure.’

‘Then I suppose you must be right,’ said Cole, a little resentfully. ‘You usually are.’

It was the deepest part of the night when Gwenllian woke to find herself alone. There was a full moon, and its silvery rays had fallen on her face. She rose and dressed, supposing Cole was in the tavern downstairs, drinking to wash away the dirty taste of politics, but the place was empty. Her stomach lurched when she realised where he had gone. She hurried to Iefan, and shook him awake.

‘I think Symon has gone up Solsbury Hill.’

Iefan blinked. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because Dacus challenged him to go. He was unhappy earlier, and I am afraid that if Dacus is there and makes wild remarks about Adam… Will you come with me?’

As Cole still had Iefan’s sword, the sergeant borrowed another, and they set off to where the hill was a black mass against the night sky. The moonlight made walking easy, and it was not long before they reached the bottom. Then there was a peculiar howl.

‘Was that a wolf?’ asked Iefan uneasily.

‘Hurry!’ urged Gwenllian, breaking into a run.

They were breathless by the time they reached the top. Cole was there, sword in his hand, and at first, Gwenllian assumed he was alone, but then she glimpsed a movement in the shadows. It was Dacus, gripping the leash of Pica’s dog. She was glad it was upwind of her, sure it would attack if it could sense her fear. She crouched down, straining to hear what was being said. The wind that kept the dog from catching their scent also blew the words towards her.

‘You came,’ Dacus was saying. ‘I did not think you would have the courage. I thought I would have to find another way to kill you.’

‘Why would you want to kill me?’ Cole asked quietly.

‘Because you are corrupt.’ Dacus’ voice was hard and cold. ‘I know what you did today. You helped Savaric concoct a tale that will conceal the unsavoury happenings at Bath and let Pica take the blame. But you are Adam’s friend, so what else should I expect?’

‘Adam was not corrupt.’

‘He was evil!’ Dacus’ anguished cry set the dog growling. ‘He poisoned Reginald. I know – I was there.’

‘He was a healer. He would never-’

‘He was a healer, and that is why he itched to be master of the hospital. But Reginald was master as well as bishop. So Adam killed him.’

‘But Adam did not want that post,’ argued Cole. ‘He wrote and told me. He was old and tired, and wanted to spend his final days in prayer.’

‘You are wrong! He was evil and a killer.’

‘My wife always insists on evidence to support that sort of claim. So what is yours? Did you find toxins in his possession? Did you see him administer a dose of-’

Dacus made a curious hissing sound, and jerked the dog’s leash. ‘I do not need evidence. I know a guilty man when I see one. But you will regret coming here tonight. Like Adam and Hugh, you will be tested and found lacking. I will kill you, just as I killed them.’

In the darkness, Gwenllian gaped in disbelief.

‘But there cannot be a third man found with his throat ripped out,’ Dacus went on. ‘So I have dug you a grave.’

He nodded to a gaping pit Gwenllian had not noticed before. It was black and sinister in the moonlight, like an opening to Hell.

‘I knew you had murdered Adam from the first time we met,’ said Cole. ‘My wife said they were cat hairs on your habit, but I knew they belonged to a dog.’

‘It is not a dog, it is a wolf.’ Dacus ruffled the beast’s fur. It twisted around, as if to bite, and he tightened his grip on its collar. ‘And when I saw Pica training it to kill lambs, I knew what I had to do. I stole it from Savaric’s palace.’

‘Pica must have hoped it would hurt the bishop,’ muttered Gwenllian to Iefan. ‘He may be innocent of killing Hugh and Adam, but he has committed many other crimes.’

‘You hid it in Reginald’s kennels,’ said Cole. ‘Muzzling it, so it could not bark-’

‘I have not fed it since you arrived,’ interrupted Dacus, tightening the lead savagely. ‘It is ravenous. It will tear your throat out, and I will dance in your blood.’

To Gwenllian’s horror, Cole laid his sword in the grass, then raised his hands to show he was unarmed. ‘Enough, Dacus. Listen to me. Adam did not kill Reginald. No one did. It was a fever. I spoke to his physicians yesterday, and-’

‘Liar!’ hissed Dacus. ‘God thought I was right to kill Adam, because He immediately started granting miracles at Reginald’s tomb. Reginald was like a father to me, and Adam deserved to die for killing him. And so did Hugh, for asking too many questions.’

‘Neither of them-’

‘Kill him!’ screamed Dacus, unhooking the leash. He kicked the dog to start it moving.

Cole did not move as the animal bounded towards him. Dacus was hot on its heels, whipping it with the lead. At that moment, the moon went behind a cloud. Gwenllian abandoned her hiding place and stumbled forward, fighting off Iefan’s restraining hands. She could see nothing in the sudden darkness, but there were snarls, an agonised scream, a yelp and silence. The moon emerged again to reveal Cole standing in the same place, and Dacus on the ground with the dog lying across him. She hurried forward, Iefan close behind her. Cole spun around in alarm at the sound of their footsteps.

‘You should not be here!’ he cried in horror. ‘It might have attacked you.’

‘Iefan has a sword to protect us,’ countered Gwenllian. She glared at him. ‘Unlike you.’

Cole showed her the dagger he had concealed in his hand. ‘It posed no threat to me. Besides, Dacus maltreated it, and it was only a matter of time before it turned on him.’

‘But you could not have known that would happen tonight,’ shouted Gwenllian, angry with him. ‘You took a foolish, reckless risk.’

Cole regarded her irritably. ‘I did nothing of the kind. I know dogs, and as long as I posed no threat, I was safe enough. However, I imagine Hugh and Adam ran when they saw it, and it instinctively homed in on a moving target. And tonight, it was Dacus who was running.’

Gwenllian was unconvinced, and was about to say so when Iefan spoke.

‘It will not be biting anyone else,’ he said, struggling to haul the carcass from Dacus’ body. ‘He stabbed it with this peculiar knife.’

Cole took the weapon from him, and inspected it in the moonlight. Its blade was of such fine steel that it was almost blue, and the handle was ivory, carved with what appeared to be a bear climbing a tree. ‘It is soil-stained – he must have unearthed it when he dug the grave.’

But Gwenllian was more interested in Dacus. She knelt next to him, fighting off her revulsion for him and what he had done. ‘Help me, Symon. He still breathes.’

‘You passed Solsbury’s test,’ Dacus whispered weakly, as Cole crouched by his side. ‘I was wrong… about you. Will you… do something for me?’

‘Very well,’ agreed Cole, before Gwenllian could urge caution. ‘What?’

‘Do not bury me… near Adam. Somewhere else.’

He closed his eyes, and the breath left him in a hiss.

For a moment, no one spoke, then Cole stood and lifted Dacus in his arms. Gwenllian thought he was going to carry him back to the town, but he stopped next to the pit.

‘Is this a good idea?’ she asked nervously, as he laid Dacus in the hole and placed the dog at his side. ‘If anyone were to find him…’

‘No one will find him,’ said Cole, setting the peculiar weapon on Dacus’ chest and picking up a spade. ‘And it is time he had some peace.’

III

Carmarthen

The return journey was quicker and more comfortable than the outward one, and Gwenllian’s spirits soared when she saw Carmarthen’s familiar walls and roofs in the distance. There had been no word from the King, and while Cole believed this to be a sign that Savaric’s letter had worked, she was uneasy. John was vengeful, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he remembered that Carmarthen was held by a man who had declined to flatter him.

‘I should have listened to you,’ she said, as they travelled the last mile. ‘Your instincts about Dacus were right, and my logic was wrong. However, I am still vexed with you for going up Solsbury Hill to confront that wolf.’

‘It was a dog. Still, I suppose some good came out of our investigation. Savaric dismissed Walter, and appointed Robert as prior instead.’

‘Robert is a better man. Although I still think his piety is insincere.’

‘Others think so, too,’ said Cole with a conspiratorial grin. ‘On the grounds that there have been no miracles at Reginald’s tomb since he was appointed.’

Gwenllian hesitated, but then forged on. ‘There is something I should tell you. I did not mention it sooner, because I did not want to return to Bath…’

‘What?’ asked Cole uneasily. ‘Was it something in that letter you received in Brecon – the one you told me contained only a copy of the message we sent to John?’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘It was from Savaric. Pica managed to escape from the abbey cells, and is on his way to tell the Pope that he is innocent of killing Lechlade – and that he should be Abbot of Glastonbury into the bargain.’

Cole reined in. ‘Should we go after him? The man is a killer.’

‘Savaric sent Walter to do it.’

‘And Walter agreed?’

‘Of course – hoping to grease his way back into favour.’ Gwenllian indicated that Cole should begin riding again. ‘And the matter is no longer our concern, anyway. We did what the King asked, and we are likely to bring ourselves trouble if we dabble further.’

They rode in silence for a while. Then Cole pointed suddenly. ‘Look!’

A small party of riders was coming to welcome them home, and Gwenllian was sure she could see one of the soldiers carrying their infant son.

‘I know Walter confessed to fabricating those miracles,’ said Cole, ‘and that nothing divine has ever happened at Reginald’s tomb. But before we left, I asked Reginald a second time to provide us with a daughter, and I think he will oblige.’

Gwenllian regarded him askance. ‘You do? Why?’

‘Because I buried Dacus on Solsbury Hill for his sake – to spare the reputation of a chaplain he loved. And then you explained Dacus’ disappearance by telling everyone that he had gone on a pilgrimage. Reginald will be grateful to us, so I imagine you will have some good news for me soon.’

Gwenllian stared at him, wondering whether the queasiness she had been suffering these past few mornings could be a new life beginning inside her, and not something she had eaten, as she had assumed. She did some rapid calculations. It was certainly possible.

Rome, 1200

It had taken Walter some time to catch up with Pica, but he had done it in the end, intercepting him just as he was about to enter the Holy City. He watched dispassionately as Pica grabbed the poisoned goblet and raised it to his lips. The feisty Abbot Elect drained the contents in a single swallow, and set it back on the table with an impatient clatter.

Walter smiled. Life had been so much better since he had manipulated the unstable Dacus into believing that Adam had killed Reginald. Walter had hoped to be appointed master of the hospital himself, but when he had seen Adam’s murder pass virtually unremarked, he had decided to try for an even greater prize. Again, it had been easy to persuade Dacus that Hugh was close to learning the truth about Adam’s murder, and within days, Walter was prior.

Of course, Savaric could hardly keep him in post after Gwenllian had exposed his role in the tavern attack – although mercifully, no one had guessed that he was the power behind Dacus as well. He had been in the process of urging Dacus to kill Cole, too – the death of her husband would be Gwenllian’s punishment – but Dacus had selfishly disappeared on a pilgrimage, so revenge would have to wait until both returned to Bath.

Walter’s fortunes had taken something of a downward turn since then, but he was not unduly worried. Savaric had shown his continued favour by giving him another mission, and would be delighted to learn that the belligerent Pica would no longer be a problem. Walter licked his lips as he anticipated the riches and high offices that would soon be his.

He watched Pica sit suddenly and raise a hand to his head. It looked like the beginnings of a fever – and Walter knew, because that was what had happened after he had fed a similar substance to Reginald. Of course, Savaric did not know who had been responsible for that particular deed; for all this ambition, Savaric had loved his cousin dearly. Walter, though, had found the man’s piety irritating, and it had been deeply satisfying to poison him before he could be made Archbishop of Canterbury.

Walter did not wait to see Pica die, because a pouch had arrived that morning along with instructions that it was not to be opened until he had completed his duties. He was eager to know what it contained, because he could certainly hear the jingle of coins within. As Pica was already as good as dead, he fumbled with the seals, excitement making his fingers clumsy. He grinned his delight when several gold nobles spilled into his eager hands. There was also a letter.

He tore it open, and read the message within – Savaric thanking him for getting rid of a man who had been such a thorn in his side. Walter regarded it in alarm. Was the bishop mad to put such thoughts in writing? What if the pouch had fallen into the wrong hands? It would have sealed both their fates!

Then he became aware of raised voices and looked up to see that the people who had gathered around the dying Pica were staring at him. Pica raised a shaking hand and pointed. Immediately, three monks started to run towards him. Appalled, Walter tried to hide the letter, first slipping it up his sleeve, and then, in frantic desperation, stuffing it in his mouth.

It was no good. The monks forced him to spit it out, and their faces paled with shock when they read what was written. They grabbed his arms, so he could not escape, at which point, the coins dropped from his fingers. He tried to protest his innocence, but he had neglected to throw away the phial that had contained the poison, and they found it in his bag. That, with the letter and the gold, would be more than enough to convict him. Would it convict Savaric, too? Walter, full of frustrated spite, sincerely hoped so. But then he happened to glance at Pica, who still clung to the vestiges of life.

Pica was smiling. It was an unusual enough sight that Walter gaped. But then he understood. Clever Pica! He had guessed that he might not reach Rome alive, so he had staged his own revenge on the men he thought might kill him. Savaric had written no letter. Of course he had not – he was far too astute for such a blunder. It was Pica!

But would it succeed in destroying Savaric, or would the bishop’s denials be enough to let him keep the kingdom he had carved for himself in Bath and Glastonbury? Walter could have wept with pity for himself when he realised that he would never know.

Historical Note

There has been an abbey in Bath since Saxon times. Originally, an abbot was in charge, but this changed in 1098, when the then Bishop of Wells moved his seat there. The abbey became a cathedral priory, with a prior as its head. Hugh was prior from 1174; Prior Walter died in 1198; and Prior Robert stayed in office until being elected Abbot of Glastonbury in 1223.

In 1191, Savaric fitz Geldwin became Bishop of Bath, following the promotion of his cousin, Reginald fitz Jocelyn, to the Archbishopric of Canterbury. Reginald died en route to his installation, and his body was returned to Bath, where it was buried in the abbey church. He was popular, founding the Hospital of St John the Baptist (one of its early masters was named Adam), and several miracles were later said to have occurred at his tomb.

No such saintliness was attributed to Savaric, however. Greedy and ambitious, he contrived to have Hugh de Sully, Abbot of Glastonbury, appointed Bishop of Worcester, and then announced to Glastonbury’s astonished monks that he was their master now. Needless to say they objected, and immediately appealed against him to Richard I and the Pope. Unfortunately for them, both supported Savaric, although Richard later recanted, and claimed he had been coerced.

The Dean and Chapter of Wells were also outraged by Savaric’s high handedness in changing his title from ‘Bishop of Bath’ to ‘Bishop of Bath and Glastonbury’. Canons Ralph de Lechlade and Jocelin Trotman were the two representatives who travelled to Bath to make their objections known.

In 1198, the Pope died, Richard withdrew his support from Savaric, and the Glastonbury monks elected William Pica as abbot. Savaric promptly excommunicated Pica. Another twist in the tale occurred in 1199, when King Richard was succeeded by his brother John, who allowed Savaric to buy his support. Armed with John’s backing, Savaric invaded Glastonbury with a mob of henchmen, and forcibly enthroned himself. Several monks were injured in the resulting mêlée.

Outraged, Pica left for Rome. He died on the journey, and Glastonbury’s monks claimed that Savaric had had him poisoned. Glastonbury did not win its independence from Bath until 1219. Savaric weathered the accusations, and died a wealthy and successful man in 1205. He was succeeded as bishop by none other than Canon Trotman, who remained in post until 1242.