The Deadliest Sin (28 page)

‘Yet you believe that something might still be salvaged, or you would have gone home,’ surmised Cole. ‘I have seen you several times, lurking in the bushes.’

Oswin smiled wanly. ‘My adventures on the way here have taught me how to hide myself, although you almost caught me.’

‘You say you came to warn Cadifor.’ Gwenllian spoke quickly, lest Cole should distract him by offering practical tips on evading pursuers. ‘About what? Walter’s
plans?’

‘No – about the fact that a murderer is at large.’

‘You know who killed Asser and Roger?’ demanded Cole eagerly. ‘Who?’

‘The same man who poisoned Martin. And I was right to be concerned, given that Roger and your knight died in suspicious circumstances.’

‘How do you know Martin was poisoned?’ asked Gwenllian sceptically. ‘We have been told that there was no proof.’

‘Because I was with him when he died.’ Oswin’s voice was unsteady. ‘It was my turn to act as his servant, you see, and I was in his solar, dousing candles and closing the
shutters. He was sitting at his table, grumbling about Walter’s high-handed tactics while he scoffed marchpanes. Then he stopped talking . . .’

‘And?’ prompted Gwenllian.

‘I went to see if he was unwell. His eyes were closed, so I shook his arm. He woke, but it was an effort, and it was then that he told me the marchpanes had been dosed with a powerful
soporific. I did not believe him at first, but he was insistent . . . I wanted to fetch help, but he would not let me – he knew he would be dead before I came back.’

‘What else did he say?’ asked Gwenllian urgently.

‘That the sin of sloth had caused Llanthony to lose Hempsted, which was true – if he had written to the Pope, we would still have a daughter house. Then he told me that a visitor had
killed him. It was no one from Llanthony, because we had no almonds. The gift of poisoned march-panes had come from a guest.’

‘Then why did you not report all this to your superiors?’ asked Cole. ‘Straight away?’

‘Would
you
accuse high-ranking Austins and two royal clerks?’ asked Oswin archly. He looked Cole up and down. ‘Well, perhaps you might, but I was little more than a
boy.’

‘A high-ranking Austin?’ pounced Gwenllian. ‘Not one of the ordinary canons who accompanied him?’

‘Martin specifically said that his killer was high ranking,’ replied Oswin firmly. ‘Which means Walter, Gilbert, Belat or Henry. All four of them wanted him dead, so that Roger
could be appointed instead – Martin could be stubborn, but Roger is weak and malleable.’ He looked miserably at his shoes. ‘Martin’s death has gnawed at my conscience ever
since.’

‘It has not gnawed too hard, or you would have done something about it sooner,’ remarked Cole.

Oswin winced. ‘I told you – I was afraid. But I have done something now: I came all the way here on my own, hoping to prevent another death. I failed, but not for want of
trying.’

‘What made you think someone else would die?’ asked Gwenllian.

Oswin shivered, despite the warmth of the fire. ‘The fact that those four “high-ranking” men went to Llanthony on their way here, and ordered Roger to accompany them. Why do
that? It made no sense. I could tell they were planning something untoward, because they kept talking in low voices, scheming and plotting . . .’

‘They brought him as a hostage, to ensure Llanthony did nothing against Hempsted while its two most powerful monks were away,’ explained Gwenllian. ‘And of course they were
scheming and plotting – they aimed to invade a sister house and claim it for themselves.’

‘Then why did they not say so?’ demanded Oswin.

Gwenllian smiled at his innocence. ‘It is hardly something they could announce, and I am sure your older brethren understood exactly what was happening. Did you talk to any of them before
you left?’

‘No, because they would have stopped me – or asked me what I knew about Martin’s death, which I dare not share with them now. They would never trust me again!’

Gwenllian stood. ‘I had better rescue the bishop before Alys drives him to distraction. That must be the twentieth time they have sung that song.’

She ushered Oswin out, and told Iefan to find him somewhere to sleep.

‘Damn,’ muttered Cole when sergeant and Austin had gone. ‘I had eliminated Walter and Gilbert from your list, but now they are suspects again.’

‘Only if you believe Oswin’s tale,’ said Gwenllian.

Cole blinked. ‘You do not?’

‘I am not sure, Symon. He has kept his guilty secret for three years, and it is odd that he should break his silence now – not once, but twice in as many days. And why does he refuse
to tell us who else he has confided in?’

‘So what shall we do about his confession – such as it is?’

‘There is only one thing we can do: speak again to Walter, Gilbert, Belat and Henry, to see if we can catch them out in an inconsistency. But do not be too hopeful. They have sharp minds,
and will not be easy to trip up.’

‘You are more than their equal,’ said Cole confidently.

Gwenllian asked Bishop Geoffrey to accompany them to the priory, feeling his presence would be a calming influence. They arrived to find Walter with his hand to his stomach,
but the lines of pain around his mouth lessened once Geoffrey had requisitioned ingredients from the kitchen to make a soothing tincture, and it was not long before the colour returned to his
cheeks.

‘You should rest more,’ said the prelate admonishingly. ‘Take some time to appreciate what God has given you, instead of racing around trying to acquire more.’

Walter shot him an unpleasant look, then refused to answer any of the questions Gwenllian or Cole put. Gilbert followed his example, and they sat side by side with their arms folded and their
lips sealed shut. Eventually, Cole threw up his hands in exasperation.

‘Perhaps I should arrest you both, and keep you incarcerated until your Prior General tells me who is guilty of killing Roger and Asser.’

‘And Martin.’ Geoffrey regarded the two canons sternly. ‘Symon and Gwenllian are trying to help, and if you have nothing to hide, you need not fear their
investigation.’

‘We do not fear it,’ said Walter coldly. ‘We just do not accept their authority to interrogate senior members of the Church. And now, if there is nothing else, we have business
to attend.’

He stalked out, Gilbert loping at his heels, and their unwillingness to co-operate served to put them firmly at the top of Gwenllian’s list of suspects. After all, why would they be
obstructive if they had nothing to hide?

‘Let us hope we have more success with Belat and Henry,’ said Cole.

He asked a passing lay brother to fetch them, but it was not long before the man returned to report that the two clerks were nowhere to be found. A search of the priory revealed that they had
gone, taking all their possessions with them.

‘First, Stacpol, now, them,’ murmured Gwenllian.

‘Stacpol did not take his belongings,’ Cole pointed out. He turned to address the monks who had gathered to find out what was happening. ‘Who saw them last?’

‘Probably me,’ replied Cadifor. ‘They were in the stables at dawn, but it did not occur to me that they planned to disappear. I assumed they were just checking their
horses.’

‘I overheard them whispering together shortly before that,’ added Dafydd, ‘when I went to start up the bread ovens. I am fairly sure they had been outside the priory, and had
just come back in – which was odd, given the hour. I heard Belat mention “an Austin in the bushes”, although I have no idea what he meant.’

‘Oswin,’ surmised Gwenllian. ‘They must have spotted him, and realised that he would not have made such a journey without good reason. Their guilty consciences led them to flee
before there was trouble. So there are our killers, Symon. Will you go after them?’

Cole returned to the castle, and quickly organised patrols to hunt along each of the main roads. He thought it most likely that the pair were aiming for Brecon, so decided to search that track
himself. He was just taking his leave of Gwenllian when Oswin approached.

‘So it was Belat and Henry who killed Prior Martin?’ the lad asked softly.

‘We believe so,’ replied Gwenllian. ‘It seems they spotted you hiding in the undergrowth, and knew the game was up. They fled before they were caught.’

Oswin frowned. ‘They did see me, but they thought I was one of Cadifor’s canons, sent to spy on them. They were furious, and gave chase. They would have trounced me if that knight
had not come to my rescue and . . .’ Oswin trailed off, his expression one of dismay.

‘What knight?’ asked Cole. Oswin did not reply, so he stepped forward threateningly.

‘Stacpol,’ blurted Oswin. He rubbed his eyes miserably. ‘He was kind to me, and I promised myself that I would keep his name out of this vile business. I do not know who to
trust here, and I did not want to repay his goodness by putting his life in danger.’

‘So he was the other person you told about Martin’s death?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘The one whose identity you declined to reveal earlier?’

Tears brimmed in Oswin’s eyes. ‘I found myself confiding in him after he saved me from Belat and Henry. He told me to tell you – he said that Lady Gwenllian would know what to
do. But I was afraid for his safety . . .’

So that was what the lad had been concealing, thought Gwenllian. It was nothing more than a desire to protect a man who had been kind to him.

‘So where is he now?’ demanded Cole.

‘I do not know. He saw me safely hidden, then went about his business. However, I think he may have gone after those two clerks . . .’

Cole’s face was anxious as he strode towards the stables, but there was a clatter of hoofs, and a horseman rode through the gate. It was Stacpol, and behind him staggered Belat and Henry,
their hands bound and fastened to his saddle with long pieces of rope. They were bedraggled and exhausted, but still able to blare an indignant tirade.

‘We cannot be treated this way!’ Belat was howling. ‘The King will hear of this.’

‘Yes,’ said Stacpol grimly, dismounting. ‘He will. I have stayed silent long enough about you and your vile misdeeds.’

‘Be careful what you say, Stacpol,’ hissed Henry. ‘The King does not deal gently with those who break their oath of allegiance to him.’

Stacpol addressed Cole and Gwenllian. ‘This pair have been defrauding religious houses for years. My oath to King John – who ordered me to turn a blind eye to their activities
– prevented me from exposing them in Llanthony, but when I saw them here, I appealed to Bishop Geoffrey. He has released me from my vow, so now I am free to speak.’

The blood drained from Belat’s face, while Henry glanced at the gate, as if wondering whether he could dart through it and escape.

Cole frowned. ‘Are you saying that the King knows what they do and condones it?’

‘I doubt he knows the details,’ replied Stacpol. ‘But coins are deposited in his coffers every so often, and he asks no questions. However, when the antics of this pair are
made public, he will hasten to deny all knowledge of them. He is not a fool.’

‘What have they done?’ asked Cole. ‘Exactly?’

Stacpol began to relate a long list of sly, devious crimes that had deprived monasteries and convents of money. The bishop’s secretarius wrote everything down, and the two clerks,
snivelling and frightened, were taken into Geoffrey’s custody, to stand trial in the ecclesiastical courts. Other secular officials might have argued about jurisdiction, but Cole was glad the
matter was to be taken out of his hands.

‘I wronged you,’ said Gwenllian to Stacpol, when everyone else had gone. ‘I thought you were working with them.’

‘You had good cause,’ replied Stacpol sombrely. ‘Unfortunately, I pledged myself to do John’s bidding before I realised what kind of man he was – which is why I
accepted a post in the westernmost reaches of his kingdom. He never comes here, and I am away from his malign demands. But all has been put right now.’

‘Not quite. We still do not know who poisoned the march-panes. Was it them?’

‘No,’ replied Stacpol. ‘They wanted Roger alive, because he represented easy prey. I wish they were the killers – Asser was my friend, and I want vengeance.’

Gwenllian was about to suggest to Cole that they sit quietly and review what they had learned that day, when Dafydd waddled through the gate.

‘You must come to the priory, quickly,’ he gasped. ‘Prior Walter is dying.’

Gwenllian did not think Walter was dying, although he lay in a bed in the guesthouse, surrounded by canons and clerks, busily issuing instructions as to what should be done
with his worldly goods when he was in his grave. Geoffrey started to step forward with more of his remedy, but Gwenllian rested her hand on his arm to stop him.

‘Wait,’ she whispered. ‘Let us see what he will disclose if he believes his end is near.’

The bishop gazed at her. ‘That would be ruthless – and unworthy of a healer.’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But I believe he is a killer, and I would like a confession for Stacpol’s sake. Asser was his friend.’

Geoffrey’s amiable face was deeply unhappy, but he stood aside and indicated that she was to approach the bed. Cole went, too.

‘Good,’ breathed Walter weakly. He snapped his fingers at his retinue. ‘Leave us. You, too, Gilbert. What I have to say is for the constable, his wife and Bishop Geoffrey
only.’

Gilbert’s expression was dangerous, and there was a moment when Gwenllian thought he would refuse to go, but he bowed curtly, and followed the others outside.

‘Well?’ she asked of Walter. ‘What do you want to tell us?’

Walter addressed the bishop. ‘I made a mistake by demanding Hempsted’s independence. When I am dead, I want you to get the decision repealed. And do not let Gilbert succeed me
– he is unfit to rule.’

‘I shall do as you request,’ promised Geoffrey. ‘Is that all?’

‘No. I resign as Prior of Hempsted. As of now, I am just a simple canon, which should work in my favour when my soul is weighed. I should not like the saints to consider me
vain.’

‘Your resignation is accepted,’ said Geoffrey gravely. ‘I shall inform the Prior General immediately. Do you renounce your claim on Carmarthen, too?’