Hill of Bones by The Medieval Murderers Read Free Book Online

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