Hill of Bones by The Medieval Murderers Read Free Book Online Page B

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