King Arthur's Bones by The Medieval Murderers Read Free Book Online

constantly at war. How can we know which ones will prevail?’
    ‘Then give them to Lord Rhys.’ It was not the first time Hywel had suggested this solution, and hearing it again made Meurig uneasy. ‘My grandfather is a good man and a great leader.’
    ‘He is old and has too many enemies – putting Arthur’s bones in his care runs the risk of them falling into the wrong hands. And that must never happen.’
    Hywel was about to argue, but there was a movement behind him. ‘Your sister is here,’ he said with a resentful scowl – he had always been jealous of his father’s affection for Gwenllian. ‘We joined forces when we realized you were missing and have been searching together.’
    Meurig felt a great surge of relief. His shrewd, beautiful kinswoman would know what to do, and there was no one in the world he trusted more. He smiled when she knelt next to him. There were cinders in her black hair, and her face was smudged with soot, but she was still the loveliest woman in Carmarthen. She turned to Hywel.
    ‘Fetch Brother Daniel from the priory,’ she said urgently. ‘Hurry!’
    ‘Fetch him yourself,’ retorted Hywel indignantly. ‘I am not leaving. I need to hear—’
    ‘This is no time to be thinking of yourself,’ she interrupted sharply. She fixed him with an imperious glare, looking every inch a princess of Wales. ‘Go!’
    Lesser men than Hywel had been cowed by that expression, and he began to back away. Gwenllian watched him go, then turned her attention to Meurig, smoothing the flint-sharp widow’s peak from his forehead with gentle hands.
    ‘There is something I must tell you,’ he whispered. ‘It is a terrible secret, and I am sorry to burden you with it, but there is no one else.’
    Gwenllian tried to stop him from talking, to save his breath for his confessor, but he would not be silenced.
    ‘You remember the stories of Arthur?’ he asked, his words coming in an urgent rush. ‘How he will lead our people out of oppression and into an age of peace and prosperity? How he represents all our future hopes? For the proud nation we shall be when we are free?’
    Gwenllian thought he was rambling. ‘Of course,’ she said soothingly. ‘You told me these tales when I was a child on your knee, and I will never forget them. But rest now, because—’
    ‘It means Arthur did not die,’ Meurig pressed on, eyes boring into hers, trying to make her understand. ‘If he had, he could not be sleeping in a cave, ready to wake and lead us to victory.’
    ‘No,’ agreed Gwenllian, bemused. She wondered if he was delirious, and tried to quieten him a second time.
    ‘But what if his bones were found?’ whispered Meurig, riding across her concerns. There was nothing he would have liked more than to close his eyes, content in the knowledge that she was with him, but it was a luxury he could not afford. ‘What would that mean for Wales?’
    Gwenllian shrugged, the puzzled expression on her face telling him she had no idea what he was talking about. ‘I do not know – that we have no hope, I suppose.’
    ‘Quite. So they—’ Meurig faltered when there was a faint sound behind his front door. Was someone there, listening? But there was no time to ask Gwenllian to investigate. He pressed on. ‘So they must never be discovered. Or, if they are, then they must be delivered into the hands of people who will know what to do with them – for the good of Wales.’
    ‘Then if ever I hear of them excavated, I shall—’ Gwenllian began reassuringly.
    ‘But they have been excavated,’ Meurig whispered. ‘Arthur’s body was exhumed at the abbey in Glastonbury five years ago.’
    Gwenllian gaped at him. ‘How do you know? And how can you be sure it is Arthur’s—’
    ‘One of the monks is Welsh,’ interrupted Meurig, speaking even more urgently, because he could feel the darkness of death approaching. ‘He told me what had happened, and together we managed to spirit the bones away. I brought