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

them here, to Carmarthen. Because of Merlin.’
    ‘Arthur’s protector,’ said Gwenllian, understanding immediately. Meurig gave a brief smile – she always was quick-witted. Then her face clouded. ‘Is that when poor Dewi . . .’
    Meurig winced, then nodded. ‘Yes, Dewi was killed bringing him here.’
    There was another sound behind the door, and this time Gwenllian heard it too. She started to move towards it, but Meurig grabbed her hand and held it tightly. There was simply no time.
    ‘Listen to me, carefully, Gwenllian. The future of Wales depends on it.’
    He described the bones from the abbey, the hank of hair discovered with them, and listed the men he had chosen to act as Guardians. She nodded her approval at his choices, although he could tell from her expression that she thought they should have been closer to hand.
    ‘I buried Arthur under Merlin’s oak,’ he concluded, lying back exhausted. ‘On the far side of the tree. But it has been damaged, and he is no longer safe. So you must retrieve him and put him somewhere secure. You are a Guardian now.’
    ‘And take him where?’ Gwenllian was appalled by the responsibility being imposed on her.
    But Meurig did not reply. Her voice seemed a long way away, and when his head lolled to one side he was unable to stop it. With his vision fading, the last thing he saw was a pair of feet – someone was hiding behind the door by which he was lying, and that person had heard every word he had said. He tried to speak again, but his strength was spent. He closed his eyes and died without another word.
    Gwenllian was numb with grief. Although Meurig was many years her senior, she loved him more than her other siblings, and their relationship had grown deeper still when he had made his home in Carmarthen. What would she do without him? Who would talk to her about the old Welsh ways, and teach her little-known snippets of her nation’s history? And what was she going to do about the bones he had entrusted to her care? The other Guardians were miles away – and messages to summon them were unlikely to get past Lord Rhys’s sentries anyway.
    Hywel arrived with Daniel, the Norman monk from the nearby Augustine priory who served as castle chaplain, but she barely heard his muttered prayers. Daniel did not stay long – there were many others who needed his services. Hywel, pale with shock, carried Meurig inside his house, then went in search of a coffin.
    ‘A coffin?’ asked Gwenllian dully. ‘Why?’
    ‘They will be in high demand today,’ Hywel explained in a choked, broken voice. ‘And I am not letting my father go to the grave without one – he was the son of a prince, and I am going to ensure that he is buried as such. Stay with him until I return.’
    ‘Please do not be long,’ begged Gwenllian, too distressed to argue. She did not tell him why she could not linger long with her brother’s body. Hywel was family, but she had never really liked him, and felt Meurig had been right to entrust her, not his son, with his secret.
    But it was fully dark by the time Hywel returned, two men at his heels toting the most handsome casket money could buy. By then, Gwenllian had been kneeling by Meurig for so long that she could barely move, and Hywel was obliged to help her stand.
    Yet her mind had cleared, and she knew what she had to do: go to Merlin’s oak and inspect the damage. Then she would send for her husband, and they would excavate Arthur that very night – Symon would be full of self-recrimination for losing the castle, and digging up bones would take his mind off the debacle for a while. There was a risk of being seen, of course, but the tree cast its own shadows, and its far side was not overlooked by houses – unlike the near one, which she could see from Meurig’s window.
    She left the house and started to walk along Priory Street towards it; even from a distance, she could see that the tree had indeed lost a branch.
    She turned when she heard