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

her name being called. Three men were hurrying towards her. One was John, her husband’s mousy little clerk, and the others were Meurig’s neighbours – Spilmon and Kyng. She liked Spilmon, but Cole had fined Kyng for selling underweight cheeses, and the man had been unpleasantly hostile to them both ever since.
    ‘There you are,’ Kyng said irritably. ‘We have been looking everywhere for you.’
    ‘Why?’ she asked. The other two men were refusing to meet her eyes, which was making her uneasy. ‘What is the matter?’
    Kyng’s expression was vengeful. ‘Your husband would insist on fighting on when it should have been obvious that all was lost. He has been wounded, and Daniel says he is going to die.’
    Gwenllian regarded the cheese-maker in mute horror, and Spilmon shot him an uncomfortable glance. ‘That was roughly done, friend. Could you not have found a gentler way to—’
    ‘It is not true!’ cried Gwenllian, cutting across him. ‘Symon surrendered hours ago, and I went with him to discuss terms with my father. He is rounding up his troops to prevent more violence, not to continue it. And he gave Lord Rhys his word that there would be no more skirmishing anyway.’
    ‘Well, he must have broken it, then,’ said Kyng spitefully.
    ‘Who can blame him?’ asked Spilmon, gesturing at the chaos around them. ‘It is dreadful, being forced to stand by and watch these louts rampage through our town, stealing and burning.’
    ‘Go to him, My Lady. Now,’ urged John. He was trembling violently, still terrified even though the fighting was over. ‘Or he will slip away before you can say your farewells.’
    Gwenllian gazed at them. Surely they were mistaken? Symon would never break an oath solemnly sworn. ‘Where is he?’ she demanded.
    ‘St Peter’s Church – not far,’ replied John. His finger shook when he pointed towards it. ‘He was asking for his friend Boleton too, and it is bad luck to neglect a dying man’s last request, so I had better do as I am bidden.’
    He scuttled away, aiming for Merlin’s oak and the priory beyond, where many Carmarthen folk – civilians and soldiers – had taken refuge. Gwenllian began to run in the opposite direction, stomach churning. She was vaguely aware of Spilmon escorting her. Kyng was not – he had waddled off towards his own home, confident that his iron-studded door and well-made window-shutters would protect him from harm, and eager to hide himself behind them. The moment she reached the church, Spilmon muttered an apology and was gone too. Gwenllian pushed open the door with unsteady hands and entered the darkness within.
    Cole was in the Lady Chapel, guarded by a grizzled sergeant named Iefan and several soldiers. Daniel was there too. The monk shot to his feet when Gwenllian hurried towards them. A distant part of her mind noted that his habit was now torn and bloody, leading her to wonder whether he had ignored his order’s injunction against violence and had exacted his own vengeance for the havoc that had been wreaked on his town.
    ‘I am sorry,’ he said in a choked voice. His face was white, and she knew his distress was genuine – he and Cole were friends. ‘I have done all I can.’
    Gwenllian dropped to her knees next to her husband. ‘What happened?’ she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. Symon was barely breathing, and the light from Daniel’s candle illuminated an unnatural pallor.
    It was Iefan who answered. ‘He and I were rounding up the men, ordering them into the forest lest they felt like fighting again, but we became separated. Then I heard Daniel yelling for help.’
    ‘I had found Symon lying on the ground,’ explained Daniel in a whisper. ‘I think I saw someone running away, but I cannot be sure.’
    ‘Kyng accused us of picking off Lord Rhys’s best archers under cover of darkness. But we were not – it never occurred to us.’ Iefan reflected for a moment. ‘It might have occurred to Boleton though