‘I agree,’ said Dunstan, standing. ‘I shall pray for Hurso in the chapel, then retire.’
‘I would not walk across that dark bailey if I were you,’ said Norrys slyly. ‘Not alone.’
‘Then come with me,’ snapped Dunstan. ‘It is what you are being paid for – to protect me from danger.’
‘And me,’ added Robert. ‘Although I hope you do a better job than you did with Hurso.’
‘I will go with you, Father Prior,’ said Luci quickly. ‘Unless you prefer to say your prayers in your room instead. God will not mind, and it will be much more comfortable.’
‘Very well,’ said Dunstan, capitulating quickly. ‘Robert can go in my place.’
‘I most certainly shall not,’ cried Robert. ‘It might be dangerous.’
Dunstan regarded him witheringly. ‘Canon Wilfred lied when he told me you were a selfish brat with no sense of propriety. He was being far too charitable.’
Gerald roared with laughter, and Dunstan strode away with his head held high. Robert scurried after him, his face dark with fury, and Luci was hot on their heels, apparently afraid of what might happen once they were alone. Norrys watched expressionlessly, then poured himself more claret. Gerald’s amusement faded as he studied Norrys’s wine-flushed face and belligerent eyes.
‘Who will guard me tonight?’ he asked Cole in a low voice. ‘I shall be slaughtered in my bed, and Wales will lose the best bishop that God has ever provided.’
‘Do not worry,’ said Foliot. ‘I shall sit by our door, and prevent anyone from entering.’
As Gwenllian had just finished treating Foliot’s injured shoulder with a hot poultice, she doubted he would be much use in a scuffle. Then it occurred to her that he might be just as concerned to keep Gerald in, as keeping others out.
‘Both of you will sleep,’ stated Cole. ‘I shall stand guard the first half of the night, and Iefan will take over when I relieve Burchill. No one will harm you, I promise.’
Gerald nodded acquiescence, and Cole accompanied him and Foliot to their chamber. Gwenllian followed, and when the two priests had closed the door, she put her ear to the wood to listen, eager to learn whether Foliot would confront Gerald with his suspicions. But neither man spoke, and after a while the light went out under the door.
‘Go to bed, Gwen,’ said Cole. ‘One of us should be alert tomorrow.’
She nodded, but made no effort to leave. ‘Do not forget that Gerald may be the killer, cariad,’ she whispered. ‘He is one of our five suspects. Be careful.’
‘If he did kill Hurso, then his motive will have been to avenge Pontius. But if that is the case, then who dispatched Pontius? Or do we have two killers on the loose? We might, I suppose. Both groups hate each other, and emotions are running high.’
‘No,’ said Gwenllian firmly. ‘Murder is a terrible thing, and I do not believe there are two deranged monsters in our castle. There is one, and we must catch him before he leaves, or King John will hold you responsible. And I am not ready to be a widow just yet.’
Cole was silent for a moment, thinking. ‘At the risk of sounding petty, I think Norrys is the culprit. Murders in my castle suit him very well, and as a knight, he is no stranger to violent death.’
‘No,’ agreed Gwenllian. ‘And he claims to be close to the King, who is keen to see you ousted. For all we know, John ordered him to make trouble here, with the promise that Norrys will be constable when you are no longer in office.’
‘You think John would order priests murdered?’ Cole was shocked.
Gwenllian shrugged. ‘Not openly – he is far too clever for that. Indeed, he may not have mentioned murder at all, but left Norrys free to do whatever he deemed necessary.’
‘Should I arrest Norrys, then?’ asked Cole worriedly. ‘Lord! John will not like that!’
‘Not yet. Norrys is a strong suspect, but not the only one.’
‘True. We have eliminated Foliot and Luci, so we are left with him, Gerald, Dunstan and Robert. I suppose Robert is next on my list – he is a horrible lad. No wonder Oseney Abbey lent him to Dunstan: they were desperate to be rid of him.’
‘Oseney,’ mused Gwenllian. ‘We must not forget that other suspicious death, either -Wilfred. There was talk of poison, and Robert freely admits that Wilfred was a bully.’
‘So Robert may have dispatched him? Then realised that murder is an easy way to dispense with people he does not like, so he tried to kill Gerald but got Pontius instead? And he dispatched Hurso when the secretary guessed what had happened?’
‘It is certainly possible.’
‘Or perhaps the culprit is the same man who has arranged our series of “accidents”. A falling stone, a hanging from scaffolding – both are incidents he might have organised.’
‘If that were true, then our guests cannot be responsible, because none of them were here when those mishaps first started. It would mean that the murderer is from Carmarthen – a soldier, servant or labourer.’
‘Christ!’ muttered Cole uncomfortably. ‘You are right.’
Gwenllian took a deep breath, knowing what she was about to say would be greeted with anger and disbelief. ‘Burchill sent me a note to say he was “unavailable” this afternoon, even though he knew I needed his help – and so, I imagine, did you. He also plied Norrys with enough drink to make him aggressive yesterday, and he has been indiscreet with gossip. It was he who told Norrys about the accidents on the wall.’
Cole stared at her. ‘You think Burchill is the murderer? No! How could you even think such a thing? He is not a killer!’
‘He is a knight, Symon – of course he is a killer! And he has been on crusade, one of the bloodiest and most disreputable acts ever committed by one group of men against another.’
‘No,’ said Cole stubbornly. ‘Now go to bed. We shall not discuss this again.’
Gwenllian slept poorly that night, wishing she had kept her suspicions about Burchill to herself. Cole was recklessly loyal to his friends, but many did not deserve it. And she knew it must gall Burchill to take orders from a man three decades younger than he.
The hour candle showed it was one o’clock when she heard Iefan arrive and Cole leave to relieve the elderly knight from his patrols in the town. Little Meurig shifted in his sleep, and she wondered whether her discomfiture was transferring itself to him. She rocked the crib gently, then returned to bed, thinking about the murders and the suspects.
She slept deeply shortly before dawn, and was heavy-eyed and sluggish when the maid came to wake her. She washed and dressed quickly, hurrying to reach the hall before her guests. She arrived just in time to prevent Norrys from upsetting a vat of porridge over Gerald, and silenced Robert with a glare when the boy began a speech outlining why the Pope would never raise St Davids to an archbishopric.
The others were in a sombre mood, and she suspected they had slept as badly as she had. When the door clanked open, they all jumped in alarm. It was Burchill, who looked very well rested, and she wondered whether he had worked as hard at peace-keeping the previous night as he should have done.
‘The weather is much milder this morning,’ he smiled, rubbing his hands together briskly. ‘And the snow is melting fast. It will not be long before you can leave.’
‘Thank God!’ breathed Dunstan, crossing himself. ‘When? Today?’
Burchill shook his head. ‘Tomorrow perhaps, or the day after, if the thaw continues.’
Gwenllian was torn between wishing them gone before anyone else died, and needing them to stay so she could catch the culprit. She experienced a surge of helplessness. But how was she to find answers when every waking moment was spent trying to prevent quarrels? She fought down her rising panic, and filled her mind with resolve instead. No sly killer was going to give the King an excuse to blame Symon! If the guests argued, then so be it, but that day, she was going to concentrate on asking questions.