‘Put up your weapon,’ said Cole in disdain. ‘You are no match for me.’
It was hardly the most diplomatic of remarks, and with a yell of fury Norrys attacked. There was a brief clash of steel, and Gwenllian saw Symon was right: Norrys was a poor swordsman, and the fact that he was drunk did not help him. Cole defended himself almost lazily, then began an offensive of his own. Within moments, Norrys was disarmed and pinned against the wall. The Hospitaller showed no fear, only rage.
‘Will you skewer him?’ asked Gerald carelessly. ‘I probably would, in your position, because he has a poisonous tongue. However, it will make a terrible mess, and these are clean rushes. You had better let him go.’
‘Yes, do,’ agreed Prior Dunstan, although there was unease in his eyes, and Gwenllian suspected that he was less than impressed with the performance of the man who was supposed to be protecting him. She glanced around for Luci, lest he decided to help his fellow Hospitaller, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Cole stepped back and sheathed his sword. Norrys lunged again, but Cole had anticipated the move, and a punch sent him sprawling. Norrys’s face burned with hatred and humiliation. He drew a dagger and lobbed it, but it went well wide of its target.
‘Enough!’ snapped Cole, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and hauling him outside, where he deposited him cursing and struggling in a water trough. ‘Perhaps that will wash the wine from your wits.’
He strode away. There was a loud cheer from watching servants and soldiers, and Gwenllian closed her eyes in despair. Shame would make Norrys more dangerous than ever! She became aware of sniggering next to her, and saw Robert.
‘It is high time someone taught that bastard a lesson. He is a pig, and I bet he poisoned Canon Wilfred. He probably killed Pontius and Hurso too.’
‘Why would he do that?’ asked Gwenllian coolly.
‘Because he is a bitter man who hates everyone. Your husband should watch himself from now on, because Norrys will have his revenge.’
The remainder of the rehearsal passed without incident, although Gerald heckled Dunstan’s performance, and Dunstan heckled Gerald’s. The remarks grew steadily more acerbic as the afternoon wore on, and Gwenllian was relieved when the servants arrived to light lamps and prepare the hall for the evening meal. All smirked at Norrys, who had spent most of the time since his dunking sitting in a corner, seething silently.
‘We shall all go to the chapel,’ Gwenllian announced, because it was not somewhere Gerald and Dunstan could continue to score points off each other with their witticisms.
Archdeacon Osbert hurried away to prepare, while the guests divested themselves of their costumes and donned normal clothes. The service was quiet and peaceful, and went some way to soothing Gwenllian’s ragged nerves. She put murder from her mind, hoping answers would come when it was not so cluttered with questions and worries.
When the service was over, everyone trailed into the bailey, which was lit with pitch torches. Cole was just riding through the gate, Iefan at his heels. He dismounted, saw Burchill and began to brief him. Gwenllian wondered where the older man had been all day – not with Symon, if he needed a report of what had been happening. Iefan began to walk to the kitchens, an uncharacteristic heaviness in his tread. Gwenllian intercepted him.
‘What is wrong? The trouble in the town?’
The sergeant nodded, his face unhappier than she had ever seen it. ‘People cannot afford bread as it is, and Cethynoc decided this afternoon to stop all work on the walls because of the weather. It is all very well for him – he gets paid whether he works or not – but others have families.’
‘Most of the labourers are your kin,’ said Gwenllian, understanding his concern. She smiled encouragingly. ‘But the snow is melting. Building will start again soon, and folk will be able to leave the town in search of cheaper bread too.’
‘Unfortunately, all the merchants in the area have united in greed,’ said Iefan bitterly. ‘They realise they are a powerful force when they stand together, and I doubt they can be broken. Sir Symon says he does not have the authority to force them, but I think he should.’
‘I will speak to him,’ promised Gwenllian. ‘And the merchants too, if necessary. Do not worry. The wages of Carmarthen’s poor will not line the pockets of the rich.’
Iefan smiled at last, and grasped her hand in thanks. Then Gerald and Dunstan began to quarrel in response to something Norrys had said. The Hospitaller’s face was vindictive as he watched the results of his handiwork.
‘You preside over dinner,’ said Cole to Burchill, promptly reaching for the reins of his horse again. ‘Quelling insurrection is infinitely preferable to listening to that all evening.’
Burchill opened his mouth to object, but Cole was in the saddle and riding away before he could speak. Gwenllian beamed sweetly at him. He eyed her warily.
‘Have you had a busy day?’ she asked innocently.
‘Yes,’ replied Burchill shortly. He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we? Perhaps food will render these querulous clerics more benign.’
Gwenllian was not sure how long she had been asleep before Cole returned that night. He groped his way to the bed and sat next to her.
‘I thought I had better come to make sure no one else has been murdered,’ he said.
‘If they had, I would have sent for you. I am afraid I am no further forward with catching the killer, Symon.’ She sat up, worried. ‘Our guests might leave tomorrow, and they will have a terrible tale to take to the King.’
‘Not tomorrow – the roads are still too icy. But the day after is a strong possibility.’
‘You are exhausted,’ said Gwenllian, hearing the strain in his voice. ‘Sleep a little. Iefan and Burchill can manage without you for an hour.’
‘And let Norrys tell the King that I dozed while my town needed me? Still, at least I know who is responsible for the merchants’ cabal. It is William the corviser.’
‘He has always been a troublemaker, and he has disliked you ever since you fined him for cheating his customers. He will leap at any opportunity to cause you problems.’
‘Burchill and I eavesdropped on a speech he made in the Coracle tonight. He told his fellow merchants to raise their prices as high as they liked, saying that as long as they stand united, the townsfolk will have no choice but to pay.’
‘I assume you brought him to the castle? The others will crumble without his oily tongue to lead them astray, and I am sure I can persuade him to see the error of his ways.’
‘It was what I intended, but he escaped. Burchill was guarding the back door, but William managed to slip past him. I have no idea where William might have gone – he is not in his house. Still, I imagine he will reappear tomorrow.’
‘Burchill lost him?’ asked Gwenllian sharply.
‘There was nothing suspicious about it, Gwen.’ Cole sounded too tired to be angry. ‘Burchill is not as quick-footed as he was, and I should have taken that into account. It was my fault, not his.’
Gwenllian did not argue. ‘If you plan to lay hold of William tomorrow, be discreet. The other merchants will be outraged if you do it in front of them, and technically he has done nothing wrong. Profiteering is unethical, but not illegal.’
Cole was silent for a moment. ‘I do not suppose you have had time to investigate the saboteur, have you?’
‘No, I considered the murders more pressing,’ she replied rather shortly.
‘Quarrelsome clerics are not more important than my workmen,’ he said firmly. ‘But I shall catch the villain tonight. Obviously, he does not tamper with the walls during the day, when someone might see him, so logic dictates that he must work after dark. I plan to keep watch until dawn.’