‘Roger Norrys – a vicious, mean-spirited tyrant,’ recalled Gwenllian. ‘Thank God my father did not force me to marry him, or I would have been hanged for murder years ago. Did that falling basket hit you? You are limping.’
‘No, the lace on my boot is broken. I will send it to William the corviser to be repaired.’
‘Not him,’ said Gwenllian quickly. ‘He has disliked you ever since you fined him for cheating his customers. I will find another shoemaker. And before you suggest it, William is not your saboteur – he is more likely to wound with words than actions.’
‘I will catch the culprit, Gwen,’ said Cole with quiet determination. ‘I must. None of my labourers will be safe until I do.’
Gwenllian did not bother to argue with him.
As they walked across the bailey, they were intercepted by the visitors who had arrived the previous afternoon. Gwenllian was kin to Gerald de Barri, a fact he had been quick to mention when requesting hospitality. He and his two companions had been to Canterbury, and were travelling home to St Davids. Carmarthen was in St Davids See, but the three priests still had several more days of travel before they reached their cathedral in the far west of the country.
‘I am afraid we shall have to impose on you for a while longer,’ said Gerald with an apologetic smile. ‘All the roads are closed by snow.’
‘Are they?’ Cole was openly dismayed. He did not enjoy the company of clerics, because they tended to know nothing about horses and warfare, two topics he considered important in a man. The St Davids priests were no exception, and one – Foliot – had compounded the deficiency by admitting to falling off his pony. Cole had been aghast that anyone should have lost his seat on so docile an animal.
Gwenllian felt differently, though. Gerald was witty and amusing, and she had been fascinated by his tales of journeys around Wales. She liked small, dark Foliot, too, with his kindly eyes and gentle manners. Pontius was sharper and more outspoken.
Gerald sighed. ‘We have been away for almost four months now, and we are eager to be home. This situation does not please us, I assure you.’
‘Nor me,’ said Cole bluntly. ‘How long do you think it will be before you can leave?’
‘A few days,’ replied Foliot quickly, when Gerald’s eyebrows shot up at the ungracious question. ‘No more, God willing.’
‘Let us hope not,’ said Pontius slyly. ‘Your sergeant claims there has been a spate of mishaps here, and we do not want to be crushed under plummeting baskets.’
‘Then we shall not put you to work on the castle walls,’ said Gwenllian, smiling at him. ‘Because that is where the accidents have occurred.’
Foliot winced at the notion, putting his hand to the shoulder that had been bruised by his tumble from the horse. ‘I shall use the opportunity to rest.’
‘So shall I,’ said Pontius. ‘I have a bad back – too much time in the saddle.’
Cole regarded him wonderingly. ‘Is there any such thing?’
Gerald laughed, although Cole had not meant to be amusing. ‘It is good to be back in my own See. I was unimpressed with Canterbury – the archbishop is as devious as his master the King. Incidentally, when I am enthroned as bishop, I shall be elevating St Davids to an archbishopric. I do not want to be under Canterbury’s sway.’
Cole looked alarmed. He had scant respect for John, whom he considered weak, vacillating and untrustworthy, but as a royally appointed official he was not in the habit of engaging in seditious discussions with strangers. Gwenllian was interested in something that would affect all of Wales, though.
‘An archbishopric would make this See the equal of Canterbury and York,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ nodded Gerald. ‘And quite rightly so. Why should we be under the authority of Canterbury, a place that knows nothing of us or our customs? And I shall certainly bring it about, because the Pope is a great admirer of mine, and can refuse me nothing. Well, I did recruit hundreds of warriors for his crusade. Did you go, Cole?’
‘Yes, I fought in several battles, including the-’
‘You are welcome to stay for as long as you like,’ interrupted Gwenllian quickly, before Cole could regale them with details. His war stories were not for the delicate ears of priests. ‘It will be our pleasure to entertain you.’
‘Entertain us,’ echoed Pontius, looking around with a smirk. ‘That promises to be interesting. How will you do it?’
‘We shall go hunting, if the snow is not too thick,’ replied Cole pleasantly. ‘We have plenty of wild boar, and stags too. Or there is hawking. It is too cold for fishing, but-’
‘How about an activity that does not involve killing something?’ asked Pontius archly.
‘My wife can take you shopping,’ retorted Cole, unimpressed by the question. ‘Or teach you how to embroider a-’
‘We shall have some music,’ said Gwenllian before he could insult them further. ‘Osbert, our archdeacon, plays the crwth, and Symon will sing.’
‘Battle songs?’ asked Gerald, humour glinting in his black eyes.
‘Welsh ballads,’ corrected Gwenllian with pride. ‘I taught him myself.’
‘We shall look forward to it,’ said Foliot graciously, although Pontius looked dubious.
‘And I may honour you by reading excerpts from one of my books,’ said Gerald. ‘I did it in Oxford last autumn, and it was very well received. It took three days, and my audience was spellbound the entire time.’
‘You read aloud for three days?’ Cole was horrified, evidently afraid the same might be attempted in Carmarthen. ‘Without stopping?’
‘Well, obviously, we went away to sleep,’ said Gerald. ‘But we started afresh the following dawn. Everyone said they were much edified.’
‘God’s teeth!’ breathed Cole. To Gwenllian’s relief, he was prevented from saying more by tripping over his broken lace.
‘You should mend that before you hurt yourself,’ advised Gerald. ‘Do you have a spare to give him, Foliot? Or a piece of twine?’
‘I am afraid not,’ replied the priest. ‘I used it to mend my reins after the ambush.’
‘Ambush?’ asked Cole immediately. ‘Where? Not near here?’
‘Once in Brecon and once outside Trecastle,’ replied Gerald. ‘It was how Foliot came to bruise his shoulder. His pony reared and he slipped off. Do not worry, though: both were well outside your jurisdiction, so we shall not blame you for them.’
Gwenllian laughed at Cole’s obvious dismay as their guests walked away, and assured him that she would look after them. He nodded relieved thanks, and she saw he had been worried that playing host would keep him from his walls.
‘What did Cethynoc say when he made his inspection?’ she asked.
‘That we cannot build as long as the weather stays so cold, but there are other tasks that can be managed – preparing the rubble infill, cutting stones, moving supplies. The men are keen to continue.’
Gwenllian was sure they were: they would not be paid for idle days, and winter was a bad time to be without money. She followed Cole into the hall, where their baby son toddled towards them. Meurig squealed his delight when Cole scooped him up and tossed him high into the air, but Gwenllian closed her eyes in maternal horror: did he have to be so rough?
‘A person is responsible for these mishaps,’ Cole said after a while, handing Meurig to his nurse, and returning to the subject that so troubled him. ‘Five incidents is too many for coincidence.’
Gwenllian sighed. ‘Very well, let us assume you are right. Who are your suspects?’
He was silent for a long time before replying. ‘I do not have any. Who are yours? You are the one good at solving mysteries.’
‘Only if there is a mystery to solve.’
‘There is, Gwen, and I was hoping you would help me catch the villain.’ He grimaced resentfully. ‘But now Gerald and his priests will take up all your time, I suppose I shall have to unmask him by myself.’