The Deadliest Sin (25 page)

‘Murdered by whom?’ asked Gwenllian, intrigued.

‘The killer was never caught, although I expect the culprit was one of Walter’s men, smarting over insults that were issued during a spat in Martin’s solar.’

‘Walter is slothful, too,’ remarked Geoffrey.

Cole blinked. ‘No! He is the
opposite
of sloth – willing to do anything to get what he wants.’

‘You think sloth means lazy,’ lectured Geoffrey. ‘But it is more insidious than that. It is a sluggishness of the mind that neglects to do good – an evil that oppresses
man’s spirit, and draws him away from good deeds.’

‘The bishop is right,’ agreed Cadifor. ‘Walter is bored with himself and his life, and boredom represents an emptiness of the soul and a lack of passion. It—’

‘Walter has an abundance of passion,’ interrupted Cole, although he should have known better than to tackle two senior clerics about the nature of sin. ‘Especially for other
people’s property. Unlike Roger.
He
is the one who lacks passion.’

‘He does,’ acknowledged Geoffrey. ‘But Walter is so obsessed by enlarging his domain that he fails to appreciate the beauty around him. Overwork is a form of sloth.’

‘Quite,’ nodded Cadifor. ‘It is easier to dedicate one’s life to obvious goals, like manipulating monarchs to grant you priories, than to sit back and appreciate
God’s wondrous gifts. In my opinion, sloth is the deadliest of sins and—’

‘We need a plan,’ interrupted Gwenllian, suspecting the discussion might last all night if it was allowed to continue. ‘One that will see our priory keep its independence
without bringing the King down on us in a fury.’

‘Oh, I know how to do that,’ said Geoffrey. ‘We simply find out how much Walter paid His Majesty for the writ, then offer to double it if he agrees to a retraction.’

Cole laughed. ‘And this is advice dispensed by a bishop?’

But Cadifor was dismayed. ‘Why should we resort to underhand tactics? Walter is in the wrong, and any decent person will see it.’

Geoffrey patted his arm. ‘In an ideal world you would be right, but this is one ruled by King John. If you want Carmarthen to remain independent, it will cost you in money.’

Cadifor closed his eyes in despair. ‘But we do not have that sort of capital.’

‘Then I shall lend you some,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Not from the diocesan coffers, as my treasurer will not approve, but from my personal finances. I am not a wealthy man, and the
loan will beggar me until you repay it, but it will be worth the inconvenience.’

Cadifor sighed his relief. ‘Thank you! Although I fail to see what you will gain.’

‘I will gain not having Walter in my See,’ explained the bishop. ‘Four of my brother prelates have him in theirs, and they say he is nothing but trouble. Moreover, I admire
what you have done here, and I should hate it to be undone.’

Cadifor gripped his hand. ‘You are a
good
man. I shall pay you back within ten years.’

Geoffrey gulped. ‘I hope it will be sooner than that – six months at the most! You will have to drive harder bargains with that fine wool you mentioned.’

‘Then all we need do is find out how much Walter paid the King,’ said Cole. He frowned. ‘I cannot imagine he will be very forthcoming when we ask, though.’

‘No,’ agreed Gwenllian. ‘We shall have to be subtle. Leave it to me.’

Suddenly, there was shouting in the bailey below. Cole opened the window and leaned out, letting in a chill blast of air that had everyone drawing their cloaks more closely around their
shoulders. Iefan shouted up.

‘You are asked to go to the priory as soon as possible. There has been a death.’

‘Who?’ asked Cole.

‘Prior Roger. Apparently, he fell asleep in the chapel during yesterday’s hearing and failed to wake up.’

Cole took Stacpol and Elidor with him to the priory, partly to show the Austins a suitable degree of respect for a deceased member of their Order – three knights made for
a better display than one – but mostly because he did not believe that Roger had ‘fallen asleep’, and he would need help if there were signs of foul play.

‘No,’ he said, when Gwenllian emerged fully clothed from the bedchamber to accompany him. ‘Not this time. You were right to be anxious: Roger’s death is unlikely to be
natural, given all the antagonism that raged yesterday.’

‘Quite,’ she said, equally resolute as she pushed past him. ‘You will need me if you hope to uncover the truth. You cannot do it alone.’

She was right and he knew it, although he was not happy. ‘Very well, but only if you promise not to wander off alone.’

She inclined her head to accept the condition, and they set off. Bishop Geoffrey also insisted on going, to pray over the remains of the colleague he had known for years.

‘I neither liked nor respected him as a man,’ he said. ‘But as a youth, he was a charming, entertaining companion. It is a pity he learned bad habits from Martin. Had he
moulded himself on Cadifor, he would have been an asset to Llanthony.’

Cadifor inclined his head at the compliment. ‘Yet I do not remember Roger being charming or entertaining, and as far as I am concerned, he had no redeeming qualities at all. But I am sorry
he is dead, because now he will never have the chance to mend his slothful ways.’

Cole set a rapid pace through the town. Geoffrey did his best to keep up, but soon fell behind, while Gwenllian and Cadifor panted hard. The knights were not breathless at all, kept fit by their
duties. Their vigour made Gwenllian wonder how Asser had managed to deceive them about the precarious state of his health.

They passed the houses by St Peter’s church, then the woods that separated the town from the priory, after which Cole stopped, so abruptly that Cadifor cannoned into the back of him.

‘Did you see that?’ he demanded. ‘Someone is moving through the trees.’

‘Not this again,’ groaned Stacpol. ‘There is no one here, Cole. If you saw movement, it was the wind among the leaves.’

‘Actually, I thought I saw someone, too,’ said Gwenllian, not liking Stacpol’s discourteous tone. ‘Besides, there is no wind. It is calm and the leaves are
still.’

Stacpol regarded her with cold eyes. ‘Then you were mistaken as well. It is still not fully light, so it is easy to imagine things.’

She opened her mouth to argue, but Cole was already moving away, so she did no more than favour Stacpol with a glare before following.

They reached the monastery and were admitted by the soldiers on duty. However, they were then made to wait in the yard until Walter and Gilbert deigned to emerge from the guesthouse, an insult
that had even the tolerant Geoffrey grumbling. The Llanthony monks were wiping their lips on pieces of linen, suggesting that they had finished their breakfast before attending the officials they
themselves had summoned.

Londres, Belat and Henry were with them. The bailiff’s face was flushed, and Gwenllian suspected he had spent the night drinking. She regarded him in distaste. He was smug, delighted to be
the author of a situation that had seen the King win a handsome bribe from Walter, that had resulted in Hempsted obtaining another foundation, and that had put Cole in a difficult situation. He did
not care that it would be the monks of Carmarthen who would suffer for his poisonous schemes.

‘Prior Roger is dead,’ Walter announced. ‘He fell asleep during the hearing yesterday, and Cadifor gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. However, when I went to say
matins and saw he had not moved, I poked him. It was then that I discovered that he had passed away.’

‘I did suggest we let him be,’ said Cadifor, a little defensively as everyone looked at him. ‘He seemed tired, and I thought he might need the rest.’

‘Liar!’ hissed Gilbert. ‘You ordered him left because you wanted everyone to see how lazy he was – that he could sleep for hours when he should have been reciting his
offices.’

‘He did not need me to reveal him as a slothful man,’ Cadifor shot back, although the guilty flash in his eyes suggested there was truth in Gilbert’s accusation. ‘He did
that himself, by his own words and actions.’

‘Are you sure he was there all night?’ asked Cole. ‘He did not leave and then go back?’

‘How would we know?’ asked Gilbert archly. ‘We were confined to the guesthouse, allowed out only to pray. However, Roger was in the same position each time we passed him, so he
probably died hours ago.’

‘So we have a second odd death just as you happen to be visiting a sister house, Walter,’ said Cadifor coldly. ‘The same thing happened at Llanthony, when Martin died. Do you
have an explanation?’

‘
I
do not need to provide one,’ replied Walter haughtily. ‘The incident has nothing to do with me.’ He addressed Cole. ‘Do you want to see the corpse? We
have left it as it was found.’

‘Have you?’ gulped Geoffrey, crossing himself. ‘How very unpleasant! Why did you not move it somewhere more appropriate?’

‘Like the refectory or the dormitory,’ muttered Cadifor acidly. ‘Eating and sleeping were Roger’s favourite activities, so where more appropriate than those?’

In the chapel, Roger was on the same bench he had occupied during the meeting. It looked as though he was asleep, but when Cole stepped forward to feel for a life-beat, the skin was cold to the
touch. He then examined the body more closely, but found no suspicious lumps or marks, and it appeared as though the Prior of Llanthony had simply passed away peacefully in his sleep.

‘He probably ate so much during the hearing that he overloaded himself,’ said Walter in distaste. ‘Gluttony killed him.’

‘And sloth,’ whispered Bishop Geoffrey. ‘If he had been a more vigorous man, he would not have grown so fat. The great Greek physician Galen warns against the perils of too
much food combined with too little exercise.’

He began to recite prayers for the dead, which obliged the other Austins to do the same, although they did so reluctantly. Roger had not been popular, and it was clear that few would mourn his
passing. Londres, Belat and Henry stood nearby, muttering together. It looked as though they were arguing, and Gwenllian wondered whether Roger’s death aided or hindered their plans. Or
perhaps Londres had learned that his accomplices planned to cheat him.

When the monks had finished their devotions, six burly lay brothers carried Roger to a storeroom, where he would be prepared for the journey back to his own foundation. There was silence after
the body had gone, although it did not last long.

‘I repeat what I said earlier,’ declared Cadifor. ‘It is odd that there should be another death at a priory which Walter has wronged.’

Walter sniffed, and did not grace the remark with a reply.

Elidor was thoughtful, though. ‘Cadifor makes an interesting point. There were no marks on Prior Martin either, but we all knew
he
was unlawfully slain.’ He looked at Cole.
‘Do you think it possible that both were poisoned?’

‘If so, then it was with a substance that cannot be detected,’ replied Cole. ‘There are no burns or redness in Roger’s mouth or on his hands. However, I can tell you that
he was cold and stiff, which means he probably died hours ago – perhaps even during the hearing. We all saw him sitting here with his eyes closed, and he did not move as we walked out past
him . . .’

Gwenllian had been making her own assessment of the situation, staring down at the place where the body had been. ‘Roger ate stolen marchpanes, but there is no trace of them
now.’

‘Of course not,’ said Cadifor, bemused. ‘He scoffed the lot.’

Gwenllian nodded. ‘Yes, and I saw crumbs all over his habit. However, there are no crumbs now – his robe is clean. And do not say he shook them off himself, because the floor would
be littered with them and it is not. It seems to me that someone has swept them up.’

‘Why would anyone do that?’ asked Cole, puzzled. Then the answer came. ‘You mean that someone has removed the evidence? That the food
was
poisoned, so the killer cleared
away any remaining fragments to prevent us from proving it?’

‘Specifically, the marchpanes,’ said Gwenllian. ‘Asser also ate some, and within moments, he collapsed in a stupor. You woke him, but with difficulty. I suspect Roger also
slipped into a stupor, but no one shook him awake, and he passed quietly into death.’

Geoffrey’s hand shot to his throat. ‘Are you saying that someone put poison in the sweetmeats intended for me?’ But then he shook his head. ‘No! Asser had an apoplexy.
Stacpol mentioned similar attacks in the past.’

‘And I stand by my claim,’ said Stacpol. ‘Asser died of natural causes, and so did Roger. These theories about poisonous marchpanes are ridiculous.’

‘I am not so sure,’ said Elidor, so that Stacpol’s angry glare passed from Gwenllian to him. ‘Cole is right: many poisons are undetectable, and I think it strange that
Asser and Roger should die so soon after eating marchpanes. Moreover, their deaths remind me of Prior Martin’s, and we all knew that he did not perish naturally.’

‘Fetch the remaining marchpanes,’ ordered Cole, seeing Dafydd the cook among the watching Austins. ‘We shall feed one to a rat and have our answer.’

‘They have all gone,’ said Dafydd, frightened. ‘So has the plate. I assumed Roger took them, but now it occurs to me that the killer must have been in my kitchen, removing the
evidence of his crimes . . .’

‘Clearly,’ said Walter, fixing him with an icy stare. ‘And if the sweetmeats were poisoned, it stands to reason that the toxin was added where they were made: in
your
domain.’

‘No!’ cried Dafydd, then relief flooded his chubby face. ‘Hah! You cannot accuse me, because I was not in Llanthony when Martin was killed – and if Martin, Roger and
Asser died from the same cause, then I can be eliminated as a suspect.’

It was a good point, and Gwenllian watched annoyance flit across Walter’s face. Had he wanted a Carmarthen man blamed so that his own party could be exonerated? Or because a killer among
Cadifor’s flock might convince the Prior General that the present incumbent was unfit to rule, and thus strengthen Walter’s justification for seizing the place himself ?