Hill of Bones by The Medieval Murderers

demanded. ‘I have nothing to say to people who stood by and did nothing while Savaric excommunicated me.’
    ‘But we have something to say to you,’ said Gwenllian quietly. ‘You stabbed Lechlade, although we know it was a mistake.’
    ‘We do?’ blurted Cole, startled.
    Pica stared at Gwenllian. ‘I did not stab Lechlade.’
    ‘You did,’ said Gwenllian in the same calm voice. Pica was volatile, and she did not want to precipitate an attack: it would not look good for Symon to engage in fisticuffs with senior clerics. ‘You were angry because Savaric is using us as an excuse to postpone discussions—’
    ‘Of course I am angry,’ snarled Pica. ‘But that does not make me Lechlade’s killer.’
    ‘Symon said he was going to St Michael’s Church, but the truth was that he wanted to spend time with his horse. You waited until dark, and you struck the man who emerged. Unfortunately for you, it was someone else.’
    ‘Pica wanted to kill me?’ asked Cole, shocked.
    ‘No,’ said Pica, although his face was white. ‘She cannot prove these nasty allegations.’
    ‘I can. You see, you and Trotman were the only people who knew where Symon was going, and we know Trotman did not kill his friend. Then there was your horror when you saw Lechlade’s body – your realisation that you had claimed the wrong victim.’
    ‘No,’ said Pica again, but unsteadily. ‘I am not a fool, to attack a Norman warrior.’
    ‘Which is why you waited until dark,’ Gwenllian pressed on. ‘To give yourself the advantage of surprise. Moreover, you held back until your victim left the church – good monk that you are, you did not want to spill blood on holy ground.’
    ‘Lechlade’s injury!’ exclaimed Cole suddenly. ‘I see how it happened now.’
    He crouched, which made him Pica’s height, and stabbed with Iefan’s sword, using Gwenllian as his ‘victim’. The wound he would have inflicted, had he been in earnest, was exactly where Lechlade had been struck.
    ‘I would never . . .’ stammered Pica. ‘I do not . . .’
    ‘Symon is following the King’s orders, and you were going to murder him for it,’ said Gwenllian coldly. ‘Just to deprive Savaric of an excuse to procrastinate. As it is, you killed an innocent man instead.’
    Pica closed his eyes. ‘I did not mean to kill, only incapacitate. But surely, you understand? I cannot wait days until your investigation is complete, when every hour that passes sees Savaric grow more powerful, to Glastonbury’s detriment. Something had to be done.’
    ‘What about Reginald?’ asked Cole. ‘Did you murder him, too?
    ‘Reginald was not poisoned, no matter what the gossips claim,’ said Pica wretchedly. ‘He died of a fever.’
    ‘Then what about Hugh and Adam?’ asked Gwenllian. ‘They were killed by a dog that tore out their throats. And you gave Savaric a large grey animal – one that looked like a wolf.’
    Pica stared at her. ‘If that dog did attack Hugh and Adam, you cannot hold me responsible. Perhaps it was a little more savage than I led Savaric to believe, but Osmun and Fevil should have been able to control it. Besides, they told me yesterday that they had turned it into a pie weeks ago.’
    ‘They said the same to us,’ acknowledged Gwenllian. ‘But we cannot be sure they were telling the truth.’
    ‘If the creature is alive, then I know nothing about it,’ stated Pica. ‘I admit to stabbing Lechlade, but it was a mistake, and any court of law will see it.’
    ‘A mistake because you were aiming to kill the King’s officer?’ asked Gwenllian icily.
    ‘A mistake because Savaric fosters an atmosphere of fear and mistrust,’ countered Pica, finally regaining his composure. ‘Bath has an unsettled and dangerous feel, and I struck out in self-defence. That is what I shall say, and no one will be able to disprove it.’
    ‘Pica is right, you know,’ said Gwenllian, as she and Cole watched him escorted to the abbey cells. ‘It was dark,