stream he believed he had discovered, hoping the late hour would see the place deserted. Cole thought Miles had been dead
for several hours before he was found, which meant he had been killed not long after the two of them had argued. Frossard had witnessed their quarrel, and she supposed she should be grateful that
Rupe and his henchmen had not.
From ten possible culprits when she had started her enquiries, she now had six. She had never seriously considered Odo and Hilde; they were friends, and she could not believe they would garrotte
anyone. Reinfrid and Frossard could also be eliminated, because they had been close on Symon’s heels as he had returned to the castle, close enough that they had seen him stop to speak to the
other suspects. That left Avenel, Fitzmartin, Philip, Rupe and his two henchmen, one of whom was now dead.
Her favoured suspect was Rupe, who wanted everyone to believe that Beornwyn had blessed him with a spring, and who would certainly not want Miles to claim that water had been there all along.
Moreover, Rupe’s alibi had been provided by his henchmen, a brutal pair who would certainly kill on his orders – and who would lie for him, too.
Avenel and Fitzmartin had no reliable alibi either. They had left the Eagle to walk back to the castle, but no one had accompanied them, and there was nothing to say they had not killed Miles en
route. They were, as Kediour had reminded her, alleged to have committed other nasty crimes, so why not murder? And they certainly had a motive: the King would be delighted to hear that there was
trouble in Carmarthen. Hilde and Odo were wary of them, too, and believed they were plotting something untoward.
And finally, Philip had also been near the scene of the murder with no good explanation, and he had been caught out in lies. He might be her kinsman, but she neither liked nor trusted him, and
she was uncomfortable with the secret glances he kept exchanging with Avenel – and with Odo, for that matter.
She was torn from her ponderings by a rattle of hoofs in the bailey. She ran to the window, and sighed her relief when she saw Cole. Avenel and Fitzmartin were there too, and she could tell by
the general air of dejection that the cattle rustlers had not been caught.
That evening, after Cole had washed away the filth of travel and had drunk more watered ale than Gwenllian had thought was possible without exploding, she told him all that she had learned
during his absence. He listened without interruption.
‘I think we can cross Avenel off your list,’ he said when she had finished. ‘He saved my life. Gunbald would certainly have killed me if he had not acted.’
‘Odo says it was base instinct that drove him,’ argued Gwenllian. ‘I imagine he is dearly hoping that no one tells the King what he did. And do not say he went with you to
catch the thieves out of goodness – he went to witness your failure for himself.’
Cole did not agree, and they debated the matter until they fell asleep, both worn out by the stresses and strains of the last four days. At dawn, the door opened and Iefan crept in.
‘You can cross Rupe off your list of suspects, Gwen,’ said Cole, after hearing his sergeant’s whispered report. ‘He is dead – garrotted, like Miles.’
Word of the murder had spread through the town long before the castle was informed, and Rupe’s house was ringed by spectators when Gwenllian and Cole arrived. The more
important ones were inside, where they stood in the bedchamber, staring at the body. The only sound was Kediour’s voice as he murmured prayers for the dead man’s soul. Gwenllian looked
around the room in distaste: it was mean and poor, suggesting that Rupe was a miser, hoarding his money and refusing to pay for clean bedclothes and decent furniture.
When Kediour had finished his petitions, Cole stepped forward to examine the body. There was not much to see: the mayor wore a thin nightshift, and had probably been
for several hours before he was found, which meant he had been killed not long after the two of them had argued. Frossard had witnessed their quarrel, and she supposed she should be grateful that
Rupe and his henchmen had not.
From ten possible culprits when she had started her enquiries, she now had six. She had never seriously considered Odo and Hilde; they were friends, and she could not believe they would garrotte
anyone. Reinfrid and Frossard could also be eliminated, because they had been close on Symon’s heels as he had returned to the castle, close enough that they had seen him stop to speak to the
other suspects. That left Avenel, Fitzmartin, Philip, Rupe and his two henchmen, one of whom was now dead.
Her favoured suspect was Rupe, who wanted everyone to believe that Beornwyn had blessed him with a spring, and who would certainly not want Miles to claim that water had been there all along.
Moreover, Rupe’s alibi had been provided by his henchmen, a brutal pair who would certainly kill on his orders – and who would lie for him, too.
Avenel and Fitzmartin had no reliable alibi either. They had left the Eagle to walk back to the castle, but no one had accompanied them, and there was nothing to say they had not killed Miles en
route. They were, as Kediour had reminded her, alleged to have committed other nasty crimes, so why not murder? And they certainly had a motive: the King would be delighted to hear that there was
trouble in Carmarthen. Hilde and Odo were wary of them, too, and believed they were plotting something untoward.
And finally, Philip had also been near the scene of the murder with no good explanation, and he had been caught out in lies. He might be her kinsman, but she neither liked nor trusted him, and
she was uncomfortable with the secret glances he kept exchanging with Avenel – and with Odo, for that matter.
She was torn from her ponderings by a rattle of hoofs in the bailey. She ran to the window, and sighed her relief when she saw Cole. Avenel and Fitzmartin were there too, and she could tell by
the general air of dejection that the cattle rustlers had not been caught.
That evening, after Cole had washed away the filth of travel and had drunk more watered ale than Gwenllian had thought was possible without exploding, she told him all that she had learned
during his absence. He listened without interruption.
‘I think we can cross Avenel off your list,’ he said when she had finished. ‘He saved my life. Gunbald would certainly have killed me if he had not acted.’
‘Odo says it was base instinct that drove him,’ argued Gwenllian. ‘I imagine he is dearly hoping that no one tells the King what he did. And do not say he went with you to
catch the thieves out of goodness – he went to witness your failure for himself.’
Cole did not agree, and they debated the matter until they fell asleep, both worn out by the stresses and strains of the last four days. At dawn, the door opened and Iefan crept in.
‘You can cross Rupe off your list of suspects, Gwen,’ said Cole, after hearing his sergeant’s whispered report. ‘He is dead – garrotted, like Miles.’
Word of the murder had spread through the town long before the castle was informed, and Rupe’s house was ringed by spectators when Gwenllian and Cole arrived. The more
important ones were inside, where they stood in the bedchamber, staring at the body. The only sound was Kediour’s voice as he murmured prayers for the dead man’s soul. Gwenllian looked
around the room in distaste: it was mean and poor, suggesting that Rupe was a miser, hoarding his money and refusing to pay for clean bedclothes and decent furniture.
When Kediour had finished his petitions, Cole stepped forward to examine the body. There was not much to see: the mayor wore a thin nightshift, and had probably been
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