Free The False Virgin by The Medieval Murderers

behind them. ‘It is running into my garden, so I hope it dries up soon. My
vegetables are currently standing in a bog.’
    ‘Perhaps you will show me the place where you and those two young vagabonds prayed last night,’ said Kediour coolly. ‘No, do not ask how I know. Suffice to say that I
disapprove.’
    Rupe began to argue, but a cold stare from the indignant prior made his words falter. Muttering resentfully under his breath, he led the way into the wood, where there was a small clearing not
far from the road, reached by a narrow path. He stopped in astonishment,
    ‘We prayed there,’ he gulped, pointing with a shaking finger. ‘And look! A spring now gushes from that very place. Beornwyn
has
granted us a miracle!’
    ‘It is excess water from the storm,’ said Kediour. ‘There is no evidence to—’
    ‘What is that?’ asked Cole suddenly, pointing to a flash of yellow behind a tree. Gwenllian recognised the smart new tunic immediately, and ran forward with a cry.
    It was Miles, sightless eyes gazing up at the sky above, and a vicious red line around his neck to show where he had been garrotted. A butterfly had settled on the wound.
    Cole and Gwenllian tried to explore the wood for clues, but Rupe’s horrified wails had attracted a crowd. Kediour did his best to keep them back, but not even his
commanding figure could control them for long, and they were soon trampling everywhere, exclaiming in excited voices about the miracle of the storm – the damage it had caused conveniently
forgotten – and the spring that had appeared like manna from Heaven.
    ‘There is
another
butterfly, settling on the wound of this murdered man,’ cried Rupe. ‘It is Beornwyn’s spirit, weeping for the wrong that has been done next to
her sacred waters.’
    ‘Actually, it is attracted by the moisture,’ explained Cole. ‘They—’
    ‘There is nothing more to be seen here,’ interrupted Gwenllian quickly, aware of the revolted glances that were being exchanged that the constable should own such grisly knowledge.
‘Now please go home, all of you.’
    ‘No, stay,’ countered Rupe. ‘And feast your eyes on this holy spring – a gift from the saint herself. She truly has bestowed her favour on us – on
me
! I
prayed to her, and she has sited her stream on my land, at the exact spot where I kneeled to petition her.’
    ‘Actually, you were a little farther to the left,’ said Cole.
    Rupe’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know? Or were you here, too, spying on us?’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Gwenllian hastily, not wanting Rupe to know that Symon had been alone in the woods where his deputy had been murdered. ‘He was too tired after his
three-week patrol for ferreting about in dark coppices.’
    ‘So you say,’ sneered Rupe. ‘But he would have had to come past here to reach the castle after seeing Kediour home, and Miles is dead. And we all know that Miles lusted after
you.’
    ‘Symon knows he need not fear losing my affections to Miles or any other man,’ said Gwenllian firmly. She was aware of Avenel and Fitzmartin on the fringes of the crowd, listening
intently and doubtless eager to report Rupe’s accusations to the King.
    ‘A wife can provide no alibi,’ declared Rupe scornfully. ‘You would lie to save Cole, if for no other reason than that the next constable is likely to have a wife
already.’
    ‘Enough,’ snapped Kediour, while Gwenllian gripped Cole’s arm hard to prevent him from reacting to the insult. ‘It is unseemly to quarrel over a corpse. Philip? Fetch a
bier and arrange for the deputy to be carried to the castle chapel.’
    ‘Your priory is closer,’ said Cole.
    Kediour’s voice became gentle. ‘Yes, but that is not where he belongs. And it is Philip’s prerogative to stand vigil over a castle official until he is buried.’
    The little chaplain looked disappointed to be dispatched on an errand when there was so much to see, and Gwenllian noted that he did not go