The performance finished with the Ordo Prophetarum – a series of scenes containing prophecies about Christ. Gerald inserted a long monologue of his own devising and, not to be outshone, Dunstan did likewise. Robert chanced his hand too, although with considerably less panache, and he was hissed off the stage when the audience grew bored.
It was over eventually, and more refreshments were distributed. Having thoroughly enjoyed themselves, the audience lingered, chatting and laughing. Gwenllian felt the tension rise inside her, and longed to throw them all out so that Cole could speak to Luci – and if the Hospitaller had no answers for them, be about investigating herself. But that would be ungracious in a woman brought up in the tradition of Welsh hospitality, so she forced herself to smile and nod at friends and acquaintances.
Fortunately, the weather came to her rescue. Clouds had rolled in with dusk, and the promised rain arrived. A sharp shower encouraged people home, although it was pitch-black by the time the last of them had trailed away.
‘Find Luci,’ she instructed Symon, acutely aware of how much faith she was putting in the Hospitaller’s skills at detection. ‘He should know the killer’s identity by now.’
Cole nodded. ‘He said I should go alone. Return to the hall and watch our other guests.’
‘No,’ said Gwenllian firmly. ‘I like Luci, but I do not trust him. He is a brother knight to Norrys, for a start. I am coming with you.’
Cole laughed. ‘You think you can stop a fight? Go inside, Gwen. You will be safer.’
He should have known better than to issue her with an order she did not like and expect her to follow it. She waited until he was some distance ahead, then trailed him towards the walls, taking care to stay in the shadows.
Suddenly, Cole gave a shout and darted forward. Two shadows emerged from the scaffolding, and Gwenllian’s stomach lurched. Had Luci been lying about investigating the murders, and his real plan was to get Cole alone so that he and Norrys could kill him?
She snatched up a spade and ran towards them, but then ducked back into the shadows quickly. It was not the Hospitallers who were there, but Cethynoc and Burchill, both swearing at the fright Cole had given them with his yell. Gwenllian eased forward, aiming to hear what they were saying without being seen herself.
‘… need a drink,’ said Cethynoc sullenly. ‘You two can waste your time lurking out here in the rain if you like, but I am off to a dry tavern.’
‘And are you sure he is not the saboteur?’ asked Cole of Burchill, when the mason had gone. ‘It would be a tidy answer, and no one would mind us accusing him. His sullen manners have not made him popular.’
‘True,’ agreed Burchill. ‘But I have watched him very carefully since the first mishap, and I can tell you without the shadow of a doubt that he is innocent.’
‘Watched him carefully?’ echoed Cole. ‘Is that what you have been doing these last few days, so that you were never available when you were needed? I wanted you in the town, and Gwen would have appreciated your help with the guests.’
‘These last few weeks,’ corrected Burchill. ‘I have invested a lot of time trying to catch your saboteur, lad. Besides, you did not need me, and neither did she – she is more than capable of managing awkward visitors. Come further into the shadows – I believe the saboteur will strike tonight, but not if he sees us.’
‘I am supposed to meet Luci here,’ said Cole. ‘He knows the identity of the killer.’
‘Good,’ said Burchill. ‘We can watch for him and our saboteur at the same time – two birds with one stone.’
Cole stepped back obligingly, while Gwenllian gripped her spade, ready to race forward and brain Burchill if he showed even the slightest hint of treachery. Both knights were silent, and as still as statues. Gwenllian shivered, more from tension than cold, and the spade grew heavy in her hands. Then she saw Cole stiffen and point. Someone was creeping along the wall, swathed in a cloak.
The person reached a pile of ropes, and there was a flare of light. He was burning them! Cole waited until they were well alight, and there could be no doubt of the culprit’s guilt, then surged forward and grabbed him by the hood, spinning him round so he could see his face in the light from the fire.
‘Iefan,’ he said heavily. ‘Damn! I had my suspicions, but I hoped I was wrong.’
‘Iefan?’ echoed Burchill in shock. ‘No! He is your most trusted officer.’
Iefan hung his head, and when he spoke his voice was an agonised whisper. ‘I had to do it. You are working too fast. We are months ahead of where we should be, thanks to Lady Gwenllian’s organisation of supplies and Sir Symon’s close supervision.’
‘I do not understand,’ said Burchill. ‘Why should you object to the walls being finished early? Wooden ones burn, and we shall be much safer inside a ring of stone.’
‘Yes,’ said Iefan wretchedly. ‘But the labourers are my kin… ’
‘So you arranged “accidents” to slow us down,’ said Cole flatly. ‘Purely so they will be paid for a longer period of time. But you might have killed someone, man!’
‘No! I was always careful.’ Iefan winced. ‘The frayed rope did not go according to plan – it was meant to break the moment it took the weight of the stones, not when the basket reached the top of the wall. I shouted a warning, and you managed to jump away…’
‘Yes,’ acknowledged Cole ruefully. ‘But only just.’
‘I knew you were worried,’ said Iefan miserably. ‘But our people will starve if you finish too soon. All I wanted was for the work to last until it is time to sow the new crops.’
‘Did you tamper with the stone that killed Pontius?’ asked Cole.
‘No!’ cried Iefan. ‘Of course not! That had nothing to do with me.’
Cole waved his hand to say he could go, although Burchill regarded him sharply, evidently thinking there should be some reckoning for what Iefan had done. Head hanging in misery, the sergeant slunk away into the rain-swept night.
‘You can come out now,’ said Cole, turning to look at the place where Gwenllian was hiding. ‘Burchill and I are quite safe, and there is no need for your spade.’
Somewhat sheepishly, Gwenllian emerged.
‘You were not surprised when you recognised Iefan,’ said Burchill, ignoring her to study Cole intently in the fading light of the flames. ‘You knew he was the culprit. How?’
‘His dogged insistence that there was no saboteur, when we all knew there was,’ replied Cole. ‘His assertion that the mishaps were minor, representing no danger to the workmen. His constant objections that the work was proceeding too fast. And I almost caught him in the act yesterday, when he spun a tale about looking for the culprit himself.’
‘You did not tell me any of this,’ said Burchill reproachfully.
‘Or me,’ added Gwenllian, sorry for it. If he had confided, she would have found a way to make Iefan desist without the humiliation of being caught red-handed. He had done wrong, but he had been a faithful retainer for years, and she could not find it in her heart to condemn him. Neither would Cole.
Cole shrugged. ‘I hoped I was mistaken.’
‘Well, I am sorry he transpired to be the villain,’ said Burchill. ‘You trusted him, and he betrayed you. Thank God we thwarted him, though: he was growing more reckless, and his tricks would have hurt someone eventually. You must dismiss him from your service.’
‘No,’ said Cole. ‘It is over now, and we shall say no more about it.’ He turned to Gwenllian. ‘We had better find Luci before he has second thoughts about confiding in us. He is not out here – our scuffle must have put him off – so we had better look in the hall.’