concern us. And now you are home, I want to discuss them with you.
Not with your wife.’
Cole bridled at his tone, and Gwenllian rested a calming hand on his arm. She had not endured the sheriff and his creature for three trying weeks just to have Cole destroy the fragile bridges
she had built with an imprudent remark.
‘You must excuse us, Sheriff,’ she said politely. ‘We have castle business to attend.’
Avenel bowed in a manner that was more insult than compliment, and stepped away, although neither he nor Fitzmartin went far.
Cole leaned down to whisper in Gwenllian’s ear, ‘Kediour tells me they are accused of despoiling churches. Is it true?’
‘They are John’s men, so it is possible.’ Her attention was caught by the monks. ‘Odo had a good question: what will you do about them? We do need a miracle, but I am not
sure they are the ones to bring it about. Oh, no! Here comes Mayor Rupe!’
Rupe was an overweight, slovenly man who hailed from nearby Dinefwr, a fact of which he was so proud that he always wore the curious conical hat for which its residents were famous. He had been
greasily obsequious before Cole had caught him misusing public monies, but was now a bitter and intractable opponent. He had insisted on holding meetings to discuss how best to catch the thieves,
which he had used as opportunities to make Cole look inept and foolish in front of the town’s other worthies. He was flanked by his two henchmen, an unsavoury father and son named Ernebald
and Gunbald.
‘It is your fault we are short of water, Cole,’ he snarled without preamble. ‘You should have built cisterns, not squandered our taxes on beautifying your castle. And you
accuse
me
of dealing corruptly!’
‘The King told him to do it,’ came a voice from behind. It was Deputy Miles, a gloriously handsome man with golden hair. ‘Would you have him flout a royal order?’
‘The town should come first,’ said Rupe stubbornly. ‘And if Cole does not think so, he should resign and let a better man take the post. Such as you, perhaps, Miles.’
The deputy bowed. ‘You are kind, but I should need a Lady Gwenllian at my side, and there is only one of her. Thus the post of Constable of Carmarthen is not for me. But do not despair for
water, Rupe. I have a plan – if the fair lady will permit me to explain.’
Cole was not a perceptive man, but even he could not fail to notice the look of passionate longing that Miles directed at Gwenllian. He scowled, an expression that did not suit his naturally
amiable face.
‘What plan?’ he demanded, before she could answer for herself. Avenel and Fitzmartin, aware that a possible altercation was in the offing, eased forward to listen.
‘I believe I have located a hidden stream,’ replied Miles, his eyes still fixed on Gwenllian. ‘I did it by holding hazel twigs in a certain way and—’
‘Witchery?’ interrupted Avenel in rank disdain, not caring that he was interrupting a discussion in which he had not been invited to take part.
Miles continued to address Gwenllian, much to her increasing mortification. ‘No, of course not. It is a skill my mother taught me. She saved our village from drought many times. I have
been surveying Carmarthen, and there is an underground stream between the town and the priory – it lies beneath the woods on Mayor Rupe’s land.’
‘An underground stream?’ scoffed Avenel. ‘What nonsense is this?’
‘Not nonsense, Sheriff,’ said Miles earnestly. ‘It is there, I assure you.’
‘You are mad,’ sneered Fitzmartin. ‘There is no such thing as an underground stream.’
‘Bring your report to Symon tomorrow,’ said Gwenllian briskly to Miles, ending the conversation before there was trouble. ‘He will discuss it with you then.’
Miles was visibly crestfallen, and she was aware of Avenel and Fitzmartin chortling as they and the mayor walked away together, amused by the deputy’s unseemly infatuation. Cole turned
Not with your wife.’
Cole bridled at his tone, and Gwenllian rested a calming hand on his arm. She had not endured the sheriff and his creature for three trying weeks just to have Cole destroy the fragile bridges
she had built with an imprudent remark.
‘You must excuse us, Sheriff,’ she said politely. ‘We have castle business to attend.’
Avenel bowed in a manner that was more insult than compliment, and stepped away, although neither he nor Fitzmartin went far.
Cole leaned down to whisper in Gwenllian’s ear, ‘Kediour tells me they are accused of despoiling churches. Is it true?’
‘They are John’s men, so it is possible.’ Her attention was caught by the monks. ‘Odo had a good question: what will you do about them? We do need a miracle, but I am not
sure they are the ones to bring it about. Oh, no! Here comes Mayor Rupe!’
Rupe was an overweight, slovenly man who hailed from nearby Dinefwr, a fact of which he was so proud that he always wore the curious conical hat for which its residents were famous. He had been
greasily obsequious before Cole had caught him misusing public monies, but was now a bitter and intractable opponent. He had insisted on holding meetings to discuss how best to catch the thieves,
which he had used as opportunities to make Cole look inept and foolish in front of the town’s other worthies. He was flanked by his two henchmen, an unsavoury father and son named Ernebald
and Gunbald.
‘It is your fault we are short of water, Cole,’ he snarled without preamble. ‘You should have built cisterns, not squandered our taxes on beautifying your castle. And you
accuse
me
of dealing corruptly!’
‘The King told him to do it,’ came a voice from behind. It was Deputy Miles, a gloriously handsome man with golden hair. ‘Would you have him flout a royal order?’
‘The town should come first,’ said Rupe stubbornly. ‘And if Cole does not think so, he should resign and let a better man take the post. Such as you, perhaps, Miles.’
The deputy bowed. ‘You are kind, but I should need a Lady Gwenllian at my side, and there is only one of her. Thus the post of Constable of Carmarthen is not for me. But do not despair for
water, Rupe. I have a plan – if the fair lady will permit me to explain.’
Cole was not a perceptive man, but even he could not fail to notice the look of passionate longing that Miles directed at Gwenllian. He scowled, an expression that did not suit his naturally
amiable face.
‘What plan?’ he demanded, before she could answer for herself. Avenel and Fitzmartin, aware that a possible altercation was in the offing, eased forward to listen.
‘I believe I have located a hidden stream,’ replied Miles, his eyes still fixed on Gwenllian. ‘I did it by holding hazel twigs in a certain way and—’
‘Witchery?’ interrupted Avenel in rank disdain, not caring that he was interrupting a discussion in which he had not been invited to take part.
Miles continued to address Gwenllian, much to her increasing mortification. ‘No, of course not. It is a skill my mother taught me. She saved our village from drought many times. I have
been surveying Carmarthen, and there is an underground stream between the town and the priory – it lies beneath the woods on Mayor Rupe’s land.’
‘An underground stream?’ scoffed Avenel. ‘What nonsense is this?’
‘Not nonsense, Sheriff,’ said Miles earnestly. ‘It is there, I assure you.’
‘You are mad,’ sneered Fitzmartin. ‘There is no such thing as an underground stream.’
‘Bring your report to Symon tomorrow,’ said Gwenllian briskly to Miles, ending the conversation before there was trouble. ‘He will discuss it with you then.’
Miles was visibly crestfallen, and she was aware of Avenel and Fitzmartin chortling as they and the mayor walked away together, amused by the deputy’s unseemly infatuation. Cole turned
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