by Ellis Peters
“Brother Cadfael! You have something to say in this matter?”
“I have …” began Cadfael, and broke off to gaze in vexed concern at the shivering little figure of Brother Mark. He shook his head in distracted compunction. “But, Father, should not Brother Mark be changing that wet habit, and getting something hot into him, before he takes his death?”
Radulfus accepted the rebuke with penitent grace. “You are quite right, I should have despatched him at once. Any further testimony he may have to give can very well wait until his teeth stop chattering. There, brother, get yourself dry garments, go to the kitchen, and have Brother Petrus make you a hot posset. Quick, run.”
“If I may ask but one question first,” said Cadfael hastily, “before he goes. Did I hear, brother, that you have been following yonder lad as he came here? Have you had him under your eye all this while?”
“All the day from morning,” said Brother Mark, “he has not been more than a few minutes out of my sight. He left the hospice only an hour or so ago, and I followed him here. Is it of importance?” He meant to Brother Cadfael and whatever cause he had in mind, and Cadfael’s satisfied nod comforted and warmed him.
“There, run! You did well.”
Brother Mark made his reverence to the abbot, and dripped and shivered away to the kitchen thankfully enough. If he had done well for Brother Cadfael, he was content.
“And now,” said Radulfus, “you may explain what you meant by saying you had means of knowing when my lord Domville was last seen alive and in good health.”
“I have found and talked with a witness,” said Cadfael, “who will testify, whenever the sheriff requires, that Huon de Domville spent the night before his death in his own hunting-lodge, and did not leave it until about a third of the hour after six, next morning. Also that at that time he was in excellent health, and mounted to ride back to his quarters in the Foregate. The path on which we found him is the path he would have to take from that place. And the witness, I dare pledge, is reliable.”
“If what you say is confirmed,” said Prestcote, after a moment’s silence, “this is of the first importance. Who is this witness? Name the man!”
“No man,” said Cadfael simply, “but a woman. Huon de Domville spent his last night with his mistress of many years, and her name is Avice of Thornbury.”
The shock passed along the ranks of the innocent brethren as a sudden wind-devil whirls through standing wheat in summer, in a great, gusty sigh and a convulsion of rustling garments like shaken stems. On his wedding-eve, to repair to another woman! And after supping with the abbot, at that! To those of lifelong celibacy even the contemplation of a bride, chaste and young, was disturbing. But a kept woman, and visited on the eve of the marriage sacrament, in despite of both the celibate and the marital morality … !
The sheriff belonged to a more illusionless world. Not the outrage, only the understandable fact, concerned him. Nor was Abbot Radulfus greatly disconcerted, once the words were spoken. He might have evaded the experiences of the flesh, he had not gone in ignorance of them thus far through a highly intelligent life. The mention of Avice did not shake him.
“You recall. Father,” Cadfael pursued, while he had every man’s attention, “that I showed you the blue flowers of the gromwell he wore in his cap when he was found. The plant grows at this hunting-lodge, I found it there, and it bears out the woman’s story. She herself set it in his cap when he left her. It is nearly two miles from the lodge to the spot where he was ambushed and killed. Your own officers, Sir Gilbert, bear witness that they flushed young Lucy here out of cover in the Foregate more than half an hour before Prime. Therefore he could not possibly have been the man who set the springe for Huon de Domville, and killed him. The baron can have been no more than half a mile from his hunting-lodge, when Joscelin Lucy was being hunted along the Foregate to the hospital.”
Iveta took the last step that brought her to Joscelin’s side, and slipped her hand into his, and he gripped it convulsively, unaware that he was hurting her, and drew breath into him so deep and hard that she felt he had drawn in the breath of new life for both of them.
Agnes craned and peered towards the gatehouse, but still did not find what she sought. Her face was sharp and icy with malice, but she said never a word. Iveta had expected a blaze of disbelief, casting doubt upon both Brother Cadfael and his witness, even upon the evidence of the sheriff’s men. People can be vague and imprecise about time, it is not so hard to argue about the difference a mere half-hour can make. But Agnes kept silence, containing her aching rage and uneasiness.
Abbot Radulfus exchanged a long and thoughtful look with the sheriff, and turned again to Joscelin. “You promised me truth. I will ask you now what I have not so far asked. Did you play any part in the death of Huon de Domville?”
“I did not,” said Joscelin firmly.
“There remains the charge he himself brought against you. Did you steal from him?”
“No!” He could not keep the scorn out of his voice.
Radulfus turned back to the sheriff with a faint, wry smile. “For the murder charge, Brother Cadfael will bring you to speak with this woman, and you will judge for yourself what trust to place in her. As for your own officers, there is no need to question their truthfulness. It seems to me that on this count this man must be held guiltless.”
“If this is confirmed,” agreed Prestcote readily, “he cannot be the murderer. I myself will take this woman’s testimony.” He turned to Cadfael with a question: “She is still at the hunting-lodge?”
“No,” said Cadfael, not without some relish at the stir his answer would make, “she is now at the cell of the Benedictine sisters at Godric’s Ford, where she has entered the order as a novice, and intends to take full vows.”
It was an achievement to have made even Abbot Radulfus blink; shaking the brotherhood was a routine success by comparison. “And you esteem her an honest witness?” asked -the abbot mildly, recovering his control in an instant, while Prior Robert’s patrician nose still looked pinched and blue with shock, and the ranks behind his shoulder still quivered.
“As the day, Father. The sheriff will judge for himself. I am convinced that, whatever else she may be, she has no disguises, and does not lie.”
They would get from her, without conceal, the whole story of her life, of which she was not ashamed, and she could not but impress them. He had no fears on that head. Prestcote was a practical man, he would recognize her quality. “My lord,” said Cadfael, “and you, Father, may we not understand that you acceptsubject to questioning Mistress Avice and finding her testimony truethat Joscelin Lucy is altogether innocent of Huon de Domville’s murder?”
Prestcote had no hesitation. “That seems certain. The charge cannot stand.”
“Thenbear with me!you cannot but accept, also, that this day he has been under constant watch by Brother Mark, as Mark himself has told us, and has done nothing to occasion suspicion or blame.”
The abbot was regarding him with searching attention. “That must also be granted. I think, brother, you have some particular reason for calling attention to it in this way. Something has happened?”
“Yes, Father. Something I should have told you at once, if I had not blundered into these equally grave matters as soon as I rode in. Well for any man who can say that today, all day long, he had a good man watching him and seeing no evil. For there has been violence done once again, in the woods beyond Saint Giles. Not an hour ago, as I was coming home, I happened upon a riderless horse, but could not catch him, and following him, I came upon a clearing where another man lies dead, and as I think, strangled like the first. I can lead you to the place.”
In the horrified hush that fell, he turned slowly to confront Agnes, who stood wild-eyed but still as stone.
“Madam, I grieve to bring you such news, but it is certain, even in the dim light, by the horse he rode …”
11
There was a moment of utter silence,
while she stood blanched and stiff like a woman turned to ice. Then, as abruptly, she came to life with a piercing scream of rage and grief, and whirling in a storm of flying skirts, turned her back upon sheriff, abbot, niece and all, and clove like a fury through the startled brothers who gave way hastily before her onslaught. Not one glance at Joscelin Lucy now, she bore down on one man, and one man only, raging.
“You … you! Where are you, coward, murderer, come forth and face me! You, you, Simon Aguilon, you killed my lord!”
The ranks scattered before her blazing eyes and levelled arm.
“Stand, damned murderer, face me! Hear me!” The whole Foregate, surely, must be hearing her and crossing themselves in superstitious dread, envisaging a demon come after some prodigious sinner. As for Simon, he stood aghast, too taken aback, it seemed, even to retreat before her. He stared open-mouthed, speechless, as she halted challengingly before him, her black eyes huge and flaring redly in the torchlight. Beside him Guy turned a startled stare helplessly from one to the other, and drew back a furtive pace or two from this new and deadly battlefield.
“You killed him! None but you could have done this. You rode off beside him to this hunt, close to him in the lineI know, I heard how it was drawn up. You, FitzJohn, say, let them all hear! Where did this man ride?”
“He was next to Sir Godfrid,” admitted Guy dazedly. “But…”
“Next to him, yes… and on the way home, in those thick woods, it was easy to take him by surprise. Late and quiet you come back, Simon Aguilon, and you have made sure he will never come back!”
Sheriff and abbot had drawn close to witness this encounter, startled and appalled like everyone else, and made as yet no attempt to interrupt it. She was past reason. Simon said so, when he could speak at all, swallowing hard, and still breathless.
“For God’s sake, what have I done to be so accused? I am altogether innocent of this death, I knew nothing of it… I last saw Sir Godfrid Picard three hours ago, well alive, threading the woods like the rest of us. The poor lady is crazed with grief, she strikes the nearest…”
“I strike at you,” she cried, “and would if there were a thousand in between. For you are the man! You know it as I know it. Pretense will not save you now!”
Simon appealed wildly to the sheriff and abbot, spreading gloved hands. “Why, why should I so much as think of killing a man who was my friend? With whom I had no quarrel in the world? What possible motive could I have for such a deed? You see she has run mad.”
“Ah, but you did have a quarrel with him,” shrieked Agnes vengefully, “as well you know. Why? Why? Do you dare ask me why? Because he suspectedhe as good as knewthat you had killed your own lord and uncle!”
Wilder and wilder grew the accusations, and yet this time Simon drew in breath sharply, and for an instant was still and pale. He wrenched himself out of shocked silence with a great heave, to defend himself strongly. “How can that be? Everyone knows that my uncle dismissed me, put off all company and rode out alone. I went to my bed, as I was bidden. I slept late … they came to wake me when they found he had not returned …”
She swept that aside with a contemptuous motion of her hand. “You went to your bed, yes, I make no doubt… and you left it again to steal out in the night and set your trap. Easy enough to leave unseen and return unseen when your wicked work was done. There are more ways in and out of any house than by the hall door, and who was so privileged in going and coming as you? Who else had all the keys he needed? Who stood to gain by the old man’s death but you? And not only in being his heir, oh, no! Deny too these here present, if you dare, that in the evening of the day Huon was brought back dead, you came to my lord, before your uncle was cold you came, to make a bargain with us that you would step into his shoes with my niece, inherit bride, and honor, and all. Deny it, and I’ll prove it! My maid was there!”
Simon looked round the ring of watching faces wildly, and protested: “Why should I not fairly offer for Iveta? My estate would match hers, it is no disparagement. I esteem, I honor her. And Sir Godfrid did not reject me. I was willing to wait, to be patient. He agreed to my suit…”
Iveta’s hand gripped and clung convulsively in Joscelin’s clasp. Her stunned mind went back over those two meetings when Simon had seemed to her the only friend she had in the world, when he had pledged her his help, and Joscelin his loyalty. The first meeting countenanced by a smiling and gracious Agnes, complacently welcoming fortune restored. The second … yes, that had been different indeed, he had professed himself disapproved and banished, and the event had borne him out in his claim. What could have happened between, to change everything?
“So he did,” shrilled Agnes, glittering with hatred, “thinking you the honest man you seemed then. But Huon’s throat was bruised and cutthe monk there said it, and my lord heard it, and so did youbruised and cut by a ring the murderer wore on his right hand. And once you had heard that said, who saw you again without gloves? In season and out! But my husband was at the coffining of Huon de Domville yesterday, and then you were forcedwere you not, wretch?to doff your gloves for once to take the aspergillum. And it was to him you handed it thereafter! He sawoh, not the ring, no, that you had taken off hastily as soon as the monk here spoke of it, but the pale band where it was wont to be, and the square whiteness under the stone. And he remembered then that you used to wear a ring, just such a ring. And he was fool enough to speak out what he had seen, and what he believed, when you came visiting. He cut off all ado with a man he had cause to think a murderer.”
Yes, so he had. So that was the reason for the change! But not, thought Iveta, grown by force too suddenly into a woman, not because a murderer would not have been acceptable to him, provided no breath of suspicion ever blew his way. No, rather because while suspicion was even possible, he dared not risk contamination. Give him absolute security on that point, and he would have made up his differences quickly enough. And Joscelin had still been the law’s quarry, and Joscelin might still have been taken, taken and hanged … And she would have been left believing despairingly that she had but one kind friend in the world, and that was Simon Aguilon! He had sworn that the very reason he was banished was because he had declared his faith in Joscelin! And he mightgiven time enough to dull painhe might even have prevailed! She pressed close to Joscelin’s side, and trembled.
“I urged him, I begged him,” moaned Agnes, writhing, “to sever all ties with such a man. You knew all too well he might feel it his duty to speak out what he suspected, even without proof. You have made certain he never shall. But you have not reckoned with me!”
“Woman, you are mad!” Simon flung up his hands against her, his voice high almost to breaking. “How could I have set a snare for my uncle, when I did not know where he had gone, or what he intended, much less by what narrow path he must return? I did not know he had a mistress anywhere within this shire, to tempt him to a night’s visit.”
Cadfael had stood silent throughout this duel. He spoke now. “There is one who will say, Simon Aguilon, that you lie, that you did know, none so well. Avice of Thornbury says, and I fancy there will be two other witnesses to bear her out, once they know she is not at risk and asks no silence, that you, and none other, were the trusted escort who conducted her wherever her lord wanted her. You brought her to the hunting-lodge. The way between was well known to you, for you had ridden it. And Huon de Domville admitted but one man at a time to his private amours. For these last three years you have been that man.”
Agnes uttered a long wail of glee and grief together, that drifted eerily on the blown smoke of the torches. She pointed a triumphant hand. “Strip him! You will see! The ring is on him now, he never would leave it off his person, for another to see and understand. Search him, and you’ll find it. And why should he doff it, if it never left mark on a murdered man?”
The men-at-arms had read the sheriff’s signs, and closed in silently, a tight ring of leather and steel about the two antagoni
sts. Simon had been too intent on the threat before him to regard the quiet vigilance behind. He loosed a defiant cry of anger and impatience, and swung on his heel to stride away. “I need not stay to hear such venom!” he spat, too shrilly.
Only then did he see the solid, silent line of armed men, drawn shoulder to shoulder between him and the gate, and balked like a headed deer. He looked round wildly, unable to believe the collapse of his fortunes.
The sheriff drew a measured pace nearer, and spoke.
“Take off your gloves!”
It was an unlovely thing to see a human creature break and try to run, see him fight like a wildcat when he was hemmed in, and snarl defiance when he was overcome and pinioned. In deference to the abbot they hauled him out through the gates into the Foregate with as little violence as possible, and dealt with him there. He knotted his hands together to balk the removal of his gloves, and when his hands were naked, the pale circle on the middle finger of his right hand glared like snow on new-ploughed russet soil, the large blot of the stone clear to be seen. He struggled and cursed when they felt about his body, sank his head grimly into his chest so that they had to force his head back to withdraw the cord from round his neck, beneath his shirt, and expose the ring to view.
When they had hustled him away, four of them holding him and hard-pressed at that, to a cell in the castle, there fell a dreadful, exhausted silence over the great court. Joscelin, great-eyed, shaken and bewildered, folded his arms about Iveta, and quivered in uncomprehending relief, too shocked to question as yet the devious use that had been made of him throughout. Agnes stood rigid, staring balefully as long as her enemy remained in view, and then, released, clutched her head between her hands and wept, but hardly, in solitary and forbidding grief. Who would have thought she could have loved her unendearing husband?
The virago was gone. She let fall her hands and paced slowly, like one walking in her sleep, through the agitated onlookers who moved aside to give her passage. She looked round once upon them all, from the steps of the guest-hall, having passed by Iveta’s extended hand as though the girl did not exist, and then she went in, and vanished.
