The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9)

by Edward Marston

  Footsteps approached and the bolts were drawn on the other side of his door.

  Fearing discovery, Boio moved swiftly to hide the file under the straw and to fling himself full length to the floor as if sleeping. When the door creaked open, he pretended to be stirring from his slumber.

  A guard stood over him with a wooden bowl and kicked out.

  ‘Wake up!’ he roared. ‘Come on, you rogue!’

  The prisoner dragged himself up into a sitting position. The bowl was thrust into his lap and a gourd of water dropped uncaringly after it.

  ‘Eat that! You must stay alive so that we can hang you!’

  The man gave a raucous laugh and went out again, slamming the door behind him before passing on his jest to his colleague. Boio took a grateful swig of the water then grabbed the dry bread in the bowl and thrust a handful into his mouth, chewing it with the desperation of a man who was suffering real pangs of hunger. The water was brackish and the bread stale but they would help to sustain him. He was just about to push the last crust into his mouth when a thought made him pause. Reaching for the piece of cloth in which the file had been delivered, he wound it around the bread then thrust both of them inside his tunic.

  Food had to be conserved. It might be needed later.

  Since the next session in the shire was not due to start until the bell for sext was heard, the commissioners found themselves with a few hours of unanticipated freedom. Brother Benedict proposed to use some of that time to draft a report on the dispute with which they had already dealt, Theobald excused himself to visit the nearby church of St Mary and Philippe Trouville, having savoured blood as a commissioner, recalled his duties as a husband and excused himself so that he could return to the castle to repair some of the damage caused by his comments during the meal the previous night.

  Ralph and Gervase watched all three of them leave the hall.

  ‘What did you think of the lord Philippe?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘I would rather sit beside him than stand in front of him.’

  ‘He is a merciless interrogator.’

  ‘Let us hope that he is not let loose on Boio,’ said Gervase.

  ‘Yes. I fear he would use something more deadly than words.’

  ‘He so enjoys giving pain.’

  ‘I know, Gervase,’ said Ralph. ‘It is a little unnerving. Though I suspect that the lord Philippe had his share of pain last night. Perhaps that is what brought he and his wife together. A shared delight in inflicting punishment.’

  ‘Let us leave them aside, Ralph. My concern is for Boio.’

  ‘What do you suggest that we do?’

  ‘Send some of your men after this so-called miracle worker.’

  ‘In this weather? It would be hazardous travelling.’

  ‘That is why the fellow is like still to be in Coventry,’ argued Gervase. ‘He will get shelter and custom there. Dispatch some men to pick up his trail. Do it straight.’

  ‘Not so fast, Gervase.’

  ‘The blacksmith is in danger. We must help him.’

  ‘Must we?’

  ‘The man is innocent, Ralph.’

  ‘That is what he claims and we have readily accepted his word. But the truth of the matter is that neither of us has ever even set eyes on the man. Benedict has talked to him and both of you have met this woman who claims to be his friend. On the other hand,’ he sighed, ‘a witness places him near the murder scene on the day the body was discovered.’

  ‘That witness's testimony is disputed. Boio has an alibi.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘The stranger called at his forge.’

  ‘You and I believe that, Gervase. So does this woman Asmoth. We might even track down this itinerant and get him to swear that the blacksmith was shoeing his donkey at the very time when he was supposed to be lurking in the forest. We might do all that,’ he stressed, ‘and still not prise apart the jaws of the law to release Boio.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the lord Henry will not be persuaded.’

  ‘He must be if we confront him with the traveller.’

  ‘No, Gervase. Put yourself in his position. Two witnesses stand before you, each putting the prisoner in a different place at the same time. Which would you believe? A local man whom you can trust and who knows Boio extremely well by sight? Or a wandering pauper who does not even have money enough to pay for his donkey to be shoed?’

  ‘The lord Henry refused to believe that the man even existed.’

  ‘I confess that I had doubts myself.’

  ‘He is real and can confirm Boio's alibi. Even the lord Henry must lend some weight to that.’ Ralph shook his head. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You have met our host.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He wants the blacksmith to be guilty.’

  ‘He must still follow due process of law.’

  ‘Men like the lord Henry are a law unto themselves. No, Gervase,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘When I heard what that woman told you, my first thought was to dispatch men in search of this stranger but I fear that it will not be enough. It may serve to delay Boio's conviction but I fear that it will not prevent it.’

  ‘Is it not at least worth trying?’ pleaded Gervase.

  ‘Our time and efforts may be better spent.’

  ‘In what?’

  ‘Answering the question put by lord Henry.’

  ‘What question?’

  ‘If the blacksmith did not kill Martin Reynard - who did?’

  Gervase was halted. It was ironic. He was usually the one who advised caution while Ralph habitually favoured action. The situation was now reversed. Gervase's urge to help what he believed was an innocent man had clouded his judgement. His friend's calmer approach made him have second thoughts. Murder demanded a murderer. Boio would not be liberated until someone else took his place in the dungeon.

  ‘Well?’ prodded Ralph.

  ‘I know where I would start looking for him,’ said Gervase.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the house of Adam Reynard.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘That is where we would find Grimketel, the witness whose word can put a noose around Boio's neck. When I saw him at the funeral, he did not have the look of a wholly dependable witness. I would like to have a serious talk with this Grimketel.’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for, Gervase?’

  ‘You feel that I should go in search of him?’

  ‘We both will,’ decided Ralph. ‘If we ride hard there and back, we will not delay any proceedings here. Let us take advantage of the time lord Philippe's fierce interrogation has granted us.’

  ‘I am ready!’

  ‘Ednoth will teach us the way.’

  ‘We may even be able to ride on to Coventry,’ teased Gervase. ‘Forget the man with the donkey.’

  ‘But he gives Boio an alibi.’

  ‘We may not even need this miracle worker.’

  Bad weather was bad for business. As the man stood in a corner of the marketplace, only a small knot of people gathered to hear him and some of those were children who came to stare rather than to buy. He was not deterred. His voice had a confident ring and he raised it to full volume as if addressing a vast gathering. Grey, gaunt and hooped by the passage of time, he belied his appearance. What they saw was an old man in a tattered cloak and torn cap but what they heard was a person of rare gifts and great importance. Even his donkey, shivering beside him, was held by his stirring rhetoric.

  ‘Gather round, friends,’ he urged. ‘Gather round. When you left your homes today you thought you were stepping out into a cold and cheerless world. When you return you will feel that this has been one of the most significant days of your life. And why? That is what you are saying to yourselves. Why? Because you had the good fortune to meet me. And who is this strange creature who stands before you? Only the most cunning physician in the whole realm. That is who I am. For I tell you, my friends,’ he continued, using
both hands to weave pictures in the air, ‘I have cured where no cure was thought possible. I have saved lives that were deemed beyond redemption. And I have eased pain which no medicine could even begin to soothe.’

  He paused for effect but his donkey chose that moment to empty its bladder with blithe unconcern and the moment was hopelessly shattered. Instead of holding his audience in a firm grip, the man looked at them through a blanket of rising steam. The children giggled and one of the women clicked her tongue in disgust. A firm slap on the rump made the animal swing away and its owner stepped in front of it to block out the unseemly distraction. His voice soared above the fierce hiss behind him.

  ‘When I talk of medicine,’ he said, thrusting a hand inside his cloak, ‘I do not mean the useless remedies which any pedlar will sell you. I talk about magic, my friends.’ He produced a stone bottle and held it up for them to see. ‘Do you know what I hold here? A compound made up of two dozen herbs and a special ingredient known only to me. This is more than medicine. It is pure salvation!’

  ‘What will it cure?’ asked a voice.

  ‘Anything!’

  ‘I suffer from ulcers on my leg.’

  ‘This will remove them overnight.’

  ‘My wife has trouble breathing.’

  ‘Her lungs will be cleansed by my potion.’

  ‘My teeth ache,’ said a man, exposing his rotting fangs. ‘Will your medicine take away the terrible pain in my mouth?’

  ‘Take it away as if it was never there.’

  ‘How do I know?’

  ‘Because you have my word on it.’

  ‘What if my teeth still ache?’

  ‘Then you can come to me and have your money back,’ said the old man. ‘Either that or I will draw out the teeth for you. For that is another skill that I possess. I have drawn teeth from royalty.’

  ‘What is in your medicine?’ asked a cynic.

  ‘That is a secret passed down to me.’

  ‘Was it passed by that donkey of yours?’ said the man, producing another giggle from the children. ‘The last time I bought a potion from a travelling pedlar that is what it tasted like. Are you a true physician?’

  ‘As true as any in the realm.’

  ‘Some say that you perform miracles.’

  ‘I do, my friend.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said another voice. ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Show us a miracle now.’

  ‘It is not as simple as that, my friend,’ soothed the old man. ‘A miracle is not a sideshow. I do not perform to entertain a crowd but to cure the sick and save the dying from the grave.’

  ‘The grave!’ repeated the cynic with a chuckle. ‘You look as if you just climbed out of one yourself.’

  ‘It is true, my friend. That is because I have no need of riches nor fine apparel. I come to help others and not to seek my own gain. When the Lord Jesus performed His miracles, He did not ask payment for them. Only the satisfaction of helping those in distress.’

  His audience began to listen more attentively and the monk who had been standing a little distance away, but who remained within earshot, now moved in closer as he caught the scent of witchcraft.

  ‘Do you ask for a miracle?’ said the old man. ‘Then come back here tomorrow at this time and you will see one. I have been told of a boy who is possessed by evil spirits. He lives some distance away but, hearing of my gifts, his father has promised to bring him to Coventry tomorrow. Have you ever seen the Devil driven out, my friends? You will. Those of you who doubt me will have to believe. It will be a true miracle.’

  Torn between wonder and disbelief, his listeners muttered among themselves. The children were fascinated, the donkey nodded its head. The monk watched with growing unease. Having secured the interest of his little audience once more, the old man sought to turn it to pecuniary advantage and held up the stone bottle.

  ‘Here, my friends,’ he said, ‘is another miracle. Buy it and see.’

  ‘Can you really save this boy?’ asked a woman.

  ‘I can.’

  ‘This is no trick?’

  ‘Come back tomorrow and be my witness.’

  ‘Will you give him some of your medicine?’

  ‘A taste of the medicine,’ said the old man, ‘and a touch of my healing hands. God heals through my fingers.’ He held out the bottle to her. ‘Will you take this to cure all the ills of your family?’

  ‘No,’ said the woman with blunt practicality, ‘but I will come back tomorrow. If that boy really is possessed by evil spirits and if you can drive them out, I will buy your medicine at once.’

  ‘So will I!’ shouted another.

  ‘And me!’ said a third.

  ‘Perform the miracle,’ said the cynic, ‘and even I will believe in you.’

  ‘So be it,’ replied the old man. ‘I make no idle boast. If the child has faith in me, he will be cured by laying on of hands. I can succeed where other physicians fail because I have been touched by God. Come tomorrow and see His healing powers for yourself. God works through me and guides me in my mission.’

  The monk had heard enough. Pursing his lips in outrage, he scurried off to the monastery to report what he had just heard.

  Chapter Seven

  Adam Reynard was not expecting visitors. He was seated at the table, studying a charter, when he heard the drumming of hoofbeats on the road outside, and, crossing the room to open the door, saw six riders converging on his manor house. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had travelled from Warwick with four men-at-arms to ensure safety and to reinforce their authority. While the commissioners dismounted, the others remained in the saddle. Reynard was merely puzzled at first, then something alerted him. He sensed trouble.

  ‘We come in search of Adam Reynard,’ said Ralph.

  ‘You have found him, my lord.’

  ‘I am Ralph Delchard and this is Gervase Bret. We are royal commissioners, visiting this county with regard to the Great Survey which has been ordered.’ He saw the look of recognition on the other's face. ‘You have heard of us, I think.’

  ‘Your reputation has come before you.’

  ‘Then you will know us as men who prefer a warm house to the cold weather outside it. Will you not invite us in?’

  ‘When I know your business, my lord.’

  ‘It concerns the murder of your kinsman.’

  Adam Reynard looked from one to the other and ran his tongue over his lips. Gesturing for them to follow, he went back into the house. All three of them were soon standing close enough to the fire to enjoy its comforting glow. Ralph appraised the man before speaking again.

  ‘You were not at the funeral, I hear,’ he said.

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Yet you were the kinsman of Martin Reynard.’

  ‘That did not, alas, make us friends.’

  ‘What did it make you?’

  ‘We preferred to keep out of each other's way.’

  ‘Until your paths were forced to cross,’ observed Gervase.

  ‘In what way?’ asked Reynard.

  ‘This dispute in which you are involved. When your kinsman was in lord Henry's household, you saw little enough of him. Out of sight, out of mind. But when Martin Reynard became reeve to Thorkell of Warwick, you were bound to see more of him.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘Your land borders on that of Thorkell.’

  ‘I need no reminding of that, Master Bret.’

  ‘You must have encountered his reeve from time to time.’

  ‘Only to ride off so that we had no need to speak.’

  ‘Was he so hostile to you?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then what was the cause of this rift between you?’

  Reynard licked his lips again. ‘Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead,’ he began, ‘but Martin was too forthright in his speech. Everyone will tell you the same. Working at the castle gave him a false sense of his importance. It made him arrogan
t, too quick to throw his weight about. He was not popular as a reeve. Efficient, I grant you, but not liked by the subtenants with whom he had to deal.’

  ‘That does not explain your enmity,’ said Ralph.

  ‘I offered the hand of friendship, he spurned it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It no longer matters. My anger was buried with him.’

  ‘So you were angry with Martin Reynard?’

  ‘From time to time.’

  ‘Angry enough to wish him dead?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ protested the other. ‘He was my kinsman.’

  ‘Yet you did not attend his funeral,’ Gervase reminded him.

  ‘Other affairs called me away.’

  ‘Does anything take precedence over the burial of a blood relation?’

  ‘I sent a man in my stead.’

  ‘Grimketel. I saw him there.’

  ‘It saved any embarrassment.’

  ‘Embarrassment?’ repeated Ralph.

  ‘With Martin's wife and family,’ said Reynard. ‘They do not look kindly upon me and they have little reason to do so. But why court friction when it can be avoided? Had I been there myself there might have been awkwardness. Martin's wife in particular might have been distressed. I wished to spare her.’

  ‘It sounds to me as if you merely wanted to spare yourself the trouble of riding into Warwick. What was the real cause of your absence?’ he pressed. ‘These other affairs of which you speak? This embarrassment you strove to avoid? Or the fact that you hated your kinsman?’

  ‘Why do you put these questions?’ blustered the other.

  ‘Because they are relevant.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘The death of Martin Reynard.’

  ‘I had nothing to do with that, my lord. I was not even here on the morning when it took place. Boio the Blacksmith was the killer. He lies at the castle, awaiting trial for his crime.’

  ‘And you believe him guilty?’

  ‘I am certain of it!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The evidence against him is clear.’

  ‘A little too clear.’

  ‘A witness saw him near the place where Martin was killed.’

  ‘Your own man, in fact. Grimketel.’

  ‘I can vouch for his honesty.’

  ‘We would prefer to test it ourselves. Is this fellow here?’