While his captains led search parties in other directions, Henry Beaumont chose to take his troop to the Forest of Arden, a vast expanse of woodland which, even in winter, could offer an abundance of hiding places to a man who knew his way around it as Boio did. On a command from their lord, the men spread out in a long line and made their way through the forest with their swords and lances drawn, using them to strike at anything which impeded them or which could offer cover to a fugitive. Other game was disturbed by their approach and fled noisily. Dogs were being used, sniffing their way through the undergrowth and trying to pick up the scent of the quarry. When one of them let out a yelp, Richard the Hunter held up a hand for everyone to stop.
He dismounted and walked slowly forward with a lance at the ready. Henry followed in his wake on horseback. When they reached the bush where the dog was standing, the huntsman used his weapon to part the leaves but no quaking blacksmith was lying there. All that they saw was a mound of dung.
‘It is Boio's,’ said Henry in jest. ‘He knows we are after him.’
His men laughed. Richard, meanwhile, bent to examine the dung.
‘This is not from any human, my lord,’ he said. ‘And it was not left here today. My guess is that it is a few days old at least.’
‘What left it? A deer? A fox?’
‘Oh, no.’
‘A wolf, then?’
‘No, my lord. A much larger animal than that.’
‘What was it?’
‘A bear.’
Ursa was on his best behaviour. Having drawn a sizeable crowd in the marketplace in Coventry, he went through the whole range of his tricks with gusto and earned generous applause. Donations to the dwarf's cap were less generous but enough was collected to feed the pair of them well for a few meals. The dwarf decided to curtail performances for the day. Nobody would pay twice to see the same tricks. A fresh audience would be in the marketplace the next day as other citizens came to buy provender and as new people poured in from the surrounding area. Ursa and his master began to lope away in search of a quiet place in which to rest and take refreshment.
When they came round a corner, however, they were confronted by another audience, smaller than their own but no less entranced by what they were seeing. The old man with the donkey was about to fulfil his promise. The dwarf and his bear joined the spectators, as did the monk who had watched the old man so closely the previous day. The boy possessed by the Devil had been brought by his father. Ten years old, he had none of the joy and exuberance of other children of that age. Instead, his body was shaking wildly, his eyes stared and he had no control at all over his limbs. Every so often he would go into such a series of convulsions that people would cry out in horror and step back.
‘Help him, sir!’ begged the father. ‘Save my son.’
‘I will,’ said the old man.
‘He is all we have. Do not let the Devil take him from us.’
‘Leave him to me.’
When the old man touched him the boy was seized with the worst spasm yet and twitched violently, crying out in pain then emitting a hideous laugh, deafening in volume and eerie in tone. The miracle worker did not release his grip. Pulling the boy towards him, he held him in an embrace and began to chant something in his ear. The result was startling. The threshing slowly subsided, the cry faded to a gentle whimper. The old man continued to hold him and talk to him.
‘Can you hear me now?’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ said the boy.
‘God has cured you through the magic of my touch.’
‘I worship Him and give thanks!’
‘The demons have been driven out, my son. Go to your father.’
The boy turned to his father as if seeing him for the first time. There was no sign of any affliction now. The boy was calm, upright and in full control of his limbs. He ran to his father, who gave him a tearful hug before looking across to the old man.
‘You have saved him,’ he said. ‘It was a miracle.’
‘He believed in me and I cured him.’
The crowd broke into spontaneous applause. Even the dwarf and his bear joined in. They were still clapping as the monk hurried off as fast as his outrage would carry him.
‘Why come to me?’ said Thorkell of Warwick. ‘I have not seen the man.’
‘We felt that he might head this way,’ said Gervase.
‘And you hoped to trap him to gain some reward, is that it?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘We hoped to be able to help him,’ explained Ralph. ‘We believe that Boio is unjustly accused. Our scribe, Brother Benedict, who talked with him in his cell, is convinced that he is innocent.’
‘He is,’ said Thorkell bluntly. ‘I know him.’
‘That is why we thought he would make for you,’ said Gervase. ‘You are his overlord. He could be sure that you would not hand him straight over to the army which is at his heels.’
‘I would never hand him over to the lord Henry.’
‘At least we have been able to alert you.’
‘Yes,’ said Thorkell, studying them carefully. ‘Boio's escape is good news. I thank you for warning me of it. But do not think to take me in by this pretence of friendship. You are guests of the lord Henry and like to side with him. I believe you came to see if I had the blacksmith hidden away in my house.’
‘That is not true,’ said Gervase earnestly.
‘No,’ reinforced Ralph. ‘Our sole aim is to solve this crime in order to secure Boio's release. As long as he is on the run, he will never be free. The real killer of Martin Reynard must be found.’
Thorkell was still not persuaded of their good intentions. When Ralph and Gervase rode up to his house with six men-at-arms at their backs the old man was deeply suspicious of them, especially as they spoke down to him from their saddles. He had met Gervase at the funeral and found him an upright young man but his soldierly companion was less easy to trust. Ralph Delchard had the look of a man who would not scruple to turn the whole manor house upside down in search of the fugitive. Thorkell stroked his white beard as he appraised the two of them. His tone was neutral and his manner noncommittal.
‘Where will you start looking?’ he said.
‘For what?’ said Ralph.
‘The real killer.’
‘In Coventry.’
‘You will find him much nearer than that.’
‘If you mean on Adam Reynard's land,’ said Gervase, ‘we have already been there. We spoke to him and Grimketel. The evidence against Boio is not as powerful as the lord Henry claims. Grimketel's story has odd gaps in it. I would dearly love to be able to test him in court.’
‘Too late for that, Gervase,’ said Ralph. ‘There will be no trial now. If Boio is taken, the lord Henry will dispense summary justice.’
‘It was ever thus,’ grumbled Thorkell.
‘You sound as if you speak from experience.’
‘I do.’
‘Tell us more.’
‘It is not my place to do so,’ said the thegn, pulling himself to his full height. ‘I will not complain to one Norman soldier about another. Though you claim to disagree with the lord Henry, you and he come from the same country and have the same attitudes. What is the death of a mere Saxon blacksmith to men such as you? It is meaningless.’
‘That is not so!’
‘Prove it!’
‘Is my presence here not proof enough?’
‘That depends on your real motive for coming here.’
‘To help Boio.’
‘And to antagonise your host? You would not dare to do that.’
‘We would and have, my lord,’ said Gervase. ‘The lord Henry must think us poor guests, I fear. We have felt his displeasure keenly already. If we are able to save the life of an innocent man, we will happily invite it again. Send to the castle for further proof. Ask for our scribe, Brother Benedict. You will find him locked up in the dungeon on suspicion of having aided Boio's escape.’
Thorkell w
as shocked. ‘A monk thrown into custody?’
‘Until we can get him out again. And the only way that we can do that is to deliver up a murderer to the lord Henry. Someone with a motive to kill Martin Reynard and the means to do so.’
‘His kinsman has a motive.’
‘But where are the means?’
‘I do not know, Master Bret.’
‘Someone crushed the victim to death.’
‘Or broke his bones with clubs to make his injuries mislead you.’
‘We were not misled,’ Ralph assured him. ‘We both viewed the body in the morgue. Someone wrestled with Martin Reynard and squeezed him until the last drop of life ebbed away. I could well imagine that slinking Grimketel wanting to do the deed himself but he lacks both the strength and the courage.’
‘You have weighed him up well,’ said Thorkell.
‘He is no fighter, my lord. Break wind and you blow him over.’
The old Saxon chuckled but he remained vigilant. Had Gervase Bret come alone, Thorkell might have been persuaded of the honesty of his intentions but the presence of Ralph Delchard and his men-at-arms brought a faint element of menace. It was far safer to keep all of them at arm's length until he had plumbed their true character.
‘Thank you for coming here,’ he said guardedly. ‘I am glad to be forewarned of the lord Henry's approach. He too will suspect that I am hiding Boio and he will be a more demanding visitor than you have been.’
‘We must not let him find us here,’ said Ralph, turning his horse to leave. ‘That would not help anyone's cause. Come, Gervase.’
‘Ride on ahead. I will catch you up in a minute.’
‘Do not delay. The lord Henry will not be far distant.’
After waving a farewell, Ralph led his men off at a steady trot. Gervase nudged his horse closer to Thorkell and leaned down to him.
‘I am hoping that you may be able to help me, my lord.’
‘How?’
‘Do you know a woman called Asmoth?’
‘No.’
‘I believe that she may live on one of your estates.’
‘It is very possible,’ said the other. ‘But I have – thank God – many holdings in this county. I do not know the name of everyone who dwells on them. What sort of a woman is this Asmoth?’
‘Once seen she would not be forgotten. A plump woman about my own age. She might be pretty if it were not for the hare lip.’
‘Hare lip! Is that her?’
‘You know Asmoth?’
‘Not by name but that hare lip picks her out at once,’ said Thorkell. ‘A terrible affliction for a comely wench. I know this creature. She lives with her father over at Roundshill.’
‘That is here in the Stoneleigh hundred, is it not?’
‘Yes, Master Bret.’
‘Where in Roundshill might I find her?’
Thorkell grinned. ‘There are not many houses to choose from. It is barely a hamlet. Everyone there will know Asmoth. What is your interest in this woman?’
‘She may be able to help us, my lord. First, we ride to Coventry.’
‘Why there?’
‘We search for a man who could save Boio's life.’
‘Only a miracle worker could do that.’
‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘That is the very man we seek.’
They had found a quiet corner near the marketplace. Someone had broken the ice on the stone trough and the donkey was drinking noisily from it. Ursa perched on the edge of the trough beside his master. The dwarf was still filled with excitement over what he had witnessed.
‘How did you do it, old man?’ he said. ‘How? How?’
‘By the power of prayer.’
‘I used to pray daily that I would grow to be six feet tall and look what happened. So much for the power of prayer.’
‘Ah,’ said the old man, ‘but you did not believe. I do.’
‘Believe in what?’
‘The benevolence of God.’
‘It does not exist, my friend.’
‘But it does.’
‘For you, perhaps, but not for me. How can I believe in a benevolent God when I am afraid to see myself reflected in this water here? Only a malign God would send someone into the world in this shape.’
‘That is not so.’
‘So how was it done? The miracle? Explain the trick.’
‘There is no trick.’
‘There has to be.’ The dwarf smacked his palms together. ‘I have it. They were your accomplices.’
‘Who?’
‘The boy and his father.’
‘No, they were not.’
‘That is why you told everyone that they were coming from some distance to see you. It gave you a chance to build up expectations when all the while your confederates were lurking nearby.’
‘I have no confederates.’
‘The boy only pretended to be possessed.’
‘What you saw was real, I swear it.’
‘Nobody can cure simply by laying on of hands.’
‘I can, my friend,’ said the old man with a benign smile. ‘And that is what I did. You were my witness.’
‘He was not the only one!’ said a sharp voice.
They looked up to see a monk approaching with two armed men at his heels. Pleasantries were cast aside. When the monk pointed an accusatory finger at the old man, the miracle worker was seized in a tight grip and dragged off. The dwarf protested loudly and his bear added his roared complaint but the old man himself seemed quite philosophical about his arrest. As they took him in the direction of the monastery, his donkey trotted meekly behind him. It seemed used to such violent treatment of its master.
Chapter Ten
The ride north to Coventry gave Ralph and Gervase an opportunity to assess the situation more thoroughly and to make contingency plans. It also took them through countryside which, even when dressed in the starkness of winter, had an undeniable beauty. As woodland gave way to undulating fields which seemed to roll on for ever, they came to understand why so many holdings in the county were the subject of dispute. Nobody would yield an acre of such prime land unless they were forced to do so. While surveying the scene all around them, Ralph and Gervase rode ahead of their escort and raised their voices above the clatter of the hoofbeats.
‘What if the old man is not in Coventry?’ said Ralph.
‘He will be.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘I sense it, Ralph.’
‘He may have moved on by now.’
‘There is no other town in the north of Warwickshire,’ argued Gervase. ‘The weather alone will encourage him to stay in Coventry. If he travels by donkey he does not move fast so he will think twice about braving a long journey to the next town of any size. And the one thing we do know about him is that he is old. He will pace himself.’
‘I wish that I could,’ said Ralph. ‘I grow weary.’
‘That is nonsense!’
‘No, it is not.’
‘Be honest. You are glad to be back in the saddle again.’
‘Am I?’
‘Would you rather be ensconced at the shire hall?’
‘Listening to that dreary debate? Never, Gervase. There was a point yesterday afternoon when I thought that I would die of boredom.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘You are right. I prefer action. We just have to hope that our journey will not be in vain.’
‘It will not.’
‘It will be if the blacksmith is taken.’
‘My guess is that he will elude them somehow,’ said Gervase. ‘If he has the guile to escape from the castle he will know how to hide from the posse at his heels.’
‘The lord Henry is determined. He will search every blade of grass in the county until he finds him.’
‘By that time, we may have proved Boio's innocence.’
‘We will need more than the old man's testimony.’
‘We will find it, Ralph. On our return journey, we will take the road to Roundshill and
call on Asmoth. There is much she has held back. I am sure that she has valuable information about Boio if only we can coax it out of her. She may even know where he is hiding.’
‘Would she trust us enough to tell us?’
‘I do not know.’
‘She is more likely to confide in you than me, Gervase. My presence may be a handicap, as it was with Thorkell. Here's my device,’ he said, thinking it through. ‘We must split up. You go to Roundshill to find Asmoth and take the old man with you.’
‘What about you?’
‘I will pay another visit to Grimketel,’ said Ralph, ‘but I will not make the mistake of calling on Adam Reynard first. That fat fox was too eager to stop us from going to Grimketel's house ourselves. He sent that servant to fetch him and forewarn him at the same time. Why? What was he trying to hide when he kept us away from Grimketel's house?’
‘There is only one way to find out.’
‘The old man. Asmoth. Grimketel. Who else must we look at?’
‘Henry Beaumont himself.’
Ralph was amazed. ‘Our host?’
‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘I have been wondering why he was so anxious to speed up Boio's trial when he could wait until the sheriff returns and hand over the whole matter to him. The lord Henry has some personal reason to send the blacksmith to the grave, to bury him swiftly alongside Martin Reynard. Look at the way he reacted to the escape.’
‘He was understandably annoyed.’
‘He was frantic, Ralph. If the castle were being attacked he would not have called his men to arms with more vigour. The whole garrison is out on Boio's trail. Does that not tell you how desperate the lord Henry is to find him?’
‘His prisoner escaped. The lord Henry's pride was hurt.’
‘More than his pride may be involved here.’
‘What else?’
‘His own sense of guilt.’
‘You are surely not saying that he was responsible for Martin Reynard's death?’
‘He is implicated somehow.’
‘But the reeve was once a member of his own household.’
‘That is what confirms my suspicion.’
‘The lord Henry?’ mused Ralph. ‘It seems unlikely but it is not beyond the bounds of possibility, I suppose. We would have a better chance of judging if we knew the real reason that Reynard left his employ. I have asked Golde to see what she can learn on that score. Well,’ he said cheerfully, ‘at least we have some suspects now. Grimketel, that devious Adam Reynard and the lord Henry. None of them did the deed himself but he might hire someone for the purpose.’
The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9) Page 18
