“I will do so henceforth.”
“Think of the girl who was buried this morning and the holy brother who lies in the morgue. God rest their souls!”
“Amen!”
They walked on in silence. Brother Simon was completely subdued by the reprimand and looked down at the flagstones but Canon Hubert remained watchful, still hoping that his stay at the priory might be redeemed by a summons from the archbishop.
When a figure suddenly came out of a doorway and hurried toward them, Hubert’s spirits rose. Had Lanfranc finally found a moment in a crowded calendar to embrace his old friend?
Hope turned instantly to irritation. The man approaching them was no dutiful messenger but a disgruntled Prior Gregory. He accosted them with a truculent stare.
“Good day to you both!” he said.
“And to you, Prior Gregory,” replied Hubert. “What has brought you away from St. Augustine’s Abbey?”
“Archbishop Lanfranc sent for me.”
“Oh,” gulped the other, trying to control his envy.
“He sent for me,” said the prior angrily, “he kept me waiting, then he decided that he did not have time to see me, after all. I was summarily dismissed.”
“I am sure that was not the case.”
“I have just come from him, Canon Hubert.”
“No disrespect was intended to you. Archbishop Lanfranc is much preoccupied with the murder of Brother Martin. You must have heard of this disaster.”
“Heard of it and suffered the consequences.”
“Consequences?”
“The abbey wanted an early settlement of our dispute with the cathedral,” explained Prior Gregory. “Our case is stronger and we have the charters to support it. Because of these shocking crimes, your work at the shire has been suspended until further notice.”
“That was not my decision.”
“Whoever made it, we are the losers.”
“Why?”
“Delay favours the cathedral. Abbot Guy is due to arrive in the city any day now. We will resist him hard but the archbishop has the power to override our wishes. What hope do we have that Abbot Guy will take up this fight for us against the very man who consecrated him?” He thrust out a combative chin. “We need a judgement now! ”
“I cannot give it to you here,” said Hubert tartly, “and it is most improper even to discuss such matters outside the shire hall. You will have to wait, Prior Gregory.”
“At least take note of his latest strategy.”
“Strategy?”
“Dragging me all the way here from the abbey and making me wait outside the archbishop’s door like a naughty schoolboy.
Insult and intimidation are combined here, Canon Hubert. We were winning the battle in the shire hall.”
“The issue is unresolved.”
“We were,” asserted the prior. “That is why Archbishop Lanfranc summoned me today. To remind us of his superiority. To put the abbey firmly in its place.”
“This is lunacy!” warned Ralph Delchard. “Throw it away!”
“No,” said Gervase. “It could be important.”
“A rotten apple from a festering leper?”
“I see something rather different, Ralph.”
“And what is that?”
“A clue.”
They were sitting astride their horses outside the parish church of St. Mildred’s, waiting to see its priest. Gervase studied the apple which had been given to him by Alain, certain that it must have some significance. Ralph was equally certain that the gift was dangerous.
“It is probably riddled with disease, Gervase.”
“Then why is it so carefully wrapped up?”
“He gave it to you as a gesture of contempt.”
“Had that been the case, he’d have hurled it at me.”
“Get rid of it!”
“Before I have divined its meaning?”
Gervase turned it over then held it close to sniff it.
“Stop!” howled Ralph. “Have you taken leave of your senses?
The man was a leper. Unclean, unclean!”
“Yet this apple is red and shiny.”
“Except where he has taken a bite out of it.”
“No, Ralph. Alain did not touch it. Bertha did.”
“Oh, I see,” mocked Ralph. “Bertha took one bite out of the apple, flung it up into the air at the leper hospital and Alain was the first to catch it. Is that how it came into his possession?”
“He found it by that clump of holly.”
“Where the girl herself was discovered?”
“Yes,” said Gervase with growing certainty. “I knew that Alain had seen a clue of some kind. He was the one who first spotted Bertha.” He held up the apple. “And this is what he saw on the ground beside her.”
“How do you know?”
“Why else would he give it to me?”
“It was pure chance. If some other kind soul had tossed him a coin as you did, he might have given them his apple instead.”
“No. Alain was waiting for me. He knew that I would ride in or out of the gate sooner or later. When I asked for his help before, he refused to give it to me. Something has changed his mind.”
“What?”
“The death of Brother Martin.”
“Perhaps the old monk took the bite out of the apple.”
“This is serious, Ralph,” said Gervase, still turning it slowly in his hand. “I would wager anything that this was found beside Bertha’s corpse.”
“Then why did the leper pick it up?”
“As a keepsake.”
“A half-eaten apple? It would soon decay.”
“Even then he would have cherished it. Bertha was one of the only two friends he had in the world. This keepsake was all that he had to remember her by. It must have been a huge sacrifice to give it to me.”
“But where does it get us?” said Ralph. “Even if your guess is right-and I am very sceptical-what are you actually holding in your hand?”
“I told you, Ralph. A clue.”
“To what? Bertha’s eating habits? That is all that it tells us.
The girl liked apples. Shortly before she was killed, she took a bite out of this one. It fell to the ground beside her. Where is the revelation in that?”
Gervase pondered anew until the answer slowly emerged.
“That snake!” he exclaimed.
“Snake?”
“Found near the clump of holly.”
“Ah!” teased Ralph. “So it was the snake which took a bite out of the apple, was it? That explains everything.”
“You have forgotten your Bible.”
“I have certainly done my best.”
“Yet even you must remember Genesis.”
“Adam and Eve?”
“Yes, Ralph. The Garden of Eden. Who persuaded Eve to eat the apple from the Tree of Knowledge?”
“The serpent.”
“Exactly. And what did they discover by that clump of holly? A young woman, an apple and a serpent. It was a deliberate warning, Ralph. A sign that Bertha had gained some forbidden knowledge and forfeited her life as a result.”
“You are reading too much into this.”
“Am I?”
“What murderer would make such use of Scripture?”
“One who disguised himself as a monk.”
Ralph was jolted. He was compelled to accept that there might have been something emblematic about Bertha’s death. There was a strange logic to Gervase’s argument. In giving him the apple, Alain the Leper might indeed have provided an invaluable clue.
“A final proof,” said Gervase. “Bertha did not touch this apple.
Look at the size of the bite. A much larger and stronger mouth left that damage on the fruit. It was placed beside her, along with the snake, after she was strangled. A careful tableau was arranged.”
“A biblical villain!” noted Ralph. “It makes me even more determined to catch the rogue. We will have some local Noah murdered in a m
akeshift ark next!”
“This information must be given to the sheriff.”
“Not if we wish to make best use of it.”
“We must not withhold evidence, Ralph.”
“Who found that evidence? We did. Why should we do the sheriff’s work for him, then let him have the credit? No, Gervase.
It would take his officers a month to learn what we have rooted out in a single day.”
“We have certain advantages over them.”
“Intelligence, for a start.”
“I was thinking of poor Brother Martin,” said Gervase. “I was with him when we examined the place where Bertha was hidden.
And, unhappily, I was the one who found him dead. I also have a witness at the hospital.”
“Witness?”
“Alain the Leper. He trusted me. He gave me a keepsake that he was sorry to lose because he thought it would somehow help in the pursuit of the killer.”
“It will,” said Ralph, slapping his thigh. “Two corpses, but only one murderer. We must divide our strength to stalk him. You follow his spoor from Brother Martin and I will begin my hunt here at Bertha’s grave. With luck, we should close in on him from two sides.”
Gervase took one last look at the apple before wrapping it in its cloth and slipping it into his saddlebag. When they had arranged to meet later, he set off in the direction of the cathedral.
Ralph looked sadly across at the churchyard. The mound of fresh earth that marked Bertha’s last resting place was encircled by wreaths and posies. An irreverent raven landed inquisitively at the grave and pecked at the earth. Ralph was about to dismount to find a stone to hurl at it, when it suddenly flew away.
Reinbald the Priest came out of the church and closed the door behind him. He spread his arms in apology.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, my lord,” he said. “But I had to give instruction to my churchwarden. We have another funeral this afternoon.”
“Bertha’s is the one that concerns me.”
“How may I help?”
“By telling me something of her family,” said Ralph, as he got down from the saddle. “Osbern has spoken about the father but there were other relatives here this morning.”
“Mostly from Alwin’s side of the family. They live in Fordwich and, like him, are tied in some way to the sea. Visit the port and mention his name. You will have no difficulty finding one of his brothers.”
“What about his wife’s side of the family?”
“They are few in number, my lord.”
“No parents still alive?”
“I fear not.”
“Brothers or sisters?”
“One sister. Bertha’s aunt. She was at the funeral.”
“I would like to speak with them all,” decided Ralph. “And with Alwin himself, of course, when he is through the ordeal of today.
I will start in Fordwich, then talk to this aunt of Bertha’s.”
A faint smile threatened. “Take care, my lord.”
“Why?”
“Juliana is a prickly conversationalist.”
“Is that a polite way of saying that she does not like Normans?
If that is so, I will take my wife with me. Golde is a Saxon and will act as interpreter. What is the problem with this aunt Juliana?”
“She is something of a shrew.”
“Not married, then?”
“No man would take on such a belligerent partner.”
“How well did she know Bertha?”
“Very well,” said Reinbald. “Juliana had a soft spot in her heart for her niece. The biting tongue was reserved for her father and his side of the family.”
“Why?”
“I do not know, my lord. But this I can vouchsafe. When her sister died, Juliana stopped visiting Canterbury. She and Alwin have not spoken for years.”
“What of Bertha?”
“When she wanted to see her aunt, she went to Faversham.
On foot, my lord. A walk of eight miles.”
“That shows an eagerness to visit this aunt Juliana. I would like to meet the lady, shrew or not.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“We passed a sign for Faversham on our way here. How would I find this termagant?”
“If I had a horse, I would teach you the way myself,” offered the priest with sudden enthusiasm. “But you might think me an encumbrance to your work.”
“Not at all, Father Reinbald. You know Faversham?”
“I was born there.”
“Then I will find you a horse and employ you as my guide.”
Ralph hauled himself back up into the saddle. “A celibate priest is less likely to inflame an unmarried shrew than a Norman lord.
You will take me to Faversham.”
An involuntary grin flashed up on Reinbald’s face only to vanish just as quickly. Ralph was surprised. It was an odd thing to see on a priest who was between two funerals.
Anticipating the effect of the funeral upon her, Helto the Doctor called at the house to see Eadgyth once more. Grief had sent her back to her bed and her condition seemed to have deteriorated.
His calming presence was a comfort and he stayed with her until she driftly quietly off to sleep. When he came down to the solar, Helto used crisp reason to settle the argument that was still in progress.
“Eadgyth must not be told,” he decreed. “It would be both unkind and dangerous.”
“Is there not unkindness also in deceit?” said Golde.
“No, my lady. Not in this instance. Eadgyth is rather unstable at the moment. I talk of her mind, not her body. Confront her with news of this alleged murder and you may cause her untold harm. That will rebound on the whole household and everyone will suffer, especially the child.” He gave a peremptory shake of the head. “It is too dangerous. Time is the true healer here. We must wait.”
“You still call it an alleged murder?” noted Osbern.
“I stand by the results of my own examination.”
“Yours is a lonely voice here.”
“That is nothing new, Osbern,” said the other with a resigned smile. “But my opinion is immaterial here. The cry of murder has been taken up and that is what we must keep from Eadgyth’s ears.”
“Until when?” asked Golde.
“Until the time is ripe, my lady. I am her physician. I will judge when that moment has come. Until then,” he stressed, “I would ask you to abide by my instructions.”
“We shall,” promised Osbern.
“Thank you.”
“What more may I do to help?” offered Golde.
“You have already done so much of value, my lady. I wish that all my patients had such a caring nurse. Do as you have been doing. Sit with her, encourage her to eat, let her have the baby in her arms whenever she asks. And if there is any change for the worse, send for me at once.”
“You are very kind, Helto,” said Osbern.
“I am at your disposal.” He inclined his head politely then looked across at the reeve. “But why are you at home today?
Should you not be at the shire hall to marshal witnesses for the royal commissioners?”
“They have suspended their work for a while.”
“Why?”
“The murder of Brother Martin brought everything to a halt. My understanding is that Prior Henry is looking into the circumstances of the death and is therefore unable to represent the cathedral in a property dispute.”
“The tribunal has other cases to consider, surely? Why do they not simply postpone this particular one and deal with another in its stead?”
“I cannot say, Helto.”
“I may be able to throw some light here,” volunteered Golde.
“My husband feels that they are entangled in these two inquiries and wants these murders solved before they can proceed without hindrance.”
Helto was curious. “And in the meantime, my lady?”
“They will lend their help to the investigations.”
�
�I trust they will not discuss them under this roof?”
“My husband is tactful.”
“And Master Bret even more so,” added Osbern.
“I am relieved to hear it,” said Helto with emphasis. “Whatever happens, Eadgyth must not suspect for one moment that her dearest friend may have been murdered.”
There was a loud gasp from outside the door. Osbern pulled it open in time to see his wife standing there. She had clearly overheard them. Eadgyth was on the verge of hysteria. Her face was white, her eyes rolling, her mouth twitching violently and her body shuddering. She emitted a weird, wild, high-pitched scream which swept through the entire house. Before anyone could catch her, she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.
When Ralph Delchard rode to Fordwich, he took four of his men-at-arms with him. Norman soldiers were a familiar sight at the port but they were still far from welcome. The usual glances of muted antagonism met the posse. Coming in search of Bertha’s relatives, Ralph was astounded to see her own father sitting alone on the quay. The chance of a word with him was too enticing to miss. He approached slowly.
“Good day to you, friend,” said Ralph, ignoring the hostile glare which he had provoked. “My name is Ralph Delchard and I am in Canterbury on royal business. You, I know, are Alwin the Sailor and you have my deepest sympathy. We lodge at the home of Osbern the Reeve and have heard nothing but good words about your late daughter.”
Alwin’s manner changed from open resentment to a defensive silence. He studied Ralph with distant interest.
“The sheriff is searching for her killer,” continued the other softly. “I have loaned him eight of my men to speed up that search.
The others I have kept to assist me with my own inquiries into this sad business.”
“Why?” muttered Alwin.
“The villain must be caught.”
“But why should you help?”
“For personal reasons.”
“We do not need you, my lord.”
“The wider the search, the more chance we have of catching the murderer. Bertha, alas, was not his only victim.”
“Who else?”
“Brother Martin. Have you not heard?”
“I heard that he died and that the monks brought him back to the priory in a cart but that was all. My mind has been on someone else’s death.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes,” sighed Ralph. “I know the grief that fills the mind until it is ready to burst apart at the seams. I lost my own wife and child, Alwin. By natural means, it is true, but the pain is still intense. In some sort, I do understand.”
The Serpents of Harbledown d-5 Page 12
