“A number, Prior Gregory. That is evident.”
“Then somebody must have seen him come and go.”
“Tell me all that you know about him,” said Ralph Delchard.
“I know nothing at all, my lord.”
“Is that the truth?”
“I swear it.”
“Your memory must be at fault.”
“No, my lord.”
“It will come back in the castle dungeon.”
The man blenched. “Dungeon?”
“That is where I'll have you thrown.”
“But I must sail for Sandwich this afternoon.”
“You will be lying in chains instead.”
“My boat is expected.”
“I'll have it impounded,” warned Ralph. “If the stench of the castle dungeon does not revive your memory, I'll burn the boat and send the ashes to you. Speak, you vermin!”
The sailor's name was Leofstand. His face still bore the evidence of Alwin's fist but he had sustained nothing like the injuries of the man who had attacked him. He was fit enough to work at his trade and was loading baskets into his boat when Ralph arrived with his men-at-arms. The assault on Leofstand was only verbal this time but it was just as effective.
“I hate liars,” said Ralph, fixing him with a glare. “Everybody in Fordwich knows what Alwin was trying to beat out of you. And you must have told him something or you would not be standing before me. Now, Leofstand. Let us try once more, shall we? If you want to spend a month in the dungeon, inhaling the stink of your own excrement, I will make sure that the castellan can accommodate you. But he, too, has a wayward memory.” Ralph put his face inches from the sailor. “He may forget completely that you are there.”
Leofstand's resistance turned to dust. Ralph had the power to do all that he warned and he was obviously not a man who made empty threats. The sailor capitulated.
“I brought the man from Normandy,” he admitted.
“When?”
“We sailed into harbour on Monday morning.”
“Did he say why he was coming here?”
“He said nothing, my lord. He never did. I was not paid to hold a conversation with him. Safe passage was all he craved. I gave him that.”
“How many times?”
“Three or four.”
“When was the last occasion?”
“A month ago, my lord.”
“You carried him here and back?”
“Each time.”
“So you were his chosen captain.”
Ralph could see why. Leofstand was a big, solid, taciturn man who scraped a living from the sea. Money would easily buy his loyalty and seal his lips. Philippe Berbizier had used Alwin the Sailor on his first voyage but the friendship with Bertha made it impossible for her father's boat to be brought into service again. It was crucial that Alwin had no idea of the Frenchman's whereabouts or of his deepening involvement with the girl.
“This last voyage,” resumed Ralph. “Was it from Caen?”
“Nearby, my lord. My boat sprung a leak. I had it repaired in the shipyard at Dives-sur-Mer. My passenger joined me there.”
Ralph knew the area well. The invasion fleet had sailed from the mouth of the River Dives. He had been part of a large and impatient army which waited for a favourable wind.
“Did he always embark there?”
“No,” said Leofstand. “I twice picked him up at St. Valery at the mouth of the Somme. And once returned him there. He pays me well enough to nominate the port.”
St. Valery was another name Ralph heard with displeasure. Duke William's army had anchored off there on its way to England, held up once more by unhelpful winds and contrary tides. One difficult voyage had been enough to convince Ralph he was no sailor. If Philippe Berbizier could cross the Channel so readily, he must either enjoy sailing or be impelled by a purpose which made light of any discomfort at sea.
“Did you agree to take him back?” said Ralph.
“No, my lord.”
“Then how will he return?”
“I do not know.”
“I think you do, Leofstand. That is what Alwin came to knock out of your skull. The date of Berbizier's departure. Alwin wanted to be here to bid him farewell.”
“He will not do that now,” said the other with a grin.
“Tell me about your passenger.”
Leofstand hesitated again. “My lord …”
“Take him away to the castle!” ordered Ralph.
“No!” yelled the sailor as he was seized.
“You are lying to me.”
“I'll tell you all you wish to know.”
On a signal from Ralph, his men-at-arms released Leof-stand but stayed in menacing proximity. There was no hope of escape. Ralph understood the man's quandary.
“It is not just a question of money, is it?” he said.
“No, my lord.”
“What did Berbizier say to you?”
“If I betrayed him, he would have me killed. And he will, my lord. Look what happened to Alwin. When he asked too many questions, they tried to silence him forever.”
“We are on the alert now. You have more protection.”
“I do not feel that.”
“When is he leaving Canterbury?” barked Ralph.
“On Wednesday next.”
“To sail back to Normandy?”
“No, my lord. Boulogne.”
“What time will he arrive in Fordwich?”
“At first light.”
Ralph was satisfied. Philippe Berbizier was still somewhere in the vicinity. If all else failed, an ambush could be set for him when he tried to set sail. Deciding that Leofstand had told him all that he knew, Ralph turned on his heel to walk away. The sailor grabbed at his arm. The bruises from his beating still hurt. His attacker had been severely punished but Leofstand wanted more vengeance.
“Talk to Alwin again,” he suggested.
“About this villain, Philippe Berbizier?”
“No, my lord. About another passenger of his.”
“From France?”
“Yes.”
“A disciple? Another heretic?”
Leofstand shook his head. “Alwin will tell you.”
“What should I say to him?”
“Ask him about Boulogne.”
Gervase Bret had some difficulty in tracking him down. It was only when he thought to call at the castle that he established where Ralph had gone. His turned his horse toward Fordwich. The ride gave him time to reflect more deeply on Golde's predicament. It had to be linked to the investigations that he and Ralph were conducting. No other explanation served. To halt their inquiry, someone had lain in wait outside the house to abduct Ralph's wife.
It was proof that they had got close enough to Philippe Berbizier to force him to strike back but that was little consolation in the present circumstances. Golde's safety was paramount. A man who would strangle a young woman and poison an old monk would not draw back from a third murder. If Golde were still alive—and he prayed that she was—she had to be rescued with the utmost urgency. Dozens of armed soldiers were patrolling the streets of the city and yet she had been kidnapped under their noses. That argued skill and preparation on the part of her captors. The five of them were just leaving the quayside when Gervase arrived at Fordwich. He reined in his horse without acknowledging Ralph's cheerful wave.
“More progress at last, Gervase!” he announced.
“At some cost, I fear.”
“Cost?”
“Golde has disappeared.”
“What!” growled Ralph, his smile congealing.
“The baby was sick,” explained Gervase. “Golde went to fetch the doctor. It is only a short walk but she had not returned after an hour. Osbern and I rushed to the house ourselves to discover that she never arrived there.”
“Could she not have got lost?”
“In the event, she would surely have asked the way.”
“What was she doing in the str
eets alone?” demanded Ralph.
“Why did Osbern not send one of the servants?”
“I will tell you on the way.”
“Do, Gervase. There is nothing to keep us here.”
The destrier felt his spurs and galloped away. All six of them kept up a fast pace in the road to the city. It made conversation difficult but Gervase managed to give his friend all the relevant details. Their madcap route took them past St. Augustine's Abbey and in through Burgate, where they slowed to a canter but still scattered the people who thronged Burh Street. Ralph led them toward Osbern's house and dismounted to hammer on the front door. The reeve opened it himself and his expression told them that Golde had still not returned.
“Where is my wife?” howled Ralph.
“We do not know, my lord.”
“Why did you send her on a servant's errand?”
“I did not. It was her own decision. She insisted.”
“Is this the way to treat your guests, Osbern? By giving them chores that lead them into danger?”
“My lord …”
Gervase interrupted to point out that their host was not to blame. The reeve was mortified by the turn of events. On top of the other blows he had suffered, this one was crippling. Ralph was calmed enough to shift his ire to the abductors themselves and he warned what would happen to them if his wife came to the slightest harm. Blind rage was then replaced by speedy action. His men were ordered to search every turning on the way to King Street and to question people along the route to see if anyone remembered seeing Golde earlier on. He turned back to Osbern.
“What was she wearing when she went out?” he asked.
The reeve looked more uncomfortable than ever. Stepping back into the house for a second, he reappeared with Golde's gown in his hands and held it up.
“She was wearing this, my lord.”
“Where did you get it?” said Ralph, snatching it away.
“They sent it back. To let you know.”
Golde tried to control her fear in order to work out where she might be. On the journey to her prison, she had kicked and fought in protest, taking no note of the twisting route her captors followed. She was bundled through a door and taken down some steps. Dropped into a chair, she was tied securely to its arms. When the sack was lifted from her head, a blindfold was quickly put in place. It was pulled very tight and dug into her but the gag on her mouth smothered her complaint.
The dank smell and the sense of oppression told her that she was in a cellar. When the two men left, she heard a trap door close. A heavy bolt slid into position. She was still inside the city and close enough to the cathedral for its bell to reach her, albeit with muffled effect. What it gave her was a purchase on time. If the bell was ringing for Tierce, she had been held captive for over two hours.
They had taken her gown but made no attempt to harm her. Once she had been restrained, their job was done and that was a faint reassurance. Had they meant to kill her, they would already have done so. The chair was another tiny source of consolation. Instead of flinging her down on the bare earth, they had thought about her comfort. Not many houses in Canterbury would have such a stout chair with carved arms. The property above her head belonged to a man with a degree of wealth.
Something ran across her foot to bring her speculation to a sudden halt. She could not work out if it was a mouse or a rat but the contact unnerved her. Golde braced herself for more evidence that she was sharing the cellar with vermin. To take her mind off her own plight, she tried to think about others who would now be suffering. Ralph and Gervase would be distraught. Osbern and Eadgyth would be skewered by guilt, blaming themselves for having been indirectly responsible for her disappearance. The baby caused her less worry. Helto the Doctor must have been summoned by now and he would have treated the child.
A snuffling noise at her feet showed her that the animal had returned and she kicked out. Above her head, the bolt slid back and the door to the cellar was lifted. Footsteps descended the stone steps. Someone came to stand over her and she flinched when she felt the touch of cold steel on her cheek. But no wound was inflicted. The dagger was used to cut her wimple free from the encircling gag and blindfold. Her braided hair was exposed. The warmth of a flame kissed her face as it was held up for someone to inspect her.
An admiring sigh came. Her visitor stroked her hair.
“My lord Ralph is fortunate,” said a voice. “Let us hope that he has the sense to protect his good fortune.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RALPH DELCHARD HAD been shaped in the warrior mould of his ancestors. When faced with an enemy, his first instinct was always for attack. Diplomacy was something he left to others, believing that a sword and a lance were the best weapons with which to negotiate a peace. Seated astride his destrier, he would ride into battle against any foe and had yet to be on the losing side. But his opponents had always been visible before, flesh-and-blood soldiers with blades as keen as his own and a simple urge to vanquish by means of superior strength and skill.
This time it was different. He was pitted against a shadow. He knew its name, its reputation and something of its appearance but nothing more substantial. The shadow had already moved across the face of Harbledown and killed twice without mercy. Golde might well become the third victim if she were not soon released. How could Ralph lead an assault on an enemy he could not see, who was holding his wife hostage in a place he could not find? It was an unfair fight. Keyed-up to lead a charge, he felt as if his warhorse had been hobbled and his sword arm tied behind his back. Thick fog was obscuring the whole battlefield.
“God’s tits!” he yelled in frustration.
“Try to stay calm, Ralph.”
“How can I when Golde is in their hands?”
“That is one of the reasons they abducted her,” said Gervase. “To provoke your ire. To make you act in wild and unconsidered ways. Taking a decision in anger is like firing an arrow without first taking aim. It will never hit its target.”
“We have no target, Gervase. That is the trouble.”
“We do and we are closer to it than we think.”
“Is that why he is trying to frighten us off?”
“Why else?”
“I’ll tear him to shreds when I catch him!”
The council of war was held in the solar at the house. While Ralph’s men-at-arms searched in the streets, Gervase tried to urge stealth. Ralph sat with Golde’s gown across his lap, stroking it absentmindedly and shifting between rage and nostalgia. It was a gown he had bought as part of the wardrobe for her wedding. Having been offered as a token of his love, it had now come back as a token of hate and dire warning.
“Where can she be?” he whispered.
“Still in the city. Of that we can be certain.”
“Can we?”
“Yes,” said Gervase. “Golde was seized somewhere between here and King Street. They would not have taken her far in case they were seen. And how could they smuggle her out of Canterbury when every gate is guarded and every person arriving or leaving is challenged to identify themselves? No, she is here. And not too great a distance from where we are now.”
“I’ll pull down every house in the city to find her!” vowed Ralph, bunching a fist for emphasis. He put the gown aside and got up. “I cannot sit here. I must get out there and direct the search.” “No, Ralph. Stay where you are.”
“It irks me so.”
“Leave the house and you will be watched. Do you want them to know exactly what your movements are? Besides,” said Gervase, “you must be here to receive the message.”
“What message?”
“From Philippe Berbizier. His terms.”
“Ransom?”
“All I know is that he will be in touch. The gown merely told you that he held the advantage. He will want to use that advantage to dictate the situation. To make you call off the hunt.”
“It is not within my power, Gervase. The sheriff’s officers and the archbishop’s knig
hts are outside my command. I cannot stay their swords.”
“They are no threat to Berbizier. We are.” “So what must we do?”
“You remain here. I continue the search alone.”
“That puts you at too great a risk.”
“No,” said Gervase. “He does not fear me. I have ridden to Harbledown more than once. He has spurned the chance to ambush me. You are the one who troubles him. Since he cannot attack you directly, he strikes at your Achilles’ heel.”
“My dear wife!”
“I will find her.”
There was a tap on the front door and they both turned expectantly as they heard the servant open it. But it was no missive from Philippe Berbizier. Helto the Doctor had called back. Gervase slipped out into the passage to speak to him.
“How is baby Osbern?” he asked.
“Grievously sick,” sighed Helto. “He has an infection in his ear, which causes him pain and upsets his balance. I fear that his night in a cold churchyard may be to blame.”
“Can he be cured?”
“I hope so, Master Bret. When I came earlier, I gave him a draught to make him sleep through the discomfort. I went back to my house to mix a potion that must be administered with care into the ear itself.”
“I will not keep you from your patient.”
Helto thanked him and trotted up the stairs. Gervase went back into the solar to find Ralph holding the gown against the side of his face. Even the finest doctor could not mix a potion to remedy his ills. Only the safe return of Golde would effect a cure for him.
“Tell me about Fordwich,” said Gervase.
“Fordwich?”
“You said that you had learned much there this morning. If I am to follow the trail alone, I will need every signpost that you can give me. Whom did you see at the port?”
“His name was Leofstand.”
Ralph described everything which had passed between him and the sailor. Gervase absorbed the information readily. He was especially glad of an excuse to visit Alwin the Sailor because he felt there was still much to be gleaned from him that had a bearing on the murder of his daughter.
The second knock at the front door was louder and more authoritative. Certain that news had come for him, Ralph reached for his sword but Gervase held up his arms to prevent him from leaving the room. The front door was opened, voices spoke, then Brother Simon was admitted to the solar. He was trembling beneath the weight of the message he bore. It was directed at Gervase.
The Serpents of Harbledown Page 20
