The Serpents of Harbledown

by Edward Marston

  “Yes,” confirmed the leper. “He was as close to me as you are. Even in the dark, I could not mistake him. What was he doing out at that time of night?”

  Gervase could think of only one answer.

  Reinbald the Priest spent an hour with Eadgyth and left her much comforted. The doctor’s potion seemed to be combatting the baby’s ear infection. When the child awoke, it did not instantly cry. The boy even permitted the priest to cradle him for a short while. When Reinbald quit the bedchamber, he left mother and child in a less fretful state. Osbern thanked him and showed him out.

  Through the window of the solar, Ralph watched him leave. After first looking in on his wife, Osbern the Reeve joined his guest, feeling both reassured and disturbed. Ralph saw the confusion in his face.

  “What is the matter?” he said.

  “Reinbald was able to offer much solace to her.”

  “That is good news, surely?”

  “Yes, my lord. But it comes with more awkward tidings.”

  “Awkward?”

  “Eadgyth is asking for your wife.”

  “Has she not been told?”

  “No, my lord,” said the reeve, “and nor has Reinbald. He could not tell her what he did not know himself. Eadgyth is under enough stress at the moment. I did not wish to put her under more strain by drawing her into this latest crisis.”

  “Your memory is wondrous short, Osbert.”

  “Short?”

  “Yes,” said Ralph sharply. “You kept the truth about Bertha’s murder from your wife in order to spare her more pain and what happened? Will you repeat this madness? She has a right to know. Golde has been a friend to her.”

  “That is why she would be so alarmed, my lord.”

  “How much more alarmed will she be if she finds out that she has been deceived yet again? Are you intent on driving a wedge between yourself and your wife?”

  “No, my lord! I love her.”

  “Then stop treating her like a child.”

  Osbern nodded. “You are right,” he said. “She ought to know. The truth is that I could not find the words to tell her.”

  “You will not need to,” said Ralph. “I will.”

  “You, my lord?”

  “Yes. Eadgyth must not be kept in the dark any longer. She may be able help me. At a time like this, I need a woman to talk to me about Golde.” When Osbern stepped forward, he held up a hand. “No. I wish to be alone with her.”

  Ralph was in the bedchamber for some time. He broke the news gently and Eadgyth wept. She knew that something was amiss because Golde had not been to see her, but it had never crossed her mind that her friend might have been kidnapped. Instead of needing consolation herself, Eadgyth offered it freely to Ralph, telling him how kind and unselfish Golde had been toward her and praising her many good qualities. It was a salutary reminder to him of just how much he would lose if his wife did not come back to him.

  While each was helping the other, a visitor called at the house and was admitted to the solar. Ralph took his leave of Eadgyth, rocked the baby in his crib, then stole out of the room and closed the door behind him. Two voices came up the staircase toward him and he froze in his tracks. With the door of the solar only slightly ajar, it was possible to hear a conversation quite clearly from the landing. Sound was funnelled up the staircase with extraordinary clarity.

  Ralph suddenly had the revelation that he needed. He went quickly down the stairs and into the solar. Canon Hubert rushed across to greet him.

  “Forgive my delay, my lord,” he said breathlessly. “I came as soon as I heard. Archbishop Lanfranc and I were in conference this morning. It was only when the audience came to a close that Brother Simon was able to convey these frightful tidings.”

  “Thank you, Canon Hubert,” said Ralph.

  “Your men have called off their search, I hear.”

  “They were forced to.”

  “We are dealing with a Son of Satan here.”

  “And with his confederates,” added Ralph. “No man could have done this without help from friends who live in the city. I think I know who one of them might be.”

  “Pursue him, my lord. Bring him to justice.”

  “In order to do that, I need your help.”

  “It is yours for the asking. The safe return of your dear wife is a priority. I would do anything to assist you.”

  “Anything?” said Ralph.

  The familiar twinkle was back in his eye.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE PASSAGE OF time did not still Golde's apprehension. She was still held captive when the cathedral bell rang out for Sext and was horrified to realise that she had been bound and gagged for over five hours. Cramp was attacking her muscles and the gag was chafing her lips. One sign of mercy had been shown to her. Someone had removed her blindfold. Golde could still see nothing in the black void of the cellar but it was a small freedom. She was grateful.

  He had frightened her. The man who came earlier had held up a candle to inspect her and made her feel like some dumb animal trussed up in a pen at market. His voice had been French and his manner politely gloating. Though he had not molested her in any way, Golde felt that he would not hesitate to do so when the mood took him. She guessed who he must be. From her fleeting contact with him, she knew that he would be an unpleasant person to meet in the best of circumstances. Since she was at his mercy, he was repulsive.

  Yet his visits had given her some insight into her situation. She now knew why she was held and by whom. Golde was taken hostage as a means to disable Ralph Delchard. Her survival depended entirely on his cooperation with the men who had abducted her. That was why she saw the removal of the blindfold as a positive sign. It suggested that her husband had agreed to whatever terms they had demanded.

  She knew him well enough to be certain that he would do everything within his power to rescue her. While appearing to obey the dictates of her captors, Ralph would be working out where she was and how he could get to her. Her main fear was that he simply would not find her in time. Those who held her seemed to have honoured their contract so far. What if they decided to break it out of malice? Her thoughts became ever more feverish.

  The bolt slid back from the trap door and it was lifted up. A rectangle of light dazzled her eyes for a few seconds before disappearing. Two men had come down into the cellar and closed the trap door behind them. One held a candle but kept it well away from their faces so that she could not see them. The other man carried food and drink on a wooden tray. They bent over her.

  “We've come to feed you, my lady,” grunted one.

  “Undo the gag,” ordered the other.

  “I expect a kiss for doing this.”

  The first man put his candle on the tray so that he could use both hands to untie the thick cloth which had been used to gag her. Holding her chin, he leaned over to plant a guzzling kiss on her lips but Golde reacted quickly. She bit him so hard that he jumped back with a howl of rage, then she let out a loud scream for help. The injured man slapped her viciously across the face and went to strike again.

  “No!” shouted his companion. “He'll kill you.”

  “She bit me!”

  “Put the gag back on.”

  “Look!” He touched his cheek. “My face is bleeding!”

  “Shut her mouth again!”

  “The vixen!”

  “When the man replaced the gag, he pulled it tighter than ever and took satisfaction from her groan of anguish. The side of her face was already on fire and the edges of her mouth were now ignited with pain as well. As a final act of torture, he put the blindfold back in place. Standing in front of her again, he wiped the blood from his own face.

  “I'll get even for this!” he vowed.

  “Come on,” said his companion. “She's obviously not hungry.” He sniggered. “Except for you.”

  “We'll be back, my lady.”

  “When this is all over, we'll both be back.”

  “Yes!” “That was
his promise. Keep her locked-up safe and sound here until it is all over. Then we both have her.”

  The man with the bleeding face grabbed her hair.

  “I'm first!”

  They went out of the cellar and slid the bolt back in the trap door. Golde shuddered violently. These men would never keep to any bargain with her husband. She was not their hostage. When the time came, she would be their victim.

  Gervase Bret held the piece of material against the kirtle. It matched perfectly. He was puzzled. How had her apparel got snagged on a twig over a mile from the place where Bertha had been found dead? What reason had she to be in the orchard of a private house?

  He went upstairs to the stark bedroom where Alwin the Sailor still lay in a half-sleep of torment. The old woman got up from the stool and Gervase thanked her for allowing him to inspect Bertha's attire. When the neighbour went back downstairs, Gervase moved the stool closer to the bed and sat down so that his face was near to that of the injured man.

  “Alwin?” he called. “Can you hear me, Alwin?”

  “What do you want?”

  “We are close to finding Philippe.”

  “He is mine!” he said, trying in vain to sit up. “Let me have him! I'll kill him!”

  Gervase eased him back. “Rest, rest,” he said. “If he is to be caught, we must have your help. We know that he is leaving next Wednesday. You found that out from Leofstand.”

  “Leofstand was his pilot!”

  “Why not you, Alwin?”

  “I refused to take him again.”

  “Did he not pay well enough?”

  “All the money in France could not buy my boat.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was the way he looked at Bertha.”

  “Just looked?”

  “It was enough.”

  “Did you not warn her about him?”

  “Of course. But she went behind my back.”

  Gervase remembered what another sailor had told Ralph Delchard to ask. “Tell me about Boulogne,” he said.

  Reaction was instant. Alwin gurgled noisily and rolled his head from side to side. He went into such a frantic paroxysm that Gervase feared the man was dying. Putting an arm around him, he held the patient until the tremors finally faded. The sailor made a supreme effort to control himself. For several minutes, he held a fierce debate inside his own mind and it produced some more convulsions. When he reached a decision, it imposed a weary calm upon him.

  “I have to tell someone,” he whispered. “I talked to the priest about it. Not Reinbald, he is too young to understand. Father Colswein. The old priest who died. He had been married himself. He knew the problems. I talked to him, and Helto learned something of it as well.”

  “Helto the Doctor?”

  “He cured me, Master Bret.”

  “Of what?”

  There was no point in keeping it buried deep inside him any longer. Alwin knew that his life was dwindling away. If his confession could in any way assist the capture of his daughter's killer, he was ready to make it. Gervase was as young as Reinbald but he had a maturity that the priest lacked. Also, he was a stranger. That made it easier.

  “It was a long time ago,” he began. “I sailed to Boulogne to pick up a cargo of wine. We were caught in a storm and had a bad crossing. I needed something to cheer me up. When we reached harbour, I went to an inn. Drink was taken. There was a woman there. An Egyptian. I thought she was beautiful.”

  “Did you stay the night with her?”

  “Three nights—God forgive me!”

  “Were you married at the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had Bertha been born?”

  “No,” said Alwin. “We wanted children but none came at first.

  When I got back from Boulogne, it was impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “The woman was diseased. I had to go to Helto.”

  “But he cured you?”

  “In time. It was no easy matter.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Bertha,” he said, a wan smile appearing between the bandages. “Our own child. It was a miracle. I vowed to put the past behind me and lead a decent life from then on. But I made one big mistake.”

  “You confessed to your wife,” guessed Gervase.

  “I felt I had to, Master Bret.” His voice grew faint. “It was a fatal error. My happiness ended there and then. My wife told her sister, Juliana, and she lashed me with her tongue every time we met. My sister-in-law made me pay dearly.”

  “What of Bertha?”

  “When she was born, I was hardly allowed near her. I spent more time at sea, taking on longer voyages. Anything to occupy my mind and get me away from Juliana. One day, I went back to Boulogne. The Egyptian woman was still there.” He rolled onto his back. “With my son.”

  “She had a child by you?”

  “So she claimed, and the times certainly fitted.”

  “Did you meet him?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Alwin. “Whenever I went to Boulogne. The woman and I fell in together again, you see. I pretended that she and the boy were my real family.” He gave a wry laugh. “Bertha was conceived in love and I could not be a proper father to her. My son was born out of lust yet he looked up to me. For a while.”

  “Why did he stop?”

  “His mother and I quarrelled,” said Alwin sadly. “The next time I was in Boulogne, I sought to make it up but she had left the city. They told me she had gone back to Egypt.” He let out a long wheeze. “That was it. Years passed. I forgot them. Then my own wife was taken seriously ill. I promised her faithfully that I would bring Bertha up as a God-fearing Christian and I kept to that promise. If anything, I was too strict with her but I sought to protect her, Master Bret. That is a father's duty.” He closed his eyes as he relived another tribulation. “Then came the letter.”

  “Letter?”

  “From Boulogne. Leofstand brought it back.”

  “Was it from the woman?”

  “Yes,” he said. “A scrivener wrote it for her. She was as unlettered as me. They had come back to Boulogne but she was no longer able to look after our son. She begged me to help her. I could not refuse.” He opened his eyes and fixed them on Gervase. “She loved me. She trusted me. She had named our son after me.”

  Gervase sat up with a start. He knew the rest.

  “Alain!”

  “The letter did not tell me what was wrong with him. I only found out when I reached Boulogne. He had caught the disease in Egypt. What future was there for him? I would have needed a heart of stone to turn my back on him.”

  “So you brought him back?”

  “To the leper hospital of St. Nicholas.”

  “Did he know that you were his father?”

  “No,” said Alwin firmly. “That was the only condition on which I agreed to take him. His mother told him that I was just a friend. He never knew that I was his father. And Bertha never knew that he was her half-brother.” His guilt made him wince. “I brought him over in my boat but we sailed up the river one evening when it was still light. Do you know what I did, Master Bret? I dropped anchor in midstream and waited. I waited until it was dark enough to sail into Fordwich when nobody would see us. I was ashamed of my own son! I brought him ashore in the night to hide his ugliness. I felt like a leper myself.”

  Gervase was moved by the story. Two separate strands of Alwin's life had become inextricably bound up together. He realised now why Alain and Bertha had been drawn together into a relationship that was deeper and more resonant than ordinary friendship. They shared the same father. Neither had brought him any real pleasure yet they found glimpses of joy in their time alone with each other. Bertha had gone to Harbledown in spite of strenuous objections from her father. She and Alain had an affinity which transcended everything else. They were blood kin.

  “Father Colswein was right,” mused Alwin.

  “The old priest?”

  “I know no Latin but he taugh
t me one phrase that has stuck in mind like a spike. Stipendium peccati mors est.”

  “The reward of sin is death,” translated Gervase.

  “My daughter murdered, my son a leper.”

  “Neither can be laid at your door.”

  “Both afflictions can.”

  “No, Alwin.”

  “I have known death in life,” said the other. “And I have deserved it.” He wheezed again. “There is nothing to keep me in this world save the wish to see that murderous villain caught. Philippe, with his knowing smile. When that is done, I will follow Bertha to a quieter place.” One hand flickered in a gesture of great pathos. “Please, Master Bret. Avenge my daughter. And you will ease my son's mind.”

  Canon Hubert rode slowly along the busy street on his donkey. The animal was in a fractious mood and kept trying to turn down lanes and alleyways. He had to pull hard on its reins to control its wayward impulses. He swung right into King Street and studied the houses carefully until he came to the one he wanted. It was a timber-framed dwelling of medium size in an excellent state of repair and with fresh thatch on its low roof. The neighbouring houses looked almost neglected by comparison.

  Hauling his donkey to a halt, Canon Hubert dismounted and tethered the creature to an iron ring set in the wall of the house. He tapped meekly on the door, then put both hands inside the opposite sleeves. When the servant answered the door, all he saw was the inclined head of a hooded monk.

  “I wish to speak with Helto the Doctor,” said Hubert.

  “He is not at home.”

  “I will wait within.”

  “He will not be back for a long time.”

  “However long, I will still wait. Stand aside.”

  “No,” said the servant, barring the way. “I cannot let you in.”

  “Then I will let myself in!”

  The hood was flipped back and Canon Hubert was transformed into Ralph Delchard. One hand came out to push the servant hard in the chest while the other appeared with a long dagger in it. Ralph darted into the house and shut the door behind him. The servant was sturdy and he launched himself at the newcomer but his visitor was far too skilled in the arts of combat.

  Ralph chopped him across the throat with a forearm and brought a knee up into the man's stomach. All the fight was taken out of him. Before he could slump to the ground, Ralph caught him with one hand and heaved him hard against the wall. There was a thunderous crack as a skull met a thick oak beam. The servant dropped to the floor with a thud. Not even his master would be able to revive him for a while.