The Turn of Midnight

by Minette Walters

  Aristide’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would you have me divulge the secrets of the confessional? I say again, the prisoner has expressed penitence and will accept his punishment.’

  ‘Yet I’m curious to know why he didn’t attack me inside the church. He had good reason after I knocked him to the ground. If the knife had been in his possession then, would he not have used it to defend himself?’

  Aristide stepped past de Courtesmain to speak in an undertone. ‘Desist now,’ he hissed. ‘Your position is not so secure that you can question a priest.’

  Thaddeus’s answer wasn’t loud enough to carry to the townsmen. ‘I saw your fear when the captain brought news of Milady’s arrival. You knew I’d reveal your deceits if she gained me a public hearing.’ He dropped the knife to the ground between them. ‘You may have need of it when the people of Blandeforde learn how shamelessly you saved your own skin at the expense of theirs. They won’t thank you for accusing them of wickedness when the closing of the bridge was all that was needed to keep their families from dying.’

  The priest’s hatred was powerful. ‘You’re everything de Courtesmain claims you to be.’

  ‘And he somewhat wiser than I painted him. He’d have used the blade sooner and with more passion if he’d thought your promises of a position here would be kept.’ Thaddeus reached down to place his hand under de Courtesmain’s elbow and raise him to his feet, looking beyond Aristide to the crowd. ‘I beg a further kindness of you, my friends,’ he called. ‘The priest tells me this man’s mind is so disturbed he has no understanding of what he’s done. Allow me to sentence him according to Moorish justice. It’s against our custom to take vengeance on the helpless without offering mercy first.’

  ‘What form would the sentence take?’ asked the foreman of the jury.

  ‘The court must order him to recompense me through service. He will be without rights or home to call his own until I judge his penance to be over.’

  ‘You would make him your slave?’

  ‘Or offer him to another. Moorish tradition demands that debts be paid, be they debts of honour or dishonour, and it’s the entitlement of the victim to decide who should benefit from the reparation. By such means even monetary obligations are met.’

  ‘Do you choose to offer him to another?’

  ‘Only to one who has shown me kindness.’ He touched his forehead to Jeremiah Slater. ‘Do you request him, sir?’

  The greybeard gave a surprised laugh. ‘He’ll be of no use to me if his wits have gone.’

  ‘Nor to anyone else,’ said Miller. ‘He’ll likely kill the man who takes him in. You should worry about that yourself, My Lord. If he’s attacked you once, he’ll do it again.’

  ‘Then his life will be forfeit, for I will not be so merciful a second time.’ Thaddeus looked towards the jury. ‘What is your decision, sirs? Will you allow Moorish justice to prevail?’

  They whispered amongst themselves for several minutes before the foreman signalled agreement, and Thaddeus made the now-familiar gesture of touching his forehead in respect. Lady Anne wondered where he had learnt it and why it was so effective at disarming hostility. He performed the obeisance with such easy grace that he might have been born to it, and she marvelled at how quickly the simple courtesy won the townsmen’s trust. None seemed to doubt he’d been raised a Moor or that the customs he cited were genuine.

  Clearly, d’Amiens saw danger in allowing Athelstan’s influence to grow, for his quickness in accepting the jurymen’s decision verged on the unseemly. He instructed Andrew Tench to draw up an order, binding de Courtesmain to Athelstan’s service, and then commanded the captain to escort My Lord and his prisoner to the riverbank, where his men awaited him.

  ‘You’ll be keen to depart, sire,’ he said, bending his neck. ‘I regret my error in arresting you but entreat you to believe that the decision was made in good faith. As proctor to My Lord of Blandeforde, I am bound by duty to investigate all and every allegation that is laid before me.’

  Lady Anne hid her dismay as Thaddeus turned towards him with disdain in his eyes, afeared that her friend was about to overplay his hand and jeopardise their escape. They had both told too many falsehoods to continue this mummery further. Nevertheless, it was arguable whether she or d’Amiens was the more surprised by his response.

  ‘You have stolen two days of my life, Master d’Amiens. Will you hear my terms of reparation before the worthy men of Blandeforde or would you rather accompany me to the river and discuss them as we walk?’

  There was a lengthy silence while every person on the forecourt turned to watch the procession make its way across the stretch of grass. Athelstan walked with the steward; the captain led de Courtesmain by his chains. Finding herself forsaken, Lady Anne folded her hands in her lap and retained what composure she could by pretending interest in the ground at her feet. She was quite bereft of ideas on what to say or do, and only the stalwart bulk of Mistress Wilde behind her chair gave her any sense of protection.

  The priest’s animosity was so strong she could feel it from where he was standing, but whether his anger was directed at her or Thaddeus she couldn’t tell. Whichever, he would not stay silent with her at his mercy, exposed and abandoned in front of the crowd, and she doubted she had the strength to keep fighting him, for her sleepless night and painful journey had taken their toll. The sound of footsteps on the forecourt caused her to turn her head, and a surge of relief rose in her heart to see Gyles and Alleyn approach. They paused to bow in unison and then took up position on either side of her chair, staring solemnly at Aristide.

  ‘Is this another fanciful Moorish custom?’ he demanded in French of Lady Anne. ‘The menacing of priests?’

  She studied him curiously. Was it Thaddeus’s acts of obeisance that had angered him? she wondered. Could it be that his pride was offended because he hadn’t received one himself? ‘I doubt their intention is to discomfort you, Father,’ she answered. ‘They follow the English custom of standing guard to their liege lord.’

  He shook his fist at her. ‘You are not their liege lord, milady, and serfs have no right to enter a manor court. Will you instruct them to withdraw or must I?’

  Gyles took a step forward to place himself between the two. ‘If you give such an order it will not be obeyed, Father,’ he said in French. ‘I have no wish to challenge your authority, but I will if I deem it necessary. Milady’s safety is all that concerns me.’

  Aristide pointed towards the guards who stood around the forecourt. ‘These soldiers will take you in charge if you resist.’

  Gyles placed his hand on the bow which lay diagonally across his chest. ‘Then be it on your head if the captain’s peace is broken, sir.’

  Jeremiah Slater pushed himself to his feet. He, too, spoke in French. ‘You make trouble where there is none, Father,’ he said irritably. ‘I know of no by-law that precludes serfs from the manor court. If such an injunction existed, the steward would have barred Mistress Wilde’s attendance.’ He turned to address his fellows, reverting to English. ‘I’m minded to follow My Lord of Athelstan’s example and demand reparation for the losses we’ve endured. It impresses me as a better custom than anything the Church or French law offers us. How think the rest of you?’

  Had she been a distant observer to the heated discussion that followed, Lady Anne would have found it amusing to watch this group of men argue the merits of invented Moorish customs with the priest. As it was, she was at the heart of it, with the townsmen begging her to support them as fervently as she had supported her people. To avoid antagonising the priest, she reminded them that the court was still in session and that, as an invited guest, her words carried no authority. The men of Blandeforde must decide and argue the case for themselves.

  After her fourth such careful response, Aristide accused her of inciting heresy. ‘Why do you encourage these thoughts instead of condemning them? Where is your responsibility?’

  She bent her head in apology. ‘Forgive me, Father. I tho
ught you believed the views of a woman to be of no account. Would you have me answer as a liege lord who is bound by duty to support her King and the Church?’

  His lips thinned. ‘Not if your ambition is to add to this mockery. The Moors are a heathen race and should be exposed as such.’

  ‘My only knowledge of them comes from Athelstan, and he is far from heathen. Nevertheless, I will do my best to assist you.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Good sirs, Father Aristide sees heresy in your ideas and urges you to abandon them. I would ask only that you bring reason to your thinking. For each of you, your greatest loss has been the death of your wife and children. I hear the sorrow in your voices when you say you wish God had taken you and not them.’

  ‘We all feel that, milady,’ said Slater.

  ‘As does every man and woman in Doreseteshire who has suffered similarly,’ she answered gently. ‘You are not alone in looking for someone to blame for your grief. But who should that person be? And how much will you demand from him? One noble? Ten? A thousand? What price do you put on the lives of your families?’

  ‘More than any man can pay.’

  ‘Then talk of monetary reparation is foolish, is it not? Your hearts will mend sooner with kindly companions than bags of uncaring gold. You can insist Master d’Amiens choose widows for you as payment for your wives, but are you not better able to manage these affairs yourselves?’

  Slater and most of the crowd expressed agreement, but Miller was less easily placated. ‘The steward should have given us the same protection he gave the household, milady. How is it right that freemen were left to die while servants were helped to live? I, for one, demand reparation for that.’

  ‘In what form, Master Miller? My cousin has told you that the custom of the Moors is to repay in kind. Would you have Mistress Wilde lose her life because she obeyed the steward’s orders?’

  His mouth twisted in a sour smile. ‘I would have the men responsible pay. And if reparation must be made in kind, there are countless dead in a pit—the little servant girl from here amongst them—who were tossed in without ceremony after the last of our priests died.’ He looked at Aristide. ‘It’s past due they were disinterred and reburied with their names recorded and the proper rites performed—and the priest and the steward are the men to do it.’

  Aristide ignored him to address Lady Anne. ‘I barely understand his speech,’ he said in French. ‘You must make the answers for me.’

  She thought he’d understood perfectly well. Nevertheless . . . ‘It’s a poor vengeance that comes back to bite you, Master Miller,’ she said. ‘I doubt it’s wise to unearth the dead when the town has been free of the pestilence for eight weeks.’

  ‘You think we’ll catch it from corpses?’

  ‘It’s not something I would risk in Develish.’

  ‘Nor I in Blandeforde,’ said Slater firmly. ‘The dead will rest peacefully enough if Father Aristide consecrates the pit and the land around it. As to their names, Master d’Amiens can supply them from his own register once a census has been taken of the living.’

  Miller gave a grunt of disgust when the townsmen voiced agreement yet again. ‘You’re overly quick to give up on your losses. If reparation is what we want, we must demand it.’

  ‘Then offer sensible ideas,’ called a voice from the back.

  ‘Perhaps Milady has a suggestion,’ said Andrew Tench. ‘She knows the custom better than we, for her cousin will have explained it to her.’

  But Lady Anne was drained of both strength and answers. She placed a trembling hand on the arm of her chair to steady herself, and it fell to Gyles to answer for her. ‘You would do better to put your questions to My Lord,’ he said, nodding towards the grass beyond the forecourt. ‘Unless I miss my guess, he and Master d’Amiens are returning.’

  Twenty-three

  JAMES BUCKLER, STANDING WITH THE horses, didn’t need Gyles’s hard stare and fractional movement of his head towards Thaddeus to know he must act. He’d heard the exchanges on the forecourt and could see as well as his friend that Milady was too fatigued to continue. Yet he doubted Thaddeus was in any better condition to offer solutions. What had seemed like a good idea to save tender Develish consciences was set to become a millstone around their necks.

  With quick, practised movements, he hobbled his mount and then attached the halters of the others to its breast collar before stepping away to stand in Thaddeus and d’Amiens’ path. Five paces back walked the captain, carrying the manacles he’d removed from de Courtesmain, and behind him came Ian and Edmund, leading a pony with leather bags slung across its withers. James recognised them as those that carried Lady Eleanor’s dowry and, praying they presaged good fortune, he forced himself to bend his knee to Thaddeus.

  The bandage on Thaddeus’s hand was soaked with blood and his face had paled again, but the brief flicker of humour in his eyes said he understood James’s reluctance. James had barely been able to show deference to Sir Richard, and to bow before a man he’d known from birth as a bastard changeling was an even greater humiliation. Thaddeus gestured for him to rise. ‘You have a message for me?’

  ‘Milady of Develish requests your assistance when your business with the steward is concluded, sire. The townsmen have questions about the Moorish custom of reparation and, being most wearied from her journey and the events of this day, she believes you will answer them better than she can.’

  He watched Thaddeus take his left hand in his right and dig his thumb and forefinger into the bandage around his wound. Was it any surprise the bandage was wet with blood if this was the way he was staying alert? The pain must have been severe, but his voice gave no indication of it when he addressed the steward. ‘How long will it take to prepare the writs of transfer, Master d’Amiens?’

  ‘Not above an hour, My Lord. The wording is standard and needs but the name of the holder to be changed. I foresee no difficulties as long as the gold reaches the required weight.’

  ‘It will. My men will carry the bags inside and watch as you weigh the amounts. When the documents are ready, bring them to the forecourt so that I may sign them.’ He smiled to see d’Amiens’ immediate resistance. ‘It’s never wise to let grievances fester, sir. The townsmen’s anger will be harder to appease if you oblige them to wait for Blandeforde’s return. You’ve suffered nothing by honouring your debt to me—indeed, most would say you’ve gained by it through the added revenue to Blandeforde’s coffers—so why fear accord with your own people?’

  D’Amiens searched out Matthew Miller. ‘Some will break their side of the bargain as soon as it’s made.’

  ‘I’m sure they believe the same about you, sir. It’s a sad world where trust is in such short supply. Aren’t you grieved that a woman finds it easier to win the townsmen’s respect than you or the priest? Even with my limited understanding of English customs, that would seem unusual. How do you account for it?’

  ‘You said it yourself, sire. Milady is a rare woman.’

  ‘So rare that she was willing to take the hand of every man on the forecourt. Will you do likewise if I find a way to soothe their sense of injustice? You will win their confidence if you do.’

  ‘Milady was foolhardy.’

  ‘Or wise enough to recognise that two months without a death means the pestilence has passed. If she believes the time has come to abandon fear and embrace the future, should you not also?’

  D’Amiens watched irritably as Thaddeus strode towards the forecourt and then, with a muttered command to the captain, he beckoned Ian and Edmund to follow him to the house. As they left, he said crossly that the sooner they finished their business the better he’d be pleased.

  The remark won sympathy from James. He may not have known it, but he was as beset by dread as his son had been the first time Thaddeus had claimed to be a noble. So much could still go wrong, yet Thaddeus seemed determined to test God’s patience. The wiser course would surely have been to distance himself and Milady from the crowd, but, instead, he lowered himsel
f to his chair and engaged with them.

  The captain moved to stand beside James. ‘My Lord is powerfully persuasive,’ he said, watching Thaddeus touch his forehead to Aristide. ‘He’ll have the priest reconciled to Moorish customs before he’s done.’ He motioned towards the guard house. ‘Will you accompany me, sir? Master d’Amiens has granted My Lord the use of a carriage and horses so that Milady may return home tonight. The stabling is beyond the house and there are three wagons to choose from. I will order my men to assist you in preparing one.’

  James looked at the sun. ‘There’s scarce three hours of light left.’

  ‘My Lord intends to travel with torches.’ A teasing smile lit the captain’s eyes. ‘Having sampled it himself, he believes Milady will find the highway less arduous than Master d’Amiens’ hospitality.’

  Olyver shrugged when Peter asked what they were supposed to do with de Courtesmain. The Frenchman lay curled on the grass, sobbing like a child, and nothing he said was intelligible.

  ‘What’s he afraid of?’ asked Joshua.

  ‘Develish’s anger?’ suggested Olyver.

  ‘More likely being abandoned along the way,’ said Peter. ‘He’ll have nothing if Thaddeus decides to set him loose two miles outside Blandeforde.’ He knelt to shake de Courtesmain’s shoulder. ‘You must cease your crying, sir. You shame yourself by it.’

  A whisper reached his ear. ‘I am already shamed.’

  ‘Maybe so, but none of us has slept enough to have patience with your whining. You’re wrong if you think it’ll win Milady’s or Athelstan’s sympathy. They’ll respect you more if you take your punishment bravely.’

  ‘I’m lower than a serf.’

  ‘Only because you behaved like a weasel.’ Peter grasped the neck of the Frenchman’s tunic and hauled him to his feet. ‘What do you say to me taking him out ahead of time and talking some sense into him?’ he asked Olyver. ‘Milady shouldn’t have to deal with him in this state.’