‘I have no idea,’ said Alice coldly. ‘I did not ask Cenred what he did with Walter once he left my home. I paid a priest to lay him out, and will bury him when the weather breaks.’
‘Eilaf asked me to give you this,’ said Geoffrey, taking the key the priest had given him from inside his surcoat. ‘He said you would not be needing his skills now Walter is dead.’
‘He need not have bothered.’ She made no move to take it. ‘I had a new lock fitted yesterday.’
‘Were you afraid someone might break in?’ asked Geoffrey. He wondered whether she knew Jarveaux had been given a treasure map, and that the real reason for the change of locks was to prevent anyone from using stray keys to enter her home and get it.
She gave a gusty sigh. ‘The old one stuck, and Walter was too mean to buy another. Life is too short to waste on temperamental locks. And it is also too short to waste on talking to you.’
‘What do you have in that parcel?’ asked Geoffrey as she started to walk away. He nodded to the bundle she held under her arm. ‘Shall I carry it for you?’
She stamped her foot in a display of temper and almost took a tumble. ‘You are outrageous! What business is it of yours what I buy or when I change my locks?’
‘Supposing it was not the oyster that killed Walter,’ he said, watching her carefully. ‘Supposing it was something else. Surely, you would want to know?’
‘What are you talking about? Walter died scoffing his dinner.’
‘Who else, other than you and him, were eating these oysters?’
‘No one!’ she said, exasperated. ‘We always dined alone, but there were servants present, all of whom rushed to help when Walter choked. And I do not like oysters – Walter ate them all himself.’
So that explained one thing, Geoffrey thought: all the oysters could have been poisoned, but if Walter was the only one who had eaten them, then he would have been the only one to die. He gazed down at Alice’s fair face, trying to gauge whether her temper was a defence against questions she knew might lead to a charge of murder, or whether her indignation was innocent. He realized he had spent too much time with liars and cheats, because he felt he could no longer tell the difference between honesty and untruths.
‘I know what you are thinking!’ she spat. ‘You suspect I killed Walter so I could enjoy his money.’
‘You do not seem overly saddened by his death.’
She was very angry now. Her feet skidded as she tried to move away, and Geoffrey saved her a second time from falling. Her face flushed, and her eyes sparkled with tears of outrage that threatened to spill. Geoffrey saw that some of the apprentices, who shivered at their masters’ stalls, were watching the exchange with mounting interest, and wondered whether he had pressed her too far. While he was not especially concerned at the prospect of being mobbed by youths, he did not want to demean himself by brawling in public.
‘I grieve for Walter in my own way!’ she yelled, pushing him away from her, then flapping her arms furiously in an attempt to regain her balance. ‘And how I do it is none of your affair.’
‘Is he bothering you, Mistress?’ asked one of the apprentices, regarding Geoffrey nervously. ‘If so, I will ask him to leave.’ The lad did not speak with much conviction, as if he knew there was not much he could say to make Geoffrey do anything unless Geoffrey was willing.
‘Yes, he is,’ shouted Alice. ‘Make him go away.’
‘Er,’ began the apprentice uncertainly, addressing Geoffrey. ‘Perhaps, sir, you might …’
‘I will go when I know what is in that parcel,’ said Geoffrey, wondering whether her refusal to tell him was an indication that it contained something sinister, or whether she was merely angered by his impertinent questions.
‘What have the parcels of a Saxon lady to do with you, Norman?’ asked another apprentice in a valiant attempt at bluster. There was a murmur of approval and encouragement from his friends, and he looked pleased, proud to be the defender of one of the city’s wealthiest widows. In a crude attempt at chivalry, he grabbed Alice’s arm and caused her to stagger. The parcel fell to the ground, where it burst open to release a billow of grey-white powder. There was a label on it, giving the name of its contents and brief instructions for its use.
‘Root of green hellebore,’ read Geoffrey aloud, bending to inspect it. ‘To be mixed with food and left as bait for the killing of rats.’
Even Geoffrey, who knew little about plants and their toxic effects, could see the apothecary had provided Alice with enough hellebore to dispatch an entire plague of rodents. So could the apprentices, and there was a communal exclamation of shock. Feeling he had won his point and that the woman who gaped in dismay at the spilled powder was not the innocent they imagined, Geoffrey was about to ask why she needed poison now her husband was dead, when she started to swoon. The apprentice made a half-hearted lunge for her, but missed. She swayed for a moment, evidently to give him a second chance, but seeing he was either too slow-witted or bewildered to act, she sank gracefully and carefully into a neat heap in the snow.
The apprentices stared at the still figure in confusion, and seeing Alice could expect no help from that quarter and she was likely to freeze to death before they realized they should assist her, Geoffrey scooped her into his arms and looked for somewhere he might take her to ‘recover’. He was unable to hide a malicious smile when he saw one of the people who had emerged from the warmth of their houses to see what was happening was none other than the apothecary.
Geoffrey strode over to him and asked whether he might take Alice into his shop until she felt well enough to go home. He was not at all surprised to see an irritable frown cross her pretty features, or to see her fists clench in annoyance. He carried her across the threshold and deposited her in a chair near the fire, while the apothecary looked for a clean cup to fill with wine. Several of the apprentices followed, and stood in an uncertain semicircle, reluctant to miss any excitement. Alice remained where Geoffrey had put her, eyes closed and head drooping, although a muscle twitching in her cheek revealed that she was not as insensible as she would have people believe.
‘Mistress Jarveaux dropped her hellebore,’ said Geoffrey. ‘She will probably need more.’
‘I will prepare some, then,’ said the apothecary generously. ‘She has had terrible problems with rats recently. She ordered fifty units last week, and is still having difficulties. It must be the cold weather. Rats are not usually so resistant to my green hellebore.’
‘Not all rats are, I am sure,’ said Geoffrey dryly. ‘Especially the very large ones.’
As if on cue, Alice stirred, raising one hand to her head and opening tear-filled eyes. ‘Where am I?’
‘Poor lady,’ said the apothecary, kneeling next to her and offering the wine. ‘You are quite safe here. Stay as long as you want, then a couple of my lads will escort you home.’
‘What happened?’ she said in a low voice. ‘I do not remember anything.’
‘Really?’ asked Geoffrey, amused by the performance. He turned to the apothecary. ‘What are the symptoms of poisoning from green hellebore?’
‘In rats, the symptoms—’
‘In people,’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘What would happen if a person took it?’
‘But a person would not take it,’ said the apothecary. ‘It is poisonous!’
‘What if he ate it without knowing?’ pressed Geoffrey. ‘What if it were in his food?’
‘I am going to faint again,’ whispered Alice, leaning back in the chair. ‘I feel very dizzy.’
‘I am sure you do,’ muttered Geoffrey.
‘Perhaps she inhaled poison when the packet broke,’ suggested an apprentice. ‘It went everywhere.’
‘Aye,’ muttered another, his voice barely audible as he regarded Geoffrey with dislike. ‘It would not have happened if that Norman had not upset her.’
‘Dizziness is not a symptom of poisoning from green hellebore,’ said the apothecary, making Alice sip his wine. ‘It
blisters the mouth and eventually makes the heart stop.’
‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, watching Alice. ‘Blisters in the mouth. I have seen a dead man with blisters in his mouth recently.’
‘Have you?’ asked the apothecary, startled. ‘Not in Durham, I hope. Of course, there are many other substances that might damage the tongue and gums. The bites of snakes, for example, and some metals, like lead or quicksilver.’
‘I do have a problem with rats,’ said Alice weakly, appealing to the apothecary with big blue eyes. ‘This knight suspects I had other uses for the hellebore. But I have rats. Ask my servants.’
‘There is no need for that,’ said the apothecary. ‘We have known each other for a long time, and if you say there are rats in your granaries, then I have no reason to disbelieve you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alice, gaining confidence from the apothecary’s support and beginning to abandon her helpless lady role. ‘Everyone in Durham knows I have an infestation of rodents, and some people have seen them for themselves – great brown things, the size of cats.’
‘I have,’ offered an apprentice with short, greasy hair. ‘My dog is a good ratter, but even he will not take on one of the monsters in the Jarveaux barn.’
Alice gave Geoffrey a mocking smile. ‘My rats are legendary. It is only natural for me to take steps to eradicate them. That is why I need hellebore.’
Her expression was confidently smug, especially when the apprentices began a lively discussion with the apothecary regarding how they might help Alice dispatch her giant pests. The time she had gained from her fainting act had allowed her to think, as well as to gather the sympathy of onlookers. Geoffrey knew he would not be able to bully her into confessing to murder now – not only did she have no reason to do so, but he doubted very much whether the townsfolk would allow it. Most of the apprentices had the fair complexion of Saxons, and would resent her being harried by a Norman.
Geoffrey left her to the tender mercies of her admirers, and walked to the end of the market square, where the ground dropped away sharply towards the river. He stood for a while, looking at the water and thinking. It was far too convenient that Jarveaux had died with a blistered mouth a few days after his wife had purchased a poison known to cause such damage to the tongue and gums. That, coupled with the fact that Alice was pleased by her husband’s death, was too much of a coincidence. Geoffrey knew Jarveaux had been murdered, and he had ample evidence to suggest that his wife was the culprit. But why? Was it exactly how it appeared – that she wanted rid of an old spouse so she could enjoy herself? Or did she have other reasons, such as obtaining a treasure map?
A few moments later Alice emerged. She had successfully evaded any offers of an escort and was alone. She walked carefully, not wanting to slip on the ice that coated the path, but she did not look like a woman who had recently fainted. Her gait was confident, her head was held high, and there was arrogance in her step. She was, Geoffrey thought, exactly like a woman who thought she had just got away with murder.
When Geoffrey returned to the Stanstede house, Eleanor was in the kitchen, already wearing a thick cloak and sensible boots in anticipation of a morning visiting witches. The Littel brothers had just finished a spell of guard duty, and were talking to her as she gave them their breakfast.
‘Are you sure?’ she was asking. ‘You could not have been mistaken?’
The older brother shrugged and shovelled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, so his answer was all but indecipherable. ‘No mistake. The pig is nowhere to be found.’
‘Pig?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering what they had been talking about together.
Eleanor nodded. ‘Simon’s pig. He is very fond of it. Most people would have sent the vicious beast to the butcher to deal with, but Simon will not hear of it.’
‘Is this the pig Roger is so wary of?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘The pig and Roger do not see eye to eye,’ said Eleanor with a smile. ‘Thinking he would save Simon some trouble, Roger tried to take it to the slaughterhouse. But the pig must have caught the scent of blood, and there was a fierce battle of wills in the market, with Roger trying to pull the pig forward and the pig trying to go home.’
‘I see,’ said Geoffrey, trying to imagine Roger thwarted by a pig. ‘I assume the pig won?’
‘It was never a real contest,’ said Eleanor. ‘That horrible beast will outlive us all – at least, it will live as long as Simon is here to protect it from the cooking pot. Cenred is another who has fallen for its piggy charms. Both love it dearly.’
‘When Simon is away, the pig usually lodges at the castle,’ said the younger Littel, reaching across the table to take some bread. ‘As Mistress Stanstede says, Cenred adores that pig.’
‘That is because he looks like one,’ said his brother, and they filled the room with raucous laughter.
‘What makes you two experts on Cenred’s penchant for Simon’s livestock?’ asked Geoffrey.
‘The soldiers at the castle have been telling us about it,’ said the older Littel. ‘Cenred is a bit odd about pigs, apparently, and his love of them is often a topic of conversation at meal times. When he heard Simon had gone, he went to get the pig, so he could look after it until he comes back again.’
‘But the pig is missing, too,’ finished his brother. ‘Cenred is far more concerned about the missing pig than he is about the missing Simon. He is angry, too, because he offered to buy the animal, and Simon has always refused to sell. Now he fears for its safety.’
‘I see,’ said Geoffrey. ‘So, when Simon ran away, because he did not want to become embroiled in Flambard’s plans, he took his beloved pig with him. It means he knew he might be gone for a while and did not want to be deprived of its company.’
‘Or it might mean harm has befallen Simon and the pig,’ said Eleanor, frowning anxiously. ‘I do not think he ran away because he did not want to help Flambard. I think he was already involved, because you found the map in his home. Why would he hide that, then flee?’
Geoffrey rubbed his chin and looked at the Littel brothers. ‘Later, when you have rested, you can visit the butchers and ask whether a large pig has been slaughtered recently. I imagine that once we know the whereabouts of the animal, we will have a better idea about what has happened to Simon.’
‘That will be a waste of time, ‘said Eleanor. ‘I would have heard if it had been killed. It is famous in Durham, and if some harm has come to it, everyone would know.’
‘Well, ask anyway,’ Geoffrey instructed his men. ‘It will do no harm to be sure.’
The brothers nodded. Personally, Geoffrey thought Simon and the pig were happily ensconced in some tavern somewhere, waiting for a time when it would be safe to return to Durham. He turned his attention from matters porcine as Eleanor prepared to leave the warm kitchen.
‘I can only think of three witches,’ she said as they walked towards Owengate, although he was more aware of her hand on his arm than of anything she said. ‘But they will probably know others, so we can ask them for names. What shall we tell them?’
‘The truth,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I suspect it is always wise to be honest with witches. We will say that several people have been shot with red-stained arrows, and we want to know whether they have been asked to put spells on weapons recently. You seemed to think it was a practice more popular in the past than in the present, so hopefully there will not be too many suspects.’
‘First we will visit Moon Mary, who lives near the river,’ said Eleanor. She gave Geoffrey a warning glance. ‘She is a little odd.’
Moon Mary was more than a little odd in Geoffrey’s opinion: she was stark raving mad. Her round hut stood near the leper hospital, and the door comprised a knee-high hole that obliged visitors to enter on hands and knees. There was no chimney, and smoke from the hearth swirled thickly inside. The atmosphere was so dense that Geoffrey’s eyes smarted and he could barely breathe. Moon Mary was naked with the exception of a piece of string knotted around her waist,
and she was busily chewing on leaves that Geoffrey thought were at least partly responsible for her peculiar behaviour.
Eleanor tried hard to encourage Moon Mary to speak to them, including an offer of coins and bread, and the right to catch toads from the pond at the bottom of the Stanstede garden. Moon Mary regarded her with a dull, glazed expression, moving only to insert leaves into her mouth at regular intervals. Eventually, becoming dizzy from a lack of clean air and reluctant to waste more time on a one-sided conversation, Geoffrey indicated they should leave.
‘I see the serpent near you,’ Moon Mary hissed as Geoffrey was all but out of the door. Eleanor was already outside, taking deep breaths and shaking her cloak to try to remove some of the stench of burning wood from it.
‘I am sorry?’ asked Geoffrey, startled.
Moon Mary nodded. ‘Forget your red-stained arrows. They are powerless against the serpent.’
‘Right,’ said Geoffrey, easing himself all the way out. ‘Thank you for your time.’
‘Beware the serpent,’ Moon Mary howled from inside. ‘I sense him near.’
‘She has been chewing leaves for so long her brains are scrambled,’ said Geoffrey in disgust, brushing dirt and dried grass from his clothes. ‘I am not sure we will learn anything from these witches of yours, Eleanor. Moon Mary would not remember whether anyone had asked her for red-stained arrows or an incantation to summon the Devil. She is too addled.’
‘Perhaps she was not a good idea,’ admitted Eleanor. ‘But she is a famous seer in these parts, and I thought we should at least try to see whether she had anything to say. She foresaw the death of King William Rufus three months before it happened.’
‘So did a lot of people,’ said Geoffrey. ‘He was so unpopular that it did not take a genius to see it was only a matter of time before he had an “accident”.’
‘You are a bad-tempered old sceptic, Geoffrey,’ said Eleanor, smiling as she took his arm to walk along the path that led past St Giles’ Church and back to the city. ‘But next we will visit Ida the Witch, who lives near the abbey. She is more rational.’
The Bishop's Brood Page 22
