The Serpents of Harbledown (Domesday Series Book 5) Page 16

  “Clearly you have no love for Alwin,” he observed, drily.

  “He is the most loathsome man alive.”

  “Your sister did not think so.”

  “She came round to that view at the end.”

  “What about Bertha?”

  “Poor child! She was left alone with him.”

  “Was Alwin unkind to her? Violent?”

  “He would not have dared to be either!” she growled. “Or he would have answered to me. I would have taken Bertha away from him. I told her that.”

  “Yet she stayed with him.”

  “He was her father.”

  “Did she not respect him in any way?”

  “Bertha was an innocent. She did not understand the ways of the world. I have lived longer and know the depths to which men can sink.”

  “Some men, Juliana.”

  “That is a matter of opinion.”

  “I think I know yours.”

  “It is honestly held, my lord.”

  “And very forcefully expressed,” he said with a wry smile. “But there is something missing here. You tell me that you despise Alwin for what he did to your sister but I still do not know what it was.”

  “Nor will you.”

  “Is it, then, so shameful?”

  “It is past. Let us forget it.”

  “But it runs through everything you say. Alwin is your brotherin- law yet you bear him such ill will that you would wish him dead. Is that not so!”

  “Yes, my lord. Drowned in the deepest ocean!”

  “Why? What was his crime?”

  “He is a man!”

  “So am I. So is Reinbald. So are at least half of the population. Would you condemn us all on that account?”

  “Alwin was cruel.”

  “In what way?”

  Juliana shook her head to indicate that she would say no more on the subject. He turned to Reinbald to see if the priest could offer any enlightenment but the man had vanished. Ralph was mystified by the disappearance. He looked back at the formidable lady in front of him.

  “Help me,” he said. “Your niece was strangled to death. I want to find the villain who killed her. Anything you can tell me about Bertha or about her parents may be of value. You loved your niece, Juliana. I sense that. And she loved you or she would not have walked all the way here simply to be with her aunt.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “There were some happy times.”

  “When you and Bertha were alone together?”

  “When she was away from the contamination of her father!”

  “Is Alwin really so wicked? I have met him and he did not seem so to me. What is it that he did, Juliana?”

  “He drove my sister into her grave.”

  “But how?” pressed Ralph. “Tell me how!”

  Lips tightly pursed, Juliana put her hands on her hips in an attitude of defiance. Her mind was a whirl of scalding memories that would be shared with nobody. Ralph withstood her fierce scrutiny with patience. She could never like him but there was a nobility in his bearing which she had to recognise, even if she could not bring herself to admire it. He seemed brave, honest and just, but those qualities were not enough to make her trust him completely.

  “It is a long ride, Juliana,” he said, trying to coax her with a smile. “Do not send us back empty-handed. Think of your niece. Surely, you want her death avenged?” He took a step closer. “Tell me about her father. What did Alwin do?”

  Juliana folded her arms as she pondered. She had turned her back on her brother-in-law forever, but his shadow had followed her to Faversham. To make it go away again, she might have to confide at least some of what she knew.

  “Return to Canterbury, my lord,” she said.

  “And?”

  “Speak with Helto the Doctor.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS INCREDIBLE. Canon Hubert would never have believed that a time would come when he was glad to be rescued from Christ Church Priory. He had come to Canterbury with such high hopes and they had been systematically dashed. It was galling to be so close to Archbishop Lanfranc and yet so impossibly far away. Brother Simon immersed himself in the cloister with the deep joy of a true obedientiary but Hubert was finding it a distinct strain. Robbed of ecclesiastical status and deprived of function as a royal commissioner, he was at the mercy of Prior Henry's beady watchfulness. When Gervase Bret offered him a chance of escape, he grasped it willingly.

  He was less excited about the prospect when he realised that it involved a ride to Harbledown on his donkey. Gervase led him first to the spot where Bertha had been found and they dismounted to examine it. When the situation had been explained to him, Canon Hubert simmered with disgust.

  “A woman, an apple and a serpent?”

  “Is it too fanciful to imagine a reference to Genesis?”

  “No, Gervase,” he said sternly. “But this was no mere reference to the First Book of the Old Testament. It is a shameful travesty of it. The Bible is being mocked.”

  “That was my feeling, Canon Hubert.”

  “Genesis tells of the Creation and yet one of its central images is here used to mark a scene of destruction. That is an act of the most foul blasphemy.”

  “Who might have put it there?”

  “Some mindless heathen.”

  “He is not mindless,” said Gervase. “There is calculation here. And why did he go to such trouble to present Bertha's death as the result of snakebite? It is confusing.”

  “What I perceive is the utmost profanity.”

  “But did the killer expect it to be perceived? He wanted the girl to be found, the cause of her death to be ratified as snakebite and no further inquiry made. This strike at the Bible was for his own benefit.”

  “It was certainly not for mine!”

  “Nor for anyone else's but the man himself,” said Gervase. “It tells us much about his mind. This tableau was a personal seal. A signature on a death warrant.”

  “There may be a double meaning here, Gervase.”

  “What is that?”

  “Genesis. Chapter three. Consider the opening verse,” he said, translating from the Latin in his memory. “Mark it well. ‘The serpent was more crafty than any wild creature that the Lord God had made.’ There is vile craftiness at work here. The killer is a serpent in himself.”

  “Brother Martin certainly tasted his poison.”

  After further discussion, they mounted up and rode on to the leper hospital of St. Nicholas. They arrived as one of its charges was about to take his leave.

  “Good morrow to you, Alain!” greeted Gervase.

  The leper paused to look up at them and gave a faint nod. When Canon Hubert was introduced, he passed a kind remark to Alain but took great care not to get too close to him. Gervase made a point of showing that he was not frightened by proximity to the unfortunate young man. Dropping down from his horse, he strode over to him.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To be on my own.”

  “You can do that here.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “You have your own hut.”

  “Bertha does not come to it now,” said Alain wistfully. “Nor does Brother Martin. Both are gone.”

  “Others have taken their place.”

  “They can never do that.”

  “They will try.”

  Alain shrugged. “I must go.”

  “Where?”

  “Away from here,” he said, pointing to a path through the bushes. “Somewhere quiet where I can sit in the shade and where nobody will bother me. Somewhere that is mine.”

  “What will you do there?”

  “Pass the time.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Alain fingered the apple that was deep in his sleeve.

  “I will remember.”

  Gervase watched him until he disappeared from sight.

  “Strange fellow!” said Hubert. “Lepers lead a twilight existence. Poor creatures! Yet Go
d put them on the earth for a purpose. How do you know him?”

  “Alain found the body at the place we have just been.”

  “Was it he who gave you that apple?”

  “Yes, Canon Hubert.”

  “Does he guess at its meaning?”

  “I think not.”

  Hubert dismounted again. “What is it you wish to show me here?” he said. “I must not delay too long. Brother Martin's funeral will be held this afternoon. I have to be back in time for that.”

  “Let me show you where and how he died.”

  Gervase led the way into the empty church and took up the position that had been occupied by Brother Martin at the moment of discovery. Hubert paid no heed to him. He was hypnotised by the tiny altar, gazing at its white cloth with a blend of reverence and revulsion, thinking of its Christian significance and recalling the black heart it had hidden beneath it on the day of the murder. The sacred and the profane had been conjoined just as they had been at the scene of Bertha's death.

  Canon Hubert stared on, his heart pounding and his breath coming in short, irregular pants. Here was something worse than a simple mockery of Holy Writ. A blameless monk had been murdered in the House of God but it had been no random act. There was malignant preparation.

  The killer had emerged from the altar itself to commit the deed. The very sacraments themselves were being abused. Canon Hubert was overcome with a sensation of complete horror when he realised the perfidy of what had taken place. The service of Holy Communion had been murdered just as ruthlessly as was Brother Martin. Instead of preserving body and soul unto everlasting life, the Body of Christ had been an instrument of death. The chalice which contained the Blood of Christ was a flask of poison.

  Perspiration broke out on his face and body as he contemplated the magnitude of the desecration. Shielding his eyes from the hideous sight, Canon Hubert recited the Credo aloud to erect a further screen between himself and this blinding act of violation.

  “ ‘Credo in unun Deo. Patrem Omnipotentem, factorum caeli at terrae, visibilium omnium et invisibilium. Et in unum Dominum Iesum Christum, Filium Dei unigenitum. Et ex Patre natum ante omnia saecula. Deum et Deo … ’” His mouth went dry but he forced himself on. “ ‘Deum et Deo … Deum et Deo … ’” It was no use. The comforting phrases would not come. In the presence of such evil, Canon Hubert could not even affirm his faith. “ ‘Deum et Deo … lumen de lumine… ’ ”

  His voice trailed meekly away. Lowering his hands, he looked at the altar again and was overwhelmed once more by the enormity of the sacrilege. When the Credo could not come to his aid, he put all his strength and sense of outrage into a word that came hissing out of his mouth like hot steam.

  “HERESY!”

  “Where did you find him?” asked Golde.

  “In the church. He slipped away while I was speaking with Juliana. Listening to her, rather,” he corrected, “for she did most of the talking. She is a fearsome creature in full flow. I can see why the men of Faversham shrink away.”

  “Did you learn anything from her?”

  “Yes,” said Ralph. “I discovered things about Alwin that nobody else would have told me. The journey was worthwhile. Reinbald felt that, even though his buttocks are raw from the ride and he walks sideways like a crab. He thanked me for taking him.”

  “He was glad to see Faversham again.”

  “A pretty place,” he said. “For all her thunder, I enjoyed meeting Juliana. I admire a woman with spirit and she has enough for ten. Like you.” He gave her a fond kiss. “But what has been happening here?”

  They were in the solar. Golde told him how the problems of the household had been addressed throughout the morning. The baby was now asleep, Eadgyth more quiescent and Osbern less fraught. A brittle peace had been restored to the house. Golde was determined that it would not be shattered again.

  “I cannot apologise enough to you, my love.”

  “Apologise?”

  “For thrusting all this upon you,” he said. “Had we stayed at the castle, it might not have been as comfortable as here, but at least you would not have been expected to take over the running of the establishment.”

  “That is no hardship to me, Ralph.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I like it here. Osbern and Eadgyth are good people who are caught in a bad situation. I am only too pleased to help them out of it. And there is a huge compensation.”

  “Yes,” he said with a grin, “I am here with you.”

  “I was thinking about the baby.”

  “Baby! I take second place to a child?”

  “You can look after yourself, Ralph. He cannot.”

  “Is that your excuse?” he teased.

  “Do I need one?”

  “Of course not.”

  Golde sighed. “He is a pure delight!”

  “You used to say the same about me.”

  “Whenever I hold him, I do not want to put him down.”

  “We will have to take him with us when we leave.”

  “No,” she said. “He belongs here. They adore him. Baby Osbern will help to bring his parents close together again.”

  “Then we will have to seek another way.”

  “Another way?”

  “To find you a child.”

  Golde caught her breath and looked up into the smiling face. She flung her arms around him to hug him close. The embrace was short-lived. Footsteps could be heard clattering down the stairs and voices filtered through the door. Ralph's ears pricked up immediately.

  “Is that Helto?”

  “Yes. He has been here for the best part of an hour.”

  “I need two minutes of his time myself.”

  “Then I will leave you alone.”

  When Ralph came out, Helto was standing at the front door with Osbern, giving the reeve careful instructions. The doctor agreed to speak with Ralph and was led back into the empty solar.

  “How is she?” asked Ralph solicitously.

  “There is still cause for mild alarm.”

  “You have been an attentive physician, Helto.”

  “Not attentive enough, alas,” said the other. “I did not foresee that crisis in the night. Mother and baby might both have suffered some injury, blundering about in the darkness like that. I am partly to blame for the fright.”

  “You?”

  “If I had forced her to take that sleeping draught, none of this would have happened. Eadgyth would have passed a restful night in her bed and Osbern would not have been put through that ordeal.” He clicked his tongue. “What drove her to do such a thing?”

  “The death of her friend has upset her profoundly,” said Ralph. “Eadgyth will never rest while the murder remains unsolved. It is one of the reasons why we have taken an interest in this business.”

  Helto was curt. “I wonder that you do not leave it in the hands of the sheriff and his officers, my lord. That is their function. What can you possibly find out that they cannot?”

  “A great deal. You can help me to find out more.”

  “Me?”

  “Tell me about Alwin.”

  “What is there to tell?” asked the other. “The man is overcome by grief. He has turned in upon himself.”

  “That is not my observation,” said Ralph. “But I am not talking about Bertha's death. I am more interested in that of her mother. Was she a patient of yours?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What was the cause of death?”

  “Fever. It carried her speedily off.”

  “Yet she was not old or frail.”

  “She had no will to live.”

  “Why was that?”

  “I do not know, my lord.”

  “I think you do,” pressed Ralph. “A doctor sees the inside of a marriage. Alwin and his wife were both your patients. You saw the effect that each had on the other.”

  “What I saw is no business of yours, my lord.”

  “It is if it touches on this murder.”<
br />
  “I do not fully accept that the murder took place.”

  “Something was seriously amiss with that family. What was it, Helto? Enlighten me.”

  “I will not discuss my patients like this. It is unethical. Improper.”

  “It all comes back to Alwin the Sailor.”

  “You will have to excuse me, my lord.”

  “What happened between husband and wife?”

  He moved away. “I have tarried long enough.”

  “Tell me!” ordered Ralph, grabbing him. “Tell me the truth!”

  Helto the Doctor looked at him with withering scorn.

  “No, my lord. It is where it belongs. In the past.”

  Hood back and veil removed, Alain forced his blistered feet on through the undergrowth. His muscles were aching and his skin was on fire but his eyes remained alert, scanning every tree, shrub and outcrop of bushes that bordered the twisting path. When brambles leaned over to block his way, he did not duck beneath them. His bare hand brushed them aside and flakes of skin were left impaled on the tiny spikes that had no power to hurt him. Alain was cloaked in a deeper pain that nothing could reach or soothe.

  As he stepped into a clearing, a pig looked up from its meal and grunted in annoyance. It trotted toward him with a token pugnacity before scampering off into the undergrowth. Alain moved on with a resigned smile. A leper was spurned even by animals. His search took him on through more woodland, then brought him out near an orchard. Through its trees, he caught a glimpse of a manor house, a long, low building with its thatch bleached by the bright sun.

  Alain crept slowly through the orchard. Ripening apples hung all around him in wholesome abundance but he would not have exchanged the one in his sleeve for any of them. As he fondled it with his hand, cherished memories came flooding back. Long conversations with Bertha echoed in his brain. The joys of friendship and understanding were briefly rekindled. His reverie was disturbed by the approach of a horse. Alain immediately took cover, lurching forward to lower himself down behind some bushes, his face pressed close to the ground. The rider passed close by but the leper remained unseen.

  Voices were heard outside the house. Alain took fright. It was time to steal away to the safety of the wood and the reluctant company of the pigs. As he hauled himself upright, however, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was caught on a twig and danced in the breeze. He reached out to detach it with the utmost care then inspected it more closely. Alain was content. It was hers.