The Serpents of Harbledown d-5 Page 7

  “One last entry, my lord, ‘In this Borough Archbishop Lanfranc holds seven measures of land which served St. Augustine’s before 1066; now the Archbishop takes their service from it.’ That is a full extract from the returns.”

  “There it stands,” said Ralph. “Such are the facts as elicited by our predecessors when they came into Kent to collect all the information germane to the Great Survey. They were exceedingly thorough.”

  “They were,” said Prior Henry equably. “Thorough and conscientious. They worked to the best of their limited abilities.

  I look for no less of their successors.”

  Ralph was jangled. “ ‘Limited abilities’?”

  “That is not meant as a criticism.”

  “It does not have the ring of praise about it.”

  “Let me explain,” said the prior easily. “The first commissioners were trusted laymen of high rank, sent into this county to assess the value of its property and to determine its ownership. Or,” he added, flicking a glance at Canon Hubert, “if that word offends you, to determine which of his tenant-in-chiefs held the land of the King. But your predecessors worked under two huge constraints.”

  “Constraints?” said Hubert.

  “They were not well versed in the laws of property and they were ordered to collect their evidence quickly and send their returns to the Exchequer. Ignorance and haste are the enemies of fair judgement. You see both reflected in the extract which Master Bret read out to us just now.” He aimed a polite smile at Gervase. “On which subject, may I say that I would have preferred to hear the original Latin so that I could place my own interpretation upon it. Certain words always pale in translation.”

  “I am starting to pale under your strictures,” said Ralph in exasperation. “May I remind you that we are here by royal warrant, Prior Henry, and that entitles us to your respect? We sit in judgement on you and will not have our own work, or that of our predecessors, put on trial. You are not in the chapter-house now, talking down to a flock of monastic sheep, too frightened even to bleat in protest. If the meek are set to inherit the earth, you will not find any landholders sitting at this table.” He heard the squeak from the shocked Brother Simon. “Except, perhaps, our scribe.”

  Canon Hubert goggled and the two monks from Christ Church Priory were so scandalised that they began to gibber. Gervase smiled inwardly. But the outburst had no discernible effect on Prior Henry. He remained calm and poised. It only served to annoy Ralph even more.

  “Let us proceed to the crux of the matter,” he said.

  “I am listening, my lord.”

  “In the survey of this county, Fordwich is listed as part of the land held by St. Augustine’s Abbey. There is documentary evidence to support this. You have none.”

  “The charters were destroyed by fire.”

  “What proof do we have that they ever existed?”

  “Letters and depositions from some of the brothers who were at the priory before it was caught in the blaze.”

  “Saxon monks?” said Hubert.

  “Naturally.”

  “You accept their word?”

  “Without reservation.”

  “Then your memory betrays you, Prior Henry,” said the canon with relish. “When Archbishop Lanfranc first came to Canterbury in the year of our Lord, 1070, he was appalled by what he found.

  The monks had dwindled in number and strayed disastrously from the Rule. They hunted, fished, bloated themselves on rich food and often drank themselves into a stupor. Some-I am ashamed to recall this-were given to carnal pleasure with women.”

  “God protect us!” gasped Brother Simon.

  “Duty and reverence were forgotten. They were a stain upon the reputation of the Benedictine Order.”

  “All this is true,” confessed Henry. “The archbishop moved swiftly and sternly to remedy this disgrace. Those who stayed within the enclave are truly contrite.”

  “I find it difficult to trust them wholeheartedly.”

  “Because they are Saxon?” The prior clicked his tongue. “I am disappointed in you, Canon Hubert. The cowl makes us all equal.

  Saxon, Norman, Welsh, Irish, Breton, Flemish or Spanish, monks are brothers who make no distinction about nationality.

  Archbishop Lanfranc is an Italian. So am I. So, of course, is Anselm of Bec, who became prior there when you felt that you were destined for that office.”

  Hubert smouldered. The reproof was all the more wounding for being delivered in such an even-tempered way. Prior Henry’s mild tongue had the power of a lash. It had been painful enough when they were alone together but this public humiliation was far worse.

  “Our hopes of a speedy end to this dispute have been dashed,”

  sighed Ralph. “You clearly mean to contest this case.”

  “What is the alternative, my lord?”

  “A sensible compromise.”

  “Victory is the only compromise we will accept.”

  “That will mean a long and bitter battle.”

  “So be it. The abbey is grievously at fault here.”

  “Not only here,” intervened Gervase. “I believe that cathedral and abbey have other differences to settle.”

  “Other differences?”

  “The election of their new abbot.”

  “He has already been appointed.”

  “Without their endorsement.”

  “Abbot Guy is the archbishop’s nominated choice.”

  “Why does St. Augustine’s resist it so strongly?”

  “Their obstinacy is no concern of yours,” said Henry with his equanimity intact. “It is an internal matter and has no bearing whatsoever on the business in hand.”

  “Unless it provides a motive,” added Ralph.

  “Motive?”

  “Abbey and cathedral are at each other’s throat. The cowl may make you equal brothers but that does not stop you squabbling like fishwives.” Ralph stared him in the eye. “I have heard of this wrangling over the new abbot. Is that why you lay claim to St.

  Augustine’s property? Is the archbishop punishing them for daring to defy him? Tell him this, Prior Henry. We will not be used as a stick to beat the abbey into submission.”

  “I will report all that has passed between us,” said the other, quite unruffled. “What more can be done now?”

  “Nothing, until we have studied your documents.”

  “Then I will leave them in your safekeeping.” He rose to his feet and the two monks leaped up obediently, hanging on his command. “When will I be required again?”

  “When we send for you, Prior Henry.”

  “We must hear from the abbey first,” said Hubert with a placatory note, fearing what might be said about him to the archbishop.

  “Prior Gregory is on his way here now.”

  “Yes,” said Ralph pointedly. “Had you been more amenable, we might have saved him the journey. But your mind is plainly set on joining battle.”

  Prior Henry looked along the table with a quiet smile.

  “We mean to fight,” he vowed. “Tooth and nail.”

  Golde sat with her beside the crib and gazed down at the sleeping baby. He looked peaceful and contented. Eadgyth had been well enough to feed him and her love had surged when she saw her son guzzling happily at the breast. The needs of the child had pushed her grief aside and concentrated her mind.

  Golde sought other ways to deflect her from a brooding sadness.

  In the brief time they had known each other, she had grown fond of the young mother. Studying her now, Golde found it hard to believe that someone who looked so robust could really be so delicate.

  “You are blessed in your husband,” said Golde.

  “I know,” agreed the other, “and I am never likely to forget it.

  Osbern is a wonderful man. He is so tolerant of my weaknesses and so uncomplaining about my follies.”

  “He is a lucky man to have such a beautiful wife.”

  “That is what he tells me.” />
  “How did you meet him?”

  “By chance, Golde. It was in the market. I had been sent to buy some fish. When I looked up from the stall, I saw him not five yards away. Osbern was arguing with one of the stallholders. It was about payment of rent, he later told me. Osbern suddenly caught my eye and gave me such a sweet smile that I carried the memory of it around with me for days.”

  “Did you not speak to him?”

  “I did not dare, Golde.”

  “Nothing else passed between you?”

  “Just the look. And the smile. They were enough.”

  “When did you see him again?”

  “Not for a week or more,” said Eadgyth. “I thought he had forgotten me. Or left Canterbury altogether. For all I knew, he was just a visitor to the city. I had no idea that he was so important. The town reeve, no less.” She gave a girlish laugh. “It seemed impossible. I was so young and silly. Osbern was so mature and serious.”

  “But it happened.”

  “Yes, Golde! He came looking for me.”

  “And all because you went to buy some fish!”

  They exchanged a laugh and Eadgyth’s face lit up with joy.

  She looked at her son, remembered the loving husband whose name he bore and she basked for a moment in her good fortune.

  The clouds soon came. A frown distorted her brow and her lip began to quiver. Golde embraced her and rocked her gently to and fro.

  “It is a sin to be so happy,” sobbed Eadgyth.

  “No, it is not.”

  “Bertha lies dead and I am boasting about my husband.”

  “He will help you through your bereavement.”

  “I cannot believe I will never see her again.”

  “Fate can be very cruel.”

  “Bertha was so kind to me. She took such a pleasure in my joy.

  At our wedding, Bertha was the first person to rush up to kiss me. She was delighted that I found Osbern. She loved to see me happy. Bertha was never jealous.”

  “That is true friendship, Eadgyth. To look on the joy of others and feel no envy. You and she were so close. When you married Osbern and committed yourself to him, there must have been a sense of loss for her.”

  “Bertha never complained. She understood.”

  “Understood?”

  “Yes,” said Eadgyth dreamily. “It happened for her, too. Bertha knew what it was to love a man so completely. She told me about him.” She clutched at Golde as the sobbing started again. “Bertha is dead. He has lost her forever.”

  “Who has?”

  “Her friend.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The confrontation took place in the parish church of St.

  Mildred’s. Reinbald the Priest was there with two of the sheriff’s officers but they were largely silent witnesses. Monk and doctor went into the morgue together with a candle apiece. Earnest discussion was heard in the cramped chamber where the girl’s body lay under its shroud. When the two finally emerged into the nave, each was firmly convinced that he was in the right.

  “Will you agree with me now?” asked Brother Martin.

  “Indeed I will not,” said Helto the Doctor. “My initial diagnosis was correct. Bertha was bitten by a snake.”

  “After she was dead.”

  “That is an absurd suggestion, Brother Martin.”

  “All the evidence points to it.”

  “Only in your mind. And that, with respect, is befuddled by the natural grief you feel at this terrible loss. You knew Bertha as a dear friend and a loyal assistant at the hospital. Her death is bound to affect you deeply.”

  “Her murder affects me even more.”

  “The girl was killed by snakebite.”

  “Then how do you explain the bruising on her neck?”

  “The result of the poison.”

  “The throat would not be so discoloured.”

  “Strange things happen to a body after death. They can be very misleading to the untutored eye. I see nothing here to indicate foul play.”

  “Then you are badly mistaken!” insisted the old man.

  “And you are very confused!”

  The priest stepped in. “Do not raise your voices in the house of the Lord,” he chided. “If you want an argument, take it outside into the street.”

  “It is no argument, Father Reinbald,” said Helto. “It is just an honest difference of opinion. Brother Martin and I have viewed the body together. He sees one thing, I see another.”

  “Who is right?” asked one of the officers.

  “I am,” said the doctor peremptorily.

  “No, I am,” argued the monk. “Helto the Doctor may know more about medicine than I do. I accept that. He looks on corpses in this city every week and recognises death in its various guises.

  His reputation is high.”

  “Then why do you challenge him?” asked Reinbald.

  “Because he is mistaken for once.”

  “Impossible!”

  “You are wrong, Helto!”

  “Not so, Brother Martin!”

  “It is! I would take an oath on it!”

  “Who is the physician here!”

  “Peace, sirs!” implored Reinbald, moving between them to push them gently apart. “Remember the poor creature who lies not ten yards away from us. She is entitled to respect.”

  “Respect and reverence,” added the monk sadly. “We are justly rebuked, Father Reinbald. I beg your forgiveness.”

  “We are both to blame here,” said Helto, regaining his composure.

  “Nothing is served by altercation. Let us take this discussion out into the fresh air where it belongs.” He led the way to the door. “I am sorry if I spoke harshly, Brother Martin. It was unpardonable.

  I am simply not used to having my opinion questioned.”

  “I can see that,” murmured the old man.

  Reinbald and the two officers followed them out. They found it difficult to decide whose word to trust. Helto spoke with more authority but Brother Martin’s cowl, his longer experience and his luminous honesty were powerful factors. The onlookers waited for the debate to start once more.

  Helto the Doctor tried to seize the initiative at once.

  “Let us begin afresh,” he suggested calmly. “We know where we differ. What are the points on which we actually agree?”

  Martin shrugged. “The girl is dead. Everybody can agree on that.

  Beyond that fact, we have no common ground.”

  “That is not so, Brother Martin,” mollified the other. “Will you accept that she was bitten by a snake?”

  “Bitten by it, yes. But not killed.”

  “Will you confirm that the creature was poisonous?”

  “Yes. We saw it curled up beside her.”

  “And had you not seen it?” pressed Helto. “How could you tell whether or not it had been venomous?”

  “From the nature of the bite. Two small puncture marks on the neck where the fangs went in. If Bertha had been bitten by a harmless grass snake, she would have had a set of tooth-marks in the shape of a crescent moon.”

  “Correct.”

  “I have suffered such a wound on my own hand.”

  “What are the symptoms of a fatal snakebite?”

  “A swelling near the fang-marks and some bruising around the affected area.”

  “And the more sensitive that area-the soft and delicate white skin of a girl, for example-the worse the bruising is likely to be.

  Will you concede that as well?”

  “Gladly.”

  “We are making progress at last.”

  “Hardly,” said Brother Martin. “Instead of talking about the body, you must first look at the circumstances in which it was found. Hidden away behind a clump of holly. Bertha had no reason to be in such a place.”

  “Except the obvious one, perhaps?”

  “What is that, Helto?”

  The doctor spoke discreetly. “Even a lovely young girl like Bertha had to satisfy the wants
of nature.”

  “Lying down?”

  The two officers laughed coarsely but checked their mirth when Reinbald reproached them with a glance. They turned to Helto for his reply but the doctor sighed wearily and shook his head.

  “We will never come to composition here,” he decided. “It is a waste of breath. If you insist on believing that she was murdered, I will try to dissuade you no longer. Let the sheriff and his men search for this phantom killer. When they find him, they can ask him a question from me.”

  “What is that?” wondered Reinbald.

  “Harbledown is full of places where a dead body could be concealed and never found. The earth is soft at this time of year.

  It would not take long to bury her.” His voice took on a sarcastic edge. “Ask the murderer this on my behalf. When he killed Bertha-from motives I could not even guess at-why was he foolish enough to leave the body where a search was bound to discover it?”

  Helto the Doctor turned on his heel and marched away. It was a dramatic exit and it had the desired effect. Both Reinbald and the two officers tilted toward an acceptance of the physician’s medical opinion. There was an unassailable confidence about him which gave his words the ring of truth.

  Brother Martin was completely unabashed.

  “She was strangled,” he said. “I’d stake my life on it.”

  In character and appearance, Prior Gregory was very different from his counterpart at Christ Church Priory. He had none of Henry’s studied poise and cold spirituality. His face was no impassive mask. The prior of St. Augustine’s Abbey was instead a short, sturdy, bustling man with hands toughened by early years of manual labour and shoulders rounded by long hours of study over a desk. The bulbous nose and the rubicund cheeks were the salient features of a large, round, mobile countenance.

  Concealment was an art which he had never cultivated.

  Whatever his mind thought or his heart felt showed in his expression.

  Ralph liked him on sight. He usually treated anyone from a monastic community with an amiable irreverence but Prior Gregory somehow appealed to him. There was a refreshing openness about the man and a total lack of pomposity. Here was a combative Christian who had to be admired.

  When greetings were exchanged, Prior Gregory sank down onto the bench vacated by his adversary. Bearing a satchel of charters, a young monk sat beside him. The prior did not need to bolster his importance by relegating his companion to an inferior position behind him.