The Riddle Of St Leonard's

Twenty-eight

Alisoun stared into one of the crimson bells of the tall foxglove. Might the plant have grown in this spot after she’d buried the treasures? Had it been long enough since she’d disturbed this earth for a weed to seed itself and grow? Perhaps she had sped its growth by loosening the earth round it. That had been her principal task each spring, to loosen the soil round her mother’s older herbs.

She did not wish to ask Anneys whether it was possible that the treasure lay below the plant. Alisoun was not yet ready to admit to her that she could not find the last of the treasure. Anneys did not seem patient with failure. They had dug up the trench that Alisoun remembered digging: from the second post in the fence beyond the tree from which she’d fallen when she was small to the old ditch. This plant was growing at the edge of the ditch. Alisoun might have gone that far, though she did not think so. It was a measuring point on the property. She had feared her uncle would notice if it was disturbed. But she had been weary on the evening she had buried the goods. Perhaps she had gone farther than she had intended.

‘We have not the time to stare at flowers.’ Anneys’s voice was hoarse with exhaustion, though she had done precious little of the digging. In fact she had stopped after losing her balance and slipping into one of the holes shortly after they had begun. ‘A moment ago you feared we would be interrupted,’ Anneys reminded her.

It was true. Alisoun had sensed someone watching them, but the feeling had gone away. She had stood very still, trying not to breathe. Only the insects and the birds disturbed the afternoon, and, farther away, the river. Whatever Alisoun had heard, she did not hear it again. Still, she had bent back to her digging with more energy, and in a short while she had retrieved all but the cross.

Was it under the foxglove? Alisoun pushed herself up from her crouching position, retraced her steps to the spot at which they had begun their dig, crouched over the hole, dug a little beyond, until she reached hard, undisturbed soil. It was indeed the end of the trench.

‘Where is the rood?’ Anneys asked from above.

Alisoun took a deep breath. ‘Under the foxglove … I think.’

‘You think? You do not know?’

Alisoun flinched at the tone, and the foot that tapped impatiently, perhaps even angrily, beside her. ‘It is the only part of the trench we have not tried.’

‘Meaning?’

Alisoun rose, faced her interrogator. The tall woman leaned on her shovel, glaring at Alisoun with dark eyes. Soil smudged her face and made her even more malevolent. ‘Meaning I hope it is there, because if it is not, someone has been here before us.’

Anneys straightened. ‘Foolish child. That was the most valuable piece.’

‘I did not take it.’

‘But you let someone else take it.’

Alisoun ran down to the foxglove, sank down beside it, began to dig with her hands, plunging them into the soil, which was rough with pebbles that stung her with scratches.

Anneys knelt beside Alisoun, caught her wrists and pulled her hands from the soil, shook her head at the torn fingernails. ‘You have hurt yourself. Let me dig.’

But Alisoun was not listening. Anneys’s hands were hot and clammy. Alisoun withdrew her left hand, touched the woman’s forehead, then her right cheek. ‘You are sick.’ Her eyes were bloodshot and heavy-lidded. ‘Grandame, you are sick!’

Anneys pressed Alisoun’s hand. ‘What does it matter? Tomorrow we shall float downriver as rich as the Master of St Leonard’s. Come. Use the shovel. Try this last place.’

And at last, much to Alisoun’s relief, she found the pearl and silver cross. But by then Anneys’s breath was coming in gasps.

‘By Christ’s thorns, these are riches indeed,’ Lame John muttered to his son. ‘I told you we would do well to watch the farm.’ They lay in the tall grass beyond the old ditch, hidden by more foxgloves growing wild in the field, gazing upon the items heaped on the cloth beside the woman and Alisoun.

‘Do not rejoice yet,’ Rich said. ‘Listen.’

Lame John tensed and listened, heard horses approaching. On hands and knees he crept backwards into the wood, an awkward, jerking motion with his uneven legs. Rich followed.

Anneys and Alisoun heard the horses. As one they gathered the corners of the cloth on which they had placed the treasures, pulled them together. Anneys slung them over her shoulder and stumbled. Alisoun put an arm round her and helped her walk beneath the load. Past the barn, the house, through the meadow with its clutching and clinging weeds, and at last to the bank and the boat. Anneys dropped the bundle and sank down beside the boat to catch her breath.

Alisoun was uneasy. ‘Someone has been here.’

Anneys wiped her face with a cloth dipped in river water. ‘How do you know?’

‘We left the boat on its side. It now sits upside-down.’

Anneys turned it over, placed the bundle in the prow. ‘Come. Our pursuers are behind us on horseback.’

Alisoun stood firm. ‘Take out the bundle. We must see whether someone damaged the boat.’

Paying no heed, Anneys pushed the boat down the bank. ‘Come along or stay behind, ’tis all the same to me.’

It was not all the same to Alisoun. With misgivings, she joined the woman. ‘Climb in. I will pull you on to the water,’ she said as an offering to win back Anneys’s favour.

With a satisfied nod, Anneys picked up the oar, climbed into the boat and settled herself in the stern. Alisoun pulled the boat down into the river. At once it began to take on water and list drunkenly. She grabbed the bag of treasures. ‘Jump out,’ she shouted to Anneys.

Paying her no heed, Anneys clutched an overhanging branch to steady herself as she grabbed for the bundle. ‘Where do you think to go with them? Get into the boat.’

‘Can you not see the hole?’ The water gurgled into the prow. ‘For pity’s sake, sit down and I will try to guide you back to the bank before you sink.’

‘Do you think me a fool?’ Anneys let go of the branch and lunged for the bundle. The boat twisted as it caught the current and began to drift from the shore, dragging Anneys with it.

‘Kick yourself loose while you are in the shallows,’ Alisoun shouted. She watched helplessly as the current pulled the listing boat down and away, into the deeper water. Anneys could not swim, nor, it had been plain as they’d rowed upriver, had she much experience in handling a boat. And weakened with fever …

Alisoun dropped the bundle on the bank and ran back towards the farm, hoping that the riders had reached the yard.

*

Don Erkenwald reigned in his horse and pointed to the shadows at the edge of the wood.

‘They heard us,’ Owen said. ‘Pity.’ He had hoped that Anneys and the child might be making enough noise with their shovels to mask the sounds of their approach. ‘Ride on as if we have not seen them. We shall tether our horses on the fence near the trees in which they hide.’

With a grin, Erkenwald urged his horse forward.

Owen made note of the trench of disturbed earth along the fence. So the child had buried the items there. And already dug them up?

‘Captain Archer!’ Alisoun Ffulford ran across the yard with an awkward gait, her hem heavy with mud. She waved her arms and shouted, ‘Ride to the river! She is drowning!’

The child had come from the river; so who hid in the wood? An important question, but there was no time for it at present. The river took its victims quickly.

When Owen reached the bank, he saw no sign of Anneys or a damaged boat, heard no cries for help. All he heard was the river lapping the bank and the insects buzzing near his ears. He had played the fool. The child’s story had been a ruse to lure him and Erkenwald away from the trench where presumably the stolen items had been buried. Anneys was no doubt hiding in the wood by the barn with another accomplice, and the boat hidden somewhere in the brush on the riverbank.

As he resolved to turn back, Owen heard a faint cry. He turned round, thinking it was Alisoun running up behind him. But the cry came again, clearly from behind him now, out on the water.

Erkenwald shouted, ‘Look you! By the rock downstream, near the bank.’

There it was, a battered boat caught in a tangle of weeds and saplings.

Alisoun had reached the bank. ‘Help her! The prow has been damaged and Mistress Anneys cannot swim.’

‘She is in the boat?’ Erkenwald asked.

‘Yes. Hurry!’

‘She may yet be safe. The weeds seem to be holding it afloat.’

Alisoun grabbed Owen’s foot in the stirrup. ‘She is weak with fever, Captain. Please. Hurry. She will die.’

Owen dismounted. ‘Come. We may need your help as well, child.’ He led his horse down along the bank. Erkenwald dismounted and followed.