The Serpents of Harbledown

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 God 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.”

“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.

Canon Hubert was anxious to return to the city as quickly as possible, not simply because of the funeral of Brother Martin and the chance, at last, of a distant glimpse of Archbishop Lanfranc, but because the experience in Harbledown had shaken him badly. He was deeply offended by what he had seen, and felt almost tainted. Christ Church Priory offered him the sanctuary he needed and the solace he craved. It would cleanse him.

Gervase rode back to the cathedral precinct before parting company with him. He reached the house as Ralph Delchard was leaving and their discussion took place in the narrow passage than ran to the stables. When Gervase recounted all that had taken place on his latest visit to Harbledown, his friend was cynical.

“I would not trust Canon Hubert’s instincts.”

“He felt the presence of evil, Ralph.”

“Who would not? Brother Martin was poisoned to death in that church. Murder is bound to leave its effect.”

“It was more than that,” said Gervase. “A malevolence hangs in the air. I sensed it, too. It is almost tangible. Canon Hubert was so shocked that he is going to seek a meeting with Prior Henry to report his findings. There was definitely something in the atmosphere, Ralph.”

“Is it surprising?”

“What do you mean?”

“The church is used only by lepers, Gervase. They are not the most fragrant of human beings. Even sweet herbs and strong prayers will not wholly disguise the corruption of their flesh.

Canon Hubert is used to the clean air of the cloister in Winchester. That is why he took offence.”

“It struck him at a profoundest level. He believes that the church should be exorcised.”

“That will happen when we have caught this killer,” said Ralph.

“We will drive the devil out of Harbledown.”

“We have to find him first.”

“We are getting closer.”

“All we know for certain is that he mocks the Christian Church.

Wearing the cowl was not just a convenient disguise. It was a deliberate act of contempt.”

“That narrows it down, Gervase. I still believe that our villain may be this mysterious lover of Bertha’s. Her father thinks the same or he would not be so eager to track down the man. Put together what we already know of him with what you and Canon Hubert have added today, and what do we have?”

“A handsome Frenchman in his thirties with a scorn for the basic tenets of Christianity.”

“Who likes to hide behind a cowl,” said Ralph with a grin. “Pull back the hood of every monk in Canterbury and we will find the one without a tonsure. You take the priory and I will search the abbey.”

“Be serious, Ralph. We must catch him another way.”

“Alwin is still our surest guide.”

“But he refused to help you.”

“I’ll be more forceful this time, Gervase. My visit to Faversham has given me a powerful threat to use against him.”

“Threat?”

“Juliana. If Alwin will not tell us all he knows, I’ll set his sister-in-law onto him.” He chuckled merrily. “Juliana would beat the truth out of him with her bare fists.”

The first punch broke his nose and sent him staggering back with blood streaming down his lips. A second caught him on the ear and made his head ring. Third, fourth and fifth punches were delivered to the midriff and knocked all the breath out of him. It was the sixth blow which felled him, a vicious uppercut to his chin which made his teeth rattle. After that, he lost count.

Alwin the Sailor slumped to the floor in a flurry of punches and kicks. He was a strong man but all resistance was beaten out of him by the flailing fists and the swinging feet. It was no covert attack. Alwin was sitting in his boat when the two men accosted him. There were several witnesses near the quayside in Fordwich but none dared to intervene. Most turned their backs out of fear or indifference. Some felt that Alwin was getting no more than he deserved.

The punishment continued long after the victim was senseless.

It only stopped when the two assailants began to tire. Sweating profusely from their exertions, the brawny young men swayed over the body on the deck, their shoes stained by the blood now gushing from a dozen wounds. As a final act of violence, they suddenly grabbed hold of him and lifted him in the air before hurling him into the river with a loud splash. Their work was done. Heedless of his fate, they walked away from the quay.

It was only then that others leaped into action, rushing to save the drowning sailor. One man dived into the water to reclaim the body while another threw a rope after him. Two more lent their aid and the victim was hauled slowly back into his boat.

Alwin lay face-up on the deck, soaked to the skin, streaming with fresh blood, expelling water from his mouth and threshing wildly about like a beached whale.

Canon Hubert could not contain his sense of outrage. As soon as Brother Martin had been laid to rest in the cemetery at Christ Church Priory, the monks dispersed with dignified sorrow to mourn their loss in their own way. Hubert sought an immediate audience with Prior Henry and the two of them adjourned to the private parlour in his lodgings.

Behind the mask of impassivity, Henry was fuming.

“Could this not wait at least a decent interval?”

“I fear not, Prior Henry.”

“Brother Martin has only just been lowered into his grave.”

“This concerns his murder.”

“I find your conduct most unseemly, Canon Hubert.”

“You may not do so when you hear my explanation.”

“Pardon will not come easily from me.”

“Hear me out, Prior Henry. That is all I ask.”

The prior lowered himself into his chair and put the tips of his fingers together, regarding his visitor with an icy disapproval which would have quelled most people. Canon Hubert was made of more durable material. Standing before the table, he inhaled deeply and began his denunciation. He described exactly what he had experienced in Harbledown.

Henry’s reservations quickly melted and, once roused, his curiosity moved through keen interest and utter fascination to a controlled horror. By the time that Hubert had finished his account, the prior was back on his feet to put him under close questioning.

“Whom else have you told about this, Canon Hubert?”

“Gervase Bret was with me at the time.”

“Was he likewise scandalised?”

“Yes,” said Hubert. “But not to the same degree. He is a layman and does not have the same spiritual insight as someone who has spent his whole life in the Church.”

“He had the sense to take your opinion and for that we must be grateful. I have had vague warnings of all this from Brother Bartholomew and Brother Vitalis. They were sent to Harbledown to take over the running of the hospital when Brother Martin was killed. The urgency of the situation meant that have spent most of the time placating the lepers but they have obviously taken services in the church.”

“Did they not feel its malign influence?”

“They spoke only of a sense of unease.”

“Heresy is writ large across the altar cloth.”

“It has taken your sharper eye to decipher it. I will view the place myself in time but this is too sinister a development for independent action on my part. Archbishop Lanfranc must be informed at once.”

“I am gratified by your response, Prior Henry.”

“Your report is alarming,” confided the other. “All the more so because it is matched by intelligence we have gathered from other sources. Suffice to say that a threat has been identified more clearly. For such evil to appear anywhere would be a cause for dismay. But when it arrives on the very doorstep of Canterbury Cathedral, when it defies the anointed head of the English Church, when it hurls such vile abuse at Christianity itself, it must provoke an instant and merciless reaction.”

“I heartily endorse those sentiments,” said Hubert.

“Archbishop Lanfranc will say no less himself.”

“Please convey my warmest greetings to him.”

“You may do so yourself, Canon Hubert.”

“Myself?”

“The archbishop will want to hear your testimony in full. You will imagine his distress when he first heard that Brother Martin had been killed within the hallowed walls of a church which Archbishop Lanfranc himself founded. When he comprehends the full extent of the desecration, he will strike back like an avenging angel.”

Prior Henry snatched up a bell on his desk and rang it decisively.

A monk entered at once, received a whispered message and hastened away. Canon Hubert savoured the sudden improvement in his fortunes. He would not only meet Lanfranc in person, he would now do so with the status of a loyal intelligencer for the Church. It was impossible to bear any real affection for Prior Henry but Hubert disliked him considerably less. Uniting in the face of a common enemy, they clearly had distinct affinities.

Hubert stalked the room and washed his hands in the air, nervously awaiting the summons from Lanfranc. He soon worked himself back up into a lather of indignation.

“Jesus warned against false prophets who would take His Name in vain,” he said querulously. “We have one in our midst.”

“He will be exposed.”

“Where can such foul heresy have originated?”

“We may have the answer to that.”

“Was this devil sent from Hell itself?”

“No, Canon Hubert. We believe he comes from Orleans.”

They sat in a large circle around him with heads bowed and minds awaiting the illumination of his word. There was one empty chair.

Someone was missing. The man who stood at the centre of the circle showed no sign of impatience. He was tall, slim, well-favoured and unobtrusively commanding. His white robe accentuated the black beard, which in turn threw the sallow skin and the piercing green eyes into relief. There was a quiet charisma about him which everyone around him felt even when they were not looking at him. His presence seemed to fill the room.

They were in the parlour of the manor house. Shutters were closed to guarantee privacy and servants were posted outside to prevent any intrusion. The figures in the circle were drawn closer together by a common faith and a shared purpose but everything radiated out from their leader like the spokes of a wheel. He was the hub of all activity. They could feel him as surely as if he were reaching out to touch them.

Distant hoofbeats approached the house. Nobody moved until the horse came to a halt outside the front door. The leader then broke the circle by stepping out of it. A long, graceful stride took him out of the room and into a passageway where he saw the rider being admitted into the house. He gave him a welcoming nod. The latecomer was deferential.

“I am sorry to that I was delayed.”

“We knew you would come.”

“There are problems, I fear.”

“Still?”

“They have picked up a trail and sniff it like hounds.”

“Throw them off the scent.”

“That is not easy. They are very persistent. They are getting closer all the time.”

“We will deal with them,” said the other easily.

“They worry me.”

“Leave them to me, my friend. All will be well.”

“Good.”

“And the other problem? Alwin the Sailor?”

The newcomer smiled. “He will not trouble us again.”