The Serpents of Harbledown

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The passage of time did not still Golde’s apprehension. She was still held captive when the cathedral bell rang out for Sext and was horrified to realise that she had been bound and gagged for over five hours. Cramp was attacking her muscles and the gag was chafing her lips. One sign of mercy had been shown to her.

Someone had removed her blindfold. Golde could still see nothing in the black void of the cellar but it was a small freedom. She was grateful.

He had frightened her. The man who came earlier had held up a candle to inspect her and made her feel like some dumb animal trussed up in a pen at market. His voice had been French and his manner politely gloating. Though he had not molested her in any way, Golde felt that he would not hesitate to do so when the mood took him. She guessed who he must be. From her fleeting contact with him, she knew that he would be an unpleasant person to meet in the best of circumstances. Since she was at his mercy, he was repulsive.

Yet his visits had given her some insight into her situation.

She now knew why she was held and by whom. Golde was taken hostage as a means to disable Ralph Delchard. Her survival depended entirely on his cooperation with the men who had abducted her. That was why she saw the removal of the blindfold as a positive sign. It suggested that her husband had agreed to whatever terms they had demanded.

She knew him well enough to be certain that he would do everything within his power to rescue her. While appearing to obey the dictates of her captors, Ralph would be working out where she was and how he could get to her. Her main fear was that he simply would not find her in time. Those who held her seemed to have honoured their contract so far. What if they decided to break it out of malice? Her thoughts became ever more feverish.

The bolt slid back from the trap door and it was lifted up. A rectangle of light dazzled her eyes for a few seconds before disappearing. Two men had come down into the cellar and closed the trap door behind them. One held a candle but kept it well away from their faces so that she could not see them. The other man carried food and drink on a wooden tray. They bent over her.

“We’ve come to feed you, my lady,” grunted one.

“Undo the gag,” ordered the other.

“I expect a kiss for doing this.”

The first man put his candle on the tray so that he could use both hands to untie the thick cloth which had been used to gag her. Holding her chin, he leaned over to plant a guzzling kiss on her lips but Golde reacted quickly. She bit him so hard that he jumped back with a howl of rage, then she let out a loud scream for help. The injured man slapped her viciously across the face and went to strike again.

“No!” shouted his companion. “He’ll kill you.”

“She bit me!”

“Put the gag back on.”

“Look!” He touched his cheek. “My face is bleeding!”

“Shut her mouth again!”

“The vixen!”

When the man replaced the gag, he pulled it tighter than ever and took satisfaction from her groan of anguish. The side of her face was already on fire and the edges of her mouth were now ignited with pain as well. As a final act of torture, he put the blindfold back in place. Standing in front of her again, he wiped the blood from his own face.

“I’ll get even for this!” he vowed.

“Come on,” said his companion. “She’s obviously not hungry.”

He sniggered. “Except for you.”

“We’ll be back, my lady.”

“When this is all over, we’ll both be back.”

“Yes!”

“That was his promise. Keep her locked-up safe and sound here until it is all over. Then we both have her.”

The man with the bleeding face grabbed her hair.

“I’m first!”

They went out of the cellar and slid the bolt back in the trap door. Golde shuddered violently. These men would never keep to any bargain with her husband. She was not their hostage. When the time came, she would be their victim.

Gervase Bret held the piece of material against the kirtle. It matched perfectly. He was puzzled. How had her apparel got snagged on a twig over a mile from the place where Bertha had been found dead? What reason had she to be in the orchard of a private house?

He went upstairs to the stark bedroom where Alwin the Sailor still lay in a half-sleep of torment. The old woman got up from the stool and Gervase thanked her for allowing him to inspect Bertha’s attire. When the neighbour went back downstairs, Gervase moved the stool closer to the bed and sat down so that his face was near to that of the injured man.

“Alwin?” he called. “Can you hear me, Alwin?”

“What do you want?”

“We are close to finding Philippe.”

“He is mine!” he said, trying in vain to sit up. “Let me have him! I’ll kill him!”

Gervase eased him back. “Rest, rest,” he said. “If he is to be caught, we must have your help. We know that he is leaving next Wednesday. You found that out from Leofstand.”

“Leofstand was his pilot!”

“Why not you, Alwin?”

“I refused to take him again.”

“Did he not pay well enough?”

“All the money in France could not buy my boat.”

“Why not?”

“It was the way he looked at Bertha.”

“Just looked?”

“It was enough.”

“Did you not warn her about him?”

“Of course. But she went behind my back.”

Gervase remembered what another sailor had told Ralph Delchard to ask. “Tell me about Boulogne,” he said.

Reaction was instant. Alwin gurgled noisily and rolled his head from side to side. He went into such a frantic paroxysm that Gervase feared the man was dying. Putting an arm around him, he held the patient until the tremors finally faded. The sailor made a supreme effort to control himself. For several minutes, he held a fierce debate inside his own mind and it produced some more convulsions. When he reached a decision, it imposed a weary calm upon him.

“I have to tell someone,” he whispered. “I talked to the priest about it. Not Reinbald, he is too young to understand. Father Colswein. The old priest who died. He had been married himself.

He knew the problems. I talked to him, and Helto learned something of it as well.”

“Helto the Doctor?”

“He cured me, Master Bret.”

“Of what?”

There was no point in keeping it buried deep inside him any longer. Alwin knew that his life was dwindling away. If his confession could in any way assist the capture of his daughter’s killer, he was ready to make it. Gervase was as young as Reinbald but he had a maturity that the priest lacked. Also, he was a stranger. That made it easier.

“It was a long time ago,” he began. “I sailed to Boulogne to pick up a cargo of wine. We were caught in a storm and had a bad crossing. I needed something to cheer me up. When we reached harbour, I went to an inn. Drink was taken. There was a woman there. An Egyptian. I thought she was beautiful.”

“Did you stay the night with her?”

“Three nights-God forgive me!”

“Were you married at the time?”

“Yes.”

“Had Bertha been born?”

“No,” said Alwin. “We wanted children but none came at first.

When I got back from Boulogne, it was impossible.”

“Why?”

“The woman was diseased. I had to go to Helto.”

“But he cured you?”

“In time. It was no easy matter.”

“What happened then?”

“Bertha,” he said, a wan smile appearing between the bandages.

“Our own child. It was a miracle. I vowed to put the past behind me and lead a decent life from then on. But I made one big mistake.”

“You confessed to your wife,” guessed Gervase.

“I felt I had to, Master Bret.” His voice grew faint. “It was a fatal error. My happiness ended there and then. My wife told her sister, Juliana, and she lashed me with her tongue every time we met. My sister-in-law made me pay dearly.”

“What of Bertha?”

“When she was born, I was hardly allowed near her. I spent more time at sea, taking on longer voyages. Anything to occupy my mind and get me away from Juliana. One day, I went back to Boulogne. The Egyptian woman was still there.” He rolled onto his back. “With my son.”

“She had a child by you?”

“So she claimed, and the times certainly fitted.”

“Did you meet him?”

“Oh, yes,” said Alwin. “Whenever I went to Boulogne. The woman and I fell in together again, you see. I pretended that she and the boy were my real family.” He gave a wry laugh. “Bertha was conceived in love and I could not be a proper father to her.

My son was born out of lust yet he looked up to me. For a while.”

“Why did he stop?”

“His mother and I quarrelled,” said Alwin sadly. “The next time I was in Boulogne, I sought to make it up but she had left the city. They told me she had gone back to Egypt.” He let out a long wheeze. “That was it. Years passed. I forgot them. Then my own wife was taken seriously ill. I promised her faithfully that I would bring Bertha up as a God-fearing Christian and I kept to that promise. If anything, I was too strict with her but I sought to protect her, Master Bret. That is a father’s duty.” He closed his eyes as he relived another tribulation. “Then came the letter.”

“Letter?”

“From Boulogne. Leofstand brought it back.”

“Was it from the woman?”

“Yes,” he said. “A scrivener wrote it for her. She was as unlettered as me. They had come back to Boulogne but she was no longer able to look after our son. She begged me to help her.

I could not refuse.” He opened his eyes and fixed them on Gervase. “She loved me. She trusted me. She had named our son after me.”

Gervase sat up with a start. He knew the rest.

“Alain!”

“The letter did not tell me what was wrong with him. I only found out when I reached Boulogne. He had caught the disease in Egypt. What future was there for him? I would have needed a heart of stone to turn my back on him.”

“So you brought him back?”

“To the leper hospital of St. Nicholas.”

“Did he know that you were his father?”

“No,” said Alwin firmly. “That was the only condition on which I agreed to take him. His mother told him that I was just a friend.

He never knew that I was his father. And Bertha never knew that he was her half-brother.” His guilt made him wince. “I brought him over in my boat but we sailed up the river one evening when it was still light. Do you know what I did, Master Bret? I dropped anchor in midstream and waited. I waited until it was dark enough to sail into Fordwich when nobody would see us. I was ashamed of my own son! I brought him ashore in the night to hide his ugliness. I felt like a leper myself.”

Gervase was moved by the story. Two separate strands of Alwin’s life had become inextricably bound up together. He realised now why Alain and Bertha had been drawn together into a relationship that was deeper and more resonant than ordinary friendship. They shared the same father. Neither had brought him any real pleasure yet they found glimpses of joy in their time alone with each other. Bertha had gone to Harbledown in spite of strenuous objections from her father. She and Alain had an affinity which transcended everything else. They were blood kin.

“Father Colswein was right,” mused Alwin.

“The old priest?”

“I know no Latin but he taught me one phrase that has stuck in mind like a spike. Stipendium peccati mors est.”

“The reward of sin is death,” translated Gervase.

“My daughter murdered, my son a leper.”

“Neither can be laid at your door.”

“Both afflictions can.”

“No, Alwin.”

“I have known death in life,” said the other. “And I have deserved it.” He wheezed again. “There is nothing to keep me in this world save the wish to see that murderous villain caught.

Philippe, with his knowing smile. When that is done, I will follow Bertha to a quieter place.” One hand flickered in a gesture of great pathos. “Please, Master Bret. Avenge my daughter. And you will ease my son’s mind.”

Canon Hubert rode slowly along the busy street on his donkey.

The animal was in a fractious mood and kept trying to turn down lanes and alleyways. He had to pull hard on its reins to control its wayward impulses. He swung right into King Street and studied the houses carefully until he came to the one he wanted. It was a timber-framed dwelling of medium size in an excellent state of repair and with fresh thatch on its low roof. The neighbouring houses looked almost neglected by comparison.

Hauling his donkey to a halt, Canon Hubert dismounted and tethered the creature to an iron ring set in the wall of the house.

He tapped meekly on the door, then put both hands inside the opposite sleeves. When the servant answered the door, all he saw was the inclined head of a hooded monk.

“I wish to speak with Helto the Doctor,” said Hubert.

“He is not at home.”

“I will wait within.”

“He will not be back for a long time.”

“However long, I will still wait. Stand aside.”

“No,” said the servant, barring the way. “I cannot let you in.”

“Then I will let myself in!”

The hood was flipped back and Canon Hubert was transformed into Ralph Delchard. One hand came out to push the servant hard in the chest while the other appeared with a long dagger in it. Ralph darted into the house and shut the door behind him.

The servant was sturdy and he launched himself at the newcomer but his visitor was far too skilled in the arts of combat.

Ralph chopped him across the throat with a forearm and brought a knee up into the man’s stomach. All the fight was taken out of him. Before he could slump to the ground, Ralph caught him with one hand and heaved him hard against the wall. There was a thunderous crack as a skull met a thick oak beam. The servant dropped to the floor with a thud. Not even his master would be able to revive him for a while.

The commotion had alerted another man and he was a more dangerous opponent. When he came down to the stairs to investigate the noise, he was carrying a dagger himself. Ralph stepped into the parlour to give himself more room for manoeuvre.

Encumbered by the cowl, he circled his man warily.

“Who are you?” growled the other.

“Canon Hubert,” said Ralph. “I’ve come to shrive you.”

“Then I confess I’ll have to kill you!”

The man lunged at him with the dagger but Ralph parried him with ease. A second lunge was parried with equal adroitness.

The man feinted and caught Ralph unawares. The dagger sliced through the arm of the cowl but made no contact with Ralph himself. His attacker did not know that. When Ralph mimed a wound and staggered back, the man was after him in a flash, only to find his own weapon slashed from his grasp by a downward stroke of Ralph’s blade across his wrist. A kick sent the man to the ground where he lay howling, one hand trying to stem the flow of blood from his injured wrist.

Ralph was astride him with a dagger at his throat.

“Where is my wife?” he demanded.

“Who?”

“Golde. My wife. I know she is here.”

“No!”

“Where is she?”

“Not here!” said the man. “You are mistaken. This is the house of Helto the Doctor.”

“Are his patients always welcomed with a dagger?”

“You attacked first.”

“Where is she?” yelled Ralph, using the point of his weapon to draw blood from the man’s neck. “Speak or I’ll cut your throat out.”

“Stop!” pleaded the other, giving in. “I’ll tell you.”

Ralph grabbed his hair to bang his head on the floor.

“Where?”

“Down the cellar. In the kitchen.”

The man was too frightened to lie. Ralph pounded his head on the hard wood again, then got up. He searched the ground floor until he found the kitchen, then saw the trap door in the corner.

Before he could slide back the bolt, he heard a rustling noise and turned to see his adversary coming at him with the dagger in his other hand.

Ralph’s reaction was instinctive. He moved sharply to the left, parried the blow, swung in a circle and brought his own dagger around with deadly force to slide in between the man’s ribs. After clinging to the cowl for a moment, the man slid to the ground with blood pouring out of the wound. Ralph retrieved his weapon and opened the trap door. It shed enough light for him to see her.

“Golde! What have they done to you!”

Unable to answer, she struggled from side to side.

He leaped down into the cellar and sliced through her bonds at once, clasping her in his arms and holding her to him. The sheer relief of being together again brought tears cascading down his face. Golde clutched at the blindfold then tore off the gag.

“Thank God you’ve come!” she sobbed. “They were going to kill me. It was terrifying.”

He held her tight and they kissed away a long and frightening absence. Then he guided her gently up the stairs. It was only when they came up into full light that she saw what he was wearing. Her sudden laugh broke the tension.

“Where did you get that?” she asked.

“From Canon Hubert.”

“He loaned it to you?”

“Cowl and donkey,” said Ralph, grinning. “Not without a lot of argument, mark you, but the disguise worked. If he can pass as a monk, then so can I.”

“He?”

“Philippe Berbizier, my love. The man we are after.”

“I think I met him.”

The memory sent a shiver through her. Golde then noticed the dead man on the ground and let out a cry.

“Is that him?” she asked.

“No, my love. My guess is that he is one of the men who kidnapped you. The other is lying through there with a lump on his head.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“By talking to Eadgyth.”

“She told you?”

“No, Golde. But when I stepped out of her room, I heard Canon Hubert speaking with Osbern in the solar. Their words were as clear as a bell. Someone on that staircase could spy on the whole house.”

“But why should they?”

“To know what steps Gervase and I were taking.”

“I do not follow, Ralph.”

“How did Berbizier know you were in that house? How did he know what my movements were? Who helped him to outwit me at every turn? Helto.”

“The doctor?”

“No wonder he called so often without need,” said Ralph. “On his last visit, he even left your wimple in the stables with a letter for me. It had to be him. Nobody else came to Osbern’s abode on a horse.”

Golde began to understand. “Is that where we are now?”

“Yes, my love. In Helto’s house.”

“I have been in King Street all this time?”

“Not five minutes from us.”

Still dazed by her ordeal, she looked slowly around.

“Then where is the doctor himself?”

She gave herself completely. Lying between her thighs, Helto plunged and writhed until his breath was laboured and the perspiration was running down his naked back. He strove on until his passion was spent, then he sagged across her with a long sigh of contentment and fatigue. The girl held him tight until he was ready to roll off her. Without a word, she put on her apparel, then knelt beside the bed. Helto reached out to touch her cheek with an off-hand affection. When she left the room, he lay there to recover and to savour.

Wearing his white robe, he came silently into the chamber. He looked down at his disciple with a dark smile.

“Was she ready for you?”

“Yes,” said Helto, still short of breath.

“And you were ready for her,” said Berbizier. “As I promised.

That is the essence of our sect, Helto. Choosing the right person, preparing her mind, opening her body to the joys of spiritual love. You have now shared in those joys.”

“I have,” agreed the other, sitting up to reach for his clothing.

“Thank you, Philippe.”

“You have earned the reward.”

“I have tried to serve you loyally.”

“Loyally and devotedly,” said Berbizier, watching him dress.

“Without you, none of this would have been possible. You have been my faithful intelligencer, working inside the city to provide everything that I need.”

“Nothing is more important to me, Philippe.”

“You found this place of safety for our temple. You helped to choose our neophytes. And-I will be eternally grateful to you for this, Helto-you carried my messages to that sweet, dear girl, Bertha.” He gave a sigh of regret. “Such a pity that she could never be initiated into our circle. Bertha was too corrupted by Christianity. So many falsehoods locked inside that beautiful head of hers. If only she had let me open her eyes to the true light.”

“Yes.” The doctor grinned to himself. “I would have enjoyed teaching Bertha the precepts of our sect.”

“No!” snapped the other. “Bertha was mine. All mine.”

“Of course,” said Helto quickly.

“Nobody else would have touched her. And now nobody else can.” He became brisk. “Was everything in order when you left the house?”

“Yes, Philippe.”

“Our little bird safely caged in the cellar?”

“They will never find her there.”

“Then we can forget her until the morning. You may spend the night here, Helto.” The doctor’s face lit up. “It is another reward for your dedication.”

“The new girl?”

“I have prepared her very carefully.”

“She is mine all night, Philippe?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes,” said Berbizier. “She is yours but both of you belong to me. Do not forget that. Come, my friend. They are waiting to begin the service. I will preach and there will be laying-on of hands. Beyond that, a long night beckons. With nobody to interrupt our spiritual pleasures.”

“Are you quite sure that he will come?” said Ralph Delchard.

“No,” admitted Gervase.

“Then what are we doing out here?”

“Obeying instinct, Ralph.”

“My instinct is to be in bed with my wife at this hour of the night. Not hiding in the bushes on Harbledown Hill. There are all kinds of animals sniffing about in the dark. Not to mention the danger of snakes!”

“It is the snakes that we are after. Those that walk on two legs. Reinbald the Priest will lead us to them.”

“If he deigns to leave the city.”

“He will,” said Gervase confidently. “He sneaked past the guards last night. Only the most urgent appointment could make him do that. I think he was going to a secret meeting of Philippe Berbizier’s sect.”

“A parish priest!”

“That is how heresy spreads, Ralph. From clergy to laity. Do not forget that Berbizier himself was once a priest. They subvert the Christian beliefs that they once embraced and taught.”

The two men had been there since nightfall. It had taken Gervase a long time to persuade Ralph to join him on the expedition. Two of Ralph’s men-at-arms had been left at the house in Burgate Street to protect Golde against any further attack and four others had been installed in Helto’s house to arrest the doctor on his return. They were standing near the spot where Alain had been when Reinbald went past on the previous night.

Evidently it was the priest’s route. Gervase believed that he took it regularly.

“Have you forgotten your trip to Faversham?” he said.

“No man could forget the termagant Juliana.”

“Was not Helto eager to be your guide?”

“Very eager. Even though he is a poor horseman.”

“And did he not disappear in Faversham?”

“Only for an hour,” said Ralph. “We found him at the church.

He said that he had been to visit the priest.”

“What if his name was Philippe Berbizier?”

Ralph pondered. “It is conceivable,” he said at length.

“That might account for his readiness to visit Faversham.

But it will not bring him out here tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Berbizier is still in the city.”

“No, Ralph.”

“He is. Golde swears that she met him. Guards are waiting in numbers at every gate. How could Berbizier possibly get out of Canterbury?”

“How could Reinbald the Priest?”

A long whistle terminated their conversation and sent them crouching in the bushes. Six of Ralph’s men-at-arms had been stationed at intervals on Harbledown Hill to keep watch for a lone figure leaving the city. The signal confirmed the approach of someone. Ralph and Gervase had to wait five minutes before the man came past. There was no doubting his identity. Reinbald the Priest was following a route he knew by heart. Descending the hill on the far side, he was so intent on reaching his destination that he never thought to look over his shoulder.

Ralph and Gervase tracked him on foot. The soldiers were not far behind, riding their own horses and leading two more by the reins. Reinbald was running now and the two friends had to break into a trot to keep him in sight. The priest suddenly veered off to the left down a narrow path between the trees. Ralph and Gervase paused. A lantern glimmered up ahead of them. Creeping nearer, they could make out the shape of a small cottage. Light showed through the cracks in the shutters. Gervase was excited by the discovery. The priest had indeed led them to Berbizier.

Revenge was uppermost in Ralph’s mind. Heresy was no concern of his. Berbizier had ordered Golde’s kidnap. That rankled even more than his other crimes. Ralph took charge with cold-eyed efficiency. Beckoning his men with a wave, he made them tether the horses, then fan out to approach the cottage in order to surround it. He and Gervase moved furtively toward the front of the building. When everyone was in position, Ralph went into action.

Tucking in his shoulder, Ralph heaved himself at the door with such force that it burst open on its hinges. He was through it at once, pulling out his sword and yelling at the top of his voice. Gervase and the others followed but they found no members of a heretical sect. Reinbald the Priest had his arms around a young woman, who was screaming in fear. The intruders gaped.

Reinbald made a nervous and shamefaced confession.

“Do not harm us, my lord. This is my wife.”

Alain sat in the porch with his back against the church door.

Unable to sleep in the cloying warmth of his hut, he had come out in search of a cooler spot to sit and to reflect. The commotion earlier in the day had been succeeded by a deep and restorative calm. Prior Henry and his congregation of monks had exorcised the church and driven out the spirit of evil. The leper hospital was at peace again.

He could never share in that peace. The loss of Bertha could not be repaired by a service conducted by the prior. Nothing could drive out the devil who was eating Alain’s flesh from the inside and gnawing at his mind. Life was pain. Memory was his only balm. Bertha would continue to gather herbs to sweeten his moments alone.

The jingle of harness made him stand up. Eight riders were coming his way. They reined in close by and one of them jumped down and walked toward the wattle huts. Recognising Gervase from his profile and gait, Alain hailed him. Gervase trotted across to the church, relieved to find that he did not have to rouse the leper from his sleep.

“We need your help, Alain,” he said.

“What could I possibly do?”

“Lead us to the orchard where you found that piece of material.

It was torn from Bertha’s apparel. I matched it to her kirtle.

Bertha was there.”

“Why?”

“Assist us and we may find out.”

“In the dark?”

“It is not the orchard that interests us,” explained Gervase,

“but the house beyond. Will you take us there?”

“I have no reason.”

“This is no casual request, Alain.”

“I would rather stay here at the hospital.”

“Bertha’s killer is in that house.”

The leper was stunned. “I’ll take you at once, Master Bret,” he volunteered. “But it is a mile or more and my pace is slow. You will have to be patient with me.”

“Ride my horse.”

“You do not mind?”

“Nor more will he, Alain,” said Gervase. “We need to get there as soon as possible. Lead the way.”

The men-at-arms backed away when they saw the leper coming and they were amazed when Gervase actually helped him up into the saddle. When they set off in single file, fear of infection kept the soldiers several yards behind their pathfinder. Ralph, too, had severe reservations about using a leper as their guide.

Gervase was seated behind Ralph on his destrier, as they moved along the path at a steady trot.

“This is another wild-goose chase,” hissed Ralph.

“Trust me, it is not,” said Gervase.

“I do not want to lead an assault on another house to find that our only prisoners are a priest and his wife.”

“Clerical marriage is forbidden. That is why Reinbald had to keep it secret. The archbishop has insisted on a celibate clergy.

If he knew the truth, he would throw poor Reinbald out of St.

Mildred’s and eject the priest who married them privily from his little church in Faversham. Besides,” said Gervase, as a branch brushed the side of his face, “the raid was not in vain. We learned much.”

“Yes,” conceded Ralph. “We learned that Reinbald has a comely wife. No wonder he risked his neck to reach her.”

“He told us of the man he saw at midnight, riding by a different way to the manor house ahead of us. Reinbald also told us who lives there.”

“Mauger. One of the archbishop’s knights.”

“The sheriff’s officers and the archbishop’s men have searched every dwelling in the area except the ones that are above suspicion. Their own. Philippe Berbizier is completely safe while he is under Mauger’s roof.”

“But how did he get there? Golde was so certain that she met him at Helto’s house. How on earth could the rogue get out of Canterbury?”

“Reinbald has given us the answer to that as well.”

“I did not hear it.”

“Who lives at the manor house?”

“Mauger. One of the archbishop’s …” Ralph caught up with Gervase’s faster mind. “Of course! Berbizier rode through the gates disguised as a soldier.”

“A man who will lend him a house will just as readily supply him with a helm and hauberk. Even Reinbald the Priest would pass unnoticed in those.”

Ralph chuckled. “I’ll wager that he’d enjoy letting that pretty wife of his help him out of them.”

Alain slowed to a halt at the edge of the orchard and they dismounted with the minimum of noise, tying their horses to low branches before setting off through the apple trees with a cautious urgency. Alain trailed after them at a more laboured pace. When the house came in sight, they could see the light through the shutters. They could also hear the horses neighing in the stables, suggesting a larger number of occupants than they had found at the cottage.

Ralph saw a problem at once. Two dogs were patrolling the courtyard, sniffing their way across its uneven surface until some sound in the darkness made them lift their heads. Unable to avoid the animals in order to reach the front door, Ralph decided to make use of them and he sent a hushed command along the line. His men spread out once more to approach from different angles.

When they were close enough, Gervase plucked an apple from the nearest tree and threw it just beyond the dogs. As it rolled across the courtyard and away from the house, they turned to race after it. Ralph and his men ran to take up their places near the front door. Gervase then flung two more apples from close range, hitting the same dog twice and making him bark loudly. As more fruit came hurtling out of the darkness at them, both dogs made such a clamorous noise that a servant came out to explore with a lantern.

One blow from Ralph knocked him senseless. He crept through the door with his men at his heels. They were in.

There were twelve of them in the circle. Philippe Berbizier stood in the centre, conducting a service with mocking echoes of the Latin Mass heard daily in every church and cathedral.

“Introibo ad altare Dei,” he chanted.

“Ad Deum qui laetificat iuventutem meam,” came the response.

“Adiutorum nostrum in nomine Domini.”

“Qui fecit caelum te terram.”

As the dialogue between celebrant and congregation continued, he walked to the young girl who had just been admitted to the circle and who was trembling with holy joy. Placing his hands on her head, Berbizier blessed her and welcomed her into the sect.

She dropped to her knees in an attitude of submission and kissed his bare feet. He looked down fondly at her and stroked her hair.

It was at this point that Ralph burst in with his men, all of them with drawn swords and clear orders. As the service broke up with screams and yells of protest, the soldiers formed a larger circle of their own to hold the group prisoner. Only Mauger himself, a stout man of middle height, tried to fight his way clear, but a swordpoint at his chest persuaded him to resume his seat.

Helto the Doctor tried to bluff his way out of the situation.

Rising to his feet, he gave Ralph an oily smile.

“This is not quite what it seems, my lord.”

“Silence!” snarled Ralph, felling him with a blow from his mailed fist. “I did not like what I found in your cellar, Helto. We will have more words about that before I have finished.”

Helto cowered on the floor and looked up in alarm at Philippe Berbizier. The Frenchman remained calm and poised. Gervase came in to take stock of the situation. He had expected to find Mauger and Helto in the circle but not the three young women, the two priests and the Benedicrtine monk. The rest of the sect was made up of lay members who, judging from the quality of their attire, were men of some substance.

Ralph Delchard was only interested in the leader. He gave a command and his men herded everyone else into a corner so that their master could confront Berbizier. Showing no fear, the Frenchman strolled to the chair at the centre of the circle and lowered himself nonchalantly into it. He smiled helpfully.

“How may we help you, my lord?”

“By standing trial for two murders,” said Ralph.

“Murders? I am a man of peace.”

“Brother Martin did not die peacefully.”

“He took his own life with poison. I watched him.”

“What about Bertha?”

“She was bitten by a snake.”

“I see him before me, trying to hide his fangs.” He looked around with disgust. “So these are your followers, are they? Was Bertha dragged into this lunacy by you?”

“We are the true Church, my lord. Do not mock.”

“Was she?” pressed Ralph.

“No,” said Berbizier sadly. “She was too wedded to the errors of the Christian Church. Even I could not turn her from that false path. We were friends only-but intimate friends. Until she followed me here one evening to spy on our service. I chased her into the orchard and tried to reason with her.”

“By throttling her to death.”

“Bertha became hysterical. She would have betrayed us.”

“You betrayed yourself.”

“I am not ashamed of anything I did, my lord,” said Berbizier, holding out both hands. “Come, tie my hands, if you wish. I am not armed, as you see. I will not resist.”

When Ralph took a step toward him, Berbizier reacted with lightning speed, snatching the chair from beneath him and hurling it into his captor’s face to send him staggering back. Gervase tried to intercept him as he raced for the door but Berbizier had pulled a dagger from his sleeve and slashed wildly at him. Rushing into the passage, he headed for the front door in the hope of escaping into the night on a horse. But someone was obstructing his exit.

“Out of my way!” roared Berbizier, brandishing his dagger.

The man in the doorway did not move. He simply lifted up the lantern which had been discarded by the fallen servant and held it close to a face which was exposed completely to view. Philippe Berbizier found himself staring into the rotting visage of a leper.

He stopped in fear.

The delay gave Ralph the chance to catch him up, grab his shoulder and spin him round. Berbizier jabbed with his dagger but Ralph caught his wrist, twisted hard and sent the weapon clattering to the ground. Dropping his sword, he dived at the Frenchman and knocked him down. It was a fierce fight. Berbizier was strong and wiry, squirming from beneath his opponent, pushing his head back with a palm under the chin, then trying to gouge his eyes. They rolled over and over in the narrow passage, watched by Gervase at one end and Alain at the other.

Berbizier struggled hard but Ralph was too powerful. He was fired by the memory of what the man had done to Golde and to his two murder victims. Punching him until his resistance waned, Ralph got a grip on his throat and squeezed hard. Gervase had to pull his friend away before he killed the man. Philippe Berbizier had to be arrested and tried so that his heresy was made public and his fate turned into an example to all.

The Serpent of Harbledown had been caught at last.