‘Let me ask you once more,’ he said. ‘Did you commit murder?’
‘No.’
‘Did you attack Martin Reynard?’
‘No, no, I swear it.’
‘Did you have an argument with him?’
Boio’s mouth opened to issue a denial but the words did not leave his lips. He seemed to be struggling with a dim memory.
He put a hand to his forehead as if to aid the process.
‘I think that I did,’ he said eventually.
‘You only think?’
‘It is what they say about me. It may be true.’
‘They also say that you murdered a man. Might that not also be true?’
‘No!’ said the other hotly. ‘I may forget some things but I would not forget that. I did not like Martin Reynard. He was unkind to me and to … But I did not murder him. Why should I?’
‘You tell me, Boio.’
‘I would never do that.’
‘Not even when someone made you angry?’
‘No, Brother Benedict.’
‘So people do make you angry sometimes?’
A long pause. ‘Sometimes.’
‘And what do you do?’
‘I turn away from them.’
‘Does the anger go away?’
‘Usually.’
‘But not always?’ Boio shook his head. ‘What do you do then?
When the anger does not go away, what do you do then?’
‘I walk in the forest, Brother Benedict.’
‘Alone?’
‘It is peaceful in the forest.’
‘Have you ever met Martin Reynard there?’
‘No.’
‘Someone says that you have.’
‘He is wrong.’
‘You were seen in the forest near the place where he was killed.’
‘That cannot be.’
‘The man has given a sworn statement.’
‘I was not there.’
‘It was shortly after dawn.’
‘I was not there. I told Father Ansgot. I was in my forge that morning. With the donkey. I had to shoe the donkey for the stranger.’
‘What stranger?’
‘He did not tell me his name.’
‘And he was riding a donkey?’
‘A miserable beast, no more than skin and bone.’
‘What did the man look like?’
Boio screwed his face up in pain. ‘I cannot remember.’
‘Your life may depend on it.’
‘I know, Brother Benedict. I have tried and tried.’
‘Try once again. For me. Will you?’ Boio nodded and the monk patted him encouragingly on the arm. ‘Was the man old or young?’
‘Old, I think.’
‘Did he dress well?’
‘His cloak was tattered.’
‘Yet he could afford to have his donkey shoed.’
‘He had no money.’
‘Then how were you paid?’
Boio consulted his memory again and there was another delay.
‘He gave me a bottle,’ he said at last.
‘A bottle? What was in it?’
‘Medicine. That was it, Brother Benedict. He had no money so he gave me the medicine instead. He said it would cure aches and pains.’
‘Was he some kind of doctor?’
Boio shrugged. ‘That is all I can tell you.’
‘Which way did he ride? Do you remember that?’
‘No.’
‘Did anyone else see this man at your forge?’
‘No, Brother Benedict.’
‘But he was there.’
‘Yes. With his donkey.’
‘And he can vouch for you? He can confirm that you were at your forge when this other witness claims you were in the forest?’
‘Yes,’ said Boio with excitement. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
‘Did you tell this to the lord Henry?’
The blacksmith’s face crumpled. ‘He did not believe me.’
‘But it is the truth?’
‘It is.’
‘This is not some story you invented?’ said Benedict, watching him through narrowed lids. ‘Come now, Boio. Be frank with me. If a man really did call at your forge that morning, I think you might remember a little more about him than you have. What did he say? What sort of voice did he have? Where had he come from?
How did he treat his animal? What was his trade? What kind of man was this stranger?’ His tone sharpened into accusation.
‘You cannot tell me, can you?’
‘No, Brother Benedict.’
‘Because there was no stranger.’
‘There was, there was.’
‘Only in your imagination.’
‘His donkey had cast a shoe.’
‘I think you went into the forest that morning.’
‘I was in my forge with the stranger.’
‘You met Martin Reynard and you came to blows.’
‘No, no!’
‘Is that how it started? With a fight? Then you got carried away and did not realise your own strength until it was too late and Martin was dead. So you hurried back to the forge and made up this tale about the stranger with the donkey.’
‘He came to my forge, Brother Benedict! I swear it.’
‘Then why has he disappeared into thin air?’
‘He came, he came.’
‘Do you want to burn in hell?’
‘No!’ howled the other and burst into tears. ‘Please — no!’
Brother Benedict put both arms around him and rocked him like a mother nursing a baby. The sobbing slowly abated and Boio wiped the tears from his eyes. He sat up and put his face close to the monk.
‘I am no murderer,’ he said gently. ‘That is God’s own truth.’
‘I know, my son. But I had to make sure.’
‘What else did the lady Marguerite say?’ demanded Ralph angrily.
‘Much more in the same vein.’
‘She is a viper!’
‘I have met nicer human beings, certainly,’ said Golde.
‘And she had the gall to pour scorn on you?’
‘Until I decided to strike back. The lady Marguerite soon curbed her arrogance then. I kept my calm as long as I could but no woman is going to crow over me like that with impunity. She is like so many of her kind: willing to wound but unable to face the prospect of retaliation.’
‘What did the lady Adela do throughout it all?’
‘Keep her composure.’
‘Was she not as offended as you?’
‘I think she was, Ralph, but she took care not to show it. Though there was a merry twinkle in her eye when I finally routed my attacker.’
Ralph chuckled. ‘I wish I had been there to see it!’
‘It could only have happened with you absent.’
‘Why is that, my love?’
‘Because you were the main target of her attack.’
‘Me?’
‘I fear so.’
When she recounted some of the things which had been said or implied about him, Ralph’s fury surged again and he paced their chamber restlessly, pounding a fist into the palm of one hand and muttering expletives under his breath. The idea that his wife had been shown such disrespect was galling enough but the comments about him were quite intolerable. He was all for tearing off to find the culprit so that he could confront her. Golde counselled tolerance.
‘Calm down, Ralph,’ she said. ‘If I had known that it would rouse you to this pitch, I would not have told you.’
‘I will not have my wife insulted.’ Ralph was scarlet with indignation.
‘Let me fight my own battles. I usually win in the end.’
‘That is true,’ he conceded with a wry grin. ‘But did that malevolent hag really say those things about me?’
‘Malevolent she may be, but no hag. The lady Marguerite is one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen and I suspect that you would own as much if you were not so annoyed at her.’
‘She is very beautiful, Golde. I admit it.’
‘Any man would be attracted to her.’
‘At first, perhaps, until her true character came to light. The lady Marguerite may be beautiful on the outside but she is ugliness itself on the inside.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘I almost envied the lord Philippe when I first clapped eyes on her but I pity the fellow now.’
‘They are two of a pair, Ralph.’
‘Yes, you may be right.’
‘Drawn together by their mutual desire.’
‘Why, so were we, my love. Have you so soon forgot?’