Baldwin let both arms fall to the table, and shook with laughter. “No, Jeanne! That’s not it!”
It was Simon who explained, while the knight chortled. “You see, this odious knight of yours has travelled widely. He has been to the Holy Land, and while he was there, he saw many lepers. But there are different kinds of skin disease.”
“There are two forms of leprosy,” said Baldwin. “Morphea alba and morphea nigra. It is hard to tell them apart, but if you prick the skin with a needle-”
“Baldwin!” Margaret wailed, pushing her trencher from her.
He gave her a grin of apology. “Let it be said, then, that there is an easy enough test, but morphea alba is curable. It is not the true leprosy, for that would kill even a strong man in less than eight years, and we all know what an old leper looks like. Yet this man told me that he had carried his disease for over nine years already. It struck me that his illness couldn’t be the black morphew.”
Jeanne stared. “You mean all the time the poor fellow has been living in leper camps he has been free of the disease?”
“Exactly. He is no more a leper than I am. And soon I think I should be able to have him declared clean by the Dean. As soon as that happens, he’ll be free to take up his life again. And so will Cecily.”
“So the murderer is arrested, the leper will be cured, and all ends well,” said Jeanne.
“Apart from poor Quivil,” said Margaret. “He went to his death thinking he had murdered a man-in fact, it was probably why he allowed himself to be killed. If he had felt innocent, surely he would have defended himself.”
Baldwin eyed her thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he said. “But then, how can we tell? It was undoubtedly a better death for him than the slow and lingering one fate was holding for him, and for that I am sure he was grateful. Especially since he died without defending himself, just as Christ taught. That must be some solace to his soul.”
They had all but finished their meal, and Edgar now released the mastiff. Uther bounded in joyfully, running pell-mell for his master, and sat at his feet panting, a long dribble of saliva hanging from one jowl.
“And you helped us get to the truth, Chops,” said Simon.
Baldwin stroked the broad head, ruffling the short fur. Uther panted up at him, mouth gaping in a broad smile. Then he twitched round, his great paw lifted, and he scratched at his ear. Baldwin watched, paralyzed with horror as the long stream of dribble rose, curved, performed a short, sinuous dance, and finally flicked off, climbing upward before the knight’s face, seeming to get ever closer.
Edgar, out in the buttery with Hugh, was sitting on a barrel and chatting when they heard the roar. He half-rose, then shrugged and sat back again.
“What was that?” asked the mystified Hugh.
“From the sound,” said Edgar, taking a reflective pull of his ale, “I think my master is debating whether to ask Emma to stay.” About the Author