“How would you describe this doctor?”
“Helto?” Ralph inhaled deeply before giving his judgement.
“Difficult to like but just as difficult not to respect. A sound physician, certainly, and with more compassion than first meets the eye. Osbern the Reeve could not speak too highly of him.”
“An honest man?”
“Honest and straightforward.”
“Capable of dissembling?”
“On my short acquaintance, I think not. Why do you ask?”
“We came to the conclusion that Helto was lying. It may just be that his postmortem examination was careless.”
“I would doubt that.”
“It is the only way to explain his mistake, Ralph.”
“What mistake?”
“Bertha was strangled to death.”
“Who says so?”
“Brother Martin of the hospital of St. Nicholas.”
“On what evidence?”
“Let me show you some of it.”
Ralph dismounted and Gervase took him back up the hill to the clump of holly, recounting on the way how he and the old monk had first begun to question the apparent cause of the girl’s demise. Tethering his horse, Ralph pushed his way down into the hollow to take a close look for himself. Gervase slowly built up the web of detail for him.
“We have another case to judge,” commented Ralph.
“Case?”
“Monk versus doctor. Whom do you favour?”
“Brother Martin. You have heard my reasons.”
“I warrant that Helto is the truer physician.”
“Even the finest doctor can err at times.”
“If that is what he did, Gervase.”
“Rule out dishonesty and it is all that is left. Who knows?
Helto may have been too lax or perfunctory in his work. And the morgue at St. Mildred’s may be partly to blame.”
“In what way?”
“I am told it is a small chamber with no window. Perhaps the candle threw inadequate light for Helto. That was why he did not discern the bruising on the throat.”
“Brother Martin worked by the same flame.”
“True.”
“Helto’s eyes are keener than those of an old monk.”
“Instinct comes into it as well, Ralph.”
“What does yours tell you?”
“There has been foul play.”
Ralph nodded. He remembered what Helto the Doctor had said about a stone hurled into a pool. Bertha’s death had already caused violent ripples to spread. If the girl was indeed the victim of a murder, those ripples would become huge waves and they would wash through the very house where Golde and the two commissioners were staying. It would not advantage their work in Canterbury.
That was a secondary consideration in Ralph’s view. Now that the crime had been brought to light, it had to be reported and investigated. Someone needed to be called to account for what appeared to be a calculated murder.
“The sheriff must be informed, Gervase.”
“I was on my way to do exactly that when we met.”
“Let us go together,” suggested Ralph. “But when you have reported your findings, you must hand over the inquiry to the proper authority.”
“I am bound to retain a keen interest.”
“Your interest must be concentrated on the problems we were sent here to resolve. They will keep us busy for a week or more before we can quit the city. Forget the girl.”
“How can I?”
“You are not involved.”
“I must be, Ralph. He is depending on me.”
“Who is?”
“Brother Martin. He is the crucial figure here and he is ready to speak up before the sheriff and to challenge the opinion of Helto the Doctor. That will place Brother Martin under great strain. He is old and no longer as clear-minded as he would wish to be. I can support him. Encourage him. Buttress his evidence with my own observations.”
“Not while you are sitting in commission with me.”
“I will contrive to help somehow.”
“Gervase-”
“I am sorry,” interrupted the other, “but I cannot turn my back on this crime. There are things that I might learn which would be beyond the reach of the sheriffs officers.”
“Give me an instance.”
“Alain’s testimony.”
“Who is Alain?”
“The leper who found the girl. I am sure that he knows something which may provide a vital clue. I sensed it when I spoke to him. He was holding something back from me.”
“Let the sheriff shake it out of him.”
“He would not dare to go within ten yards of Alain.”
“That sounds like a wise precaution to me.”
“I could do it,” said Gervase. “If I can win Alain’s confidence, I am sure I can draw the truth out of him.”
“And what is happening to affairs of state while you are running off to Harbledown to befriend lepers?”
“You will not find me shirking my duties.”
Ralph held him by the shoulders. “The girl is not your problem, Gervase. Let her go. You did not even know Bertha.”
“I feel as if I have got very close to her in the last few hours.
For someone so young and innocent, she had a profound effect on others. Brother Martin talked at length about her and I saw for myself what she meant to the lepers at the hospital. They looked upon her as a kind of saint.”
“You must speak to Helto the Doctor.”
“Why?”
“He examined the girl’s body at the morgue.”
“And?”
“In one respect, Bertha fell short of sainthood.”
Osbern the Reeve was too responsible a man to allow any domestic problems to interfere with his official duties. Everything was in readiness for the commissioners on the following morning.
The shire hall had been cleaned, a table and four chairs had been set out, and benches had been put in position for the various disputants and witnesses who would come forward. Mindful of the wearying length to which such deliberations could go, Osbern had even organised some interim refreshments for the visitors.
While the reeve was absent, Golde took over the care of his wife.
The sleeping draught had allowed Eadgyth to pass the night in restorative slumber and she awoke in a far less agitated mood.
Rumours of an inquiry into the alleged murder of Bertha were buzzing around the city but Eadgyth was protected from them at this stage, allowing her to mourn the death of a dear friend without the terrifying knowledge of how that death might have been brought about.
The shire hall was a long, shapeless, timber-framed building with low beams and undulating flagstones worn smooth by the regular passage of feet. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were the first to arrive, the former pleased to see everything conspicuously in order and the latter weighed down by a leather satchel stuffed with documents, rolls of fresh parchment and writing materials.
Ralph Delchard arrived with his men-at-arms, six of whom were left outside as sentries while their fellows took up their station inside the shire hall. Gervase Bret followed them in, carrying his own large satchel of letters and documents. As leader of the commission, Ralph took the chair at the centre of the table with Gervase and Hubert on either side of him. Simon was at a right angle to them, perched at the end of the table so that he could watch them to receive direction while at the same time keeping an eye on those who occupied the benches.
“Are we all ready?” asked Ralph, glancing around and collecting general assent. “Good. We have all studied the material relating to the first dispute. Let us begin.”
Ralph gave a signal and three figures were soon being conducted into the room. Prior Henry was accompanied by two monks who walked deferentially behind him. Their entry coincided with the strident clang of the cathedral bell as it announced Tierce.
“I am glad to see that you are punctual,” said Henry.
“We are punctual and punctilious,” warned Ralph.
“I would expect no less, my lord. I am Prior Henry and I speak for Archbishop Lanfranc. May I know whom I face?”
Ralph introduced himself and his colleagues. The prior’s eyes appraised them each in turn, showing no flicker of recognition when they rested on Canon Hubert. Lowering himself on to the front bench, Prior Henry held out a bony hand. One of the monks handed him a sheaf of letters from his satchel, then sat, with his colleague, on the bench behind the prior. Their role was purely supportive.