Nobody disputed our holding until now. Until Archbishop Lanfranc turned on us in a fit of pique.”
“Because you resist his choice of abbot?” said Ralph.
“Chiefly for that reason.”
“Are holy relics also a factor here?” said Gervase. “I spoke with Reinbald the Priest on that matter. He tells me that the archbishop found the bones of St. Mildred.”
“The abbey houses the true relics,” asserted the prior. “Some were sent abroad but we retain the better part of them. But you are right, Master Bret. It is another source of friction between cathedral and abbey. There are more besides and all help to ignite the archbishop’s enmity.”
Canon Hubert erupted. “I cannot let these aspersions go unchallenged,” he said. “Archbishop Lanfranc is too noble a man to allow any pettiness to creep into his dealings. You say that Abbot Scotland reclaimed that land for you?”
“He did,” consented the prior.
“On whose advice?”
“Archbishop Lanfranc’s.”
“And who brought the good abbot from Mont St. Michel?”
“Archbishop Lanfranc.”
“Who consecrated him?”
“Archbishop Lanfranc.”
“Who directed him to rebuild the abbey and restore the full rigour of the Benedictine Rule within it?”
“Archbishop Lanfranc.”
“And who worked so closely and effectively over the years with Abbot Scotland?”
“The answer is the same, Canon Hubert.”
“But the person is not,” retorted the other. “I have just talked about one Archbishop Lanfranc but you have told us about something completely different. Are there two?”
“Why not?” said Ralph mischievously. “We have two matching skeletons of St. Mildred here. Why not a pair of identical archbishops?”
“Canon Hubert raises a valid point,” said Gervase. “If a man is to be judged by his deeds, then the archbishop must be venerated for his great vision and holy endeavour. He has been an exemplary primate of the English Church. It is difficult to believe him capable of vengeful behaviour.”
“We are all subject to human frailty,” said the prior.
Hubert still chafed. “The archbishop must be absolved of acting out of pique.”
“What else would make him lay claim to that land?”
“A legitimate right.”
“We have brought the abbey’s charters with us.”
“Prior Henry will contest their validity.”
“Let him do so.”
“It will be a bloody battle,” warned Ralph.
“We are ready, my lord,” said Prior Gregory with a note of fierce pride. “The abbey has been bullied and intimidated by the cathedral. On many issues, we have been forced to yield. Not on this one.” He snatched up the map and held it high. “We will not cede one square inch of our land. The archbishop has chosen this fight, not the abbey. Let him come on. We will give no quarter.”
Alwin the Sailor was so stunned by the death of his daughter that he did not stir out of his house. A sleeping draught prescribed by Helto the Doctor had given him rest but it did not ease the agony of loss. When he awoke, the searing pain was still embedded in him like a knife in his chest. A neighbour called to offer help and comfort but he waved her away. When a second knock came on his door, Alwin did not even answer it. Head in hands, he sat on a wooden stool and brooded on the misery of his future.
The visitor eventually let himself into the house.
“How are you, my son?” asked Brother Martin softly.
“Go away,” murmured the other.
“I wanted to see how you are. Did you manage to sleep last night? Have you eaten today? Is someone looking after you?”
“I want to be left alone.”
“I know, Alwin,” said the priest, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“And I promise that I will not stay long. But I felt that it was my duty to come. I am sure that you would rather hear it from me than from one of the sheriff’s officers. They would be more blunt with the tidings.”
Alwin looked up. “What tidings?”
“Something I can hardly bring myself to tell you. But it is your right as her father to know it.”
“Something to do with Bertha?”
“I fear so.”
“What? Tell me, Brother Martin.”
“It is grim news. Prepare yourself.”
“Why?”
“You will soon see.” He took a deep breath but the words would not come. He shook his head in despair. “God help me! I do not like this office. Truly, I do not. I feel as if I am hitting a man who has already had blows enough.”
“What do you mean?” said Alwin, rising to his feet in concern.
“If you have any news about Bertha, I must know it instantly.
She was my daughter. Tell me, man!”
“Be brave, Alwin.”
“Tell me!”
He grabbed the old monk and shook him hard but stopped when he saw the tears forming in his eyes. Brother Martin was suffering enough on his own account. It had clearly cost him an enormous effort to come to the house. His whole body was limp with despair.
“I must know!” pleaded Alwin with quiet intensity.
“Bertha was murdered.”
The father reeled. “Murdered? No, this cannot be.”
“She was strangled to death.”
“Bertha was bitten by a poisonous snake. You were there when we found here. We all saw the marks upon her neck.”
“We were meant to, Alwin.”
“I do not understand.”
Brother Martin relayed the evidence as gently and as concisely as he could. He explained that Helto the Doctor held a contrary opinion but the monk himself had no whisper of doubt. The sheriff had set an investigation in motion.
“They will need to speak to you,” cautioned Martin. “I begged them to let me see you first.” He heaved a deep sigh. “A lovable creature like Bertha. A girl with no enemies. Who could possibly have wanted to kill her?”
Alwin said nothing. As the horror slowly faded, it was replaced by a lust for vengeance which made his whole body shake. He let out a roar of anger. When Brother Martin tried to calm him, he was pushed roughly away. Alwin snatched up the dagger which lay on the table.
“I want him!” he snarled. “He is mine!”
“Did she not at least give you his name?” asked Ralph.
“No,” said Golde. “She would tell me nothing more.”
“You pressed her on the matter, surely?”
“I did not feel that I could, Ralph. She is still not well. Eadgyth was distressed enough that she had confided as much as she did. She has been racked with guilt ever since. Bertha made her promise to tell nobody.”
“I can understand why,” said Ralph. “Everyone thought that Bertha was a fount of innocence and she was careful to preserve that image. It would have cracked in two had people realised the girl had a lover.”
“ ‘A friend.’ That is what Eadgyth called him.”
“Friends are not kept hidden.”
“A lover? Bertha?”
“Is that not what every young girl dreams of, Golde?”
“Dreams, perhaps. But rarely more than that.”
“Bertha was luckier than most, then.”
“We do not know that.”
“I think we do,” said Ralph to himself.
They were alone in the solar of Osbern the Reeve’s house.
Ralph had just returned from a long and testing day in the shire hall and Golde was delighted to see him again. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the lips. He responded warmly.
“That was worth every minute of the boredom I have endured today,” he said, holding her by the hands to look at her. “No, that is unfair,” he corrected. “There were some lively moments, even some amusing ones.”
“Have you been mocking Canon Hubert again?”
“He deserves mockery. So does Brother Simon.”
“Spare him, at least,” said Golde. “Canon Hubert can strike back but Brother Simon has no defence against you. He is such a gentle, harmless, virtuous creature. I like him.”
“Do not tell him that or we will never get him out of the priory.
You terrify him, Golde. All women do.”
“Why?”