Gervase replaced the candle, then knelt before the altar to offer up a prayer for the soul of Brother Martin. When he turned around again, he saw a tall, stooping figure in the doorway. Alain shuffled forward to gaze down through his veil at Brother Martin.
When he looked at Gervase with a questioning gesture, the latter gave a solemn nod. The leper lowered his head despondently.
“How long had he been in here?” asked Gervase.
“An hour. Maybe more.”
“Alone?”
“I think so.”
“Nobody else came or went?”
“Nobody,” said Alain firmly.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Brother Martin came to my hut. He makes an ointment with gives some small relief from the pain, and he brought some to apply. When he left, I came out to the place where you found me.”
“And Brother Martin?”
“He went into the church and has been here ever since.”
“How did he seem?”
“Deeply troubled.”
“Was he short of breath?”
“No more than usual.”
“Did he mention a pain in his chest?” Alain shook his head.
“Was he moving with difficulty? Was there anything you noticed about him that might suggest great strain?”
“Nothing.”
Gervase glanced at the body. “The others must be told. It is a sad time. First you lose Bertha; now, Brother Martin himself. It will be hard news to break.”
Alain seemed to be wrestling with some inner problem.
“That task will be mine,” he said at length.
“Thank you. Help must be fetched at once. Brother Martin’s death must be reported so that his body can be conveyed to the priory. Someone will be sent to take charge of the hospital in his stead. Can the door be locked?”
“The key is in his scrip.”
“Good,” said Gervase. “It is important that the body is not disturbed in any way while I am gone. Brother Martin seems to have died peaceably enough but I am no physician and sharper eyes might note clues that I have missed.”
“Clues?”
“Pointing to foul play.”
“No,” said Alain. “There is no question of that, surely? Brother Martin did not have an enemy in the world.”
“Neither did Bertha.”
The leper winced at the reminder. Gervase bent down to search for the key in the monk’s scrip. When he stood up again, he saw that Alain had gone to start his melancholy peregrination. Gervase locked the church door from outside, then collected his horse.
He was soon cantering away from the hospital of St. Nicholas.
As he came over the brow of the hill and began the downward ride, his mind was still bursting with the simple horror of this latest tragedy. The implications for the lepers themselves were highly distressing. Gervase was grateful that it was Alain who had taken it upon himself to spread the grisly tidings.
Eager to reach the city, he paid scant attention to the people he passed on the way and he did not even notice the young man who stepped smartly into the bushes at his approach. When the hooves had thundered past, the man came out of hiding and looked nervously after Gervase.
Reinbald the Priest continued his furtive journey.
Prior Henry responded with speed and compassion. As soon as the news reached him, he dispatched four monks to Harbledown with a horse and cart to bring back the body at a reverential pace.
The quartet was accompanied by two more brethren, selected with care and charged with the task of looking after the hospital and comforting the lepers through this second unexpected bereavement.
Brother Martin was known and loved throughout the whole monastic community. Though he spent most of his time at his chosen vocation in the leper hospital, he made regular visits to the priory and took part, whenever he could, in its daily services.
Since taking the cowl, Brother Martin had spent the whole of his long life in Canterbury and his conduct had been wholly free from the excesses and liberalities which had tainted some of his weaker brethren in earlier years. Prior Henry had recognised and rewarded his steadfastness.
“He was the epitome of Christian virtue,” he said with a wan smile. “Brother Martin was all that a true member of the Benedictine Order should be.”
“It was a privilege to meet him, albeit briefly.”
“His charitable work will stand as his monument. This has touched me more than I can say. I would lament the death of any of my obedientaries but the loss of Brother Martin occasions a particular regret.” He looked up at his guest. “I am most grateful to you for your prompt assistance.”
“It was the least I could do, Prior Henry.”
“Your visit to Harbledown was opportune. Had you not ridden to the hospital to see Brother Martin, he might have lain for several hours in the church. He would then have been found by one of the poor wretches whom he nursed and that would have thrown the hospital into further turmoil. God save them! They will miss him desperately, Master Bret, but at least they were spared the gruesome shock of discovery.”
Gervase was at once surprised and wary at being summoned to the prior’s lodging. When he reported the death to the porter at the gate, he expected to be thanked for his help and sent politely on his way. Instead, he was given an immediate audience with Prior Henry himself and questioned at length about the circumstances in which he came upon the dead body and the precise state in which he found it. In view of their tussle in the shire hall, Gervase entered the room with caution, hoping that the prior would not use this chance encounter as a means to exert some subtle influence to advance his cause but the latter did not even refer to the property dispute with the abbey.
“What will happen to him now?” asked Gervase.
“The body will be washed and examined. Then it will lie in the chapel until the time of the funeral. Brother Martin went out to do his good works but we now welcome him back into the enclave.
He will be buried in our own little cemetery in the presence of the whole community.”
“Will the ceremony be private?”
“Strictly so.”
“I would like to attend it.”
“That is not feasible, Master Bret. We bury our own here and do so in our own way. I will conduct the service and Archbishop Lanfranc will assuredly preach a sermon.”
“That would make Brother Martin feel proud.”
“He made us feel proud to have him here.” Henry stood up and walked around his desk toward Gervase. “But your kind request is appreciated. The funeral may be closed to you but you may wish to take part in a memorial service for the deceased. It will be held in due course at the hospital of St. Nicholas.”
“I will be there,” promised Gervase.
“That pleases me.”
With a reflective smile, he ushered his visitor out.
Helto the Doctor called briefly at the house that evening to check once more on Eadgyth’s condition. He pronounced himself fairly satisfied with her progress. She was much calmer, more easily distracted from her brooding and less prone to sudden outbursts of uncontrollable weeping. Golde’s presence was clearly beneficial. She was a patient and resourceful nurse. Helto left another sleeping draught for Eadgyth to ensure a restful night for her and a quiet one for the remainder of the household.
His valedictory words were addressed to her husband.
“She will be markedly better in the morning.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” said Osbern.
“Keep her in for two or three more days.”
“As long as that?”
“Until this arrant nonsense blows over.”
“Nonsense?”
“Yes, Osbern,” said the doctor testily. “This alleged murder of Bertha. It never occurred. When the sheriff fails to find any trace of a culprit, he will realise the folly of this exercise and abandon it. Why alarm your wife with this wild tale? It will only plunge her into worse melancholy.”