“He does not exist!”
“Ask your wife.”
“There is no point, my lord.”
“It may be the one way to solve this murder. Yes, I know,” he said quickly, stilling Osbern’s protest with a raised hand. “You do not accept that any murder took place. But we do. A healthy girl like Bertha does not succumb to a snakebite so quickly and in such an unlikely place. Someone strangled her. The trail is cold, Osbern. The only person who may be able to help us here, to give us a name or, at the very least, to confirm that there was a secret lover in Bertha’s life, is your own dear Eadgyth. Please talk to her.”
“You are asking too much, my lord.”
“I am asking on Bertha’s behalf.”
“There was no man in her life.”
“Will you not even consider the possibility?”
“No, my lord,” said Osbern resolutely. “We knew Bertha. More to the point, we know Alwin the Sailor. He is the best guarantee here. No man in his right mind would have pressed himself upon the girl.”
“Why not?”
“Alwin would have killed him.”
Encircled by forest, field and marsh, Fordwich stood at the mouth of the river estuary. The village comprised over seventy houses and a scattered collection of barns, byres and outbuildings. A small church served its spiritual needs and a natural supply of clear spring water contributed to the physical health of the inhabitants. Fordwich gained its status as a borough from its importance as a harbour for seagoing traffic, and the activity around its quays brought in a steady profit from the tolls on goods landed there. Boats and barges, with a relatively shallow draught, came and went every day. Sailors always loitered near its timbered wharves.
When Alwin reached Fordwich, he spoke to everyone he found around the little harbour, interrogating each one in turn with an almost manic urgency.
“Can you be certain of this?” he pressed.
“Quite certain, Alwin.”
“Think hard.”
“I have done so.”
“I must find him!”
“Then you must look elsewhere,” said the sailor. “I cannot help you. I have not caught sight of him for months.”
“Nor heard mention of the man?”
“Not a word.”
“If you do hear news of him, bring it to me at once.”
“Why?”
“Just bring it!” insisted Alwin, grabbing him by the shoulders.
“I have reasons enough, believe me.”
He released the sailor and looked eagerly around but he could see nobody whom he had not already questioned. After passing on his gruff thanks, he walked along the quay to the point where his own boat lay moored and jumped down into it, causing it to tilt and ride in the dark water.
Standing beside the tiller, he gazed around his vessel. Its sail was furled and tied with ropes, its mast sculpted by the wind, its deck pitted and whitened by the endless supplies of Caen stone he had transported. But his mind was on another part of his cargo and the memory of it turned his blood to liquid fire. Snatching at the dagger which hung at his waist, Alwin lifted it high and brought it down with such vicious force that it sank inches into the bulwark.
The return of Gervase Bret brought more sorrow and consternation to the house and disturbed its fragile peace. Coming so soon after one tragedy, Brother Martin’s death was a shock to all.
Gervase described his audience with Prior Henry and said how impressed he had been with the prompt and loving way in which the old monk had been received back into the enclave.
Osbern was particularly affected by the news but not simply because he had known and admired Brother Martin. The reeve was in a tender frame of mind. His talk with Ralph Delchard had unsettled him at a deep level. He could not believe that his wife had held something back from him, yet he sensed that his guest would not have broached the topic by accident. Ralph obviously knew something and could only have gained such intelligence from Golde. Had Eadgyth concealed a vital piece of information from her husband which she then divulged to a complete stranger?
When he excused himself from the room, Osbern was patently ruffled. Gervase was left alone in the solar with Ralph and Golde.
“What has been happening while I was away?” he inquired.
“Nothing of consequence,” said Ralph. “Golde has been running the household with a firm but gentle hand while I have been talking to Osbern.”
“What did you say to him?” asked Golde. “When I came in, he seemed a trifle disturbed. I hope that you have not been upsetting our generous host.”
“Would I do such a thing, my love?”
“Not by intention.”
“I merely fished for some information about Bertha.”
“What did you learn?” said Gervase.
“A great deal.”
He told them about the girl’s relationship with her father and about the way he had resisted her compelling desire to help Brother Martin at the leper hospital of St. Nicholas. Golde was struck by her strength of purpose.
“At her age,” she admitted, “I would not have resisted my father’s wishes so boldly.”
Ralph winked at her. “I hope you will not resist the wishes of your husband, either.”
“Bertha was a most unusual daughter.”
Before they could speculate further, there was a knock on the door. A few moments later, a servant conducted a visitor into the solar. It was one of the monks who had accompanied Prior Henry during his confrontation with the commissioners. He was panting slightly and perspiration glistened on his brow.
“I have a message for Master Bret,” he said.
“An urgent one, by the look of it,” noted Ralph.
“Prior Henry ordered me to make all speed.”
“What is the message?” asked Gervase.
“You are to return to the priory as soon as you may.”
“Why?”
“I do not know, Master Bret. I simply convey the instruction.”
“It comes from Prior Henry?”
“From his own mouth. Not five minutes ago.”
Gervase was puzzled. He looked inquiringly at Ralph. After a silent discussion, each came to the same conclusion.
“It is the only explanation,” decided Gervase.
“I will come with you,” said Ralph. “Let us go.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Expecting only one visitor, Prior Henry was at first disconcerted when two were ushered into his lodging. He found Gervase Bret a more sensitive and congenial person than Ralph Delchard, whose abrasiveness he had already glimpsed at the shire hall and whose lack of respect for the cowl was very disagreeable. Henry quickly adjusted to the surprise. The news he had to impart would in any case have found its way immediately to the leading commissioner. Ralph Delchard might just as well hear it at first hand.
“Thank you for coming so promptly,” began the prior.
“Celerity was needed,” said Gervase. “You would only have summoned me on a matter of grave importance. We guessed that it must concern Brother Martin.”
“It does. Brother Ambrose, too.”
“Brother Ambrose?”
“He is our physician here at the priory. He cures our ailments, calms our fevers and sets the occasional bone which gets broken within the enclave.” He gritted his teeth. “Brother Ambrose is also responsible for laying out our dead. He is a man of unrivalled experience in this task. It was into his care that we placed Brother Martin.”
“What did he find?” said Ralph.
“I must first ask that of Master Bret, my lord.” He turned to Gervase with a raised eyebrow. “When you examined him at the hospital of St. Nicholas, you found nothing to arouse suspicion?”
“Nothing at all, Prior Henry.”
“How closely did you look?”
“With some care. There were no marks upon him.”
“They might not have been immediately visible.”
“What should I have seen?”
“It is more a question of what you should have smelt,” said Prior Henry. “Did you detect no strange odour?”