She is a decent, honest, God-fearing person. I only wish that all members of my congregation were so.”
“How is she now?”
“Becalmed by my visit and that is very heartening.”
“Your words were a much-needed balm.”
“I said little,” explained Reinbald. “It was Eadgyth herself who did most of the talking. She wanted to tell me about her youth in Worthgate Ward and I encouraged her reminiscences. Anything which touches on St. Mildred’s is of great interest to me and I was moved to see how steadying an influence my church has had on Eadgyth’s life.”
“And on Bertha’s, presumably.”
“Yes, my lady. Until this last few months.”
“Oh?”
“Her attendance was not as regular as it had been.”
“Did you not tax her about that?”
“Eventually, my lady.”
“Eventually?”
“I do not stand at the porch to count my parishioners in. That office I leave to my churchwarden. It was one of them who first called Bertha to account.”
“Did she explain her absences?”
“Yes,” said Reinbald. “She told him that she was spending more time at the leper hospital and taking part in services there. I had no complaint about that. Evensong led by Brother Martin at St.
Nicholas is every bit as valid as my own service at St. Mildred’s.
I thought no more of the matter until I chanced to meet Brother Martin himself.”
“Had Bertha lied?”
“I fear so, my lady. When I teased Brother Martin about stealing one of my parishioners, he took it in good part. But he also denied that she was spending quite as much time at Harbledown as she claimed.”
“It was then you taxed her?”
“Sternly.”
“What did she say?”
“She promised to mend her ways.”
“No explanation of where she had been when she was neither at St. Mildred’s nor at the hospital?”
“None, my lady. Just an urgent plea.”
“Not to tell her father,” she guessed.
“Yes,” he said. “I acceded to her request on condition that we saw her in St. Mildred’s more often. And I held a warning over her head. If she strayed from us again, I would tell her father all.
Fear is a powerful weapon. It worked on Bertha. Alwin never knew the truth about her absences.” A haunted look came into his face. “In the light of what has occurred since, I think I was wrong to deceive him.”
“You spared her certain punishment at his hands.”
“But helped to forfeit her young life.”
“No, Father Reinbald!”
“Had her father known the truth, his vigilance would have been increased, Bertha would never have been allowed the licence to climb up Harbledown Hill to the hospital whenever she chose.
She would still be alive, my lady.”
“You cannot be sure of that,” said Golde.
“It gnaws at my conscience.”
“You did what you felt was best at the time.”
“Yes,” he said dolefully. “I knew how Alwin would react and I did not want to introduce any more discord into a house that has had more than enough.” He opened the front door, then turned back. “Family is the most blessed thing. But it can sometimes be a curse. Look how this little family here has been blighted. Eadgyth sick, Osbern anxious and their dear child without their mutual love to enfold it.”
“The baby has not been neglected.”
“I know. You have been mother and father to him these past couple of days. But it is not the same, my lady.”
“I accept that,” said Golde. “My role is temporary. Eadgyth improves. With your help and that of Helto the Doctor, she will recover completely and this family will soon knit back together again.”
“I earnestly hope so, my lady. We will do all we can. But there is one thing that a priest and a doctor can never do.”
“What is that?”
“Find Bertha’s killer,” he said. “Until that is done, Eadgyth will never fully recover and this family will suffer more woe.”
Gervase Bret responded to the summons immediately. When the message came from Canon Hubert, he hurried to the priory and was admitted by the porter. The still trembling Hubert and the ghostly Brother Simon were waiting for him inside the gate. They conducted him to the garden and sought out a quiet corner where they might pass on their frightful tidings. Hubert had already confided in his companion and it had made Brother Simon wish that he never had to stir outside the safety of the enclave again.
“What is the problem, Canon Hubert?” asked Gervase.
“Greater even than we feared.”
“In what way?”
Hubert took a deep breath. “I had an audience with Archbishop Lanfranc himself,” he said, managing to combine a fulsome boast, a reverential whisper and a statement of fact into one short sentence. “Prior Henry was also present. Our discussion was long and intense.”
“Did it concern our visit to Harbledown?”
“It did, Gervase. My instinct was sound.”
“As ever, Canon Hubert,” praised Brother Simon.
“We are dealing with heresy!”
“Is that what the archbishop confirmed?”
“He did more than that,” said Hubert. “He gave me details of this man’s immoral, criminal and profane history.”
“This man?”
“Philippe Berbizier.”
“Who is he?”
“An ogre who corrupts minds and hearts.”
“A devil incarnate,” added Simon.
“He formed a sect in Orleans and led them in rites which were almost satanic. And now, Archbishop Lanfranc fears, this creature is searching for converts here.”
“At the heart of the Christian Church?”
“Where better to strike?” replied Hubert, rolling his eyes. “Do you see the boldness of the villain?”
Simon shivered. “Nothing is sacred to him!”
“At the hospital of St. Nicholas, you will only see leprosy of the body. A disease which attacks from outside. Philippe Berbizier is far more insidious. He works from within. He infects his converts with a leprosy of the soul.”
“How?” asked Gervase. “Be more specific, please. You call him a heretic without first defining his heresy. What sect did he form in Orleans? Who were they?”
“Gnostics!” boomed Hubert.
“Pagans!” bleated Simon.
“That is not so,” said Gervase. “Correct me if I am wrong, but is not Gnosticism a crude mix of Paganism and Christianity?
They do not deny the existence of Jesus Christ. They teach that he was a mere mortal and not the Son of God.”
“Blasphemy!” said Simon with his hands over his ears.
“Gnostics are the caterpillars of Christianity,” Gervase said, borrowing a phrase from Lanfranc. “They eat their way through it and leave only the remnants behind. If we do not stamp them out, they will crawl over all of us.”
Gervase let him find his way through the extended metaphor and rid himself of more vituperation against the sect. He then pressed for details.
“What exactly did Philippe Berbizier preach in Orleans?”
“That divine truth is only revealed to the select few,” said the scowling Hubert. “Berbizier claimed to be one of that elite. He argued that neophytes could only attain illumination through him, leaving the darkness and opening their eyes to the light of the true faith.”
“That is Christianity!” affirmed Simon.
“Gnosticism is a perversion of it, shot through with Paganism and mixed with other heathen elements. Philippe Berbizier, it seems, adopted the view of the Docetics, a Gnostic sect, that Christ did not die upon the Cross at all. According to Berbizier, he was a mere phantom upon which Jews and Romans alike wreaked an ineffectual vengeance.”
“What happened to the sect in Orleans?” said Gervase.
Canon Hubert was delighted to have another chance to haul in the name of Archbishop Lanfranc and to remind them that it was his evidence which provided conclusive proof to the primate that Philippe Berbizier was in England. He told Gervase about the arrest and burning of the heretics in Orleans, and of the escape of their leader. Rumors about Berbizier had surfaced in other parts of France and many sightings were reported but he could never be caught.