“He will stop at nothing to further his aims,” said Hubert.
“Intimidation, theft, seduction, even murder. Prior Henry told me that one of the accused confessed, under torture, that it was Berbizier who killed the infant whose body was used in one of their macabre rituals.”
Brother Simon yelped and resolved to hear no more. Closing his ears, he began to recite the Credo to himself. Gervase’s mind was on Bertha, an innocent and impressionable girl who might well have been drawn to the amalgam of charm and spiritual intensity which Philippe Berbizier patently had. A heretic who could convert nobles, commoners and even a member of the clergy in Orleans, would find a defenceless creature like Bertha an easy target.
The more he heard, the more convinced he became that Berbizier was indeed the man they sought. To the essentials of Gnosticism, he seemed to have added refinements of his own, which bound his neophytes ineluctably to him and allowed him to reap a harvest of sexual favours from the female members.
Gervase feared that Bertha had yielded up her virginity to him before she surrendered her life.
“What action is Archbishop Lanfranc taking?” he asked.
“The strongest,” said Hubert. “He has alerted the sheriff and he has summoned his own knights. They will scour the city and the surrounding towns and villages. Berbizier has gone to ground somewhere in or near to Canterbury and must be smoked out at once.”
“Will he not try to flee?”
“Sentries have been posted on the roads and a watch has been put on the port. He will not sneak away as easily as he did at Orleans.”
“Did you warn the archbishop about his disguise?”
“Yes, Gervase.”
“He may use that black cowl of his again.”
“It will not advantage him. The villain will not escape under the pretext of Christianity. The archbishop’s men have orders to stop and question everybody, including monks of the Benedictine Order.”
“These are swift precautions.”
“A net has been thrown around the whole area. Philippe Berbizier must be caught and arraigned as soon as possible. He tears at the whole fabric of the Church.”
“And he has two murders to answer for,” said Gervase. “It is a strange kind of faith that condones the killing of blameless people. How does he justify that?”
“He is above the need to justify anything.”
“A man with no moral precepts. Above the law.”
“That is how he sees himself and convinces others to perceive him. A true heretic. But we will get him. Well over a hundred man have been committed to the pursuit. With so many chasing at his heels, he is bound to be taken. God will not be mocked.
His vengeance will be terrible.”
He had to wait until night to make his escape. Soldiers patrolled the streets. The city gates were closed and guarded. He had never seen such activity in Canterbury and it made him extremely wary.
When he finally ventured out from his hiding place, his black garb blended with the darkness to make him no more than a fleeting shadow. He picked his way along streets and down lanes until he came to the town wall.
Having reached it, he cowered quickly against it as a patrol passed nearby, six mounted men-at-arms with bright torches to pierce the darkest void and the promise of a bounty if they took their quarry. Their eyes were paid to be keen. They did not see him this time but his luck could not hold. He had to get out of the city at once. The wall was high but earth was banked against it farther along. Clambering up the mound, he got within reach of the top. Long arms reached up and he got a strong enough purchase on the top to haul himself slowly up.
He took a furtive inventory. More soldiers were circling the perimeter of the city with torches. Crouched on the wall like a cat, he waited until the coast was clear then hung by his fingers before dropping into oblivion. The ground came sooner than he expected and he was jolted badly by the impact. But he was quite uninjured. After stretching his back a few times, he was able to move on. Making his way to the northwest, he kept to the shadows and walked with great stealth. When he got within sight of Westgate, he saw the brazier lighting up the faces of a dozen men. Avoiding action was needed. If they caught him, they would strike first with the swords and spears. He swung left in a wide and cautious semicircle, falling to his knees at one point to grope his way along the ground like an animal.
It was a harrowing experience and it brought cold perspiration out all over him. He was accustomed to a life of secret movement and had developed his skills but he had never encountered such a vast search party. Escape was vital. Once clear of the patrols, he broke into a gentle trot, using trees and bushes as continuous cover. It was only when he was halfway up Harbledown Hill that he paused to catch his breath and dared to look back. The city lay below him, ringed with fires, lit by torches and bristling with armed men. Only someone with real audacity could have eluded the watching soldiers. He could afford to take satisfaction from that. Lanfranc’s knights and the sheriff’s officers had failed to imprison him in the city. It gave him a sense of quiet triumph.
He moved off again.
Confidence gradually returned. Freed from what lay behind, he could reflect on what waited for him ahead. His mind raced and his concentration wavered. Ears and eyes were no longer as keen as they had been. He was off guard. Stars speckled the sky to give him a measure of guidance. A drizzle began to fall. It did not dampen his expectation in any way.
He did not even see him. As he descended the hill, he started to trot once more and hit an easy rhythm. He noticed the tree but not the figure hunched up against it. Passing within a yard of the man, he was still totally unaware of his presence. But his own approach had not gone unremarked. The man looked up, caught a glimpse of his face, then retreated back inside his hood.
Alain had something to think about during a long, wet night.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dawn lifted the black shroud of night and the oppression of the curfew from Canterbury. Soldiers still guarded the various gates, questioning all who came and went, but the citizens no longer felt incarcerated in their own homes and the stallholders who brought in their produce from the surrounding farms were allowed to set up the market. An air of normality returned, though it was still a city on edge.
Searches had been thorough and security tight yet the wanted man was still at liberty. The common opinion was that he was still somewhere in Canterbury itself, hidden by friends or lurking in some secret refuge of his own. It would not be easy to find him among a population of a few thousand or more. Several hundred houses and countless other buildings offered a bewildering array of places where he might shelter. Canterbury would need to be systematically combed.
Ralph Delchard was determined that he would not miss out on the action. He was up at first light, putting his hauberk on over his tunic and strapping on his sword-belt. Gervase had given him full details of the manpower which had been assembled for the hunt but Ralph was not surprised when a new day rose with Philippe Berbizier still at large. The Frenchman was too cunning to be caught easily and the hullabaloo of his pursuers was so loud that it gave him ample forewarning of their approach.
“A troop of soldiers will never catch him,” he said.
“Then who will?”
“One or two, moving in subtler ways.”
“You and Gervase?”
“For preference, it would be me alone. I would love to meet this villain face to face.” Ralph reached for his helm. “But I am not greedy, my love. I will let Gervase have his share of the honours.”
“Where will you go now?”
“To check the sentries, confer with my men, see if anything untoward occurred in the night. I hope that they do not ask that question of me or I would blush.”