“We are the true Church, my lord. Do not mock.”
“Was she?” pressed Ralph.
“No,” said Berbizier sadly. “She was too wedded to the errors of the Christian Church. Even I could not turn her from that false path. We were friends only-but intimate friends. Until she followed me here one evening to spy on our service. I chased her into the orchard and tried to reason with her.”
“By throttling her to death.”
“Bertha became hysterical. She would have betrayed us.”
“You betrayed yourself.”
“I am not ashamed of anything I did, my lord,” said Berbizier, holding out both hands. “Come, tie my hands, if you wish. I am not armed, as you see. I will not resist.”
When Ralph took a step toward him, Berbizier reacted with lightning speed, snatching the chair from beneath him and hurling it into his captor’s face to send him staggering back. Gervase tried to intercept him as he raced for the door but Berbizier had pulled a dagger from his sleeve and slashed wildly at him. Rushing into the passage, he headed for the front door in the hope of escaping into the night on a horse. But someone was obstructing his exit.
“Out of my way!” roared Berbizier, brandishing his dagger.
The man in the doorway did not move. He simply lifted up the lantern which had been discarded by the fallen servant and held it close to a face which was exposed completely to view. Philippe Berbizier found himself staring into the rotting visage of a leper.
He stopped in fear.
The delay gave Ralph the chance to catch him up, grab his shoulder and spin him round. Berbizier jabbed with his dagger but Ralph caught his wrist, twisted hard and sent the weapon clattering to the ground. Dropping his sword, he dived at the Frenchman and knocked him down. It was a fierce fight. Berbizier was strong and wiry, squirming from beneath his opponent, pushing his head back with a palm under the chin, then trying to gouge his eyes. They rolled over and over in the narrow passage, watched by Gervase at one end and Alain at the other.
Berbizier struggled hard but Ralph was too powerful. He was fired by the memory of what the man had done to Golde and to his two murder victims. Punching him until his resistance waned, Ralph got a grip on his throat and squeezed hard. Gervase had to pull his friend away before he killed the man. Philippe Berbizier had to be arrested and tried so that his heresy was made public and his fate turned into an example to all.
The Serpent of Harbledown had been caught at last.
EPILOGUE
Ceremonial was very dear to Archbishop Lanfranc. It lent dignity to an occasion, it rendered it memorable and it raised the visibility of the Christian Church. He lost no opportunity to sanction a legitimate procession through the streets of Canterbury and would-if the event merited his presence-take part himself in his archiepiscopal robes and mitre. Ceremonial had another function. Lanfranc could use it as a huge, colourful curtain to draw across the squalor and misery from which every city inevitably suffered.
The procession that afternoon had a twin purpose. It was a celebration of the Church’s triumph over heresy and it honoured the installation of Abbot Guy as the new father of St. Augustine’s Abbey. Lanfranc abhorred delay. Though Guy had only arrived in the city that morning, his consecration as abbot followed the same afternoon. Having quelled rebellion at the abbey, Lanfranc was determined to close down the space in which it could flare up again. Abbot Guy was more than happy to comply, believing that his obedientiaries should feel the smack of firm control at the earliest possible time.
A muscular young monk led the way, bearing a large cross at the end of a long heavy pole. Its shadow fell across all whom it passed and baptised them softly. Archbishop Lanfranc himself came next, moving slowly in his sacerdotal array and raising a tired hand to acknowledge the crowd with almost papal authority.
Prior Henry was on his left, proud of his role in helping to combat heresy and gratified that Philippe Berbizier was now fettered in a dungeon. On the archbishop’s right hand was Abbot Guy, a thin, shrewd, ascetic man with a reputation for strictness and a disdain of easy popularity.
Monks from Christ Church Priory formed the body of the procession, walking in pairs and raising their voices in a hymn of joy, their mellifluous chant blending with the peal of bells from the cathedral. The procession left the precinct and swung left up Burh Street, which was already lined by the curious populace.
On through Burgate they went, at the leisurely pace of the great and the good. When they came to the abbey, they expected its doors to be flung open wide to welcome their new abbot.
Instead, they remained defiantly closed. Only one monk was waiting to greet the august assembly and he was no longer a member of the community. It was Gregory, the deposed prior and erstwhile leader of the dissenting brothers. He had been authorised to communicate a dread message.
“They are adamant, Your Grace. They refuse to obey.”
Abbot Guy stiffened, Prior Henry turned puce and Archbishop Lanfranc fumed with controlled rage. Lest he be seen to be part of the resistance, Gregory gave a humble bow and, smiling inwardly at the general discomfiture, moved to join the end of the column as one of its dutiful members.
Lanfranc sent a monk to pound on the abbey door. It opened to reveal the entire community, standing shoulder to shoulder as they awaited the primate’s response. It was loud and menacing.
Lanfranc showed that he would brook no mutiny.
“He that will not obey his archbishop,” he announced, “let him depart this place at once.”
There was a momentary hesitation, then the monks filed out with a purposeful stride. They went past their new abbot without even a glance. The exodus continued until there were no more than a handful of monks inside the abbey. Old, weak, fearful or unable to defy their archbishop, they formed a poor congregation for such an important occasion.
Archbishop Lanfranc was not to be baulked.
“Come, Abbot Guy,” he said. “You will be enthroned.”
The scandal was still raging the following morning and it afforded Ralph Delchard endless amusement. He and Gervase Bret had arrived at the shire hall to recommence their work as commissioners. Even though it had shifted decisively away from their own arena, the battle between cathedral and abbey could not be ignored.
“By all, this is wonderful!” said Gervase. “Each new day brings a fresh delight. Two nights ago, we met an amorous priest with a forbidden wife. Yesterday, the monks of the abbey rebelled against the archbishop. And today, some of those same brave fellows are still barricaded inside St. Mildred’s Church, saying that they would rather starve to death than accept Abbot Guy.” He shook with mirth. “When the Church can make me laugh so much, I almost begin to take it seriously.”
“It is not really a subject for ridicule,” said Gervase. “Have you any idea what will happen to those monks who still resist Archbishop Lanfranc?”
“Yes. They’ll do what all the others did. Hunger is a cunning advocate. They will not find starvation quite so attractive a road when they have staggered a little way along it. I believe they will soon come out and kneel to the archbishop.”
“And then?”
“He will scold them roundly and send them back.”
“No, Ralph,” said Gervase. “Those who have held out will never enter the abbey again. They will be dispersed to other monastic foundations with letters from the archbishop to explain that they are in disgrace. As for their leader, he is to be stripped, tied to the door of the abbey and flogged.”
“Who told you all this?”
“Canon Hubert.”
“Flogged in public?”
“Mercilessly. And then evicted from the Order.”
Ralph was shocked. “Lanfranc has decided this?”
“Yes.”
“But Hubert told us the man was a saint.”