[Hildegard of Meaux 06] - The Butcher of Avignon

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘But a thief would have searched the body for anything valuable before throwing him into the river.’

  The ferryman frowned. ‘There’s many a mystery in this world, domina, and it’s not for us to solve them all.’

  He piled another log on the fire and refilled their beakers and was now plainly settling in for a long chat. ‘I have something I can tell you but it’s nothing I’ve told anybody else.’

  He did not look the fanciful type, nor like a man spinning a tale, so she listened attentively.

  ‘Fact is, I’ve slept ill these past few nights in fear of the rising waters and losing every tittle I own. This little place is on high ground but even so the river can be a monster and we’ve no way of stemming her fury once she’s roused. So, as I say, I’ve been awake these last few nights, worrying. Now then,’ he resettled himself more comfortably, ‘last night, the one in question, I was lying awake going through my prayers when I thought I heard voices.’

  ‘Voices?’ She gave him a sceptical glance.

  ‘Nothing weird. Men’s voices.’

  ‘What were they saying?’

  ‘They were too far off to make out and the river was roaring dreadful, just like now,’ he added, ‘but it was a couple of men by the sound of it, angry like, and I believe they came from the direction of the bridge. In fact, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Is that unusual?’

  ‘It is at that time of night, after curfew.’

  ‘And what time would it be, could you tell?’

  ‘I can. Shortly before the shouting I heard the bell of St Nicolas tolling for lauds.’

  ‘That’s very interesting, master. That is truly valuable information. I’m sure the papal authorities will be able to make some use of it. Anyone at lauds will have an alibi. That’s very helpful.’

  ‘I’m not telling them over there. It’s for them to find out.’ He frowned and fell silent.

  ‘Tell me, did anything else unusual happen earlier that night or during the preceding day?’

  She noticed his eyes swivel to a corner of the room and back. ‘Nothing, domina.’

  No bribe from the murdered youth to take two dubious mendicants across the river, of course, nothing like that. She kept the thought to herself. ‘Had you ever seen the murdered youth before?’

  Again the swivelling glance, away and back.

  ‘Never.’ He hesitated. When he noticed her unwavering stare he corrected himself. ‘Perhaps once or twice, with other retainers from the palace. They come to play down here when they get time off. I believe he might have been one of the lads who did that sometimes.’

  She frowned into the fire pit. ‘You didn’t see him that afternoon, for instance?’

  He turned away from the piercing glance when she looked up and shook his head vigorously. ‘I told you, he might have been one of them that came down here to mess about on the river bank, paddling, fishing and that. Larking about.’

  She realised it was the closest he would come to the truth. ‘It’s a sad business. His killer must be brought to justice.’

  ‘I agree,’ he replied fervently. ‘Anything I can do, domina.’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’ She gave him her special smile and he almost purred.

  **

  The curse of charm. That’s what Hubert had called it, in a rage at something she had implored him to do when he had no intention of doing it - until, grumbling, he claimed her smile had bewitched him, adding lovingly - you could burn for that, Hildegard. How can I resist doing anything you ask of me? What had it been about? A request to extend the privileges of her nuns at Meaux in some small way, she remembered. It was only a smile. It wasn’t her fault if it sometimes helped her cause.

  It was no help now in untangling the evidence of a somewhat unreliable witness. All it had yielded was the possible timing of Taillefer’s murder: sometime after the lauds bell.

  It seemed to come down to an argument between two men. Was the ferryman right about that? Maybe there were more than two. A gang of cut-throats. She considered returning later in the day. He might even remember another small detail unless he had been extremely well-paid not to say more.

  His animosity against the papal authorities could be something to work in her favour. It seemed to render him eager to help as if by doing so he gained an advantage over the pope.

  After leaving his cottage she climbed back up the bank to the track at the top and approached the sentry standing at the entrance to the bridge. He was not in the mood to stop anyone. ‘All this excitement,’ he said. ‘I’m just sorry I missed it last night.’

  ‘Did the sentry on duty see anything?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. He’s still asleep over the other side. But he should be along any time soon.’

  She rooted around in her scrip for a coin that allowed entry onto the bridge.

  Some time ago a chapel dedicated to the patron saint of rivermen had been built half way along. St Nicolas. His light was kept burning day and night.

  It was a small place. Reeked of incense. Little more than a single chamber with a second one above reached by a short stone stairway. Nobody there except for a priest descending, step by painful step to the nave. He gave her a hard look, caught sight of her Cistercian robe under the winter cloak and softened a little.

  ‘No ordinary sightseer, domina. How may I help?’

  ‘You must be tired of answering questions?’

  ‘Only from those who have no right to be asking them.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can assume that right.’

  ‘Looking at you I would imagine you have more right than most. I take it you’re not interested in salacious titbits to pass onto your gossips?’

  ‘The murder of a young man with his life before him is not a suitable topic for gossip, salacious or otherwise.’

  He nodded. ‘So why are you here?’

  ‘A similar murder of a young man took place in the palace a few days ago. You may have heard about it?’

  He stared at her until she continued.

  ‘The details are so similar to the terrible events of this morning that I wonder if there’s a link? The first young man was a countryman of mine,’ she hastened to add.

  He took this as adequate reason for her interest. ‘Come up to the sacristy where we can talk undisturbed.’

  Achingly he handed himself step by step up the stair he had just descended.

  The upper chamber was similar in size to the one below, a small square space with two windows on each side to give a view both up and down river. Here, instead of an altar, was a narrow bed in one corner, an aumbry in the wall, and a comfortable looking chair placed next to a horn lantern on the sill.

  She went over to the downstream window and found she could see all the way to the end of the peninsula and beyond to where the Rhone widened. It was a foaming sea of white water at present. Spray blown up by the wind into a mist shrouded both banks and made it look wider and more dangerous than a river should be.

  The priest was breathless after his short climb. ‘Unpleasant weather,’ he wheezed. ‘Too much rain. In summer, not enough. It makes one wonder about God’s intentions. So now, domina, you’d like to know what I saw and heard last night?’

  ‘If you will.’

  ‘I was in bed when a commotion in the direction of the Avignon side woke me. It sounded like an older man in altercation with a younger.’

  ‘Did you recognise the voices?’

  ‘Not I.’ His face was like a stone wall.

  ‘Would you tell me if you did?’

  ‘Would it bring him back?’

  ‘No, but it might bring a measure of justice to his victims if this possibly double killer could be arrested and punished. It might also prevent him from murdering another innocent person.’

  ‘Innocent?’

  ‘Whatever the esquire’s sins, he did not deserve his throat to be cut and to be thrown into the river like a dog.’

  ‘I am making no judgement. But you might a
sk what he was doing out here after curfew.’

  ‘Was he, maybe, walking back from the Villeneuve bank, on an official errand of some kind?’

  The priest was already shaking his head.

  ‘You nuns see no ill in these retainers. They are wild boys given to all the sins of the flesh with no godliness in them. The devil himself conducts activities under the arch over there.’ He gestured towards the Avignon bank.

  Unwilling to hear some aged misanthrope’s harangue against the young she took a step forward, intending to leave, but the priest held up one hand. ‘I am, perhaps, harsh. Certain it is, he was not on an innocent mission. I saw him earlier accompanied by two disreputable mendicants.’ He gave her a long look. ‘They were ferried over to the other side. He returned. They did not. I know this for a fact.’

  She held her breath.

  He had seen.

  He knew.

  And it could not have escaped him that Fitzjohn, accompanied by the pope’s militia, had been out on the hunt for two men.

  Fearing that he might have already given his account to others she forced herself to ask, ‘It was a black night, how can you be sure what you saw?’

  ‘Because I saw the boat go across in the light from the lamp. Four people in it. I saw the boat return with but two. I know the ferryman and recognised him as the man at the oars.’

  ‘Even so, it was dark and - ’

  ‘And the current brought them right under the central span of the bridge where the St Nicolas light shines down as guide. I watched because I feared for their safety. A storm was blowing and the river is at its most dangerous just now. They were clearly visible in the boat as it passed under the beam of light.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I did not see the faces of the two mendicants, hooded as they were. All mendicants look the same, do they not? And how they do swarm round Avignon these days! But the one who was ferried across and later returned wore a blue cloak.’

  The priest’s eyes looked watery in the reflected light from outside. ‘I tell you this, domina, because you seem to have a genuine interest in these events. What I say is simple. Three passengers crossed the river by boat and the ferryman brought only one back.’

  ‘No doubt he ferries many people back and forth, some to stay on the other side, some to return.’

  The priest smiled. ‘Use this information as you will. It’s all I have.’

  ‘What time did these three travellers happen to cross?’

  He spread his arms. ‘I’m an old man. I sleep fitfully. I got up for the night office and to attend to the light - it guides people over the bridge. In navigable weather it acts as a beacon for the barges plying their trade up and down river. It’s my duty to keep it alight,’ he explained. ‘Around midnight I ring the bell for matins and later I ring it again for lauds.’

  ‘And at what time did you see the boat cross?’

  A look of uncertainty flickered across his face but he answered firmly, ‘Just after I rang the first bell I saw a dark shape launch itself onto the foaming white flood water. It moved steadily across to the other side, cleverly navigating to use the current to reach the bank of Villeneuve. Then I saw it cutting across on the way back, not much later, using the known shoals and eddies to keep the oarsman’s course. The current brought the boat again close up under the bridge as I was relighting the lamp.’

  ‘It had gone out?’

  ‘Blown out by the storm.’

  ‘The boat must have been rowed by someone who knows the waters.’

  ‘Indeed. The fellow has worked here for several seasons despite having a betrothed somewhere down river or so I hear.’

  The ferryman had certainly been parsimonious with the truth. Crossing and recrossing in the night. At least it confirmed the escape route of the two miners.

  ‘And on the return journey you’re sure - ’

  ‘The boatman with only one passenger, as I said.’

  ‘And your description suggests that it was the murdered youth.’

  ‘It is not for me to speculate on what I witness. I leave that to God in his wisdom. It was a passenger wearing a blue cloak.’

  ‘Why would someone who has just crossed and recrossed a river by boat then try later to cross again by the bridge?’

  The old priest spread his arms. ‘I know nothing about that.’

  ‘And you say you heard an argument after seeing the boat return?’

  ‘I slept a little. Voices woke me. I realised it was already time to ring the bell for lauds.’

  ‘But what about the sentries?’ Hildegard was still thinking about Taillefer. ‘How would the murder victim get onto the bridge? Wouldn’t the sentries have stopped him?’

  He gave a thin chuckle. ‘Would they stop him if he was accompanied by someone in authority?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘You’re sure you heard voices shortly before the bell?’

  He nodded. ‘They woke me.’

  She prepared to leave. ‘Do you get many worshippers here for the night offices?’

  ‘Not many. I do it to maintain our link with St Nicolas. Most attend services in the Grande Chapelle.’

  Hildegard left the scent of incense and beeswax and drew in deep gulps of fresh air as soon as she got outside.

  Now to have a word with the men on night watch guarding the bridge. Let them check their records of all who had crossed the bridge last night for the night offices and returned to Villeneuve before lauds.

  **

  The sentry was sitting in his stone niche out of the wind at the top of the steps leading onto the bridge. He was plainly enjoying this out of the ordinary event but understood that he was not even a bit player in the drama, not having been on duty at the crucial time. Sadly he admitted he could tell her nothing.

  ‘When does the night sentry come back on duty?’ she asked, expecting a trek back to the guard house and a long wait until he emerged from his bed.

  ‘Any time now, domina. Four hours on. Four hours off.’

  ‘Is that him?’ she asked pointing to a man-at-arms just coming into view on the path underneath the palace walls. The sentry got up and poked his head out. ‘That’s the fellow!’

  The two greeted each other affably a few moments later and although the first sentry, Jean or Jeanot, had been friendly enough, the newcomer, Emil, looked at Hildegard with suspicion. ‘What do you want to know about all that for?’

  She explained as she had done so already to the ferryman and the priest.

  He nodded. ‘Nobody out here last night. The weather kept everybody in their own beds for once.’

  ‘Didn’t anybody cross over the bridge?’

  ‘Of course. They have to, don’t they? It was the usual cardinals going back to their estates on Villeneuve. The bishop to his palace.’

  ‘Cardinal Grizac, you mean?’

  ‘Bien sur.’

  ‘At what time was this?’

  ‘They go over to attend the night offices.’

  ‘You mean they make the journey twice?’

  He shook his head. ‘Most stay for matins after they’ve dined and then they stay on for lauds, crossing back home before dawn.’

  ‘And last night?’

  ‘You do persist,’ he muttered.

  Hildegard was quick enough to catch the words, even though it was a different kind of French to the one she had learned in England and her brain was already taxed by the different dialects.

  ‘I need to know not out of curiosity but because two young men are dead,’ she pointed out.

  The man tightened his lips. She could not bring a smile to her face. She was sick of lies and half-truths. Everything about him was unyielding and she wondered if he had been warned not to talk.

  ‘You must have been on duty earlier today when the body was fished out of the river.’

  ‘I was and I heard - ’ he stopped as if afraid of saying too much.

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘I heard somebody had fallen onto
some rubbish that had been carried downstream. If he’d gone into the river they’d never have found him.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear anything while you were on duty?’

  He glanced hurriedly at his companion but he was eager to get off home now his shift was done and missed the plea for help.

  ‘It’s all the talk at the palace,’ he added lamely, ‘but I heard nothing of it until they showed up at first light with their grappling hooks. By then the bridge was open to merchants and there was quite a crowd up there. They’d been keeping me busy. I didn’t bother looking out until somebody said there was something wrong.’ He glanced over at the high, grim walls with the flag of Pope Clement fluttering from the highest pinnacle as if to find help there. ‘I heard it was a retainer in the pay of the Duc de Berry. That’s who it was. Wandering outside the walls at night. What did he expect?’

  He gazed over towards the lane he had just walked along to where an inn stood on the corner surrounded by the usual characters who frequent such places.

  A furtive expression came over his face. ‘See that place, domina? What do you think goes on there at night? Prayers?’ He sniggered. ‘The poraille do their drinking there and then they go under the arches. You nuns would blush to hear what goes on there. Me, I keep out of it.’

  If I have to go and talk to the inn keeper I shall have to change my clothes, she registered. Monastics were plainly anathema to this surly fellow and the same would probably go for anyone down there too. ‘I take it you don’t remember anybody who crossed over the bridge early this morning?’

  He was silent.

  ‘You must have been asleep at your post.’

  Affronted, he started to contradict her.

  ‘In that case you must surely be able to name them?’

  The first sentry chuckled. ‘She’s got you there, Emil. She’ll be getting you into hot water with the captain if he thinks you’re were sleeping on duty!’

  ‘All right, all right,’ the sentry replied irritably. ‘As I said, there weren’t many about because of the storm. So let’s see.’ He counted them off on his fingers. ‘Cardinals Bellefort, Fondi, Grizac and Montjoie. That’s about the lot.’

  ‘Anybody accompanying them?’