by Andrea Japp
The footsteps drew closer and then came to a halt. The silence was broken by the sound of heavy and increasingly irregular breathing. Clément deduced from it that the man was examining the corpse. A rustic accent declared:
‘Confound it! It takes an angry beast to rip a fellow to shreds like that. Well then … I’ll go and inform my master. He has to see this for himself.’
So the man worked for Monge de Brineux, Chief Bailiff of Comte Artus d’Authon. The boy heard the Dame de Souarcy give a deep sigh. He could sense her anxiety as soon as she spoke. She was counting on the man’s stupidity and his agitation to attempt one last ploy. If she succeeded in convincing him, there was a good chance the investigation would end there.
‘Since it is the work of an animal, it seems unnecessary to trouble Monsieur de Brineux and make him come all the way here. However, you are right and I shall order my men to track it down. It must be killed without delay. Follow me to the kitchens. A goblet of our wine will refresh you.’
‘Hmm … An animal. With all due respect, Madame, I’m not so sure. An animal would have eaten more of him than that.’
A heavy sense of foreboding warned Clément that their troubles had begun, and he blamed himself for his lack of foresight.
Manoir de Souarcy-en-Perche, June 1304
When Clément returned to the manor that morning, following another night of feverish reading and discovery, he was alerted by an unusual commotion in the courtyard. Three geldings, nearly the size of ceremonial horses, were tied to the wall-rings of the barn, and a few yards away a bay palfrey pawed the ground, snorting nervously. Clément studied the magnificent steed. It was rare in these parts to see one so fine. The exertion of galloping had left white streaks down its neck and sides. It had come a long way, and at speed. Who might ride such an animal and be accompanied by three others?
Clément slipped through the kitchens and down the passageway leading past the garderobe until he reached the small postern door the servants used to enter the great hall. He pressed himself against it in the hope of discovering who was visiting Agnès so early in the morning. He heard his lady reply:
‘What can I say, my Lord Bailiff? Up until your arrival I knew nothing of these mysterious deaths, as you have described them. One of my servants was out picking mushrooms and discovered this poor wretch in a thicket.’
Monge de Brineux, Comte Artus d’Authon’s Chief Bailiff, Clément thought.
‘And yet, rumours spread fast, Madame. Had they honestly not reached you?’
‘Indeed not. We are very isolated here. Four victims in two months, and all of them friars, you say?’
‘Three out of the four – we know precious little about the man in your barn except that he met an identical fate …’
‘Were all their faces slashed in that way?’
‘All but the second victim, an emissary of the Pope, like the first. As you can imagine, his death has caused great upset in Rome. However, it is the first two deaths that are proving to be a real puzzle. It would seem both men were burnt, or at least that is what their black shrivelled skin leads us to believe. And yet their clothes show no sign of having been exposed to flames. Were they undressed before being tortured and then dressed again? It seems improbable.’
So there was another corpse before the one he had found in the clearing, Clément deduced. And his clothes bore no trace of having been destroyed by fire, any more than his hair or body hair.
‘We were unable to find the message he was carrying. The Abbess of Clairets admits she wrote it, while not wishing to disclose the contents to us. According to her, the two other friars never reached the abbey. And as for the man lying in your barn, the brief description we gave her stirred no memory. So far we know next to nothing about any of them.’
‘And yet you maintain they are friars.’
‘That is correct.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘A detail that concerns only those charged with the investigation,’ replied the Bailiff in a polite but firm voice.
The tonsure, Clément thought instantly.
Agnès understood the warning. She remained silent for a few moments. When she spoke again, her changed tone alarmed the child pressed up against the other side of the door. It was sharper, almost imperious.
‘What are you implying, my Lord Bailiff?’
‘Whatever do you mean, Madame?’
‘I have a curious feeling that you are being evasive.’
The ensuing silence made Clément uneasy. Monge de Brineux was a powerful man. His office and his authority came directly from the very influential Comte Artus d’Authon. A childhood friend of King Philip, the Comte had had the good sense to refuse the royal favours he knew to be fickle, and devote himself to the running of his estate. The attention he paid to his affairs had enabled him to preserve his friendship with the monarch, who mistook Artus’s political circumspection for dignified disinterest, while making his little county one of the richest and most peaceable in France. Clément reassured himself; Agnès’s perceptiveness was equalled only by her intelligence. She must have taken the measure of her interlocutor before adopting such a strategy.
‘Whatever do you mean, Madame?’ he repeated.
‘Come now, Monsieur, have the good grace not to underestimate me. You and I both know that no animal is responsible for what happened to that poor wretch. I have not seen the others but your presence here is proof enough. At least three of these men were slain, and their slayer, or slayers, attempted to mask the crime by savagely clawing their victims’ faces.’
By clumsily clawing their faces, Clément corrected from his spy hole.
There was another, briefer silence before Monsieur de Brineux confessed:
‘I had indeed reached the same conclusion.’
‘So why this urgent visit? For surely you did not ride all this way with three of your men simply to examine a mutilated body decomposing in a barn. In what way are these murders connected with Souarcy and its mistress? Come now, the truth, Monsieur.’
‘The truth is …’ The Bailiff paused. ‘The truth, Madame, is that we found a letter scratched in the ground under the bodies of two of the victims. My men are presently combing the thicket your man Gilbert showed us to make sure there is … no letter.’
My God! The A in the ground under the Pope’s emissary, which he had instinctively brushed away with his hand.
‘A letter? What sort of letter?’ asked Agnès.
‘A letter of the alphabet. An A.’
‘An A? I see … A as in “Agnès”?’
‘Indeed, or as in any number of words or Christian names, I grant you.’
He was cut short by an incongruous laugh. The Dame de Souarcy quickly pulled herself together before adding:
‘Plenty indeed – why, I could give you thirty without even having to think about it! Well, Monsieur? Do you really see me running through the forest armed with a claw and attacking men twice as heavy as I, if the size of the one lying in my outbuilding is anything to judge by? Moreover, you must suppose that my victims know me well enough to know my Christian name and do not hesitate to use it to incriminate me. If the situation were not so serious, your suppositions would be purely grotesque. Lastly, and if I may be permitted to say so, I would be most foolish to have proceeded in this way.’
‘I do not understand what you mean.’
‘And yet it is very simple. Now, let us just suppose that for some unknown reason I am a bloodthirsty monster. I do not know why, but I kill men. And I try to make my crimes look like the work of a wild beast. A bear perhaps; they are to be found in our forests. Would I really be so foolish as to simulate an attack by setting about the face and nothing else, not even the clothes? Why, any serf or huntsman would see through it immediately. Even your half-witted sergeant was not fooled! A five-year-old child could see that this was no animal. And this leads to my question: is the killer a simpleton, or much cleverer than you imagine?’
‘Wha
t are you insinuating, Madame?’
‘I insinuate nothing; I suggest. I suggest that this evil criminal wanted, on the contrary, to draw attention to these murders. In fact, do you not find it strange that all four were discovered within such a short time? Two months, did you say? Many, I am sure, who are tossed into ravines, buried in caves, weighted down and thrown into rivers for the fish to colonise, or reduced to ashes will never be found. You must confess that the connecting threads in this case are glaringly obvious.’
Clément could not see the smile that played across the Bailiff’s lips. The man was astonished, not by a woman displaying the kind of intelligence and quick wits he wished more of his men possessed – after all his own wife Julienne was his most valuable counsellor – but that she did not hesitate to contradict him openly.
He rose to take his leave, remarking in an amused voice:
‘You would delight my master, the Comte d’Authon, Madame. He has reached the same conclusion as you. The fact remains that we have four bodies on our hands, three of whom are friars – who knows, perhaps even four – and a persistently recurring letter that may have been scratched by the victims or by their aggressor.’
His smile faded and his pursed lips betrayed his perplexity.
‘There is one other detail I hesitated to mention …’
He pulled a tiny pale-blue square of cloth from his leather shoulder bag and unfolded it before her.
‘Do you recognise this linen handkerchief, Madame? It bears your initial in the corner.’
Mabile, or even Eudes himself. Clément was convinced. Agnès’s half-brother could have taken the handkerchief during his last visit. The timing was not impossible.
‘Indeed I do, it belongs to me,’ declared Agnès.
‘We found it hanging from a low branch, two yards from the second victim.’
‘So in addition to being bloodthirsty and extremely foolish I must also be very careless to run through the woods with a linen handkerchief in one hand and a set of claws in the other! What a flattering picture you paint of me, Monsieur.’
‘No, Madame, to be sure, I would be a fool myself to suggest such a thing,’ Monge de Brineux chaffed. ‘I must set off again. The journey to Authon is a long one. Believe me, this meeting has been more of a pleasure than I anticipated. I take my leave of you, Madame. Pray do not trouble yourself … I can find my own way to my horse.’
Clément listened to the Bailiff’s footsteps walking off towards the main door that opened onto the courtyard. The footsteps halted.
‘Madame. I confess I am still unsure of the facts. But if what you say is true, then I strongly recommend you to be on your guard.’
A few seconds later, Clément emerged from his hiding place and approached Agnès.
‘You were listening?’
‘Yes, Madame.’
‘What do you think of all this?’
‘It worries me. The Bailiff is right – we must be doubly vigilant.’
‘Do you think Eudes might be behind this plot?’
‘If so, I doubt he is the instigator. He is better suited to spying on you in your home. He has no head for strategy.’
‘Someone who has might be guiding him. Moreover, how did my handkerchief find its way into the forest?’
‘Mabile?’
‘Why not? She is cunning, and I think she nurses some kind of hatred towards us – the hatred of the weak who prefer attacking other prey rather than risk being caught in the jaws of the predator.’
‘I was intrigued, not to say alarmed, by the turn you gave to that … conversation, Madame.’
She looked at him and grinned.
‘Do you mean to say, assertive … Confrontational?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You see, Clément, by dint of being subjugated by them, women learn to recognise the tracks men leave behind them – similar to wild game. You will understand it better as you get older.’
‘And what species might he be?’
‘Hmm … a young boar in his prime perhaps.’
‘They are lean and muscular and prefer scaring off to attacking.’
‘But when they attack, nothing can survive their charge. Monge de Brineux was testing me. It became clear after only a few sentences. I do not know why. What I do know is that nothing I said to him came as a surprise. It remains to be seen what his true motive for coming here was. Furthermore, I could not allow him to sense my apprehension.’
‘They say the Comte d’Authon is very powerful.’
‘Indeed, he is.’
‘Your half-brother is a feudal baron and his vassal.’
‘As I am my brother’s, which makes of me the Comte’s undervassal.’
‘Have you ever met him?’
‘I remember a tall young man, serious and reserved, who came to pay the late Baron Robert a visit once. That is all. I was still a girl.’
‘Madame, could you not demand his direct protection?’
‘You know as well as I that a liege lord will not intervene directly in the affairs of another liege lord’s vassal, except in cases of injustice or wrong judgement and we have not reached that stage yet. Artus d’Authon will not involve himself in a family dispute at the risk of sparking a political row that could prove injurious to him. Eudes is admittedly only a member of the lower nobility, but he holds an important trump card: his iron mines.’
‘You mean, his iron mine, his last, which they say is almost exhausted,’ corrected Clément.
‘He extracts enough ore from it to keep the King happy. Clément …’
‘Yes, Madame?’
‘I do not like to involve you in such schemes, but …’
He understood at once what was troubling her and informed her:
‘Since her visit to the chapel, Mabile has not been out for quite some time and has encountered no one likely to take messages to your brother.’
She reached out her hand, and he closed his eyes as he laid his cheek in her palm.
Towards the middle of the afternoon a second visitor did little to lift Agnès’s spirits. Jeanne d’Amblin from Clairets Abbey was making her monthly rounds. Usually, Agnès found the jolly Extern Sister delightful. Her ready supply of stories and harmless gossip about her encounters with the wealthy burghers, merchants and farmers or even with the local nobility amused the younger woman. The nun brought her news of the outside world, its births, marriages, deaths, pregnancies and its harvests. Today, however, the good sister’s unease was palpable. They sat in the little anteroom outside Agnès’s quarters, furnished with a small round table and two chairs. Agnès’s veil fluttered in a gentle current of air and she looked up at the high window. Several of the diamond-shaped panes were broken. By birds? When? She only ever passed through this tiny room, never stopping to sit there unless a lady visitor came, which was rare. What a day it had been! Glass was so costly and difficult to come by. The few glazed windows at the manor were the only reminder of Hugues’s extravagant tastes. When winter came, the rest would be stopped up with hemp or hides. How would she find the money to pay for the missing panes? Presently … She made an effort to attend to her visitor.
‘Would you accept a cup of hippocras?’
‘I never refuse good hippocras, and the one you make here is among the best.’
‘You flatter me.’
The nun’s smile lacked conviction, and she went straight to the point:
‘I hurried here as soon as I learnt of the Bailiff’s visit.’
‘News travels fast,’ observed Agnès.
‘Not really. Monge de Brineux stopped off at Clairets Abbey on his way. Just after lauds.’+
‘And why did he go to the abbey before dawn?’
‘He desired a meeting with our Abbess. That is how we knew he was setting off afterwards for Souarcy. I can tell you precious little else. The Abbess asked me to come here to make sure that you were safe and sound – which I would have done anyway had her thoughts not anticipated my own,’ Jeanne d’A
mblin added. ‘What wicked murders, for they are murders, are they not?’
‘Everything would suggest it.’
‘Wicked,’ repeated the nun, clasping the large wooden crucifix hanging round her neck. ‘Friars … Sister Adélaïde was right. This matter of the tonsures is so mysterious … I mean, why did those three friars, if not four, let their hair grow?’
‘So as to blend in, to go unnoticed, I suppose.’
‘Hmm … A convincing theory. At least it seems fitting in the case of the second victim, the papal emissary who met with our Abbess. She was terribly upset after he left. Naturally, it was only much later that we connected her distress with his visit, since we knew nothing of his mission.’
‘What became of the missive he was carrying?’ Agnès asked, even though thanks to the Bailiff she already knew the answer.
‘Vanished into thin air. Our Abbess is worried sick about it. She refuses to disclose the contents and, knowing her as I do, I am certain she has every good reason.’
‘And did the other victims …’
‘… No, they did not visit us, if that’s what you were going to ask. Few men besides the chaplain and the young pupils are allowed within our walls, otherwise it would be difficult for us to be so sure. The state of their faces made any identification virtually impossible.’
She paused, and looked at Agnès with a grave expression on her face before continuing:
‘Something terrible is being hatched, I can sense it. And I am not the only one. Thibaude de Gartempe, our guest mistress, is anxious too. And others. Even Yolande de Fleury, who never seems upset by anything. Our Abbess’s desperate silence contributes to our concern. For it is desperate. She has retreated into herself in order to protect us, her girls, from what I do not know. We are afraid, Madame …’
Agnès did not doubt it. An unshakeable gloom seemed to have clouded the Extern Sister’s usually bright happy face. She continued:
‘I am afraid of an unknown entity whose form I cannot make out … It feels as if a deadly fog were about to engulf us, as if an evil beast were approaching by stealth. You will think me raving like some mad superstitious old woman.’