The Serpents of Harbledown d-5

by Edward Marston

  “Mauger. One of the archbishop’s knights.”

  “The sheriff’s officers and the archbishop’s men have searched every dwelling in the area except the ones that are above suspicion. Their own. Philippe Berbizier is completely safe while he is under Mauger’s roof.”

  “But how did he get there? Golde was so certain that she met him at Helto’s house. How on earth could the rogue get out of Canterbury?”

  “Reinbald has given us the answer to that as well.”

  “I did not hear it.”

  “Who lives at the manor house?”

  “Mauger. One of the archbishop’s …” Ralph caught up with Gervase’s faster mind. “Of course! Berbizier rode through the gates disguised as a soldier.”

  “A man who will lend him a house will just as readily supply him with a helm and hauberk. Even Reinbald the Priest would pass unnoticed in those.”

  Ralph chuckled. “I’ll wager that he’d enjoy letting that pretty wife of his help him out of them.”

  Alain slowed to a halt at the edge of the orchard and they dismounted with the minimum of noise, tying their horses to low branches before setting off through the apple trees with a cautious urgency. Alain trailed after them at a more laboured pace. When the house came in sight, they could see the light through the shutters. They could also hear the horses neighing in the stables, suggesting a larger number of occupants than they had found at the cottage.

  Ralph saw a problem at once. Two dogs were patrolling the courtyard, sniffing their way across its uneven surface until some sound in the darkness made them lift their heads. Unable to avoid the animals in order to reach the front door, Ralph decided to make use of them and he sent a hushed command along the line. His men spread out once more to approach from different angles.

  When they were close enough, Gervase plucked an apple from the nearest tree and threw it just beyond the dogs. As it rolled across the courtyard and away from the house, they turned to race after it. Ralph and his men ran to take up their places near the front door. Gervase then flung two more apples from close range, hitting the same dog twice and making him bark loudly. As more fruit came hurtling out of the darkness at them, both dogs made such a clamorous noise that a servant came out to explore with a lantern.

  One blow from Ralph knocked him senseless. He crept through the door with his men at his heels. They were in.

  There were twelve of them in the circle. Philippe Berbizier stood in the centre, conducting a service with mocking echoes of the Latin Mass heard daily in every church and cathedral.

  “Introibo ad altare Dei,” he chanted.

  “Ad Deum qui laetificat iuventutem meam,” came the response.

  “Adiutorum nostrum in nomine Domini.”

  “Qui fecit caelum te terram.”

  As the dialogue between celebrant and congregation continued, he walked to the young girl who had just been admitted to the circle and who was trembling with holy joy. Placing his hands on her head, Berbizier blessed her and welcomed her into the sect.

  She dropped to her knees in an attitude of submission and kissed his bare feet. He looked down fondly at her and stroked her hair.

  It was at this point that Ralph burst in with his men, all of them with drawn swords and clear orders. As the service broke up with screams and yells of protest, the soldiers formed a larger circle of their own to hold the group prisoner. Only Mauger himself, a stout man of middle height, tried to fight his way clear, but a swordpoint at his chest persuaded him to resume his seat.

  Helto the Doctor tried to bluff his way out of the situation.

  Rising to his feet, he gave Ralph an oily smile.

  “This is not quite what it seems, my lord.”

  “Silence!” snarled Ralph, felling him with a blow from his mailed fist. “I did not like what I found in your cellar, Helto. We will have more words about that before I have finished.”

  Helto cowered on the floor and looked up in alarm at Philippe Berbizier. The Frenchman remained calm and poised. Gervase came in to take stock of the situation. He had expected to find Mauger and Helto in the circle but not the three young women, the two priests and the Benedicrtine monk. The rest of the sect was made up of lay members who, judging from the quality of their attire, were men of some substance.

  Ralph Delchard was only interested in the leader. He gave a command and his men herded everyone else into a corner so that their master could confront Berbizier. Showing no fear, the Frenchman strolled to the chair at the centre of the circle and lowered himself nonchalantly into it. He smiled helpfully.

  “How may we help you, my lord?”

  “By standing trial for two murders,” said Ralph.

  “Murders? I am a man of peace.”

  “Brother Martin did not die peacefully.”

  “He took his own life with poison. I watched him.”

  “What about Bertha?”

  “She was bitten by a snake.”

  “I see him before me, trying to hide his fangs.” He looked around with disgust. “So these are your followers, are they? Was Bertha dragged into this lunacy by you?”

  “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.”

  “Even saints can lose their temper at times.”

  “I am sorry for the leader of this revolt,” said Ralph, “but I am heartened to know that there is steel in the good archbishop. If this is how he treats his own monks, imagine how much more ruthless he will be towards Philippe Berbizier and his accomplices.

  Flogging would be too light a sentence for him. I would happily be his executioner.”

  “Leave him to the rigour of the law and the condemnation of the Church,” suggested Gervase. “We have done our share.

  Bertha’s death is answered and her father can die in peace.

  Brother Martin’s murder has been solved and the church of St.

  Nicholas is once again unpolluted.”

  “Golde’s sufferings have been avenged as well. She is now free to help Eadgyth in a pressing task.”

  “Looking after the baby?”

  “No, Gervase. Finding a new doctor.”

  Canon Hubert sailed in with Brother Simon. Both wore stern expressions and gave only muted greetings. It was evident that they were deeply embarrassed by Lanfranc’s difficulties with perverse monks. Ralph spread a little early-morning unease.

  “What is your view of clerical marriage, Hubert?” he said.

  “It is expressly forbidden,” said Hubert.

  “Do you support that edict?”

  “To the hilt. A priest should be pure and unsullied. Like myself and Brother Simon here.”

  “But what of a priest, for the sake of argument, who fell in love before Archbishop Lanfranc made his decree? Imagine his plight.

  He is betrothed at an early age and wants nothing more than to share his life, his work and his bed with his beloved. Then along comes this ruling from above and he learns that he is divorced before he is even married.”

  “He must renounce the girl.”

  “Supposing he is not willing?”

  “His duty is simple. He has no choice.”

  “He can resign his ministry,” noted Gervase.

  “There is a third way,” said Ralph mischievously. “What if he were to remain a priest but marry in secret?”

  “An abomination!” exclaimed Brother Simon.

  “He would not be able to serve God properly.”

  “But he would be able to serve his wife.”

  “My lord!” blustered Hubert.

  “I merely put a case to you.”

  “If you know of such a one, he must be reported to the archbishop forthwith. Carnal knowledge is unbecoming in a man of God. Do you have a priest in mind?”

  “No, Canon Hubert,” said Gervase, jumping in quickly. “Ralph is teasing you. In any case, would Archbishop Lanfranc really have time for such a minor malefactor when he has so much else on his hands? Heresy in the city and dissension at the abbey will keep his mind occupied for some time.”

  “That is true, Gervase.”

  Osbern the Reeve appeared at the door to await orders. They took their seats and brought out documents from their satchels to set on the table before them. As Hubert put
some charters in front of him, he noted the neat repair in the sleeve of his cowl.

  “I am deeply grateful to your wife, my lord.”

  “Golde insisted on sewing up your sleeve herself. I got it slashed while trying to save her. Your cowl had many exciting adventures while I wore it.”

  “I am glad that it has been restored to me.”

  “Even though you may think it contaminated?”

  “By what, my lord?”

  “The very thing you spoke of just now. Marriage.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “When I rescued Golde, I did so as Canon Hubert. She was so relieved to see me that she embraced me warmly. A dagger is not the only thing which touched your cowl. It has felt the true warmth of marital passion.”

  Brother Simon was outraged and Canon Hubert began to pat himself all over as if he had a wasp inside his cowl. Ralph rocked with laughter. Having thoroughly upset the pair of them, he signalled to Osbern to bring in the first witness. Then he turned to nudge Gervase.

  “Do not fear,” he whispered. “I would never betray our wanton priest. Every man is entitled to keep one big secret.”

  Gervase thought of Alain at the leper hospital.

  “Yes,” he said. “Just one.”

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: fbd-704053-a08d-9446-a687-0689-23f9-bed4dd

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 15.07.2013

  Created using: calibre 0.9.36, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software

  Document authors :

  Edward Marston

  About

  This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.

  (This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)

  Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.

  (Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)