The leper's return ktm-6

by Michael Jecks

  Ralph set his feet firmly and glared at the men. “How many of you are there? Such a lot of brave folk you are! All of you here to eject five or six ill people. And where would you have them go? Would you throw them out to die on the moors? How do you think God would react to that?”

  “God?” Jack sneered. “God has pointed them out with this disease-it’s our duty as God-fearing men to support Him in His punishment. They don’t deserve alms, they deserve death!”

  “That is blasphemy! You believe Christ would support victimizing these poor souls? Didn’t He save Lazarus? Didn’t He wash the feet of lepers? How dare you suggest you have God’s sanction!”

  “Enough of this! You twist my words, Brother. Stand aside, or we’ll move you ourselves.”

  “I will not move. Here I stand, to defend my poor inmates. They suffer to remind you of the purgatory to come, and you dare to threaten them, and me? I will not move.”

  “Then we’ll shift you ourselves, monk.”

  Jack thrust the knife in his belt and nodded to another man.

  Ralph was aware of the murmuring of the lepers behind him. One man was sobbing, and from the sound he was sure it was Quivil: he shouldn’t be up, the monk thought distractedly, but he had other things to concern him. The others were talking in a hushed, anxious tone that showed their terror. All had heard of the murders in France. Their worry lent strength to the monk. His fingers tightened on the stave, and he raised it like a pike. “Don’t try to come in. I will not let you pass!”

  “You, little priest?” cried Jack, laughing. “And how do you propose to stop us? Eh?”

  Suddenly Ralph was joined by two men. One, snivelling, he recognized as Quivil. The other was Rodde. Both carried their strong staffs, and both stood determinedly.

  Rodde pointed with his staff. “You, smith, are breaking the law. You have incited the people to mutiny, and you will be punished. Any man who passes the gate when the leper master has refused permission will be arrested and punished. If any one of you tries to kill or injure a leper, you will have to answer to the Keeper.”

  “You can’t accuse someone of killing a dead man.”

  “I breathe; I eat; I drink; I piss; I shit-just the same as you do. If any of you doubt I am alive, you can argue the matter with the Keeper of the King’s Peace and the Dean of the church. You’ll need to be very convincing to persuade them, though, I reckon!”

  His words and his easy manner made a few in the crowd laugh, and Jack was enraged to be thus thwarted. “You’re a leper,” he shouted. “You have no rights. If you think you have, go somewhere where they’ll support you. You’ll not stay here.”

  “I’m ill, you fool. I am dying-but so are you. With you, your death may come tomorrow, while mine will be in four or five years, if God spares me, but we’ll both end up in the ground. And what then? I wonder where God would send a man who rouses the town to murder.”

  “You’re not even a local man! Why should we starve ourselves to feed your useless belly, eh? Go on! Leave our town. You’re not welcome here.”

  “No one will cross this gate,” stated Ralph firmly. “These men are here under my protection, and under the protection of the Church. You have no rights here, smith. Go home.”

  “Yes, go home.”

  Jack turned to find himself face to face with the Dean and Bishop Stapledon.

  Peter Clifford was bristling with anger. “How dare you march out here to the Church’s land and threaten a brother in his holy work? How dare you rouse the mob to violence? This is outrageous behavior even for a fool like you. You are arrested, smith. Put down the knife!”

  Over the priest’s shoulder the smith could see that his small army was dwindling as people realized the consequences of being discovered could be dire-and expensive. “We have the right to see God’s will done,” he declared.

  “Not here, my son,” said Stapledon calmly. “I am your Bishop. You have no rights here. This is a hospital for the sick and dying. Every wound you see on these men is given to them by God Himself to serve as a sign to you. Your actions tonight are an insult to Him.”

  “I don’t believe you! They’re evil-they’ve managed to win over two of our women already, and they’ll not be happy till they’ve won all the others. They shouldn’t be allowed to stay on, they should be evicted!” Jack shouted, glaring from one to another. Suddenly he snatched the knife from his belt. Spinning, he rushed at the gate.

  “Jack, stop!” bellowed Clifford, but the running man leaped over the gate and pelted toward Quivil.

  The leper was overcome with shock to see the maddened smith heading for him. With his mouth hanging open, he lifted the stave in his hand, and Rodde moved to help him, but even as Thomas saw the oaken stick point to the smith, he saw it fall. “Edmund, no!”

  It was over in an instant. No one there missed the look of fear disappear, to be replaced by one of gratitude. They all saw Quivil drop his sole weapon of defense, saw the faint smile that passed over his face, and the vaguely surprised expression that succeeded it as the knife slipped in up to the hilt in his chest.

  “No!” Rodde screamed, swinging his staff. It cracked into Jack’s head above the ear, and he slumped to the ground at Quivil’s feet, leaving the dagger buried in the leper’s body. “Edmund! How could you?”

  Rodde caught at Quivil as he began to topple.

  Edmund felt light-headed. Suddenly his knees weren’t strong enough to hold him, and he was thankful for his friend’s arms. He could feel Rodde carefully easing him down to a sitting position.

  “Why didn’t you defend yourself? You could have hit him and kept him away!”

  Ralph went over to the fallen smith. Jack was lying face down, and as the monk tried to pull him over, he felt a horrible stickiness on the man’s shoulder. Bending, he saw that the back of his head was crushed, and Ralph gave a low sighing groan for Jack’s folly before muttering a quick prayer.

  He stood and put a hand on the weeping leper’s shoulder. Rodde’s hat had fallen from his head, and his tousled hair hung loose, obscuring his face. Gently the monk took Rodde’s hands away and lowered Quivil to the ground before closing the sightless eyes.

  Baldwin ran out with his servant, leaving the quietly fuming Jeanne in the hall. Out near the kitchen he found Emma, sobbing hysterically and holding her arm.

  “It was the hound, your blasted hound! You should have killed it when I said; you should have killed it. It’s mad! Look at me, look at my poor hand, and all because I was trying to stroke it!”

  “Edgar, what happened?”

  The servant shook his head sadly. “I am sorry, sir, but she says Uther went for her. She tried to be friendly with him, and when she made to stroke him, he bit her.”

  Baldwin looked at her skeptically. “Where did he bite you?”

  “Here! Look!” she wailed, holding out her hand.

  There on her wrist, Baldwin could see the toothmarks by the light of the moon. Blood was drawn on two gashes where the canines had gouged the skin, but they were not the deep wounds of a savaged limb-they were no worse than Baldwin himself had received when enjoying a tussle with the dog. Teeth like Uther’s would do vastly more harm than this. “Is that all?”

  “All? What more proof do you need, you unnatural fellow! That dog is vicious, it’s a brute. What do you mean by asking if that’s all! What more do you need? A corpse?”

  The knight eyed her with frustration. That she was scared he didn’t doubt, but to say that Uther was in any way ferocious was ludicrous. “Look, Emma, perhaps we should go indoors and get your wounds seen to.”

  “Why, so you can try to persuade me I imagined this? Look: blood! The dog must be killed. Now!”

  “Where is he?”

  Edgar answered. “Hugh took him back to your room, sir.”

  “Sir Baldwin?”

  “What now? Oh, sorry, Hugh. What can I do for you?”

  In answer, Hugh said nothing, but pushed past Emma to a bush by the wall. He stared for a
moment, then reached in, and brought out a long stick. Passing it to Baldwin, he stood and stared at Emma with his arms folded.

  The knight studied it, and glanced helplessly at the impassive servant. “Well?”

  “That’s why Uther bit her. She kept stabbing him with it. I saw her from the window.”

  One end of the stick had been sharpened to a point. Baldwin tested it on his finger as he surveyed the maid. “Is this true?”

  “The hound attacked me. He’s mad and vicious.”

  “Is it true you baited him?”

  “Answer him, Emma.”

  Baldwin turned to find Jeanne at his side. She was watching her maid with an expression of contempt. “Did you make the dog try to bite you?”

  “No, I only had the stick to defend myself.”

  Baldwin broke the stick in half and threw it away. “That dog is less cruel than most humans, and you tried to beat him into betraying his nature. You did so to make him appear dangerous so that you could get him destroyed. You are less humane than he is.”

  “Emma, you are released from my service. I will not give you a home when I return to Liddinstone. You must find somewhere else to live,” said Jeanne coldly, then she spun on her heel and went back into the hall. Baldwin walked after her.

  “Madam, I am sorry if my hound has been the cause of your losing your maid.”

  “Can you believe that I would want you to have your best dog killed because of a foolish woman who mistreats him?”

  “No, of course not. And I don’t think I could suffer her to live with me, either.”

  She shot him a look. Baldwin was smiling broadly, his happiness a mixture of delight at the removal of the block from his path, and new-found confidence. Now he was certain of her answer. He held out his hands to her again. “Come, I think we were about to talk of something important when your maid interrupted us.”

  “Yes, Baldwin?” she said, and walked into his arms.

  It was unfortunate that Hugh had thought Uther should be freed from his confinement. More so, that Uther felt left out when he saw his master kissing and embracing Jeanne. So it wasn’t surprising that he jumped up at them, although he was surprised at the way his master shouted at him.

  Simon and his wife knew nothing of the scene. Upstairs in their room, Simon threw a tunic at his wife. She was still naked on the bed, languidly running her hands through her long blonde hair.

  “You should get dressed,” he grinned.

  “It was you who delayed the process,” she retorted, spreading the green velvet tunic beside her over the patch where he had been lying only a few moments before. “If you hadn’t decided to attack me as soon as we got up here, I’d be ready now.”

  “My apologies, Lady. In future I’ll leave you to dress alone.”

  “I don’t think so,” she chuckled, rising from the mattress and pulling a shift over her head. Simon watched her as she clothed herself, smiling to himself. When she was ready, and he had pulled on his hose, shirt, and tunic, he held out his hand and they left the room together.

  Simon was filled with expectation. He knew only too well how much Baldwin wanted a wife, a woman who could comfort him and provide him with children, and his friend had selected the widow. All Simon hoped was that she would accept him and be the lady he longed for.

  He walked down to the screens. The way was curtained. Margaret paused, her grip on his hand tightening. “Do you think they’ve agreed?”

  “That’s in their hands.”

  He smiled, but she could see his confusion: he wanted to go in and hear good news, but he wasn’t sure that he would.

  “Come, my love,” she murmured, her mouth at his ear. “The anticipation is killing me.”

  With a resolute movement, Simon swept the curtain aside and they walked in. In front of the fire sat Jeanne. Baldwin was nowhere to be seen. Jeanne rose elegantly as they approached. “I think Baldwin will be back shortly.”

  “He left you here?” Simon asked.

  Jeanne caught the note of enquiry in his voice, and her eyebrow rose. “His dog came in here and jumped up at us,” she said, and lifted her arm. There, beneath her arm, were two massive muddy footprints. “Baldwin is seeing to him.”

  Simon shook his head. So his friend had failed. As soon as he had tried to persuade Jeanne to marry him, the blasted dog had ruined things again.

  “Uther has already caused the removal of Emma from my service,” Jeanne continued, seating herself. “I fear Baldwin was rather angry with the dog. I can’t imagine why.”

  Her words made Simon grit his teeth. She was being so cold and unresponsive, yet Simon was convinced she knew perfectly well that Baldwin wanted to have her for his wife, and she must also be aware that he adored his dogs-especially “Chopsie.” “It is a shame,” he said quietly. “I hope Baldwin will not do anything hasty with Uther.”

  “”Hasty?“ Oh, I don’t think his treatment of the brute would be at all hasty.”

  Just then there was a clap from behind them. Simon spun around to see his friend walking in, wiping his hands on a towel as if cleaning them of dirt-or, Simon thought, blood.

  “Simon! Margaret! Are you ready to eat?”

  The bailiff couldn’t stop himself glancing at Jeanne. Baldwin saw the look, and raised his eyebrows. She returned his glance, innocently widening her eyes.

  “I told them you were seeing to Uther,” she said. “Have you done it?”

  “Baldwin, you haven’t had him killed, have you?” Margaret demanded.

  “No,” said Baldwin.

  “But…Then what were you doing?” Simon stammered.

  The knight laughed out loud. “I don’t want him leaping all over me while I am celebrating! Simon, Margaret, meet the lady who will be my wife! Jeanne de Liddinstone has accepted me, providing I keep the brute away from her while she is in her best tunic.” 26

  S imon and the cheerful knight rode into Crediton in the middle of the morning. They went straight to the Dean’s house, and it was here that they heard about the near riot. Baldwin immediately insisted on riding out to the leper camp to ensure that all was now well. They found Ralph morosely wandering about the grassed area.

  “Brother Ralph, I came to offer you my apologies for last night.”

  “Sir Baldwin, that is very good of you. And I am pleased to see you too, Simon. Yes, it was a dreadful shock.”

  “And two dead?”

  “Yes. Edmund Quivil died immediately. He never spoke again. The other, the smith, was soon dead as well. His skull was crushed when another tried to stop him killing poor Edmund.”

  “I shall have to see Edmund’s parents,” Baldwin murmured, shaking his head. “What a ridiculous waste, though. If only Jack had been sensible.”

  “Do you want to see the bodies?”

  “Where are they?”

  “I have them in the chapel. I thought they might as well wait there until the Coroner could view them. We don’t want them out in the open to rot.”

  “Er, quite so.”

  He and Simon studied the corpses. The knight was shocked to see how skinny Quivil had become.

  “He lost his appetite as soon as he was diagnosed, and the weight fell off him while he was here,” Ralph explained.

  “And you say that the other man who died had his head stoved in?”

  “Yes. Quivil’s friend here, Thomas Rodde, tried to save him, but the blow had already been struck.”

  “I was too late.”

  Baldwin turned to see Rodde approaching. Although this was the lepers’ own chapel, Rodde obeyed the rules by standing some three yards from the others, sadly eyeing the cold body. “He could have defended himself if he’d wanted.”

  “He turned the other cheek, Thomas,” said the monk quietly. “He behaved as a good Christian should.”

  “But he didn’t need to.”

  “I think he had lost the will to live. Everything he counted as most dear was taken from him.”

  “Yes. Even his woman
was to go to be a nun.”

  “Mary chose that route for herself,” Ralph pointed out quietly.

  “And you will not allow my wife in to be with me?”

  “Your wife?” Baldwin asked.

  Ralph nodded. “This man is the husband of the woman you know as Cecily.”

  Simon gave a gasp. “So it was you she was talking to on the night her father was killed!”

  Thomas Rodde gave a slight grin. “It appears you know much about my business, sir. But yes, I was there.”

  “Come outside and let us talk,” said Baldwin. “We have much to ask you.”

  They walked out into the bright but chilly sunlight, and stood near the gate where two had died the night before. Rodde shook his head when his eye caught a glimpse of a reddish-brown smudge on the grass.

  “He was a good friend to you?” asked Baldwin, noticing his expression.

  “Yes. He was brought here the day I arrived. That night he was attacked by other inmates, and I saved him. He was my friend from that moment.”

  “It’s no surprise he decided to let Jack kill him, then,” said Simon. “If the poor bastard was hounded in here by his peers, and bullied outside by the townsfolk.”

  “No,” agreed Rodde. “Yet I wish he’d let his illness take its course. There was no need for him to die. He could have had plenty of enjoyment in the years he had to come. I would have shown him how.”

  “You have yourself been ill for many years?” Baldwin asked.

  “Yes, sir. I was struck down when I was almost twenty. My father was another goldsmith in London, and we lived close to Godfrey and my wife.” There was a defiance in his voice, as if daring Baldwin to deny that he, a leper, could still be married. Seeing no dispute in the knight’s eye, he continued. “We grew up together, living almost next door. It was only natural that we should marry.”

  “What sort of a man was Godfrey?”

  “Him?” Rodde blew out his cheeks as he considered. “He was a good, generous man in those days. It was only more recently that he changed, or so I understand. As soon as I was denounced for this-” he waved his hand at his face “-he became quite hysterical. His wife, Cecily’s mother, was horror-struck, and I think lost her mind. Because of that she was run over by a cart and died. That, I think, was what made Godfrey snap. Until then, he had tried to help me and Cecily. He had found a good place for me in a leper hospital, and provided the place with alms and money, and allowed Cecily to come and visit me, but when his wife died, he was embittered. He blamed me for his wife’s death, and by extension he blamed Cecily herself.”