The leper's return ktm-6

by Michael Jecks

  “One thing I don’t understand yet is why you told us there were two men in Godfrey’s garden, and that they made you turn back to the house,” Baldwin frowned as he and Simon sat on a bench near the Irishman’s bed.

  John grinned. “I knew very little at the time. Alison hadn’t told me about her mistress’ husband, so I simply told you the truth. I didn’t realize Mistress Cecily would want to protect the men who had killed her father-why should I? All I knew was, someone had attacked the place and for all I knew the two men out near my wall could have been them.”

  “That clears it all up,” said Baldwin.

  “I only hope this leg will clear up as quickly as your mystery has, Sir Baldwin,” John muttered glumly.

  “The monks here are as good as any in the realm,” Baldwin grinned. “And you have a new life to look forward to. I am sure your wife-to-be will visit you often to assist your recovery.”

  The knight stood, smiling reassuringly down at the wounded man, and the bailiff also rose to his feet.

  As Simon observed his friend, he mused over the knight’s affection for his dog. It led him to another thought. The incident with the dog was false; it had been manufactured by the maid. If her deception hadn’t been witnessed by Hugh, Uther would probably (Simon still wasn’t convinced that Baldwin could have seen the brute killed) be dead, and Emma would be cock-a-hoop. He was reminded of his reflection the previous day as he rode back to Baldwin’s house: appearances could be deceptive.

  “My God!”

  His startled expostulation made Baldwin glance up, momentarily brought out of his glum reflections. “What?”

  “That leper, Quivil! What did he look like?”

  “Simon, what are you on about?”

  “He was wasted, wasn’t he? You recall his arms? Like sticks. Ralph told us he had lost his appetite since learning of his disease, didn’t he?”

  “So?”

  “Could a man in so weak a condition have crushed Godfrey’s skull like that?”

  Baldwin stared. Before he could speak, John interrupted them.

  “There is one thing I didn’t understand, gentlemen. While I was with Cecily, I really didn’t think Godfrey was dead. I mean, as a soldier, I’ve seen enough men who’re dead or about to be, but Godfrey didn’t look it. He was just lying there as if he was asleep, you know?”

  Now Baldwin met Simon’s gaze and nodded slowly. “When you were attacked, John, why did you think your home was ransacked?”

  “Oh, because they were hoping to find the plate. That’s what I thought then, and I still think so now.”

  “But you couldn’t tell us?”

  “Mistress Cecily wanted to keep things quiet about that night. It was her secret, not mine.”

  Simon took hold of his friend’s arm. “Just as Coffyn kept his wife’s secret! He wanted to keep things quiet about her,” he said urgently.

  “What are you getting at, Simon?”

  “Baldwin, for some time, according to Coffyn, he has suspected that his wife has been having an affair-and yet he did little or nothing about it until now! Is it credible? Any man would take the revenge he took on John here as soon as he realized what was going on!”

  John stared from one to the other. “But nothing was!” he protested.

  “Not with you, no. That was why Coffyn didn’t attack you,” Simon said, and sighed as he caught sight of his friend’s expression. “Come on, Baldwin. We both know what happened, don’t we?”

  The knight rose, and was about to leave the room when the infirmarer nursing John came back into the room. Baldwin hesitated, then grabbed him and muttered to him. Simon thought the monk looked surprised to be manhandled like that, but the bailiff saw him frown, head on one side while he listened, then he gave two sharp nods of agreement, and before he went to John, Simon heard him say, “Yes, I will. It would be easy to check, as you say.”

  “Good. Now, come along Simon,” Baldwin called over his shoulder as he ran from the room.

  The door was ajar, and Baldwin pushed it wide and entered the passage. He exchanged a glance with Simon. The house was silent. On every other occasion when they had walked in, there had been a guard at the door, servants rattling pots and pans, soldiers shouting or laughing as they played merrils or dice, yet now there was nothing.

  They walked along the screens, Simon finding his hand wandering to his sword-hilt in the darkened passage. There were no candles in the sconces, no open door at the far end, and the light spilled out from the hall itself. With the absence of noise, it was oddly intimidating, and Simon found he was unwilling to step into the pool of brightness.

  Baldwin felt a similar tension. He was anxious to prevent another killing. It was a relief when he recognized his quarry in the hall.

  The room was almost empty. William sat on a bench near the wall, swinging his legs idly, and his master was seated near the fire. The place seemed unnaturally quiet.

  “I was about to find you to confess.”

  “You may do so now. It might help.”

  “It will,” Coffyn said with conviction. He was a shrivelled hulk, a pallid reflection of his former self. As he spoke, he had a knuckle resting on his chin as if in preparation to chew the nails again should the pressure become too much. “I have nothing to live for now. My men have gone because they know I have no coin to pay them with. My wife has left me. I think she’s gone to her brother in Exeter. My work is finished because she cleared out my strongbox before she went. I have nothing left. God has ruined me, and yet I don’t know why!”

  Baldwin sat opposite him, fixing the merchant with a serious, but compassionate stare. He waved briefly at William, who appeared to understand, and went to fetch wine for them. “God would not have been pleased with your behavior, Matthew,” Baldwin murmured.

  “Eh? How dare you say that! Of course He would!” the other stated scornfully. “I destroyed a man who was breaking one of His commandments. ”Thou shalt not commit adultery,“ remember? God would have been pleased with my efforts. And all I did with the lepers was to fulfill His aim of punishing them.”

  Baldwin accepted a warmed mug of wine from William, who walked to stand close to his master, although whether to support Coffyn or to hold him, the knight wasn’t sure.

  “When did you first realize Godfrey had seduced your wife?” asked Baldwin.

  Coffyn shot him a black look before studying his nails. “You think he seduced her? That’s charitable, Sir Baldwin. Personally I’d hesitate to jump to that conclusion. No matter! I never guessed he was interested in her until my last journey on business. Before that, we had never got on particularly well. Suddenly, about four months ago, he began to take an interest in my work. As soon as he heard that things were becoming tough, he offered me some help.

  “Now it seems so obvious. It was at just the same time as Martha started preening herself. As she demanded new clothes and trinkets to show off her beauty, my neighbor offered me money. But the more I borrowed, the more he demanded in interest, and the more my wife wanted tunics and jewels. I never thought he would cuckold me, just as I never thought she would disgrace herself.”

  “When did you know for certain?”

  “I’d heard something in the street about John with my wife. People used to go quiet when they saw me, and some pointed and laughed, but I knew she’d not demean herself to that extent. She’s not the kind to want tender embraces from a miserable peasant like him. No, I realized who was sleeping with her when I came home early one day and heard him leaping from my roof. Some of my men were in the front garden, so whoever it was must have escaped through the back, and that meant whoever it was had got away over the fence into Godfrey’s land. It made me start to wonder about Godfrey. When I went away the next time, the night Godfrey died, I had a man stationed out here. He went to the hall and asked for Godfrey, on the pretext that I wanted to check on a loan from him. But Godfrey wasn’t there. That was when I knew for certain.”

  “So you came home, you sear
ched your house, and while you did so, you heard his cry.”

  “I heard him shout, yes, but I didn’t realize it was him at the time. My man was here, and told me Godfrey wasn’t in his hall, so I searched my house. I was convinced he was here somewhere.”

  “But when you went to his house?”

  “I ran round there to confront him, not save the bastard! The place was in a mess. Cecily was apparently coming round, and her maid came downstairs as I walked in. William here was with me. I told him to carry Cecily to her chamber, and while they were gone Godfrey began to groan.

  “I was angry. Furious! That’s my only excuse. As soon as he started making a noise, a red rage overcame me. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise; I couldn’t have.”

  “You hit him with what-a stick?”

  In answer Coffyn jerked his head at the fire. “It was a blackthorn cudgel. I used to carry it with me all the time, but when I saw what I’d done, I couldn’t keep it. The ball of the handle was smothered in gore, and I couldn’t bear to use it again, so I broke it over my knee and threw it into Godfrey’s fire.”

  “While your man went off to fetch the constable?”

  “Yes. Just as a good citizen should. And when he arrived, I told him I’d found Godfrey already dead while the other two were merely wounded. And I walked home.”

  He broke off and glowered at the knight. “I don’t regret it, Sir Baldwin. Godfrey was an evil, money-grabbing bastard. He shafted me in business, and then shafted my wife as well. It wasn’t that he made me a fool, I could cope with that happily enough. No, it was that he took everything I had-money, marriage, everything! I killed him with as little compunction as I would have killed a beetle.”

  “And what of John?”

  “John of Irelaunde?” Coffyn glanced up uncomprehendingly. “That shady little bugger? What of him?”

  “He was innocent of any involvement with your wife, yet you were happy to let others circulate the rumor that he had enjoyed an affair with her…”

  “That was the reputation he had cultivated for himself, Sir Knight.”

  “But you were happy to go to his house and beat him, merely to deflect attention from yourself, weren’t you? You knew perfectly well he had nothing to do with your wife’s infidelity when you gave him that savage clubbing.”

  Simon let his hand fall on his friend’s shoulder. Baldwin’s voice had taken on a cold precision as the anger began to overtake him. Feeling Simon’s hand, the knight took a deep breath and forced himself to relax a little.

  Coffyn sat shaking his head, nibbling hard at a tiny shred of thumbnail. “I had to make sure you thought I was convinced of his guilt. If I did nothing about the Irishman, you might have realized I knew about Godfrey.”

  “Yes. That was why you were so careful to let him see you. It was important that he should be able to swear that you were his attacker.” Baldwin stood, and his voice dropped. “Well, Matthew Coffyn, you have made a full confession, but it only serves to highlight your guilt. You were prepared to almost kill John without justification; to steal your neighbor’s plate; and to commit murder. There is only one penalty for all that-the rope!”

  Ralph had finished tidying his chapel when Mary entered. She walked quietly to the body at the hearse and stood there, shaking her head with grief.

  “Mary, I am so very sorry.”

  “He had such a little life.”

  “But he has a great life now,” he reminded her.

  “I am grateful for that.”

  He could hear the doubt in her voice. “Mary, don’t believe what the uneducated say about lepers: Edmund wasn’t evil. He was certainly not a great sinner, for he followed Christ’s teaching. He turned the other cheek; he allowed another to kill him without using his own weapon in defense. He died refusing to protect himself from another’s attack. Christ would revere young Edmund as a friend.”

  “I am glad for that,” she said quietly.

  Her tears appeared to be a relief to her. Ralph thought her sadness looked overwhelming, but her eyes held gratitude too, as if in the midst of her misery she was glad to have known her man. “What will you do now?” he asked.

  “With Jack gone, I don’t think anyone else will make my life too difficult, but I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “You will go to the convent?”

  “Yes. The Bishop has promised to find me a position with one of the convents in his diocese. I will spend my time praying for Edmund and helping others who are sick. After my treatment recently I feel I can understand the suffering of others. Maybe I can help them.”

  “I will pray for you.”

  “Thank you, Brother. That would mean much to me.”

  She closed her eyes and knelt before the altar, and Ralph quietly left her. Outside the clear weather appeared to be breaking at last, and heavy gray clouds were hanging almost motionless in the air. He took in the view for a while, tugging his robes tighter around his body against the bitter wind.

  Seeing a figure near the gate, Ralph frowned quickly, then strolled over to him. “Thomas?”

  “It is no good, Brother. My mind is made up. After what has happened here, I think I would always be a reminder of the attack, and that can’t be good for the camp or for the town.”

  “And you fear that you’ll cause her more hurt?”

  “What can I offer her? She’s still young. Let her become a widow once more. If she tries to stay with me, she will be devoting her life to suffering. It’s not right.”

  “I think you are right. And I wish you godspeed, my friend.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ralph noticed that a monk was walking toward them. It wasn’t the almoner, for Ralph would have recognized his bent back and slightly shuffling gait. This man walked with a spring in his step. As he came closer, he hailed Ralph. “Brother, may I speak to you a moment?”

  Shrugging, Ralph joined him at the gate. Rodde waited patiently, his attention fixed on the town’s smoke in the distance. When he was called, he was surprised, but he ambled over willingly enough, although the suppressed excitement in Ralph’s voice made him wary.

  “Thomas, this brother would like to have a word with you.”

  Margaret walked slowly with Jeanne through the knight’s orchard. The clouds overhead tried to cast a gloomy atmosphere over the area, but Margaret couldn’t sense it. She was still filled with delight over the news of the night before.

  “When will you arrange the celebration?”

  Jeanne giggled. “I don’t know! Perhaps early in the New Year. I would like to wed in springtime. It seems best to marry when the flowers are springing up and the leaves are bright and fresh. A new year for beginning a new life-it seems appropriate, doesn’t it?”

  “Most appropriate! And I will look forward to it.”

  “So will I. He is a good man.”

  “He is,” Margaret smiled. “You have won the heart of a kind and noble gentleman.”

  “I am glad you think so too. It would be horrible to find myself attached to another man like my first husband,” Jeanne said with a shudder.

  Margaret put her arm round her friend’s shoulder. “You can forget your past now. Baldwin will be a good husband for you.”

  They were coming close to the house again, and in the doorway they saw Hugh helping Wat to bring in wood. The dour servant nodded to his mistress, before shepherding the boy inside.

  “Is that man always so miserable?” Jeanne whispered.

  “Oh yes,” Margaret laughed. “He was born with a sour apple in his mouth and the flavor has never left him!”

  They went through into the house and along the screens. In the hall Wat was tending to the fire under Hugh’s supervision. Hugh rolled his eyes at his mistress as the women passed the doorway.

  “I think when you are the lady of this house you’ll need to take that boy under your wing,” Margaret murmured, trying not to grin.

  Jeanne caught the boy’s glance and gave him a wink. He instantly reddened to h
ave been noticed by his master’s lady, and bent to his task with renewed vigor. His evident embarrassment made Jeanne hurry to the door and out to the open air, where her laughter couldn’t upset him.

  But as they came out into the sunlight, her attention was caught by the low cloud of dust on the road. “Is that them? They’ve not been very long, if it is.”

  Margaret nodded, shielding her eyes from a sudden flash of sunlight that burst from between the clouds. “Yes. It’s Baldwin and Simon.”

  The knight could see the two women standing waiting at the door, and instead of riding through to the stableyard as normal, he cantered along the roadway and reined in before them.

  “Is there anything the matter?” asked Margaret.

  “Nothing,” replied the knight. “In fact, all is very well indeed. A murderer is in jail. Let’s get inside and we’ll tell you what we’ve done today.”

  The fire was hissing and crackling merrily, the wine was warmed and spiced, sitting in pewter jugs on the hearth, the cold meats had been brought out with bread, and the four made a good meal while Baldwin and Simon told their ladies of their morning’s discoveries.

  “But why,” said Jeanne, a slight frown wrinkling her brow, “why did Coffyn kill him then? Surely he could have killed Godfrey at any time?”

  “Yes,” said Baldwin, “but at any other time he wouldn’t have had his enemy totally at his mercy. There is something about seeing a weak foe that does something to a certain type of man. I think Coffyn is of that kind. He met with Godfrey regularly, and probably passed the time of day with him, always having that vague, niggling doubt worrying at him, but never found the courage to strike at him, or even simply accuse him to his face.”

  “Many men would have waited until they could find him with the woman and killed in hot blood,” said Margaret.

  “And that was what he planned, I think. A surprise return, followed by a hideous slaughter. But although his blood was up, he couldn’t find his quarry. It was only when he remembered he had heard a shout from his neighbor’s house that he realized Godfrey must have got home, and that was when he rushed next door. And when he found that the man he hated was completely in his power, he couldn’t stop himself. All alone in that room with the man he loathed, and no one to prevent him taking his revenge. No constraints, no restrictions-and best of all, everyone would assume, as they did, that it was a tragic mistake, that the first blow had been the one to kill Godfrey.”