by Maureen Ash
With a lift of her hand, Estrid signalled for Redwald to continue his examination and he did so, scrutinising each bottle as it was presented to him and nodding to confirm it was of his own making before speaking the name of the villager who had presented it for Humbert to write down.
The space of half of an hour passed before it was Edith’s turn and, as those before her had done, she handed Redwald her bottle for inspection. The potter turned it about in his hands a time or two before looking at her and saying, “I confirm this vessel is from my pottery, Edith, but where is the other one you purchased?”
“Other one?” Edith said, her face blanching. “What other one?”
“You bought two from me. One last year and another a short time ago. Where is the second bottle?”
She gave a nervous laugh and said, “I broke the first one I bought from you. This is the second.”
Redwald looked up at Estrid and she stepped forward a pace. “If one was broken, why did you not declare it with the others who had either lost or broken theirs?” she asked.
Edith set her face in hard lines and lied boldly. “I did not want my husband to know I had been so clumsy,” she replied, “and so said nothing.”
Estrid nodded in seeming acceptance of the statement and then said, “And so this is the second bottle you bought from Redwald and not the first one?”
“Have I not just said so?” Edith averred in surly tones.
“Than you lie,” Redwald growled. “This one,” and he brandished it aloft, almost in her face, “is the first one you bought, not the second.”
“”Do not be foolish,” Edith spat at him. “They were both alike, how can you tell the difference.”
“Because the second batch I made had a flaw in the design, and this one has none, so it must be from the first batch I made. I ask you again, where is the bottle you bought from me a few weeks ago?”
Edith took a step back and made no answer.
“You do not have it do you, Edith?” Estrid said, drawing the bottle that had contained the poison from her scrip. “And that is because it is here, found among Alfreda’s possessions after she was dead. It still contains some of the poison she believed was a fertility potion. And it was you who gave it to her.”
CHAPTER 35
At Estrid’s revelation, an appalled hush descended and was not broken until FitzRanulf, with an oath, leapt at Edith, and was only prevented from striking her by the intervention of Ugg, who grabbed the knight and held him fast. As fitzRanulf struggled to free himself, the crowd of villagers surged backwards away from the pair and Harold, with a bellow, carried out the knight’s intention by running forward, grabbing his wife by the arm and dealing her a heavy back-handed blow across the cheek.
Edith reeled from the assault, but even though her lip was cut and bleeding, she stood her ground and glared at fitzRanulf. “Why do you blame me?” she spat and then pointed a finger at Abetot. “It was him, your erstwhile friend, who paid me to kill your wife.”
At her words, fitzRanulf ceased to struggle with Ugg and whirled to face the man he had believed his comrade, but before fitzHaimo could shout a command for the men-at-arms standing behind Abetot to take him, the knight had drawn the dagger from his belt and darted forward to where Humbert sat. With one swift movement he seized the elderly monk around the shoulders and pressed the sharp blade against his neck.
Dragging his captive around the base of the hillock in the direction of the horses, he growled a threat at fitzHaimo. “Tell your men to let me pass, or the monk dies.”
FitzHaimo raised a hand, motioning for the men-at-arms to stand clear of the pair, and also Leofwine and Ugg, both of whom had drawn their throwing axes from their belts.
Humbert made an attempt to struggle, his hands scrabbling at the arm that held him in a vice-like grip, but it was useless. His strength was no match for that of the seasoned knight, and everyone watched helplessly as Abetot pulled him backwards over the rough ground.
Just as it seemed that Abetot would make good his escape, Humbert plunged his right hand into the leather sack at his belt and withdrew the little sharp knife he used to pare his quills. With a desperate thrust, he drove it backward as hard as he could into the meaty flesh at the top of the knight’s thigh. The sudden stab of pain made Abetot falter for a moment, and caused him to loosen his grip on Humbert just long enough for the monk to wriggle free and drop to the ground. Before Abetot could haul him up, Leofwine had thrown his axe, and it took the knight in the shoulder of his sword arm, just below the neck. Blood spurted, and as Abetot reeled from the blow, the Dover men-at-arms leapt on him and soon had him firmly in their grasp.
Estrid and Judith ran to Humbert, who had remained crouched on the ground, and helped him stand upright. “Are you hurt, brother?” they both cried.
The monk shook his head and straightened his robes. “I am unharmed, thanks be to God,” he assured them in a shaky voice, “but I fear the report I was making has not fared so well.”
Estrid and Judith surveyed the wreckage of the monk’s parchment, the pieces of which were now scattered in front of the hillock, and had been torn and crumpled by the feet of the men-at-arms as they had rushed forward to seize Abetot.
“Come, brother, and I will help you pick them up,” Judith offered and, while she and Humbert bent to do so, Estrid watched as Harold, his first wave of anger spent, spoke to his wife, who had not moved at all during Abetot’s attempt to escape and was standing quietly under Ugg’s guard.
“Why did you want money, Edith?” he asked in bewilderment.
“Because of you,” she replied scornfully. “If you had not thrown Beorn out of our house, I would not have needed it.”
Harold retreated a step, now completely confounded. “Beorn…” he stuttered. “What has he to do with this?”
Edith gave a bitter laugh. “You do not even know what you have done, do you, you simpleton? All you think of is yourself. If you had allowed him to stay with us, and paid him a wage, he would not have had to live in squalor in our old cot, and would have been able to save up enough to pay the handgeld for a wife. I had to get the money for him somehow and, when Abetot offered payment to kill your sister, I agreed to the deed.”
“You murdered Alfreda for to get money for your brother?” Harold asked in disbelief.
“I did,” Edith assured him, “and would do it again if I had to. Beorn has as much right as any other man to have a wife to warm his bed and besides, he is worth ten of that idle sister of yours.”
At her words, a young lad of about sixteen or seventeen years of age at the edge of the crowd gave out a loud cry of anguish and Edith turned in his direction. “I am sorry that I failed you, Beorn,” she called to him. “May God keep you safe, for now I cannot.”
Edith’s brother sobbed and stumbled away, the crowd willingly parting to give him egress as he ran down the path and away from the mote place.
FitzRanulf had the same question for Abetot as Harold had asked of his wife when he walked over to where one of the Dover men-at-arms, under the wary eyes of the other soldiers, was roughly binding up the wound in the knight’s shoulder with strips torn from a cloak.
“How could you have done this, Ralf,” he demanded hoarsely of the man he had believed his friend. “What possible reason could you have for wanting Alfreda dead?”
Abetot looked up at him with a sardonic grin from where he sat on the ground and made his reply. “For land, Turstin, for land.”
*************
As the men-at-arms hoisted Abetot onto his horse to take him to the king at Dover, fitzHaimo came and spoke to Estrid.
“Rufus sent a message with the men-at-arms that he was placing Evrecy under arrest this morning, so once Abetot arrives at Dover, he will join his confederate in standing trial for murder.”
“And Edith—what of her?” she asked, looking towards where Harold’s wife, her wrists bound, was being held under guard by Leofwine and Ugg.
“The king felt
she should stand trial in the Maidstone area so the villagers can be present and witness her punishment, and has chosen Penenden as the place for the proceedings.”
Estrid was pleased to hear of this intention for it fulfilled the promise she had made to the villagers that if the person guilty of the poisoning was arrested, she would ask the king to allow all of them to attend his or her trial.
“While that is being arranged,” fitzHaimo continued, “she is to be taken to a holding cell at Rochester castle. I shall have Leofwine and Ugg escort her there and, if you wish, you, Judith and Humbert may travel with them and so return home.”
At Edith’s acceptance of the offer, and after a few brief words of explanation to fitzRanulf as to Abetot’s and Evrecy’s reason for Alfreda’s murder and how it was planned and executed—which the young knight listened to in stunned silence—fitzHaimo ascended the mound in the middle of the mote place and addressed the villagers. Succinctly, he told them that the two knights involved in the murder would be tried by the king at Dover and that Edith would be submitted to judgement at Penenden heath on a day of which they would be advised and were invited to attend.
“The king has kept his word that he would ensure justice was done in this matter,” he ended. “It is also his decision that there will not be any necessity for a fine to be levied on the village for Edith’s part in the murder of the wife of a Norman, so you are all now free to return to your homes without further hindrance.”
The crowd had listened in silence and there was a collective sigh of relief at his last words. As they slowly began to depart, all eyes turned to where Siward and his family were standing; only a very few of them gave glances of sympathy, most were of anger that the miller should have blamed one of them for the crime when it had been a member of his own family who was guilty.
As fitzHaimo left with fitzRanulf to accompany him back to Ashford, and Godser to fetch his cart to transport Edith to Rochester, thunder growled and rolled overhead and large drops of rain began to fall in a sporadic fashion.
Pulling up the hood of her cloak for protection against the wetness, Estrid walked over to the miller and his family.
Valerie was standing beside Penda, who had his arm protectively around her shoulders, tears streaming down both of their cheeks. Helga had shepherded her own children and Harold’s a little way apart, and was kneeling down amongst them trying to comfort their terror at seeing Edith taken prisoner. Siward had not moved an inch from the stance he had adopted when he first arrived; his legs were still apart and his fists clenched at his waist, but his face was stark white and he paid no attention to Harold, who had now slumped to his knees on the ground beside his father.
Estrid spoke to Valerie and Penda first. “I am sorry for your family’s heartbreak,” she said. “I wish most fervently it had been a stranger that Abetot had hired to kill Alfreda, but it was not, and wishing will not make it so.”
“No,” Valerie answered tremulously. “And we must all do our utmost now to help Harold and his children. With the assistance of God, they will find the strength to live with the stain of Edith’s terrible crime.”
When Estrid turned and addressed Siward to give him, as she had Valerie and Penda, her regret that a member of his family had slain another, the rain began to fall in earnest. But the miller took no heed of the downpour as he finally dropped his arms to his side and looked at her.
“You have accomplished that which I asked you to do, Estrid Thunorsdohter, and discovered the person who murdered my Alfreda,” he said, his tone obdurate. “It is only fitting that now I, and my family, have to live with the consequences of that petition.”
With that dire pronouncement, he spun on his heel and walked away, a man of whom it could truly be said, as the bible warned, that pride had brought to a fall.
CHAPTER 36
Both trials took place during the next two days. At Dover, the king stood in judgement of Evrecy and Abetot with the constable, James de Fiennes, at his side. The only witness was that of the spy who had overheard the conversation between the two knights, but Abetot made no effort to deny his complicity in Alfreda’s death and named Evrecy as his co-conspirator, stating the details of the pact between them.
The king listened in silence to all that was said, and then ordered both men hung from the battlements. Abetot went to his end boldly, stepping off the parapet as soon as the noose was around his neck, but Evrecy pled for lenience, asking that as punishment he be exiled to Normandy instead.
Rufus denied the plea. “You have betrayed not only me, but a man you called comrade. Such treachery does not deserve mercy.”
Evrecy attempted to make a further appeal but it was not heard. At a signal from Rufus, the noose was placed on him and he was flung bodily over the castle wall to his death.
Edith’s trial at Penenden was also a brief one. FitzHaimo sat as the king’s representative with Bishop Gundulf attending on behalf of the church. Most of the villagers from Maidstone were present, with the exception of Siward and his family. Edith stood silent as the charge was read out against her by the constable of Rochester castle and Estrid and Redwald were called to give evidence against her. Finally, the record of her admission of guilt at the mote place, as taken down by Humbert, was read out.
“You have committed a botleas crime, without remedy and unpardonable,” fitzHaimo said once all the testimony had been heard. “You will be given the opportunity for a priest to visit you tonight in gaol and then, at dawn tomorrow, be hung from the gallows in the bail of Rochester castle.”
And so it was done. Edith refused the ministrations of a priest and died unshriven the following morning with only the constable of the castle and half-dozen men-at-arms as witness.
*************
It was a relief to all who had been concerned in the investigation when the executions were over. Estrid returned to her duties in the workshop with heartfelt relief and so did Judith.
“At least we did not have to take that horrible mixture Cenred gave us in case we were poisoned,” Judith said as they worked.
“And I had no need of the scramseax you made me wear,” Estrid said to Gytha. “Although I must admit it gave me comfort to have it at the folkmote.”
“It is best to be prepared,” Gytha chastened them gruffly. “If danger had arisen, you both would have been thankful you had means of protection.”
“That is true,” Estrid admitted, and Judith ducked her head meekly in acknowledgement of the reprimand before applying herself once more to her stitchery.
**************
Before she left Bearsted, Estrid had arranged that Godser should bring Tilde to Rochester with a view to giving her some embroidery work to take home and, when the miller’s wife arrived, she was very pleased to be assigned the decoration of the back of a pair of episcopal gloves with a cross worked in orphrey. Estrid promised there would be more work soon, and also gave her two small commissions obtained from matrons in Rochester to take back to Maidstone for Alarice and Velda—the two women she had met in Velda’s house—to undertake. These latter were head rails on which the edges were to be decorated, one with a simple design of spring flowers and the other a twining motif of leaves, which Estrid was certain both of the village women could complete to her customers’ satisfaction.
Before Tilde left, she sat down with Estrid, Gytha and Judith at the table downstairs to drink cups of spiced ale brought by Cuthbert, and told them all that had happened in Maidstone since Edith’s execution.
First of all she related how, a few days after Estrid and the others had returned to Rochester, a man-at-arms sent by the king had arrived at Godser’s mill.
“He was leading a sumpter mule bearing two large panniers filled with food,” she informed them with relish. “There were two huge hams, three wheels of cheese and some conserves, along with half-dozen flagons of mead and two of wine.”
As she saw the surprise on their faces, she told them of the message from Rufus that the man-at-arms had g
iven her. “He said the king was very appreciative of mine and Godser’s assistance during the time you and Judith stayed with us, Estrid, and that he hoped I would find his gift useful.” She gave a merry laugh at the sentiment and said, “I should say we did. We had a veritable feast of it all and asked Godser’s nephew, Wig, the miller that is our neighbour at Eyhome and his family, and a couple of our customers from Bearsted to share it with us, and drank Rufus’ health at the end. It was a most enjoyable evening.”
“That was very kind of him,” Estrid told her, beginning to understand why Leofwine found Rufus, even though he was a Norman, acceptable as a monarch, for his gift evinced that he was a king who was just as conscious of retaining the goodwill of those who were of a lowly class among the people he ruled as he was those of high status. It would seem she had need to revise her own opinion of him accordingly.
Having delivered this bit of delightful news, Tilde went on to tell of events in Maidstone that were quite the opposite.
“Siward and Harold, in their shame, have shut themselves up in the smaller mill and will give admittance to no one,” she said, “not even Osric or the priest from St. Mary’s, who both went to the gate and knocked and called but were ignored. Penda is running the larger mill, which he opened the day after Edith’s confession. Valerie and Helga are with him, as are Harold and Edith’s children.
“It is Harold’s two little ones that I feel most sorry for,” Tilde continued. “All in one day, they have lost both mother and father, and must be sorely confused and heart-sick.”
“A very sad time for them both,” Estrid agreed. “Let us hope their sorrow will fade with the passage of time.” She then asked what had become of Edith’s brother, Beorn.
The miller’s wife heaved a sigh. “He is another unfortunate in this whole matter, for no one has seen him since he ran away, or knows what has become of him. Edith was like a mother to him, the only one he has ever known because of his true mother dying when he was just a babby. I do not know how he will cope without her.”