Murder at Meaux

by Cassandra Clark

  Gregory, bland as ever, glanced at the bag he was holding. Distracted, everybody strained to get a closer look.

  Ignoring it, he continued, ‘Summoned to attend, the accused was in ignorance of what had taken place before his arrival. We, however, have heard the unforced admission that an argument took place between Sir Bernard and his niece. Unbeknown to the accused, Sir Bernard, with his wife, Lady Avis, had arrived in Stonegate some time between Nones and Vespers and one of them at least had left the premises before the accused arrived. Let me put it to you, they had only one aim, to get their hands on a fortune. All that stood in the way was their headstrong and spendthrift niece – with her besotted and adulterous regard for her father’s apprentice – and the accused, her long-suffering husband. The diabolical plan concocted by Sir Bernard and his wife was simple: murder their niece and throw the blame on her husband. The disaffection in that ill-fated marriage was widely known. Nothing might seem more likely that violence would one day break out. But how were these two seekers of fortune to bring this about? I’ll tell you how. It was simple – drug the niece with a drink laced with henbane as we heard from the Coroner, Sir Heribert, then, when she was weakened, push her down the stairs. Who made the fatal move we shall no doubt learn later but with the niece lying with a broken neck, the husband allegedly drunk asleep in the stables, it would be easy to blame him. The housekeeper, enraged because she had been given nothing in the silversmith’s will, indeed, she had been given notice to quit at next Martinmas fair, was easily bribed into lying about the accused’s activities that evening. All she had to do was keep out of the way until the following morning when she was instructed to rush out into the street shouting, ‘murder!’ and the two bailiffs, easily bribable and paid to wait in the street nearby, would come in and make their arrest. Sir Bernard, as city coroner, would take over. One flaw in this heinous plan – Lady Avis was worried that the girl might have been merely injured by her fall. She had to return to the scene of the crime to make sure she was dead. And, you see, it wasn’t just Sir Bernard who made the dogs howl. As we have heard from the journeyman, the dogs were disturbed at midnight and why? Because Sir Bernard’s wife, so closely associated with him, aroused an equal antipathy in the animals so that when she arrived in the dead of night – in secret, as she hoped – the dogs announced her arrival with all the fury with which they habitually greeted her husband –’

  Sir Bernard pushed himself forward. ’This is all fancy! Your story’s worthy of that court poet, Geoffrey Chaucer! It’s based on the over-wrought lies of a bonded servant’s bastard daughter and your own feverish imaginings! My lord –’ he swivelled towards the abbot but Gregory interrupted coldly to say, ‘I have not finished.’

  Now he reached inside the mysterious bag that had been causing so much speculation and, before pulling anything forth, stayed his hand to say, ‘While I was at the Vavasour’s house in Coppergate something locked in a secret coffer was indicated to me by our little witness here,‘ he turned to where the ashen maid was smiling up at him. ‘Bailiff!’ he called now, looking round until Alwyn of York stepped forward in what could only be called a sprightly manner. ‘May I remind you, bailiff, you are still under oath. Can you confirm that you were present when this coffer was opened?’

  Gregory drew from his bag a wooden box with a small key in the lock. There was a rustle of speculation.

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Where was the key when I called you to the premises?’

  ‘The maid did not have the key to the house, living out in the stables as she did she had no need of a key and one of the parish watch had to be called to fetch the duplicate before we could get in. Once inside the little maid did not know which key fitted the lock of the casket you have there. It had to be searched for, brother, and it was eventually found high on a hook among a bunch of others.’

  ‘Can you confirm that you yourself took this key and opened the coffer?’

  ‘I can.’

  ‘And inside?’

  ‘What you might find still there, brother.’

  ‘You may stand down.’

  The bailiff stood down.

  Gregory turned the key of the coffer and lifted the lid. Plunging his hand inside he drew forth something that he allowed to unfold in a swirl of bronze and gold. He held it up.

  ‘This is what we found!’

  There was a gasp. He spread it carefully on the lectern in a shimmer of light.

  ‘Do you confirm this, child?’

  The little ragamuffin nodded and curtsied. ‘I do so, dear Brother.’

  ‘I have the sworn oath of the customs chief at Ravenser testifying to the date it was brought in and by whom. I can give you the exact date, my lord,’ he said in an aside, ‘if you so wish.’

  Hubert, enigmatic as ever, merely murmured, ‘The fact is recorded.’

  ‘And what is it, you might ask?’ Gregory’s glance swept the Chamber. ‘It is the finest human hair from Outremer.’ He ran his long fingers through the tresses with a certain pleasure. ‘It comes to us through Flanders although its original provenance is Jerusalem.’

  ‘What is this supposed to prove?’ the abbot inquired.

  ‘If I may, my lord.’ Gregory shook out the hair-piece to make it shimmer the more then carefully replaced it on the lectern. ‘After Sir Bernard left the yard shortly before Vespers who, may I ask, saw Eunice again? I’ll tell you who saw her – no-one.’

  ‘But what about the accused himself?’ interrupted the Proctor. ‘He spoke to her when she came to the window.’

  ‘True, he said he spoke to her, or thought he spoke to her. But did she reply? No, she did not. He spoke to someone because we have his own testimony to prove it. Someone came to the window and allowed their long hair – hair of which we are told Eunice was so proud – to fall in all its silken glory over the sill. This hair!’ He lifted up the hair-piece again.

  A few murmurs broke out.

  ’Did anyone reply to the accused when he called up? No. And why not? Because,’ he swung his piercing glance to seek out Lady Avis in order to address her directly, ‘it would have given the game away, wouldn’t it?’

  Avis clutched her throat and looked desperately in the direction of her husband but he was staring hard at the floor in front of him.

  ‘I ask, who was that someone at the window?’ Gregory continued relentlessly, ‘All we know is that a figure with long hair appeared. I put it to you, my lady,’ he stared coldly at Avis, ‘that you were that woman –’

  ‘Damned lies!’ shouted Sir Bernard, springing forward.

  Gregory ignored him. ‘Lady Avis, aware that she would be unable to impersonate a much younger woman, adopted this for her use.’ To make sure everybody understood he picked up the hair-piece again and showed how it might hang down.

  ‘It proves,’ he said, ‘that the plot between Sir Bernard and his wife to get their hands on their niece’s fortune involved an impersonation of their victim after she was poisoned and lying incapacitated, or worse, within the house. Further, we have the journeyman’s testimony that the dogs, those innocent participants in this whole drama, remained restive for some tine after Sir Bernard left the premises. I suggest that this was because Lady Avis was still present...in order to carry out her impersonation of her niece!’

  ‘He made me do it!’ Avis shrilled, pointing a finger at her husband. ‘He put me up to it! He forced me to do it!’

  ‘You lying Jezebel!’ Sir Bernard was incandescent with rage. ‘You were as eager as I was to get your hands on her money – !’

  Gregory, determined to finish, raised his voice as the two of them began to hurl recriminations at each other.

  ‘The accused saw a figure at the lighted window and was fooled into believing that his wife was still alive. No suspicion could fall on Sir Bernard or his wife because they were heard or thought to have been heard to leave the yard together – before the accused arrived.’ He ran his fingers along the tresses spilling along the lectern.
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br />   For a moment his eyes held a far-away sadness at odds with what had gone before, and his words trailed away. Then he pushed the hair to one aside.

  ‘But the good wife, perhaps even on her husband’s instructions, remained long enough to dupe the accused and then, secretly left the premises. We have the innocent testimony of the dogs who, we are told, were restive for some time that evening.’ He snapped his papers together as if to be done with the whole matter and in a bored voice he said, ‘I put it to you that Sir Bernard and his wife jointly caused the murder of their niece and that Sir Ulf of Langbar is innocent of the murder of his wife.’

  Above a muffled cheer a voice from the back called out, ‘A fit-up! I knew it!’

  It seemed to be over. The Proctor scratched his chin then gave Gregory a smile as of one professional to another and reached across to shake his hand.

  The abbot, enigmatic as before, sat without moving. Ulf, suddenly shrugging himself from his previous slumped position glanced round, sought Hildegard and gave her a wide smile. His eyes had never seemed more dazzlingly blue.

  Fellows who knew him pushed their way forward to punch him on the shoulders and enough of them slapped him on the back to make him cry for mercy. Ribald comments about wives flew back and forth and Ulf stood in a daze as the melee increased around him.

  Gregory went over to Hubert and said something inaudible and Hubert looked shocked. He called for order. ‘Brother Gregory has one last thing to say before this court is adjourned to give me time to meditate on my decision whether to release the prisoner or not.’

  Hildegard went cold. Surely Hubert would not put Ulf through the ordeal of having to go through all this again in the Sheriff’s court?

  The Sheriff was shaking his head in mystification.

  Gregory spoke up. ‘I fear this court owes Ulf of Langbar an apology.’

  Hubert frowned at this abrogation of his powers. ‘I thought you had something else to say?’

  ‘I do, my lord. It concerns another death. No,’ he hastened to continue, ‘not the drowning of Mark of Huby. That will come later. I mean the death of Brother Anselm.’

  A gasp went up.

  Hubert steepled his fingers and narrowed his eyes. ‘No doubt, brother, your evidence can wait until Chapter tomorrow?’

  Gregory made an obeisance with folded hands.

  ‘Then we shall reconvene and those with anything to say may attend.’ Hubert placed his hands on the arms of his chair and began to struggle up.

  An immediate buzz of speculation arose as everyone began to push towards the doors.

  After a brief word with Hubert the Proctor announced, ‘Let Ulf of Langbar remain.’

  33

  Hildegard and her nuns waited until they would not have to jostle up against some of the rough fellows who had attended the hearing in order to get out and the Circator, remaining behind with the abbot, Ulf and the rest of the monks, took the opportunity to come over to them.

  ‘Domina,’ he whispered in her ear, ’I have told Brother Gregory that you discovered a fellow wearing those distinctive sandals. Now all we have to do is find out who he is and what he was doing in the scriptorium the night Anselm died.’

  She nodded her agreement but before she could say anything someone gave her a push from behind in his hurry to get out and when she looked round she opened her mouth in astonishment. It was the stranger himself. Anselm, of course, did not recognise him.

  The man averted his glance as she turned and in a moment was outside and mingling with the rest of the crowd.

  Before she could point him out to the Circator he went back inside and closed the doors to indicate that Chapter was in session.

  Hildegard peered over the heads of the throng filling the garth but by now the stranger was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Looking for someone, domina?’ It was Friar John.

  Thoughts still on Hubert’s intentions regarding Ulf’s imprisonment and confused by the sudden proximity of the stranger she didn’t answer for a moment. Then coming back to the question with a start she excused her hesitation by simply saying, ‘Someone I wanted to speak to –’

  Friar John looked from left to right. ‘Did the question of the apprentice’s death come up while you were in there?’ He gestured towards the Chapter House.

  ‘No, it was to determine whether Ulf’s imprisonment was justified. Why?’ She too glanced towards the closed doors of the Chapter House. ‘You did not attend –’ she began.

  ‘I had other business.’ He gave her a deep look full of meaning.

  Before she could ask what he meant he bowed his head and walked off.

  Her nuns were waiting patiently near the lodge when she went up to them. ‘Will you go on ahead without me? I have something to do.’

  ‘May we help?’ Agnetha asked.

  ‘No it’s a question of finding something that may have fallen into the wrong hands.’

  First she would find out if the pages of Anselm’s secret copying were still in the aumbry and then, somehow or other, she would wrest an answer from the friar about his presence in the scriptorium and if it was anything to do with that. Then she would find Pierrekyn and ask him if he could discover the identity of the stranger in the leather leggings. And after that there was something about Mark that was still nagging at her.

  After milling about in the crowd without speaking to anyone the friar cast a glance over one shoulder before making for the scriptorium steps. From her concealment under the archway of the lodge she gave him a few moments to start doing whatever it was he intended to do when he got there and then she followed.

  All sound from outside was cut off as the door at the bottom of the steps swung shut. The soft sound of her boots on the stone treads could scarcely be heard. When she reached the top the long corridor leading to the monks’ frater stretched ahead in inky darkness and the big wooden iron-studded door of the scriptorium was shut.

  Half-expecting it to be barred she grasped the iron door-ring and began to turn it. A blast of colder air met her as the door swung open.

  She slipped inside without being noticed. For a moment she observed the friar at the opposite end of the chamber shuffling between the writing desks, pausing now and then, opening lids and searching through sheaves of vellum. When he reached the far aumbry she watched him open it and grope about inside. He withdrew empty handed and as he was peering about in puzzlement she accidentally bumped against one of the desks. He lifted his head.

  ‘You, domina!...I knew you’d come.’ He started towards her. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Where is what?’ she played for time.

  ‘I was fooled by the brooch he wore.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘What was he doing, wearing that? Was it to lure me to my doom?’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Come now, domina. No need for false ignorance. We both know what’s been going on. The time for subterfuge is over. We’re talking about Mark, the silversmith’s apprentice.’

  ‘Did you push him into the canal?’

  ‘Me?’ He laughed in a shocked manner as if it was an inconceivable idea. ‘Do I look like a murderer?’

  With his round face and usually cherubic and sympathetic manner the answer would have to be ‘no’ but at this moment he looked anything but friendly. He eyed her coldly. ‘So you are not going to tell me?’

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  He came up to her. ‘Do I have to spell it out before you’ll say anything?’

  ‘It would help save us from talking at cross-purposes,’ she replied, standing her ground as he loomed right up to her. Once again she regretted not carrying a knife.

  ‘The pages?’ he urged.

  ‘Pages?’

  A spark of anger, quickly repressed had flared in his eyes and he said harshly, ‘What do you imagine Anselm was copying? Where are they? Have you already given them to your Abbott? Is he behind it all?’

  Floundering now she could only say, ‘Pages?’

>   ‘Yes, yes! Don’t play for time. I’ve noticed you’re good at that. Where are they?’

  ‘Why do you want them – if they exist?’

  ‘To pass on, why do you think I want them? Don’t play me for a fool! Are you going to betray me? Is that your idea?’

  ‘To pass on to whom?’

  ‘Before I answer that, did you know why he was wearing that silver brooch? Did your abbot tell him to do so in order to flush us out? He appeared to be in ignorance of its meaning.’

  ‘His brooch? But that was a gift from Eunice. It was a love token.’

  The friar looked dumb-struck. ‘So why was he drowned? Who would do that? What possible purpose was there in drowning him?’

  ‘I thought you would know.’

  ‘Are you saying he was telling the truth? When I asked him he looked blank. But it was true all along? He knew nothing?’

  ‘I believe all Mark knew was that he might win an inheritance if he claimed to be hand-fast with Eunice.’

  The friar moved away with a puzzled expression on his face. ‘So where did he get the brooch? Do you know that?’

  ‘It was made by Osmund in his workshop. Mark might even have made it himself as an apprentice-piece or perhaps Eunice gave it to him as a love-token.’

  ‘So why was he drowned?’ he repeated. He crossed himself and muttered something inaudible. When he turned to face her again he said, ‘This is a bad business, domina. What’s your part in it? You may as well tell me.’

  ‘I have no part. I was merely trying to save Lord Roger’s steward from hanging for a crime he did not commit. Although I’ve done precious little in that regard. And now I’m trying to solve the riddle of Brother Anselm’s murder.’

  ‘And you’re innocently caught up in this wider intrigue?’

  ‘Wider intrigue?’

  ‘The network?’ He cocked his head on one side.

  ‘It looks like it,’ she admitted, wondering how long she would have to fence with him before he told her what it was all about.