‘Cardinal, I have to confess …’
‘Then you must walk with me,’ the cardinal said.
Brother Mark was perplexed, for the brothers were supposed to confess their sins in full chapter, so that all would know their guilt. It was a most effective means of persuading monks to consider carefully before committing an offence against their order. But if the cardinal said that Mark must walk with him, walk he must. He scurried out after him, and found him taking the air in the cloister.
The heavy rain of the last couple of days had ceased now, but it was still very damp all about, and Mark was aware of the splashing as he stepped through the puddles on the pavemented cloister area. ‘Cardinal, I have to confess to a crime. A serious crime.’
‘You helped tempt a man so that he could be extracted from a sanctuary.’
‘I … yes.’
‘The man was already guilty of participating in murders, in the murder of two monks, I think?’
‘But no matter what the crime, he was in the church, under the protection of the Church.’
‘True. And he had killed two of the Church’s most devoted servants.’
‘But surely I still committed a crime?’
Cardinal de Fargis stopped and looked at him. ‘What do you wish me to tell you, Brother Mark? That you were wrong to leave temptation in his path? If you had not, would he have abjured the realm? Yes, in all likelihood. So you hastened justice. And you did not force him to take the crucifix, did you? It was he who guided his own hand to take it. Not you.’
‘I just thought that my-’
‘Brother Mark. I understand that the item taken by the man was the crucifix worn by poor Pietro. Yes? Then I think we can look on the matter as being one of divine judgement. You were the willing tool of God. He chose you to bring justice to the man Osbert. And for what he did to poor Pietro, he deserved no sanctuary.’
Bow
The priest brought another bowl of water to him as he lay sweating, complaining about the cold, whining and moaning in his agony. It was enough to make the priest weep gently to himself, sad at the sight of so much misery and despair.
William atte Wattere had no idea where he was. The room was a darkened chamber that could have been a gaol, but with his burning anguish there was no need for bars and locks. He could not have stood had he wished to.
He had been here in the bed since the evening he had been brought here. The father had seen to all his needs as best he could, but it was clear by the end of the first day that all he could hope to do was alleviate some of the man’s dying pains. There was clearly no aid for him while his soul remained in his body. All a man could hope and pray for was that his suffering would at least end when he was dead. And it was for his life after death that the priest was praying now. As he mopped Wattere’s brow with a rag dipped in cool water mixed with vinegar, his lips mumbled the prayers he hoped would be most efficacious.
‘You’ve seen him?’ Wattere spoke suddenly, his good hand snapping up and grasping the priest’s wrist.
‘My son, calm yourself. Who? Who do you ask if I’ve seen?’
‘The man … He’s there! Don’t let him take me!’
The ravings of a madman. But with this enormous wound, it was a miracle he wasn’t dead already. The sword had cloven through his shoulder, through his collar bone, and wedged in his shoulder blade, so they said. It had taken his assailant some while to lever it free. And that sort of wound was only rarely survived. The fever had broken the next day, and no one expected him to live. With his whole body shrieking, it was hardly surprising that he would see nonexistent people.
Still, the old priest glanced over his shoulder to make sure. ‘My son, there’s no one there.’
Wattere’s face had paled. Now he too looked up over the priest’s shoulder, and his eyes were wide. ‘You can’t take me! I won’t go, Osbert. You did for me with that murderous puppy your master … You say I betrayed you? You betrayed all!’
The priest mumbled calmingly as Wattere spat and shouted, but there was no soothing him. He was like a man having his arm removed, twisting and wrenching, screaming as his wound opened and gaped again, shrieking abuse at the man he supposed was before him.
‘Go! Won’t anyone take this man away? Leave me alone!’
The father had to lean down to hold him in the cot, he flailed so hard, and in the end he had to accept defeat, and bellowed for help. A boy had been outside, and he came in at a run when he heard the priest call, sitting on the wounded man’s knees while the priest tried to hold Wattere’s upper torso down, trying to avoid pressing on the wound but attempting to keep him still.
It was not to last long. With a last curse at the spectre whom no one else could see, there was an end. Later the priest would wonder whether the noise he heard was authentic, or whether his mind had imagined it, but he thought he heard a sound like a small cord being broken as the man’s spirit left him. The body, empty now, sagged like a sack of old beans, and there was a slight gasp, then a rattle from his throat, and the priest made the sign of the cross over his staring eyes, beginning to recite the Pater Noster.
He would have thought nothing more about it, had not the news come to him later that the man who was the sergeant of the evil devil at Nymet Traci had been called Osbert. And that he had disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sunday before the Feast of St Martin in Winter*
Exeter
Edith was glad to be home. As she entered her house once more, and saw her maid busying herself at the fire, it felt as though she had dreamed the last few days. The arrest of her husband, her capture by the hideous Wattere, her suffering and terror of rape by the son of Sir Robert de Traci, all faded as soon as she crossed her own threshold again.
‘Father, Sir Baldwin, please, be seated,’ she said and went to fetch wine for them. She would have to throw them out soon. It was good to have them escort her home, while Baldwin had sent Edgar back to his own house to tell Jeanne what had been happening, but at the gates they had heard that her husband had been released and was back at his parents’ home to recover from his ordeal.
The wine was served, Simon heating his dagger’s blade in the fire and then stirring the wine with it to warm it, and she watched with appreciation as the two men began to chat. It had been a very hard evening the previous day, and much of the journey today had been quiet, but she felt sure that the pair were recovering their friendship. She had worked hard to try to ensure it. At her parents’ home, she had managed to draw her mother to one side and explain what had happened, but Meg had been too shocked by the story to take it all in. And then, of course, the news that her daughter was soon to be a mother in her turn was enough to drive all other thoughts from her mind.
Soon the wine was drunk and the two men exchanged a look.
‘You should fetch your husband home,’ Baldwin said.
‘Are you sure that I cannot get you anything more?’ Edith said.
‘Seeing you here, happy and safe, is all I could wish for,’ he answered.
‘We can escort you to Peter, anyway,’ Simon said. ‘We will ride on from there.’
And so it was quickly agreed. The two men led their horses, and they walked with her along the narrow ways until they came to the house where her parents-in-law lived. There, at the doorway, Baldwin took his leave. ‘Simon, old friend. I hope to see you again soon.’
Simon grasped his hand, and nodded his head. ‘I am sorry for my foul temper, Baldwin,’ he said, still a little stiffly.
‘Simon, I can understand. I only hope you realise that I acted in what I thought was the best interests of all of us.’
Simon took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I know you did. And I am truly sorry that I doubted you at the time — but what would you do or say? My daughter was there …’