‘What do you mean? That you should have died in her place?’
Philippa nodded unhappily. ‘She was wealthy and had kin who loved her, but I have nothing. It would have been better if I had been the one to die.’ Her fists clenched tightly. ‘If I ever find the loathsome villain who snuffed out her life, I will choke him and dance on his grave!’
‘Hush!’ said Geoffrey, alarmed that such sentiments were being uttered in a church.
‘I do not know what will happen to me if I cannot find a protector.’ She reached out and took his hand, the coquettish smile back again. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that your eyes are the most beautiful shade of green? They are the hue of ferns.’
‘My wife mentioned it once,’ said Geoffrey, freeing his hand.
‘Vitalis had a wife, too, but the three of us came to an arrangement that made us all happy.’
Geoffrey smiled. ‘I doubt Hilde would agree to that.’
Philippa sighed. ‘I did love Vitalis. He was old and sometimes awry in the wits, but he was good to me and I miss him.’
‘I know,’ said Geoffrey gently. ‘You probably did take him for love. Edith, I suspect, was forced into the union. But she was his real wife, even so.’
Philippa’s eyes blazed. ‘I was legally married! In a church – Edith carried the flowers.’
‘But she was already wed to him. Ergo, the second ceremony was illegal.’
‘Are you calling me a whore?’
Geoffrey supposed he was. ‘Edith was grateful to you for drawing Vitalis’s attentions from her, and, against all odds, you became friends. Of course you were upset when he died – it shattered your safe life.’
‘Edith said she would look after me,’ said Philippa, tearful again. ‘She was the best friend anyone could have – better and more loyal than your Roger. She did not steal gold and have me implicated in a crime. And now she is dead and I must fend for myself. You have no idea how hard it is for a woman with no family and no money. I only hope Lucian means what he says when he waxes lyrical about giving up the cowl to enjoy a secular life.’
‘Did he meet Edith the night she died?’ asked Geoffrey, taking the opportunity to question her, since she seemed of a mind to talk.
She frowned. ‘Not that I know of. Why? Is that what Sir Roger told you? That I vacated our chamber so Edith could entertain a lover? I might have known he would assume something like that! I suppose he told you he and I were here all night?’
Geoffrey nodded. ‘Dicing on the high altar.’
She grimaced. ‘I told him we should use the floor. But he is a lewd man to think such things of poor Edith! If you must know, I left because sleeping has been difficult for me since the shipwreck, and my restlessness disturbed her. I told her I was going to keep vigil for Vitalis – to give her a chance to sleep. I wish to God that I had stayed.’
‘If you had, you might have been strangled, too.’
Philippa pulled the cloak more firmly around her shoulders: the notion seemed not to have occurred to her. More tears fell, and she brushed them away angrily.
‘I cannot seem to stop crying. But Ulfrith tells me you have investigated killers. Will you investigate this one? You do not need to denounce him publicly – just tell me his name, and I will slip a piece of ribbon around his throat.’
‘Then you will be a murderer, too.’
‘I do not care! It would be worth eternal damnation. But you will find it is Juhel. He killed Paisnel, and a man who kills once always itches to do it again – or so your man Bale told me.’
‘Did he?’ asked Geoffrey, wondering what else his squire had said.
Philippa was silent for a while, and when she next spoke, her voice was low and hoarse. ‘This is Edith’s cloak. Do you think it is wicked to use it, while her body is still unburied?’ She clutched it tighter and sobbed.
‘I would want Roger to use mine, if I was dead and he needed clothes.’ It occurred to Geoffrey that Bale had used similar arguments, and he supposed there was a very fine line between robbing the dead and justifiably making use of someone’s possessions.
‘Edith was strangled with ribbon,’ Philippa went on. ‘Who would do such a thing?’
‘Just like your husband,’ Geoffrey said absently.
Philippa gaped at him. ‘What did you say?’
Too late, Geoffrey realized that unless Ulfrith or Bale had told her what they had found, she would be ignorant of the fact that Vitalis had suffered a similar fate. Philippa gazed at him in horror as he described what they had discovered at Vitalis’s grave. He watched her closely for a sign that she might have known something about it, but from her shock, he thought that she had not.
‘Oh, God!’ she whispered. ‘Edith had some ribbon that Paisnel gave her, and we planned to use it to secure Vitalis’s cloak when we buried him. But a squall came and we ran for shelter. When we came back, it had blown away.’
Geoffrey took the bull by the horns. ‘You said you were with Vitalis when he died. That means either you strangled him or you are lying.’
‘It means neither! He gasped and choked in my arms, and I saw the life pass from him. Then the shower came, and Edith and I ran for shelter. We buried him when we returned.’
Geoffrey was not sure whether to believe her. It was a plausible explanation, but only just.
‘I would never harm him,’ she continued when he said nothing. ‘Without him I have nothing.’
‘Then what about Edith? She was less fond of him than you.’
‘But not enough to kill him! And I have changed my mind: you will not investigate Edith’s death. You will reach entirely the wrong conclusion. I am sure it is Juhel. He saw me leave and decided to chance his hand while my poor friend was alone, strangling her when she refused him.’
There was no more to be said, so Geoffrey took his leave, walking fast down the nearest path to test his strength. When he reached the bottom of the hill, he strode across the boggy area, towards the abbey’s carp ponds, hidden from the buildings by trees. He was breathless when he stopped. Roger was right: he needed more time to recover. He leaned against a tree to catch his breath, noting that he had reached the far southern boundary of La Batailge’s precinct.
He had not been there long when he heard a snap. He glanced up at the wall and saw a head poking over the top, and in the fellow’s hands was a loaded crossbow.
‘Do not move,’ ordered Fingar. ‘Or it will be the last thing you do.’
The captain had a clear shot and could not possibly miss from close range. Geoffrey was disgusted with himself for not wearing his armour. He glanced behind, noting that the ponds were completely screened by trees, so he should expect no rescue from anyone at the abbey.
‘We meet again,’ said Fingar softly. ‘I am pleased to see you recovered.’
‘Did you visit me in the hospital?’ asked Geoffrey, buying time while he tried to devise a way to escape.
Fingar smiled enigmatically and declined to answer. ‘Are you here to catch fish for the monk who is pretending to be the abbot?’
‘No, I came for a walk,’ replied Geoffrey, flapping away a marsh insect that whined around his face. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Why do you think? We have been watching La Batailge for days now and know how to move through its grounds unseen, especially at night. I have even been in the church, to thank God for delivering us from the storm.’ Fingar paused. ‘And to ask Him to help us get our gold back.’
‘How much did Roger take?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Was it a purse, or the entire chest?’
Fingar grimaced. ‘You know the answer to that. However, if you can persuade him to give it back, I shall let you both live. Refuse, and you will die. See reason, Sir Geoffrey. What use is gold, unless you are alive to enjoy it?’
Roger would never part with what he had taken, and Fingar might just as well have asked for the moon. Geoffrey doubted the pirate would keep his end of the bargain anyway – Roger had sentenced them both to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. Silently, he cursed his friend’s greed.