‘What chance should he have?’ asked Adela.
‘None whatsoever,’ said Marguerite harshly. ‘The man is evil and deserves all he gets. I hope that they slaughter him on the spot when they find him.’
While his captains led search parties in other directions, Henry Beaumont chose to take his troop to the Forest of Arden, a vast expanse of woodland which, even in winter, could offer an abundance of hiding places to a man who knew his way around it as Boio did. On a command from their lord, the men spread out in a long line and made their way through the forest with their swords and lances drawn, using them to strike at anything which impeded them or which could offer cover to a fugitive. Other game was disturbed by their approach and fled noisily. Dogs were being used, sniffing their way through the undergrowth and trying to pick up the scent of the quarry. When one of them let out a yelp, Richard the Hunter held up a hand for everyone to stop.
He dismounted and walked slowly forward with a lance at the ready. Henry followed in his wake on horseback. When they reached the bush where the dog was standing, the huntsman used his weapon to part the leaves but no quaking blacksmith was lying there. All that they saw was a mound of dung.
‘It is Boio’s,’ said Henry in jest. ‘He knows we are after him.’
His men laughed. Richard, meanwhile, bent to examine the dung.
‘This is not from any human, my lord,’ he said. ‘And it was not left here today. My guess is that it is a few days old at least.’
‘What left it? A deer? A fox?’
‘Oh, no.’
‘A wolf, then?’
‘No, my lord. A much larger animal than that.’
‘What was it?’
‘A bear.’
Ursa was on his best behaviour. Having drawn a sizeable crowd in the marketplace in Coventry, he went through the whole range of his tricks with gusto and earned generous applause. Donations to the dwarf’s cap were less generous but enough was collected to feed the pair of them well for a few meals. The dwarf decided to curtail performances for the day. Nobody would pay twice to see the same tricks. A fresh audience would be in the marketplace the next day as other citizens came to buy provender and as new people poured in from the surrounding area. Ursa and his master began to lope away in search of a quiet place in which to rest and take refreshment.
When they came round a corner, however, they were confronted by another audience, smaller than their own but no less entranced by what they were seeing. The old man with the donkey was about to fulfil his promise. The dwarf and his bear joined the spectators, as did the monk who had watched the old man so closely the previous day. The boy possessed by the Devil had been brought by his father. Ten years old, he had none of the joy and exuberance of other children of that age. Instead, his body was shaking wildly, his eyes stared and he had no control at all over his limbs. Every so often he would go into such a series of convulsions that people would cry out in horror and step back.
‘Help him, sir!’ begged the father. ‘Save my son.’
‘I will,’ said the old man.
‘He is all we have. Do not let the Devil take him from us.’
‘Leave him to me.’
When the old man touched him the boy was seized with the worst spasm yet and twitched violently, crying out in pain then emitting a hideous laugh, deafening in volume and eerie in tone.
The miracle worker did not release his grip. Pulling the boy towards him, he held him in an embrace and began to chant something in his ear. The result was startling. The threshing slowly subsided, the cry faded to a gentle whimper. The old man continued to hold him and talk to him.
‘Can you hear me now?’ he whispered.
‘Yes,’ said the boy.
‘God has cured you through the magic of my touch.’
‘I worship Him and give thanks!’
‘The demons have been driven out, my son. Go to your father.’
The boy turned to his father as if seeing him for the first time.
There was no sign of any affliction now. The boy was calm, upright and in full control of his limbs. He ran to his father, who gave him a tearful hug before looking across to the old man.
‘You have saved him,’ he said. ‘It was a miracle.’
‘He believed in me and I cured him.’
The crowd broke into spontaneous applause. Even the dwarf and his bear joined in. They were still clapping as the monk hurried off as fast as his outrage would carry him.
‘Why come to me?’ said Thorkell of Warwick. ‘I have not seen the man.’
‘We felt that he might head this way,’ said Gervase.
‘And you hoped to trap him to gain some reward, is that it?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘We hoped to be able to help him,’ explained Ralph. ‘We believe that Boio is unjustly accused. Our scribe, Brother Benedict, who talked with him in his cell, is convinced that he is innocent.’
‘He is,’ said Thorkell bluntly. ‘I know him.’
‘That is why we thought he would make for you,’ said Gervase.
‘You are his overlord. He could be sure that you would not hand him straight over to the army which is at his heels.’
‘I would never hand him over to the lord Henry.’
‘At least we have been able to alert you.’
‘Yes,’ said Thorkell, studying them carefully. ‘Boio’s escape is good news. I thank you for warning me of it. But do not think to take me in by this pretence of friendship. You are guests of the lord Henry and like to side with him. I believe you came to see if I had the blacksmith hidden away in my house.’
‘That is not true,’ said Gervase earnestly.
‘No,’ reinforced Ralph. ‘Our sole aim is to solve this crime in order to secure Boio’s release. As long as he is on the run, he will never be free. The real killer of Martin Reynard must be found.’
Thorkell was still not persuaded of their good intentions. When Ralph and Gervase rode up to his house with six men-at-arms at their backs the old man was deeply suspicious of them, especially as they spoke down to him from their saddles. He had met Gervase at the funeral and found him an upright young man but his soldierly companion was less easy to trust. Ralph Delchard had the look of a man who would not scruple to turn the whole manor house upside down in search of the fugitive. Thorkell stroked his white beard as he appraised the two of them. His tone was neutral and his manner noncommittal.
‘Where will you start looking?’ he said.
‘For what?’ said Ralph.
‘The real killer.’
‘In Coventry.’
‘You will find him much nearer than that.’
‘If you mean on Adam Reynard’s land,’ said Gervase, ‘we have already been there. We spoke to him and Grimketel. The evidence against Boio is not as powerful as the lord Henry claims.
Grimketel’s story has odd gaps in it. I would dearly love to be able to test him in court.’
‘Too late for that, Gervase,’ said Ralph. ‘There will be no trial now. If Boio is taken, the lord Henry will dispense summary justice.’
‘It was ever thus,’ grumbled Thorkell.
‘You sound as if you speak from experience.’
‘I do.’
‘Tell us more.’
‘It is not my place to do so,’ said the thegn, pulling himself to his full height. ‘I will not complain to one Norman soldier about another. Though you claim to disagree with the lord Henry, you and he come from the same country and have the same attitudes.
What is the death of a mere Saxon blacksmith to men such as you? It is meaningless.’
‘That is not so!’
‘Prove it!’
‘Is my presence here not proof enough?’
‘That depends on your real motive for coming here.’
‘To help Boio.’
‘And to antagonise your host? You would not dare to do that.’
‘We would and have, my lord,’ said Gervase. ‘The lord Henry must think us poor guests, I fear. We have felt his displeasure keenly already. If we are able to save the life of an innocent man, we will happily invite it again. Send to the castle for further proof.