Poisoned by her own hand. Show some understanding.’
‘That is what I am doing. I deeply regret what has happened. It is a tragedy. But it does not entitle you to elect yourself Sheriff of Oxfordshire and claim the power of life and death over another man.
Calm down, man. Instead of charging around my courtyard here, you should be comforting your wife at home.’
‘What comfort can either of us have until that foul seducer pays for his crime?’
‘Find proof of his guilt before you condemn him.’
‘Helene is the proof, my lord sheriff,’ wailed the other. ‘Her corpse is an indictment of Bertrand Gamberell.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He pursued her. I saw him.’
‘And did you also see him take his pleasure with her?’
‘I would have killed him if I had!’
‘Then you would have been accountable to me.’ His tone softened and he put a hand on Wymarc’s shoulder. ‘Your blood is too hot, man.
Let it cool. It may be — who knows? — that Bertrand Gamberell is involved here.’
‘I feel it in my bones!’
‘He still has the right to defend himself. And I will ensure that he enjoys that right. Do you hear me?’
Wymarc nodded, his ire slowly ebbing away. The sheriff saw Arnulf walking towards them in concern. The chaplain did not need to be told what had brought Wymarc there. He was keen to add soothing words to a tense situation.
‘Come, my lord,’ he said, taking Wymarc by the elbow. ‘Come with me into church. Let us talk. Let us pray. That is where consolation lies and not with the sword. Come.’
Wymarc allowed himself to be led meekly away.
Relieved when the tumult in the bailey ceased, the guests sat over their meal and quietly discussed the issue which had produced such clamour down below. Ralph, Gervase and Golde were enjoying the company of Edith once more. Brother Columbanus had joined them to offer his strong views on the topic which preoccupied them. Refusing to touch the ale, he instead permitted himself a cup of wine and it deepened the glow in his cheeks at once.
‘I come back to St Augustine of Hippo.’
‘Again!’ murmured Ralph.
‘Yes, my lord. Are you familiar with De Civitate Dei?’
‘I read from it daily,’ said the other with light irony.
‘Then you will recall what St Augustine says.’
‘That is why I do not need you to remind me.’
Others may be less familiar with the work,’ said the monk, distributing a smile around the table. ‘St Augustine talks at length about suicide being caused by fear of punishment or disgrace. One passage is lodged in my mind.’
‘Let it stay there!’ said Ralph solemnly.
‘It concerns Judas. Listen to the argument. “We rightly abominate the act of Judas, and the judgement of truth is that when he hanged himself he did not atone for the guilt of his detestable betrayal, but rather increased it, since he despaired of God’s mercy and in a fit of self-destructive remorse left himself no chance of saving repentance.”
I translate freely here, of course. St Augustine’s prose has greater resonance.’
Ralph rolled his eyes at Golde. ‘Thank heaven that he is not at this table!’
‘Let us hear Brother Columbanus,’ returned Golde gently.
‘Do you see what this means?’ continued the monk. ‘When Judas killed himself, he killed a criminal, and yet he ended his life guilty not only of Christ’s death, but also of his own; one crime led to another.
Suicide is always a crime.’
‘A very persuasive argument,’ said Edith solemnly.
‘Who could fault it?’ added Golde.
Columbanus nudged Ralph. ‘Do you follow it, my lord?’
‘Yes,’ said the other. ‘Helene hanged herself on an elder because she felt guilty about being given thirty pieces of silver for singing in the choir!’
‘That remark is profane.’
‘Then do not provoke me. Judas is not relevant here. What equivalent crime did this girl commit? None! In her case, one crime does not lead to another.’
‘One sin led to another,’ said Columbanus. ‘It was her guilt over the sin of fornication that led her to the grosser sin of suicide.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Gervase.
‘All the evidence points that way.’
‘What if the girl’s chastity was violated?’ asked Edith. ‘It is difficult to believe that she was a willing sinner.’
‘Exactly, my lady,’ said Gervase. ‘On this point, too, St Augustine can offer us some guidance.’
‘Not you as well, Gervase!’ moaned Ralph.
‘He reminds us of Lucretia’s suicide.’
‘That noble Roman matron,’ said Columbanus.
‘When she was ravished by the son of King Tarquin, she revealed the crime to her husband then destroyed herself. Lucretia was unable to endure the shame and indignity. Yet she was only the victim of the crime here. She was praised for what she did,’ observed Gervase. ‘It was felt that two persons were involved but only one committed adultery.’
‘That is not the Christian attitude,’ said Columbanus. ‘What was admired in ancient Rome should not be condoned today in Woodstock.
If a Christian woman is violated, she should not take vengeance on herself for another’s crime. In the sight of God, she has the glory of her chastity still within her. The testimony of her conscience should be her guide. There is no excuse to add the crime of self-slaughter to that of lust. St Augustine makes that clear.’
‘And so have you,’ said Ralph, hoping to silence him.
‘Heart and head are in conflict in this matter,’ said Edith with a wan smile. ‘My heart reaches out to the poor girl but my head inclines to Christian precept. Suicide is a crime. It is a denial of God’s ordinance.’
‘Quite so, my lady,’ agreed Columbanus, helping himself to a second cup of wine. ‘There is no equivocation here.’
‘We still do not know the true facts of the case,’ said Golde. ‘Until then, our suppositions may be unjust to Helene.’
‘A valid point, my love,’ said Ralph.
‘And one on which to conclude the debate,’ added Gervase.
‘Well said!’
There was a long pause as they addressed themselves to their meal.
Columbanus discovered that his second cup of wine had somehow disappeared so he ventured to pour himself a third. St Augustine jogged his memory once more and he was about to mention the example of Cato’s suicide. The sudden return of Robert d’Oilly put paid to that.
‘Saints preserve us!’ said the sheriff as he came back into the hall.
‘As if I didn’t have enough to contend with already!’
‘What was the problem?’ asked Ralph.
‘Wymarc’
‘Roused to anger?’
‘Determined to geld the man who lay with his sister. I had to subdue him before he added another crime to my list. This week beggars description,’ he complained. ‘Everything but fire, flood and famine have afflicted me.’
‘Only indirectly, my lord sheriff,’ said Gervase.
‘When a crime is committed, I bear its full weight.’
‘I would have thought the victim did that.’
‘Robert has endured much this week,’ said Edith, coming to his support with a consoling smile. ‘You have been sorely oppressed and you have our utmost sympathy. We have all admired the way that you have dealt with each new crisis.’
‘Thank you, Edith.’
‘I could not have done it,’ said Ralph ambiguously.
‘With respect,’ returned d’Oilly, ‘I doubt if you would ever be given the shrievalty of any county.’
Ralph chuckled. ‘I am relieved to hear it.’
‘It is so strange,’ mused Columbanus. ‘A case of an oak growing from a harmless little acorn.’
‘Do I hear St Augustine again?’ grumbled Ralph.
‘No, my lord,’ said the monk amiably. ‘The acorn in question is the race which took place at Woodstock on the day of our arrival. A small event to any but those engaged in it. Yet out of that race has come murder, wrongful arrest, theft, violence and — indirectly — suicide.
Could it be, for instance, that Walter Payne was the father of her child and that Helene killed herself out of grief at the death of her lover? That would not excuse what she did but it might help explain it. So many crimes have been committed here and behind them lie others yet to be discovered.’ The third cup of wine was supplanted by a fourth. ‘A great oak tree of wickedness, spreading its branches everywhere until it blocks out the light. And it all began with a horse race.’