‘Come, my friend. We have to do this now,’ said Gervase.
‘When I’ve fetched Henry.’
‘There’s no time.’
‘I’m not leaving my girls alone,’ Swetricus said with blunt finality. Gervase could see the determination in his eyes, and nodded. Together they walked to Henry Batyn’s house.
Henry lived with Peter atte Moor since his own house had collapsed, and it was Peter who opened the door. ‘What do you want, Parson?’
‘Look after Swet’s girls. We’re going to destroy him.’
Peter blinked. ‘Who?’
Swetricus answered. ‘It was Samson. He killed Aline, and your Denise and Mary and Emma. We’re going to kill him.’
‘He won’t persecute us any longer,’ the Parson said confidently.
Peter gaped. Then, ‘Bring the girls here, Swet. Henry will guard them and I’ll come with you.’
‘Good,’ said Swetricus, and returned to his own little place. Soon they could hear him calling his daughters over the whistling of the wind.
‘First, I’m going to find Drogo,’ Peter continued, tugging on his jack.
‘No. We have to strike him while we can.’
Peter looked at the Parson. ‘You’ll need torches,’ he said. ‘I know where to get some.’
‘Forget them. We don’t need them.’
‘If you’re right and he killed my Denise, I want to see his face,’ Peter hissed, leaning close, so that his own face was scant inches from Gervase’s. ‘This turd killed my daughter, Parson, and he ate her. I want to see him dance as we kill him.’
‘Oh, get the torches, then, but hurry!’ Gervase said reluctantly.
Peter nodded, then set off purposefully for the vill. He passed Swetricus, who ushered his girls into Peter’s house. Henry stood with his wife and sat the girls at the fireside. ‘I’m coming too,’ he declared.
‘You should guard the girls,’ Swetricus growled.
‘If he can escape you, they’ll not be safe with me looking after them,’ Henry said simply. He reached behind the door and selected a shovel.
It was only a short walk, but even in the time that it took to get to the cemetery gate they could see other men gathering in the road by the inn. They gripped torches, the flickering yellow flames flattening and dancing in the gusting wind. Some stood nervous and uncertain, fearing to follow their Parson, but then the crowd began to move towards the cemetery.
Gervase felt better than he had for a long time. The howling ceased to trouble him now that he was fixed upon a course of action; the wine he had drunk had left him feeling clear-headed and warmed, as though God had breathed determination into his very bones. In truth, he felt as though he was at last performing God’s will. After so many years of blaming himself for Athelhard’s death, he knew what he must do. It was so refreshing, he almost felt he could sing and dance in praise of God.
‘Give me strength, Lord, to do Your will,’ he breathed, and began to sing the Pater Noster.
Behind him, Swetricus and Henry strode silently, not exchanging a glance, only keeping their eyes fixed firmly on the graveyard. They passed through the gate, and set off behind the Parson, heading for Samson’s grave, and it was there that they saw her.
Dressed in tatters, the clothing ripped from her body, shreds flapping in the wind, she was recognisable as Gunilda only from her thickset body. She knelt at the grave of her husband, raking her hands through the sodden soil, then beating at it with her hands. As they approached, they could hear her.
‘Shut up! Shut up! You killed them all – aren’t you content? Can’t you leave us alone? You would have done it to Felicia again, wouldn’t you? But I won’t let you. You couldn’t keep away even when you were dead, could you? You had to come back and kill Emma. Why can’t the devil take you? Shut up!’
Swetricus glanced at the priest, but Gervase was standing and swaying as though to music only he could hear, a beatific expression on his face. Grunting, the peasant stabbed his shovel into the soil and took Gunilda’s arm. He lifted her to her feet, and she stood alarmed, cowering at the sight of the men converging on the grave.
‘It wasn’t my fault! He killed them, but I didn’t know it. I didn’t… I’m so sorry, so sorry! And now he’s coming back to take her from me! He wants Felicia!’
Gervase smiled, then stopped her mouth with his hand. ‘Child, it wasn’t your fault, nor was it mine. This is the devil’s work, and his minions are among us.’ He jabbed a finger down at the ground even as the vill’s men arrived, the torches casting a lurid light over them all. ‘Friends, listen to me! The man we knew as Samson was the killer of our children. He killed Denise, he killed Aline, he killed Mary, and last night he killed Emma!’
There was a low hiss from the crowd, then an intake of breath.
‘Yes! I say he killed Emma too. He has been taken over by demons, and we must exorcise them. Men! Dig, dig down into his grave, and bring out his body. I must lay this holy message on his breast, and then his soul will be free. He will never come back to trouble us. We can save him – we must save his soul. It is God’s will!’
Leaving the house, Coroner Roger winced as he put weight on his ankle. ‘This is not getting any better – and keep your damned dog away. Moth-eaten mutt nearly tripped me!’
‘Put your hand on my shoulder,’ Baldwin said. ‘What are those hounds crying for?’
‘God knows,’ the Coroner said. He was glad to be leaving Alexander’s depressing room. It aped a great lord’s hall, but after today it would only have the feel of a gaol for him. Seeing Alexander sitting at his table, a broken man, had touched a nerve in Roger’s heart. It was terrible to see a man at bay in his own home.
‘The place needs a woman’s hand,’ Baldwin continued, seeing the Coroner’s expression. ‘It reminds me of my own hall before I married. Something is missing, some spark of life or joy.’
‘You think a woman adds joy?’
‘Some women do,’ Baldwin smiled contentedly.
‘Wait until you have been married as long as me before you make another comment like that,’ the Coroner said. ‘You’ll realise your error. Isn’t that right, Bailiff?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Wake up, Simon! Aren’t you listening? We were talking about women and–’
‘You were thinking the same? A woman could have done it?’
Baldwin caught his tone. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The deaths: Athelhard was killed wrongly because the vill took against him, and then the girls started to die. Couldn’t Meg have decided to take revenge?’
Baldwin snorted. ‘And what of Denise? She died before Athelhard; that was why the people decided to execute Athelhard in the first place.’
‘True, and of course Ansel de Hocsenham was already dead as well,’ Simon said. ‘But Meg could have killed them too!’
‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said without conviction. He asked Roger, ‘What did you think of the Reeve’s story?’
‘I have to confess that I found it believable.’
Simon grunted. ‘Up until now I was happy to believe that the Forester or the Reeve could have killed the Purveyor, but I think you’re right. Their denials were convincing.’
‘I had thought that the death of the Purveyor was separate, but as I said after we met Meg, what if his death was the first in a sequence?’ Baldwin said, and now there was a growing excitement in his voice. ‘Now we know that he too was murdered and eaten. Surely he must have been killed by the same person.’
‘Why would the guilty person kill a man and then go on to slaughter children?’ Simon asked. ‘Ah! Perhaps because the first was an opportunistic murder, trying to stop the hated tax-gatherer from thieving the vill’s money, and the killer didn’t want to waste the flesh. He was starving, so he cut some portions to eat. Learning the meat was good, he killed again, and then even after the famine was done, he had a taste for human flesh.’ He shivered at the thought.