Candace Robb - The Riddle Of St Leonard's

Sebastian stopped her. ‘I pray you, Mistress, I know what you think, but Brother Wulfstan’s breathing was as laboured in the infirmary. It is neither the smoke nor the heat of the fire causing it.’

Of course not. It was the pestilence. Lucie turned back towards the bed.

‘Brother Henry thought a good sweat might help dispel the poisoned humours,’ Sebastian added in a voice that trailed away uncertainly.

Lucie touched his forearm. ‘Forgive me. You are very good to him. I do not mean to interfere.’

Abbot Campian knelt at Wulfstan’s bedside, a string of paternosters flowing through his hands as he prayed in a low murmur.

Lucie hesitated to approach. She had lost so many she loved, and yet each one was as if the first, the pain as sharp and deep, the desire to deny the possibility of death as strong.

‘Is he awake?’ Jasper asked Sebastian.

The monk nodded solemnly. ‘His breathing is more evenly measured when he sleeps.’

Abbot Campian turned an ashen face to the visitors. ‘Come. I know he wishes to speak to you, Mistress Wilton.’

Don Cuthbert rocked back and forth on his sandalled feet, his hands tucked up his sleeves, and listened to Bess’s tirade with a blank expression.

‘I know nothing of the master’s plans, Mistress Merchet. He asked me to talk to the prisoner, discover who he was, what wrong he had committed, and I have done so.’

‘You have spoken to him?’

‘More to the point, he has spoken to me. The threat of lying naked on the stone floor without food or water eased his tongue.’ Cuthbert sniffed smugly.

Bess found his satisfaction disturbing; but she must humour the little torturer. ‘What have you learned?’

‘His name is Finn. He has admitted to assisting in the thefts, and — how did he describe it?’ Cuthbert dropped his head, searching his memory, lifted it suddenly and smiled, showing his teeth. ‘He admits to “being surprised by Walter de Hotter and in my panic mortally wounding him”. He seems to dislike the word “murder”.’

Perhaps she was too kind to those she questioned; the canon had learned much from the prisoner in a short time. ‘What of my uncle and Laurence de Warrene?’

‘For that, he suggests we speak to Anneys, lately a lay sister of this hospital.’

‘I know who she is.’

‘I never trusted her, God knows that I did not. And I warned Dame Constance about giving her too much responsibility.’

‘What has that to do with my uncle’s murder, for pity’s sake?’

‘No one watched her.’

‘What will you do with him?’

‘He pleads benefit of clergy and asks for sanctuary at St Mary’s.’

‘Sweet Jesu ! How can he expect such a gift?’

‘He believes that God had some purpose in curing him of the pestilence.’

‘He did indeed. So this Finn could be properly punished.’

‘Indeed. But that awaits Captain Archer.’

‘I must speak to the prisoner.’

‘No, Mistress Merchet.’

Well, she would find a way.

*

At high tide the bank was as treacherous as a marsh with flooded pools hidden by underbrush. Owen lost his footing once and frightened his horse. He moved even more cautiously after that.

His slow gait made Alisoun impatient. ‘She will drown before we get there. Why did you not leave your horses back on the high ground?’

‘She may be far from the bank, but the weeds on which she is caught tell me that the water is shallow enough there for a horse to walk. I can put her on the horse.’

‘Oh.’

‘Do you have a better plan?’

‘No.’

Abbot Campian rose, invited Lucie and Jasper to take his place at Wulfstan’s bedside.

Lucie reached for Wulfstan’s hand. He pulled it away, but not before she had felt its heat.

‘I would not have you ill, my friend,’ Wulfstan whispered.

‘Are you in much pain?’

A trembling smile. ‘It has passed.’

‘But you burn with fever.’

‘God purifies me.’

‘I did not believe He would take you. How can He withdraw the comfort you have given to the sick?’

‘He answers to no one, Lucie. Not even my lord abbot.’ Again the weak smile.

‘Forgive me, Brother Wulfstan.’

‘Forgive?’

‘I once asked for your silence. You almost died then because of me.’

Now he reached for her hand, pressed it with the little strength he had. ‘Good has come of it. I forgave both of us long ago.’

*

Erkenwald turned his head. ‘There is someone back in the clearing.’

‘The treasures!’ Alisoun cried. ‘I left the bundle of treasures back there.’

‘Who is behind us?’ Owen asked.

But the child was already crashing back through the brush.

Owen continued downstream; Erkenwald followed.

Owen could now see the boat and the woman clutching it. She was halfway in the boat, her legs floating on the current. Owen could not tell whether her head was in water. But surely it had been she who shouted just a while ago, so he still hoped to find her alive.

When they were as close to Anneys as they could get on the bank, Erkenwald took a rope out of his saddlebag, tied it round a sturdy trunk, and Owen pulled the rope through his horse’s harness. Then he and his horse waded out.

Alisoun dropped to her hands and knees and crept through the tall weeds to the edge of the farm’s landing-point. She saw no one. Nor did she see the bundle. She rose and moved into the trees, heading for the farm. There was no easy path upriver from the landing-place, so whoever had taken the treasure must have gone inland.

The water swirled round Owen’s legs. It was cold, even in the shallows. He soon felt the cause of the shallow area as his feet discovered an uneven, rocky bottom. He worried for the horse. But the beast picked its way with care until it reached Anneys’s bobbing feet. Then it shied, but it quieted and stood still when Owen waded past and moved the legs into the broken boat. He felt for a pulse. Anneys moaned.

‘Do not be afraid. I am going to lift you on to my horse. He will carry you to the riverbank.’

Near the barn, Alisoun’s uncle and cousin stood arguing.

‘This load will slow us,’ said Lame John. ‘I say we bury it in the hay, return tomorrow with the cart.’

Rich laughed. ‘Oh, aye. They will ride away with the woman and child and never think to watch for us.’

Lame John crossed himself. ‘You heard the child. The woman has drowned. I told you we should not damage the boat. We killed her.’

Alisoun crept into the house and retrieved her bow and arrows.

Anneys clung to the horse, shivering. Erkenwald had taken his blanket from his saddle, spread it on dry ground. As soon as the horse reached the bank, Erkenwald lifted Anneys, carried her to the blanket, rolled her up in it.

‘God watched over you,’ the canon said, shaking his head. ‘I cannot think why.’

Owen crouched by Anneys’s feet. ‘Come. We shall lift her to the horse, return to the farm for the child.’

Alisoun sat in the doorway of the house. ‘You should see to my uncle. Out by the barn. He is injured. And my cousin Rich. I shot them for thieving.’

‘You injured your kin for that pack of treasures?’ Owen asked.

‘They have my hen and my cow. I’ll never get them back.’

Was there ever such an accurséd child, Owen wondered as he headed for the barn in his clothes heavy with river water. Why was she his particular penance? What had he ever done to a child to deserve this? He loved his own, he had taken Jasper in when he was in danger, he always took particular care to instruct customers on the small doses children required.

An elderly man sat with his back against the wall of the barn, his eyes closed, head hanging down, chin on chest. Another man lay on his stomach, but propped up on his elbows so that he might spew forth curses. Owen knelt to the latter, found a wound behind the man’s left knee that bled freely.