Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

You were right to come, Asmoth. Nobody could have done more to help Boio than you have.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I am only sorry that it was such an ordeal to get here.’

‘I would have walked ten times as far.’

Asmoth gave a weak smile and the hare lip rose to expose a row of irregular teeth. For the first time Gervase noticed the dimple in her cheek. He recalled what Benedict had said about the nature of her relationship with the blacksmith. Asmoth had not taken such pains on his behalf out of simple friendship. She loved him.

‘Where is he?’ she said, eyes roaming the bailey.

Gervase pointed. ‘Over there. Below the wall.’

She followed the direction of his finger and saw the entrance to the dungeons. It was close to the outer wall. The ground sloped sharply away in that corner of the bailey and the cells had been built at the bottom of the dip, nestling against the wall and partially underground. Small windows admitted only meagre light and ventilation. Thick bars made it impossible for anyone to climb in or out. Asmoth gave a shudder and turned her gaze away.

Gervase saw the desperation in her face.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said. ‘Let me get you food.’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘Something to drink at least.’

‘Nothing.’

‘Are you sure? I can have it sent from the kitchen.’

‘I do not need it.’

‘Then rest before you leave,’ he advised.

‘Please.’

‘I will tell the guards to let you shelter in the gatehouse until you are ready to set off again.’

‘No,’ she begged. ‘They will only laugh at me.’

‘Not if I speak to them sharply enough.’

‘Let me stay here.’

‘In the porch?’

‘In the chapel,’ she said. ‘It will be quiet in there and nobody will mock me. Please let me go in. I can pray for Boio.’

Gervase was touched. Reluctant to leave her alone, he was yet keen to pass on what he had learned from her to Ralph and to Benedict. The chapel was the one place in the castle where she would be safe from prying eyes or the sniggers of the guards. He opened the door to let her in, then felt a squeeze of gratitude on his arm. Gervase nodded, closed the door behind her then hurried off towards the keep. The sleet was now dying away. He took it as a good omen.

Asmoth waited only a few minutes before she opened the chapel door to peer out. Seeing the bailey was deserted, she crept furtively out and, keeping to the wall, trotted in its shadow until she reached the dungeons. With no heed for her comfort or cleanliness, she slithered down the steep bank then crawled along in the ditch at the bottom and looked into each of the windows in turn. When she came to the last she saw a dim figure in the straw. From beneath her cloak she brought out something concealed in a piece of cloth and dropped it through the bars.

She was off again at once, scrambling up the slope then pulling herself to her feet before hurrying towards the gate through which she had come into the castle. Asmoth did not even hear the cruel jeers of the guards as she swept past them and went out into the town.

*

*

*

Boio was still asleep when something fell through the window of his cell and landed on the floor with a thud. The noise brought him awake but it took him time to work out what caused it. Sleep had restored him and he felt something of his old strength coursing through him again but the burns on his flesh were still smarting.

The medicine had not taken those away. Snow and sleet had blown in through the window to dampen the straw beneath it.

Boio was about to move towards a drier patch near the door when he noticed something directly below the aperture. It was a piece of cloth and he had no idea how it had got there.

Crawling towards it, he reached out to touch the material and found that it was wrapped around a piece of solid iron. Unwinding the cloth with growing curiosity, he took out something which caused his spirits to lift at once. It was a large file. What he was holding was a tool which he had actually made himself for use in the forge. Only one person would have known where it was kept and had the courage to bring it to him. The sound which roused him from his sleep was now explained. As he fondled the ribbed iron, tears of affection came into his eyes. She cared, she thought about him, she held faith.

He raised the piece of cloth to his lips and kissed it.

When he was told about Asmoth’s visit to the castle, Ralph Delchard was circumspect. Brother Benedict also counselled prudence. Both men were heartened to learn of the new evidence concerning the traveller with the donkey but they were also alive to its inherent weakness.

‘We need something more solid than the word of a cottager and his wife,’ said Ralph. ‘The lord Henry would discard them out of hand and I do not wish to go to him again until we have marshalled more of a case in the blacksmith’s defence. Our host will not be easily convinced.’

‘I agree,’ said Benedict, nodding sagely. ‘Indeed, I would go further. I think that we need to produce this mysterious stranger himself before we can even hope for a serious hearing. But it proves one thing,’ he added. ‘Our journey to the forge was indeed worthwhile.’

‘Something else has been proved,’ said Gervase.

‘What is that?’

‘Your judgement of that woman was correct, Brother Benedict.’

‘Asmoth?’

‘She is much more than his friend.’

‘I knew it at once,’ said the monk, cheeks turning to red apples as they rounded in a smile. ‘Life within the enclave does not make us quite as unworldly as you might suppose. We learn to watch and listen. I do not miss much when it comes to a bond between a man and a woman.’

Ralph grinned. ‘Golde and I will have to be more careful.’

‘You are blessed in each other, my lord.’

‘I’ll wager that you will not say the same of the lord Philippe and his wife. You detect no blessing there.’

‘I detect a form of love.’

‘Love of ambition.’

‘You slander them unfairly,’ said Benedict with reproach. ‘Their marriage may not exactly be akin to your own, nor, I suspect, to that which Gervase and his wife enjoy, but in their own way the lord Philippe and the lady Marguerite are admirably suited.’

‘Two hearts hewn from the same piece of granite.’

‘They were drawn together by the mystery of desire.’

‘You might not think that if you had lingered at the table last night,’ said Gervase. ‘Heloise let fall a confidence which took our breath away. She told us that the lord Philippe had been married before.’

‘That is no news,’ scoffed Ralph. ‘The lady Marguerite said as much to Golde. A man of that age was almost certain to have been wed before.’

‘Did the lady Marguerite say what happened to his first wife?’

‘Not according to Golde.’

‘I am not surprised.’

‘Why is that, Gervase?’

‘Because the lady died by her own hand.’

Benedict was horrified. ‘She committed suicide?’

‘That is what Heloise told us.’

‘How?’

‘We were too shocked to ask.’

‘Poor woman, to be driven to such a terrible extreme!’

‘Who can blame her?’ said Ralph, adjusting quickly to the news.

‘If I was married to a man like that, I think that I would prefer to kill myself.’

‘My lord!’ scolded Benedict.

The arrival of the other guests brought the conversation to an abrupt end. It was not something which could be discussed openly. While they ate their breakfast, the three men nursed their individual thoughts about the wife’s untimely death. None of them felt any urge to talk at length with Philippe Trouville, and the man himself, tested by a jarring night, munched his food in a ruminative silence. All that he wished to do was to get to the shire hall and lose himself in the business of the day so that he could block out his memories of the testing night he had just endured with the lady Marguerite. Archdeacon Theobald, also privy to the revelation about the suicide, kept that knowledge completely hidden behind a quiet impassivity.