Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

Footsteps approached and the bolts were drawn on the other side of his door.

Fearing discovery, Boio moved swiftly to hide the file under the straw and to fling himself full length to the floor as if sleeping.

When the door creaked open, he pretended to be stirring from his slumber.

A guard stood over him with a wooden bowl and kicked out.

‘Wake up!’ he roared. ‘Come on, you rogue!’

The prisoner dragged himself up into a sitting position. The bowl was thrust into his lap and a gourd of water dropped uncaringly after it.

‘Eat that! You must stay alive so that we can hang you!’

The man gave a raucous laugh and went out again, slamming the door behind him before passing on his jest to his colleague.

Boio took a grateful swig of the water then grabbed the dry bread in the bowl and thrust a handful into his mouth, chewing it with the desperation of a man who was suffering real pangs of hunger.

The water was brackish and the bread stale but they would help to sustain him. He was just about to push the last crust into his mouth when a thought made him pause. Reaching for the piece of cloth in which the file had been delivered, he wound it around the bread then thrust both of them inside his tunic.

Food had to be conserved. It might be needed later.

Since the next session in the shire was not due to start until the bell for sext was heard, the commissioners found themselves with a few hours of unanticipated freedom. Brother Benedict proposed to use some of that time to draft a report on the dispute with which they had already dealt, Theobald excused himself to visit the nearby church of St Mary and Philippe Trouville, having savoured blood as a commissioner, recalled his duties as a husband and excused himself so that he could return to the castle to repair some of the damage caused by his comments during the meal the previous night.

Ralph and Gervase watched all three of them leave the hall.

‘What did you think of the lord Philippe?’ asked Ralph.

‘I would rather sit beside him than stand in front of him.’

‘He is a merciless interrogator.’

‘Let us hope that he is not let loose on Boio,’ said Gervase.

‘Yes. I fear he would use something more deadly than words.’

‘He so enjoys giving pain.’

‘I know, Gervase,’ said Ralph. ‘It is a little unnerving. Though I suspect that the lord Philippe had his share of pain last night.

Perhaps that is what brought he and his wife together. A shared delight in inflicting punishment.’

‘Let us leave them aside, Ralph. My concern is for Boio.’

‘What do you suggest that we do?’

‘Send some of your men after this so-called miracle worker.’

‘In this weather? It would be hazardous travelling.’

‘That is why the fellow is like still to be in Coventry,’ argued Gervase. ‘He will get shelter and custom there. Dispatch some men to pick up his trail. Do it straight.’

‘Not so fast, Gervase.’

‘The blacksmith is in danger. We must help him.’

‘Must we?’

‘The man is innocent, Ralph.’

‘That is what he claims and we have readily accepted his word.

But the truth of the matter is that neither of us has ever even set eyes on the man. Benedict has talked to him and both of you have met this woman who claims to be his friend. On the other hand,’ he sighed, ‘a witness places him near the murder scene on the day the body was discovered.’

‘That witness’s testimony is disputed. Boio has an alibi.’

‘Does he?’

‘The stranger called at his forge.’

‘You and I believe that, Gervase. So does this woman Asmoth.

We might even track down this itinerant and get him to swear that the blacksmith was shoeing his donkey at the very time when he was supposed to be lurking in the forest. We might do all that,’ he stressed, ‘and still not prise apart the jaws of the law to release Boio.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the lord Henry will not be persuaded.’

‘He must be if we confront him with the traveller.’

‘No, Gervase. Put yourself in his position. Two witnesses stand before you, each putting the prisoner in a different place at the same time. Which would you believe? A local man whom you can trust and who knows Boio extremely well by sight? Or a wandering pauper who does not even have money enough to pay for his donkey to be shoed?’

‘The lord Henry refused to believe that the man even existed.’

‘I confess that I had doubts myself.’

‘He is real and can confirm Boio’s alibi. Even the lord Henry must lend some weight to that.’ Ralph shook his head. ‘Why not?’

‘You have met our host.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He wants the blacksmith to be guilty.’

‘He must still follow due process of law.’

‘Men like the lord Henry are a law unto themselves. No, Gervase,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘When I heard what that woman told you, my first thought was to dispatch men in search of this stranger but I fear that it will not be enough. It may serve to delay Boio’s conviction but I fear that it will not prevent it.’

‘Is it not at least worth trying?’ pleaded Gervase.

‘Our time and efforts may be better spent.’

‘In what?’

‘Answering the question put by lord Henry.’

‘What question?’

‘If the blacksmith did not kill Martin Reynard — who did?’

Gervase was halted. It was ironic. He was usually the one who advised caution while Ralph habitually favoured action. The situation was now reversed. Gervase’s urge to help what he believed was an innocent man had clouded his judgement. His friend’s calmer approach made him have second thoughts. Murder demanded a murderer. Boio would not be liberated until someone else took his place in the dungeon.

‘Well?’ prodded Ralph.

‘I know where I would start looking for him,’ said Gervase.

‘Where?’

‘At the house of Adam Reynard.’

‘Why there?’

‘That is where we would find Grimketel, the witness whose word can put a noose around Boio’s neck. When I saw him at the funeral, he did not have the look of a wholly dependable witness.

I would like to have a serious talk with this Grimketel.’

‘Then what are you waiting for, Gervase?’

‘You feel that I should go in search of him?’

‘We both will,’ decided Ralph. ‘If we ride hard there and back, we will not delay any proceedings here. Let us take advantage of the time lord Philippe’s fierce interrogation has granted us.’

‘I am ready!’

‘Ednoth will teach us the way.’

‘We may even be able to ride on to Coventry,’ teased Gervase.

‘Forget the man with the donkey.’

‘But he gives Boio an alibi.’

‘We may not even need this miracle worker.’

Bad weather was bad for business. As the man stood in a corner of the marketplace, only a small knot of people gathered to hear him and some of those were children who came to stare rather than to buy. He was not deterred. His voice had a confident ring and he raised it to full volume as if addressing a vast gathering.

Grey, gaunt and hooped by the passage of time, he belied his appearance. What they saw was an old man in a tattered cloak and torn cap but what they heard was a person of rare gifts and great importance. Even his donkey, shivering beside him, was held by his stirring rhetoric.

‘Gather round, friends,’ he urged. ‘Gather round. When you left your homes today you thought you were stepping out into a cold and cheerless world. When you return you will feel that this has been one of the most significant days of your life. And why?

That is what you are saying to yourselves. Why? Because you had the good fortune to meet me. And who is this strange creature who stands before you? Only the most cunning physician in the whole realm. That is who I am. For I tell you, my friends,’ he continued, using both hands to weave pictures in the air, ‘I have cured where no cure was thought possible. I have saved lives that were deemed beyond redemption. And I have eased pain which no medicine could even begin to soothe.’