Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

‘No.’

‘Then why were you arrested?’

‘False evidence.’

‘Where were you held?’

‘Warwick Castle.’

When the reply was translated, the bishop was thunderstruck.

‘He escaped from custody?’ he said in wonderment. ‘When he was held by Henry Beaumont? A mouse could not get safely out of that castle. Ask him how he did it.’

Boio told them about the file but refused to say how it came into his possession. Nor would he explain the route by which he came to Coventry, admitting only to a blundering dash north from Warwick. At no point did Asmoth’s name come into the conversation. He was keen to ensure that she would be in no way held accountable for what happened. Escape, flight and search for sanctuary were all his own doing.

The three of them were in Robert de Limesey’s chamber. With the bishop in residence, the abbot was very grateful to shift the burden of examination on to him and his guest was glad to bear it. It was a tacit acknowledgement of his superior status and an opportunity to flex his legal and spiritual muscles in the battle with Henry Beaumont over the fugitive which he foresaw.

Prejudiced against Boio because of his stink, the bishop was not convinced by his plea of innocence. On their visit to the abbey Ralph and Gervase had already given their account of the murder investigation. Robert wished to see if it accorded in every detail with the one from the man who was at the very heart of it.

‘Tell us about Huna,’ prodded Reginald.

‘Who?’

‘The traveller with the donkey.’

‘He gave me no name,’ said Boio.

‘But he is the man you think could save your life?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what he is?’

‘He cures people.’

‘By what means, though?’ said the monk. ‘That is the question.’

‘He makes potions. He gave me one.’

‘Do you still have it?’

‘Not any more.’

‘What did you do with it?’

‘I drank it while held in the dungeons. It helped me sleep.’

‘Did Huna talk to you about miracles?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he say how he performed them?’

‘With faith in God.’

‘The man is shameless!’

‘You know where he is?’

‘Huna is here in Coventry.’ Boio’s face lit up. ‘He performed one of his so-called miracles in the street. Bishop Robert had him apprehended on a charge of sorcery and thrown into the town gaol.

You will get no alibi from him. He is in need of one himself.’

‘Let me see him,’ begged Boio.

‘That will not be possible.’

‘What harm can it do?’

‘We have already heard enough from Huna.’

‘He is a friend.’

‘Look elsewhere for friendship.’

‘But I need him,’ said Boio. ‘Let him tell you if I am lying. He was there at my forge that morning. He knows that I could not have been in the Forest of Arden. Huna is a poor man but his mind is clear. I am sure he will remember. Please!’ he implored.

‘Do you not see? This is God’s wish. He has brought me and Huna together in the town. We must meet.’

Bishop and monk were completely taken aback. Boio spoke with such passion and coherence that they found their sympathy for him increasing. His situation was indeed desperate. Right of sanctuary was granted but he would not be immune from the law indefinitely. When the time came to release him an arrest would immediately follow. Only proof of innocence would effect his acquittal. Otherwise, all that the abbey was doing was to delay the day of execution.

‘There may be matter in this for us,’ suggested a pensive Robert.

‘Matter, my lord bishop?’

‘Yes, Reginald. I must confess that I am not looking forward to another theological encounter with Huna but this blacksmith here might save me the trouble. If I sanctioned a meeting, you could be present and overhear every word which passes between them.’

‘I understand.’

‘Not only will we know if Boio is telling the truth,’ said the bishop, ‘we will learn more about the old man. When he talks to a friend he may not be as glib and well defended as when he faces us. Yes,’ he decided, ‘that is what we will do. Arrange a meeting, Reginald. And soon.’

‘May I tell Boio your decision, my lord bishop?’

They looked across to see the tears running down his face.

‘I think that he already knows it,’ said Robert.

It was almost completely dark when Henry Beaumont led his dejected troop back to Warwick Castle. The search parties which had ventured off in other directions had already returned but none of them had picked up the fugitive’s trail. As far as they knew, he was still at liberty. Henry’s ill temper was not improved by a concerted appeal from Ralph, Gervase and Theobald for the release of Brother Benedict. When the appeal was supported by Trouville, the constable eventually relented, insisting that the monk be confined to the castle until he had time properly to interrogate him. The commissioners were delighted and thanked their host. They went off for a reunion with their incarcerated scribe.

Henry and Trouville were still in the bailey when the messenger arrived, breathless from a hard ride. His horse was lathered with sweat. The man leaped from the saddle and ran across to Henry.

‘He is found, my lord!’ he announced.

‘Where?’ said Henry with a cry of pleasure.

‘In Coventry.’

‘Coventry! How did he get that far?’

‘I do not know, my lord.’

‘Is he taken? Held in chains? Who captured him? They will be richly rewarded for this service. Speak, man. Tell me all.’

‘Boio has not been captured, I fear.’

‘Then where is he?’

‘At the abbey. They have granted him sanctuary.’

‘What!’ roared Henry. ‘To a murderer!’

The news spread around the castle like wildfire. Jaded by their futile search, the soldiers were revived by the information that the blacksmith had finally been located but they were irked that he was, at least temporarily, beyond their reach. Gervase and Ralph were relieved to hear that the fugitive was safe, and Brother Benedict, now freed from the very cell which had once held Boio, was thrilled and fell into a long discussion with Theobald about the moral essence of sanctuary. Henry Beaumont recognised no moral essence. His first instinct was to ride through the night to Coventry and demand that the fugitive be yielded up to him but common sense and fatigue combined to dissuade him. It was Trouville who suggested a compromise.

‘Let me go to Coventry, my lord,’ he offered.

‘Now?’

‘When I have spoken with my wife and taken refreshment.

Fresh horses will carry us there. I will not usurp your authority,’

he vowed. ‘I will simply establish that Boio is still within the precincts of the abbey before I mount a guard on it. That way, he will not escape. When you arrive in the town tomorrow, you can tell the abbot his duty.’

‘The bishop,’ said Henry. ‘Robert de Limesey.’

‘I had forgotten that he was there as well.’

‘More’s the pity! He is an obstinate old goat. The abbot might have given way to my threats but the bishop will dig in his heels.

No matter. I’ll prise Boio out of their grasp somehow. Thank you, my lord,’ he said, appraising Trouville. ‘I embrace your offer willingly. Unlike your fellows, you have been a source of help to me. It will not go unmentioned when I next meet the King in council.’

‘Thank you, my lord!’ said Trouville. ‘One question.’

‘Well?’

‘What if we catch the fugitive trying to slip away in the night?’

‘Kill him!’

Huna was overjoyed to meet his benefactor again. When he was taken to the abbey and shown into the chamber where Boio was waiting, he flung out his arms in greeting and embraced him.