Edward Marston - The Serpents of Harbledown

Alain was not at the hospital and it took some while to track him down. They found him propped up against the trunk of an elm, brooding in the shade of its foliage. When he saw them approaching, he pulled his hood even further forward and sank back defensively into his cloak.

“You have a visitor, Alain,” said Brother Martin softly. “His name is Master Bret and he is eager to meet you.”

“Good day,” said Gervase, stopping a few yards away.

“He wishes to ask you about Bertha.”

Alain turned to scrutinise the stranger through his veil and Gervase felt the hostility of his glare. The visitor was at a disadvantage. Unable to see anything of the leper’s face or body, he had no idea of the age, character and build of the man sitting before him and he could not decide if the concealment was a weapon used against him or an essential mask over hideously corrupted flesh.

“I was sorry to hear the sad tidings about Bertha,” he began.

“Brother Martin has told me how important and loved a figure she was at the hospital.” There was no response. “I believe that you were the person who found her body.”

“Is that not so, Alain?” prompted the monk.

“We have just been examining the spot ourselves.”

“Please help us.”

“We are acting on Bertha’s behalf.”

Alain gave no indication that he had even heard them. He remained deep in his hooded cloak like a snail in its shell, watchful against danger, looking no further than its own immediate needs.

Brother Martin turned to Gervase and arched his eyebrows in apology, gesturing that they might as well withdraw from the uncommunicative leper. Gervase held his ground and instead politely waved the monk away.

When he was left on his own with Alain, he first took a step nearer to him, then squatted on the ground. Since most of the lepers were native Saxons, theirs was the tongue used at the hospital of St. Nicholas. Gervase now spoke in French in an attempt to prise something out of the dumb and resentful figure before him.

“Where were you born, Alain?” A strained silence ensued.

“Brother Martin tells me you are of mixed parentage. My mother was a Saxon but my father hailed from Brittany. I grew up with a foot in both camps.” The leper was in no mood for personal reminiscence. Gervase plunged straight in. “We do not believe that Bertha died from snakebite. Do you?”

A faint, hesitant, parched voice eventually emerged.

“Who are you?” asked Alain.

“My name is Gervase Bret. I am a Chancery clerk in the royal household at Winchester. I have come to Canterbury on business.”

“Then go your way and discharge your duty.”

“I have vowed to help Brother Martin.”

“This is nothing to do with you.”

“It is. I can help.”

“Bertha was our friend. Not yours.”

“That is true.”

“Leave us alone.”

“But I care.”

“And leave Bertha alone.”

He lapsed back into silence but Gervase stayed his ground.

Folding his arms, he waited for several minutes in a patient and unthreatening way. When the leper spoke again, a distant curiosity lay behind his contemptuous question.

“What can you do for her?”

“Find out the truth.”

“Only Brother Martin could do that.”

“He needs support.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because of Bertha.”

“She was bitten by a snake.”

“Afterward.”

“I found her. I know.”

“Brother Martin examined the body.”

“It had marks of poison upon it.”

“Yes, Alain,” said Gervase quietly. “But it also had bruising on the throat. Bertha was not killed by a snake.”

“Stop using her name!” snarled the other with sudden fury.

“You never knew Bertha as we did. You never could.”

“I accept that.”

“We do not want your help.”

“You do, Alain.”

“Let us mourn her in peace.”

“I will,” agreed Gervase. “When we have caught her killer. Until then, I will not rest and she will not lie easy in her grave.” He leaned forward. “Can you hear what I am telling you? Bertha was murdered. Brother Martin has looked on death too often to be deluded. Someone strangled the life out of the poor girl.”

Alain took time to absorb the news then he began to shake and moan. Convulsed with fury, he lashed out impotently with both fists but his energy was soon sapped. Gervase stayed calmly out of his reach and waited until he had subsided.

“Bertha was part of your little family here. Someone stole her away from you, Alain. Does that not make you want to answer a few simple questions for me?”

“No!”

“Do you not believe in justice?”

“Justice!”

Alain let out a hiss of anger and reached up to pluck away his veil, flinging back his hood at the same time and lifting his chin defiantly. Gervase was shocked but did his best not to flinch.

The voice had deceived him. Expecting a middle-aged man, he was amazed to see someone who was younger than himself, no more than twenty, perhaps even less. Alain had a full head of dark hair and eyes of an even blacker hue. One side of his face was only partially affected by the disease and Gervase could see something of the olive complexion and the regular features.

But it was the other side of Alain’s face which transfixed any onlooker. The skin was white, puffy and visibly crumbling away, the nose was half-eaten and the eyebrow was no more than a commemorative white slit. The lips were like an open wound.

Leprosy had so disfigured the face, tearing the one eye down an inch below its companion, that Gervase felt as if he were staring at a rotting corpse.

“Do not talk to me of justice!” cried Alain, pointing a trembling finger at his face. “Where is the justice in this !”

“There is none,” said Gervase simply.

The leper’s frenzy faded and a sense of shame returned. Hood and veil were soon replaced and he withdrew into himself again.

Nothing could be gained by pressing him for help. Rising to his feet, Gervase lifted a hand in farewell then walked quickly away in the direction of the hospital.

Long after his visitor had departed, Alain took the memento out from his sleeve and placed it in his lap. When he looked down at it, he saw the prone figure of Bertha lying dead among the holly with marks upon her white neck. She would never again come to Harbledown to talk alone with him.

The first hot tear trickled down the ravaged cheek.

Inactivity made Ralph Delchard extremely restive. With everyone else in the house engaged either in soothing Eadgyth, nursing the baby, preparing the food or doing the many other chores, he felt both neglected and in the way. Sensing his discomfort, Golde urged him to take himself out.

“You will not object, my love?” he asked.

“Why should I?”

“For deserting you like this.”

“I will hardly notice that you are gone,” she said. “ Eadgyth’s need takes precedence over all else at this moment. She is in pain. I cannot stand by and watch her torment without doing something. I must help.”

“Then so will I, Golde. You can best help by staying here, and I, by getting out from under your feet.”

“Where will you go?”

“In search of Gervase.”

“It might be a kindness to keep him away for an hour or so at least. Explain the situation and he will understand.”

“We will stay away all night,” he teased. “If you wish.”

“I would only come looking for you.”

“That would be my hope.”

She kissed him lightly on the lips and went back upstairs to continue with her self-appointed duties. There was stabling at the rear of the house, reached from the street by a narrow, rutted lane. When a servant had saddled his horse for him, Ralph went trotting back toward the crowded High Street.