Ellis Peters - The Leper of Saint Giles

“No!” He could not keep the scorn out of his voice.

Radulfus turned back to the sheriff with a faint, wry smile. “For the murder charge, Brother Cadfael will bring you to speak with this woman, and you will judge for yourself what trust to place in her. As for your own officers, there is no need to question their truthfulness. It seems to me that on this count this man must be held guiltless.”

“If this is confirmed,” agreed Prestcote readily, “he cannot be the murderer. I myself will take this woman’s testimony.” He turned to Cadfael with a question: “She is still at the hunting-lodge?”

“No,” said Cadfael, not without some relish at the stir his answer would make, “she is now at the cell of the Benedictine sisters at Godric’s Ford, where she has entered the order as a novice, and intends to take full vows.”

It was an achievement to have made even Abbot Radulfus blink; shaking the brotherhood was a routine success by comparison. “And you esteem her an honest witness?” asked the abbot mildly, recovering his control in an instant, while Prior Robert’s patrician nose still looked pinched and blue with shock, and the ranks behind his shoulder still quivered.

“As the day, Father. The sheriff will judge for himself. I am convinced that, whatever else she may be, she has no disguises, and does not lie.”

They would get from her, without conceal, the whole story of her life, of which she was not ashamed, and she could not but impress them. He had no fears on that head. Prestcote was a practical man, he would recognize her quality. “My lord,” said Cadfael, “and you, Father, may we not understand that you accept - subject to questioning Mistress Avice and finding her testimony true - that Joscelin Lucy is altogether innocent of Huon de Domville’s murder?”

Prestcote had no hesitation. “That seems certain. The charge cannot stand.”

“Then - bear with me! - you cannot but accept, also, that this day he has been under constant watch by Brother Mark, as Mark himself has told us, and has done nothing to occasion suspicion or blame.”

The abbot was regarding him with searching attention. “That must also be granted. I think, brother, you have some particular reason for calling attention to it in this way. Something has happened?”

“Yes, Father. Something I should have told you at once, if I had not blundered into these equally grave matters as soon as I rode in. Well for any man who can say that today, all day long, he had a good man watching him and seeing no evil. For there has been violence done once again, in the woods beyond Saint Giles. Not an hour ago, as I was coming home, I happened upon a riderless horse, but could not catch him, and following him, I came upon a clearing where another man lies dead, and as I think, strangled like the first. I can lead you to the place.”

In the horrified hush that fell, he turned slowly to confront Agnes, who stood wild-eyed but still as stone.

“Madam, I grieve to bring you such news, but it is certain, even in the dim light, by the horse he rode …”

There was a moment of utter silence, while she stood blanched and stiff like a woman turned to ice. Then, as abruptly, she came to life with a piercing scream of rage and grief, and whirling in a storm of flying skirts, turned her back upon sheriff, abbot, niece and all, and clove like a fury through the startled brothers who gave way hastily before her onslaught. Not one glance at Joscelin Lucy now, she bore down on one man, and one man only, raging.

“You … you! Where are you, coward, murderer, come forth and face me! You, you, Simon Aguilon, you killed my lord!”

The ranks scattered before her blazing eyes and levelled arm.

“Stand, damned murderer, face me! Hear me!” The whole Foregate, surely, must be hearing her and crossing themselves in superstitious dread, envisaging a demon come after some prodigious sinner. As for Simon, he stood aghast, too taken aback, it seemed, even to retreat before her. He stared open-mouthed, speechless, as she halted challengingly before him, her black eyes huge and flaring redly in the torchlight. Beside him Guy turned a startled stare helplessly from one to the other, and drew back a furtive pace or two from this new and deadly battlefield.

“You killed him! None but you could have done this. You rode off beside him to this hunt, close to him in the line - I know, I heard how it was drawn up. You, FitzJohn, say, let them all hear! Where did this man ride?”

“He was next to Sir Godfrid,” admitted Guy dazedly. “But…”

“Next to him, yes… and on the way home, in those thick woods, it was easy to take him by surprise. Late and quiet you come back, Simon Aguilon, and you have made sure he will never come back!”

Sheriff and abbot had drawn close to witness this encounter, startled and appalled like everyone else, and made as yet no attempt to interrupt it. She was past reason. Simon said so, when he could speak at all, swallowing hard, and still breathless.

“For God’s sake, what have I done to be so accused? I am altogether innocent of this death, I knew nothing of it… I last saw Sir Godfrid Picard three hours ago, well alive, threading the woods like the rest of us. The poor lady is crazed with grief, she strikes the nearest…”

“I strike at you,” she cried, “and would if there were a thousand in between. For you are the man! You know it as I know it. Pretense will not save you now!”

Simon appealed wildly to the sheriff and abbot, spreading gloved hands. “Why, why should I so much as think of killing a man who was my friend? With whom I had no quarrel in the world? What possible motive could I have for such a deed? You see she has run mad.”

“Ah, but you did have a quarrel with him,” shrieked Agnes vengefully, “as well you know. Why? Why? Do you dare ask me why? Because he suspected - he as good as knew - that you had killed your own lord and uncle!”

Wilder and wilder grew the accusations, and yet this time Simon drew in breath sharply, and for an instant was still and pale. He wrenched himself out of shocked silence with a great heave, to defend himself strongly. “How can that be? Everyone knows that my uncle dismissed me, put off all company and rode out alone. I went to my bed, as I was bidden. I slept late … they came to wake me when they found he had not returned …”

She swept that aside with a contemptuous motion of her hand. “You went to your bed, yes, I make no doubt… and you left it again to steal out in the night and set your trap. Easy enough to leave unseen and return unseen when your wicked work was done. There are more ways in and out of any house than by the hall door, and who was so privileged in going and coming as you? Who else had all the keys he needed? Who stood to gain by the old man’s death but you? And not only in being his heir, oh, no! Deny too these here present, if you dare, that in the evening of the day Huon was brought back dead, you came to my lord, before your uncle was cold you came, to make a bargain with us that you would step into his shoes with my niece, inherit bride, and honor, and all. Deny it, and I’ll prove it! My maid was there!”

Simon looked round the ring of watching faces wildly, and protested: “Why should I not fairly offer for Iveta? My estate would match hers, it is no disparagement. I esteem, I honor her. And Sir Godfrid did not reject me. I was willing to wait, to be patient. He agreed to my suit…”

Iveta’s hand gripped and clung convulsively in Joscelin’s clasp. Her stunned mind went back over those two meetings when Simon had seemed to her the only friend she had in the world, when he had pledged her his help, and Joscelin his loyalty. The first meeting countenanced by a smiling and gracious Agnes, complacently welcoming fortune restored. The second … yes, that had been different indeed, he had professed himself disapproved and banished, and the event had borne him out in his claim. What could have happened between, to change everything?