The Butcher of Avignon (22 page)

‘No-one could have faulted us,’ added Bertram. ‘Then this man-at-arms comes up. Taillefer just laughed when he heard him. “Is that so, my man? And so will you if you are mortal,” he said. And we all chuckled and walked on as any man would at a mere verbal threat.’

‘Did this man-at-arms speak in French or some other language?’

‘In French but with a strange accent. He might even have been English. It was an uncouth mouthing whatever it was.’

‘We were not inclined to take notice of a warning issuing from such a fellow.’ Peterkin spread his arms. ‘Now, of course, we see he meant business.’

‘But why should Taillefer have invited such a warning?’ Hildegard asked.

‘That we don’t know.’

‘Was this before the plan for the miners was discussed?’

Edmund shook his head. ‘It was after that although our concern at that time was for the quintaine. We had no other thoughts in our head.’

‘Apart from the vow to track down Maurice’s killer,’ corrected Peterkin with a glance at Elfric. ‘Taillefer made no secret of his determination to find him.’

‘It wasn’t Taillefer who dared Maurice to break into the treasury was it?’ asked Hildegard, a light suddenly dawning. But her expectations were dashed when they dismissed the idea out of hand.

‘How do you know he didn’t?’ she demanded. ‘You didn’t arrive here until Maurice had been killed.’

‘We know Taillefer. We’ve met several times on the jousting circuit with our lords. He was aghast that anybody should try to enter the treasury. “He can’t have understood the depravity of the pope’s inquisitors to breach such a place,” he said, “There’s only one end to anybody foolish enough to risk it. And that’s the torture chamber. It’s a place of unutterable horror, the sure punishment should anyone try to steal from his holiness. Remember Cesena. Nobody is excused the wrath of Clement.” He believed it utterly. He lived in terror of the pope. He would not go near the treasury and nor would he encourage any of his friends to go there.’

**

By no means convinced by what Edmund had told her, she believed that their comments about the consequences of being caught suggested that the possibility had at least been discussed, even if in a desultory manner. Why else would Taillefer have expressed such fear of the punishment to be meted out to anyone who tried to do so if it hadn’t been mentioned?

**

She tried to find the sullen little page of the bedchamber who had received a dishonest penny and the chimerical promise of gold but discovered that this time he really had left for his village. It was a hamlet somewhere in the hills in the French Kingdom and she decided that what else he might be able to tell her would not be worth the difficulty of searching him out.

She made her way down to the ferryman’s cottage instead. Shuttered still. Smoke from the chimney. She rapped on the door.

It flew open and he stood four square in the doorway with his head slightly bent to avoid hitting it on the lintel. Aggrieved that his boat had been sequestered at the coroner’s insistence he at once poured out his anger against the pope and his interfering officials, demanding to know how he was supposed to turn an honest penny, not that anybody but a madman would want to use his boat with the river in spate, but even so, it wasn’t fair on a man.

She sympathised. Disclaimed any connection with the pope. He invited her in.

They sat in a cramped chamber below the thatch. With a couple of day’s stubble on his chin and wearing brown wool hose and a dark green tunic, he looked dependable, despite his grievance. It was reasonable, after all. A man had to eat.

‘I expect the bridge traffic takes a lot of your trade, doesn’t it?’ she began.

He nodded. ‘But not all, praise be, or where would I be then? There’s always folks wanting to get to the other side without going through them customs men at the other end. Even so they usually need to give a good account of themselves before being allowed through the Chatelet.’

‘Not much check on the river traffic then?’ This must be the route the miners had taken.

He tapped the side of his nose. ‘The river bank can’t be patrolled all along, can it?’

‘True.’ She allowed him to pour another dash of wine into her beaker and the silence achieved a greater fullness, broken only by the crackling of the fire. ‘Those logs burn nicely,’ she murmured.

‘Come spring I’ll have no time to be sitting round a fire,’ he excused.

‘It was sad about this body you pulled from the river. What do you think happened?’

‘You all want to know that. Man of the moment, me.’ Before she could ask who else had been ferreting around for information he said, ‘It was like this. I was out checking my boat just after first light when I noticed what I thought was a bundle of clothes caught between the arches on some driftwood. You never know,’ he explained, ‘there’s often stuff brought down that folks will pay a good price for. So I went over to have a look.’

‘And saw straightaway that it was a poor young boy.’

‘Not quite like that. It looked like a pile of clothes at first sight. Velvet, I thought. Get a good price for that. Only when I got near did I see what it was and by then a few folk on the bridge had spotted him and started to shout down to me.’

‘You did well to get him back to shore without losing anybody in the flood,’ she observed.

‘It’s my job,’ he agreed modestly. ‘You wouldn’t believe the things I dredge from these waters.’

‘And he was dead when you reached him. How long do you think he’d been there?’

He wrinkled his brow. ‘Not long. And I’ll tell you why. His clothes weren’t sodden through as you’d expect if he’d fallen in. Did you notice? I saw you having a good look. His undershirt was almost dry.’

‘Yes, I noticed that. What do you think it means?’

He leaned forward. ‘My theory is this,’ he confided, ‘The young devil was in a fight with somebody on the bridge. He got the worst of it and they pitched him over the parapet. By chance he fell straight onto the driftwood raft and lay there for an hour or two - until I comes along and finds him.’

‘The driftwood is backed up under an arch of the bridge on this side,’ she pointed out, ‘so does that mean he was walking away from the palace to go to the other side?’

‘Or maybe he was coming back from the other side?’

‘Why would he need to cross over the river, do you think?’

‘Business with one of the cardinals?’ He gave her a knowing look.

‘And by chance when he was almost home he met a cut-throat?’

‘That’s about the size of it in my opinion.’

‘But a thief would have searched the body for anything valuable before throwing him into the river.’

The ferryman frowned. ‘There’s many a mystery in this world, domina, and it’s not for us to solve them all.’

He piled another log on the fire and refilled their beakers and was now plainly settling in for a long chat. ‘I have something I can tell you but it’s nothing I’ve told anybody else.’

He did not look the fanciful type, nor like a man spinning a tale, so she listened attentively.

‘Fact is, I’ve slept ill these past few nights in fear of the rising waters and losing every tittle I own. This little place is on high ground but even so the river can be a monster and we’ve no way of stemming her fury once she’s roused. So, as I say, I’ve been awake these last few nights, worrying. Now then,’ he resettled himself more comfortably, ‘last night, the one in question, I was lying awake going through my prayers when I thought I heard voices.’

‘Voices?’ She gave him a sceptical glance.

‘Nothing weird. Men’s voices.’

‘What were they saying?’

‘They were too far off to make out and the river was roaring dreadful, just like now,’ he added, ‘but it was a couple of men by the sound of it, angry like, and I believe they came from the direction of the bridge. In fact, I’m sure of it.’

‘Is that unusual?’

‘It is at that time of night, after curfew.’

‘And what time would it be, could you tell?’

‘I can. Shortly before the shouting I heard the bell of St Nicolas tolling for lauds.’

‘That’s very interesting, master. That is truly valuable information. I’m sure the papal authorities will be able to make some use of it. Anyone at lauds will have an alibi. That’s very helpful.’

‘I’m not telling them over there. It’s for them to find out.’ He frowned and fell silent.

‘Tell me, did anything else unusual happen earlier that night or during the preceding day?’

She noticed his eyes swivel to a corner of the room and back. ‘Nothing, domina.’

No bribe from the murdered youth to take two dubious mendicants across the river, of course, nothing like that. She kept the thought to herself. ‘Had you ever seen the murdered youth before?’

Again the swivelling glance, away and back.

‘Never.’ He hesitated. When he noticed her unwavering stare he corrected himself. ‘Perhaps once or twice, with other retainers from the palace. They come to play down here when they get time off. I believe he might have been one of the lads who did that sometimes.’

She frowned into the fire pit. ‘You didn’t see him that afternoon, for instance?’

He turned away from the piercing glance when she looked up and shook his head vigorously. ‘I told you, he might have been one of them that came down here to mess about on the river bank, paddling, fishing and that. Larking about.’

She realised it was the closest he would come to the truth. ‘It’s a sad business. His killer must be brought to justice.’

‘I agree,’ he replied fervently. ‘Anything I can do, domina.’

‘I’ll let you know.’ She gave him her special smile and he almost purred.

**

The curse of charm. That’s what Hubert had called it, in a rage at something she had implored him to do when he had no intention of doing it - until, grumbling, he claimed her smile had bewitched him, adding lovingly -
you could burn for that, Hildegard. How can I resist doing anything you ask of me?
What had it been about? A request to extend the privileges of her nuns at Meaux in some small way, she remembered. It was only a smile. It wasn’t her fault if it sometimes helped her cause.

It was no help now in untangling the evidence of a somewhat unreliable witness. All it had yielded was the possible timing of Taillefer’s murder: sometime after the lauds bell.

It seemed to come down to an argument between two men. Was the ferryman right about that? Maybe there were more than two. A gang of cut-throats. She considered returning later in the day. He might even remember another small detail unless he had been extremely well-paid not to say more.

His animosity against the papal authorities could be something to work in her favour. It seemed to render him eager to help as if by doing so he gained an advantage over the pope.

After leaving his cottage she climbed back up the bank to the track at the top and approached the sentry standing at the entrance to the bridge. He was not in the mood to stop anyone. ‘All this excitement,’ he said. ‘I’m just sorry I missed it last night.’

‘Did the sentry on duty see anything?’

‘We don’t know yet. He’s still asleep over the other side. But he should be along any time soon.’

She rooted around in her scrip for a coin that allowed entry onto the bridge.

Some time ago a chapel dedicated to the patron saint of rivermen had been built half way along. St Nicolas. His light was kept burning day and night.

It was a small place. Reeked of incense. Little more than a single chamber with a second one above reached by a short stone stairway. Nobody there except for a priest descending, step by painful step to the nave. He gave her a hard look, caught sight of her Cistercian robe under the winter cloak and softened a little.

‘No ordinary sightseer, domina. How may I help?’

‘You must be tired of answering questions?’

‘Only from those who have no right to be asking them.’

‘I’m not sure I can assume that right.’

‘Looking at you I would imagine you have more right than most. I take it you’re not interested in salacious titbits to pass onto your gossips?’

‘The murder of a young man with his life before him is not a suitable topic for gossip, salacious or otherwise.’

He nodded. ‘So why are you here?’

‘A similar murder of a young man took place in the palace a few days ago. You may have heard about it?’

He stared at her until she continued.

‘The details are so similar to the terrible events of this morning that I wonder if there’s a link? The first young man was a countryman of mine,’ she hastened to add.

He took this as adequate reason for her interest. ‘Come up to the sacristy where we can talk undisturbed.’

Achingly he handed himself step by step up the stair he had just descended.

The upper chamber was similar in size to the one below, a small square space with two windows on each side to give a view both up and down river. Here, instead of an altar, was a narrow bed in one corner, an aumbry in the wall, and a comfortable looking chair placed next to a horn lantern on the sill.

She went over to the downstream window and found she could see all the way to the end of the peninsula and beyond to where the Rhone widened. It was a foaming sea of white water at present. Spray blown up by the wind into a mist shrouded both banks and made it look wider and more dangerous than a river should be.

The priest was breathless after his short climb. ‘Unpleasant weather,’ he wheezed. ‘Too much rain. In summer, not enough. It makes one wonder about God’s intentions. So now, domina, you’d like to know what I saw and heard last night?’

‘If you will.’

‘I was in bed when a commotion in the direction of the Avignon side woke me. It sounded like an older man in altercation with a younger.’

‘Did you recognise the voices?’

‘Not I.’ His face was like a stone wall.

‘Would you tell me if you did?’

‘Would it bring him back?’

‘No, but it might bring a measure of justice to his victims if this possibly double killer could be arrested and punished. It might also prevent him from murdering another innocent person.’