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  But wait a minute. That young girl. Surely I recognized her. Wasn’t she the one waiting in the queue at the almonry the day Brother Fidele was murdered? And now here she was leading these two filthy monstrosities.

  Or was she?

  I tentatively found my feet following the trio in through the doors.

  ‘Keep away, brother!’ warned a pilgrim grabbing my arm. ‘If they so much as look at you you’ll become like them!’

  But I followed anyway.

  Inside the church pilgrims were pushing their bodies against the walls to get as far away as they could as the two monsters and their doomed young helper advanced slowly up the central passage wailing as they went. I followed at a distance matching them step by step aware I was being watched by dozens of pairs of terrified eyes. We passed the quire stalls and the central crossing, then up the steps by the quire altar and on into the chancel itself. Once through the chancel screen and inside the now deserted chancel, the leading leper threw off her mask, turned her head towards me - and gurneyed.

  ‘Unclean!’ cried Mother Han giving one last doleful clunk of her bell.

  She then shook her considerable bulk and a whole cascade of goodies flooded onto the chancel tiles to the astonishment of Hamo who had by now emerged from his hidey-hole beneath the shrine to see what the fuss was about.

  ‘That’s how you smuggle food into a sanctuary, brother,’ Mother Han snarled at me. ‘And don’t think I won’t be looking for payment neither.’

  I was too dumbfounded to reply. But that wasn’t the end of it. The second leper now threw off her mask too - and yes, it was Cathrin. Seeing her, Hamo rushed into his wife’s arms and they embraced with an unashamed - and, quite frankly, thoroughly immodest - show of affection so that I had to look away. Lord alone knows what the blessed martyr must have made of this brazen display of carnal affection being conducted only inches before his holy nose. But then, I reflected, it probably made a welcome change from the unending stream of petitions for financial assistance and cures of the pox. Mother Han smiled benignly at the couple before snorting at me and then disappearing down the chancel steps closely followed by her child helper.

  Chapter Twenty

  ANOTHER INTERVIEW WITH THE SHERIFF

  For the second time in two days I found myself standing before Sheriff Peter in Samson’s study. Actually it’s a position I am quite used to being in chastised as I frequently am over some misdemeanour or other by the abbot. The expression on the sheriff’s face was also a familiar one: exasperation. This time, however, I wasn’t on my own: Jocellus was standing alongside me and looking even sorrier for himself than I felt. Eustache had managed to keep hold of him after their struggle in the abbey courtyard - not difficult seeing that he was encumbered by that outsized robe. And it hadn’t taken the guards long to arrest me either once Mother Han’s deception had been discovered. It did look, however, as though the main purpose of the morning’s exercise had been achieved, thanks largely to Mother Han. On the desk before us was the evidence: the remnants of a sausage and a shattered bottle of ale. No sign of the old reprobate herself, however. Somehow Mother Han had managed to elude the guards and disappeared along with her little helper. Quite how she achieved that was a mystery. The only place I could think she could have gone was down into the crypt and hidden there until the coast was clear - clever girl. Cathrin wasn’t so fortunate. She’d been carted off somewhere once they’d prised her from the embracing arms of her husband. At any rate, she wasn’t with us. The only other person in the room was the guard from yesterday who was looking pretty pleased with himself and holding a large, shapeless sack in his arms. No prizes for guessing what it contained.

  Sir Peter sat the other side of the desk casually examining the nails of one manicured hand. Today, I couldn’t help noticing, he was dressed in a blue velvet tunic with matching blue girdle, yellow hose and red calf-length boots. Very fetching. I suspect he must have been to some important function when he got the call to come and deal with this latest disturbance at the abbey so he wasn’t looking very pleased. His sartorial elegance contrasted sharply with that of poor Jocellus who was left shivering in his underwear having been relieved of the giant black robe that was now also lying on the desk and turned inside out to reveal the two huge pouches that Gilbert had sewn into the sides.

  At last Sir Peter looked up at us and sighed wearily: ‘Well? Anything to say?’

  I contrived my best to look innocent. ‘About what, my lord?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t play games, brother, I’m not in the mood. Have you anything to say about this?’ He indicated the mess on the desk in front of him.

  I glanced down at the half-eaten sausage and broken ale bottle. I could see they were the ones brought by Mother Han, not the ones we packed so carefully into Gilbert’s pouches, so I could truthfully answer:

  ‘Nothing to do with me. Never seen them before.’ I turned to Jocellus. ‘Have you seen them before, brother? No, Brother Jocellus hasn’t seen them before either.’

  The sheriff snapped two beringed fingers and the guard emptied the sack he was carrying onto the desk. As I suspected, more food tumbled out: apples, bread, more sausage, boiled eggs, half a ham. These I did recognize as the items we had packed into Gilbert’s pouches.

  Sir Peter cocked an elegant eyebrow. ‘Still nothing to say?’

  I grimaced awkwardly. I didn’t want to lie but I didn’t want to admit to anything either. Fortunately before I could answer the door behind us opened and in slid Abbot Eustache. He silently closed the door again and, smiling briefly at the sheriff, delicately picked his way over to a chair in the corner and sat down. Sir Peter waited until he was settled before speaking.

  ‘Can I help you, father?’

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ smiled Eustache raising a conciliatory hand. ‘I will not disturb. Please, carry on.’

  I could see a tick of annoyance starting in the corner of the sheriff’s eye. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

  Eustache feigned confusion. ‘I’m sorry, have I got it wrong? Is it not the murder of Brother Fidele you wish to discuss?’

  ‘Only in a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Bon,’ said the abbot-legate and he settled himself more comfortably on his chair.

  ‘No father, you don’t understand. We are not discussing the murder per se, merely a matter relating to it.’

  Eustache nodded. ‘Yes yes, I do understand. It is to do with the fugitive, ne c’est pas? These men were caught smuggling food to him. I know. I was there.’

  ‘And I’m sure when the time comes you will have much to contribute to the discussion. But for the time being your help is not required. I therefore bid you good day.’

  ‘Not the food?’ Eustache shrugged. ‘Ça ne fait rien. Since it is a church matter I will stay anyway.’

  The tick in the sheriff’s eye grew more pronounced. I’m not sure if they have sheriffs in France but Eustache was evidently underestimating the role of the office in England and of this sheriff in particular. I braced myself for the onslaught.

  ‘It is not a church matter, father,’ Sir Peter said quietly, ‘it is a civil one.’

  Eustache snorted. ‘Of course it is a church matter. Where is sanctuary to be found if not in a church? Fidele was a monk. These two men also are monks. How then is it not a church matter?’

  ‘Because as I explained to you the other day, under English law murder is a matter for the civil courts. As of now the accused man is not in the church, he is in my custody - and damn it, I don’t have to explain myself to you!’

  Now I was the one who was concerned. ‘Did I hear you correctly, lord sheriff? Hamo is no longer in the church? May I ask -?’

  ‘No you may not!’ he barked. He then turned back to Eustache. ‘Father abbot, I have asked you politely to leave, now I am telling you.’ He snapped two beringed fingers and the guard took a step forward to stand intimidatingly close to Eustache.

  The abbot-legate’s nose twitched lik
e he’d just detected a bad smell. He looked up at the guard with contempt. ‘English law. This would not happen in France.’

  ‘Probably not,’ agreed the sheriff.

  Eustache nodded towards me. ‘You know this man? He is the one you should be arresting. He cannot be trusted. You know he has a heathen for a brother? A Jew.’

  ‘If you mean Joseph the apothecary,’ said Sir Peter, ‘yes, I know him. He mixed a powder to ease my wife’s sickness during her last pregnancy.’

  A wry grin slowly spread across Eustache’s face. ‘Very well. But this does not end here. Before I leave this place I will have justice for Brother Fidele. Do not doubt it.’

  But for the moment it did end there. Eustache rose with as much dignity as he could muster, straightened his robe and left the room.

  ‘Is that true what you told the abbot-legate, Sir Peter?’ I asked as soon as he’d gone. ‘You have Hamo in custody?’

  ‘I warned you what would happen if you tried to interfere.’

  ‘But he’s in sanctuary,’ protested Jocellus.

  ‘Was in sanctuary, brother. He forfeited his rights when you decided to break the rules.’

  ‘But that’s not fair. Hamo didn’t know anything about it,’ Jocellus objected. ‘You must allow him his forty days.’

  Sir Peter shook his fine auburn locks. ‘It’s too late for that, my friend. I have my man now and I intend to keep him until the coroner arrives.’

  ‘But my lord!’

  The sheriff grabbed the half-eaten sausage and waved it threateningly at us. An unfortunate choice since it drooped unseemly at the end.

  ‘And if you continue to obstruct me,’ he added raising his voice, ‘I will have you too.’

  He threw the sausage down and wiped his fingertips on the young guard’s tabard. I could see we weren’t going to get any further with this. The sheriff was right, it was too late to save Hamo at least from incarceration. It was time to try some damage limitation. If I didn’t I could see us ending up in gaol too and that would do no-one any good.

  I put a restraining hand on Jocellus’s arm. ‘All right my lord, I admit we did intend to feed him. But as you can see in the event we weren’t able to. Jocellus never even managed to get as far as the church door. It wasn’t our food that Hamo ate but the leper woman’s.’ I was careful not to mention Mother Han by name.

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Sir Peter, ‘and I suspect that was your idea, too. In fact I strongly suspect, Brother Walter, that the whole thing was your idea.’

  ‘In that case do as Abbot Eustache suggests,’ I said in my best martyr’s voice. ‘Arrest me if you must. But let Jocellus go. He was only doing what I asked him to do. My lord, you have what you wanted: Hamo in custody. Your men can return to their normal duties. At least you will have pleased the abbot-legate.’

  It was a wild card. I was hoping Eustache had irritated the sheriff enough to make him not want to do, or even appear to be doing, the abbot-legate’s bidding. For a long moment Sir Peter said nothing. He looked as though he was chewing on a particularly tough piece of gristle. Finally he folded his silk-clad arms.

  ‘I suppose you have at least brought the matter to a conclusion by your incompetence.’ He looked with distaste at Jocellus in his undergarments. ‘Oh, go and put some clothes on, man. You look ridiculous.’

  Jocellus didn’t need telling twice. He scurried out as fast as he could.

  Sir Peter wrinkled his nose at me. ‘Yes,’ he growled. ‘You too.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  I started to leave, much to the guard’s obvious disgust. But I thought I’d try one last passing shot:

  ‘Erm, may I see the prisoner?’

  ‘Don’t push it, brother.’

  ‘At least can you confirm he will receive proper sustenance now that he is no longer in sanctuary?’

  ‘There is still the small matter of the murder.’

  ‘Yes, but a starving man is no fun to hang. A well-nourished body makes a far more satisfying drop.’

  Sir Peter picked up the sausage again and threw it at my head. Fortunately his aim was off.

  Downstairs a newly-dressed Jocellus was waiting for me. Jocelin was also there looking decidedly sheepish.

  ‘Ah, good of you to turn up, brother,’ I said to him. ‘We thought we’d lost you.’

  Jocelin flushed crimson ‘S-sorry W-walter. I was on my way, t-truly I was. B-but then I thought, if you two were arrested surely it would be better for at least one of us to be free to help H-hamo.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ I smiled.

  He blushed an even deeper red.

  ‘What’s going to happen to Hamo now?’ asked Jocellus.

  I sighed. ‘You heard the sheriff. The sanctuary option is gone. Hamo will remain in the town gaol now until the coroner arrives.’

  ‘Can he do that?’

  ‘Who’s to stop him? Samson’s not here, Prior Robert can’t and the legate certainly won’t. We have to face it, for now we’ve lost. There’s nothing more we can do.’

  ‘Can’t he do that thing that Jocelin was talking about?’

  ‘A-abjure the r-realm,’ supplied Jocelin. He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid Hamo has s-surrendered that right, too.’

  ‘This is all our fault,’ frowned Jocellus. ‘If we had let things be he could be in France by now.’

  ‘If we had let things be Hamo would have starved by now,’ I said. ‘We were all agreed on that.’

  Jocelin agreed. ‘B-besides, it does not f-follow he would have escaped abroad. It’s not a s-simple case of hopping on the first boat that happens along. First he has to get to a sea-port - Ipswich would be the n-nearest I’d guess, and that’s more than t-twenty miles away. He would have to walk there bear-foot, stripped to the waist and c-carrying a cross. With his injured leg I fear he m-may not have made it. At least now he m-might have a ch-choice.’

  ‘Of what?’ snorted Jocellus. ‘Being hanged here or hanged in London.’

  ‘Maybe neither if we can prove his innocence,’ I said. ‘We still have a little time before the coroner gets here. He could be weeks away.’

  ‘O-or he could be here tomorrow,’ said Jocelin, helpfully.

  I glared at him.

  ‘What can we do in the meantime?’ said Jocellus.

  ‘Try to identify the real murderer, of course. What else is there to do? I’ll tackle my brother Joseph again. He claims to know the killer’s identity but so far he’s been reluctant to tell me. Now that Hamo’s been apprehended he may change his mind.’

  ‘I know someone at our grange in Risby,’ said Jocellus. ‘A former French Cistercian monk. I could go and ask if he can tell us anything about Fidele.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Jocelin. ‘What can I do?’

  ‘I’ve got a little job for you, brother. Cathrin will need to feed Hamo while he’s in the town gaol. I doubt if she has the resources on her own.’

  ‘F-fine,’ agreed Jocelin. ‘I can supply her. Except I d-don’t know how to find her.’

  ‘Ah, well I think I can help you there.’

  I explained to him about Cathrin staying with Mother Han. I could tell by his face that he knew who I meant. He went quite a sickly shade of white.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  THE FIRST-FINDER

  Hamo’s fate now rested with the coroner. I have to admit to being a little nervous of this man. His office is a new one dating back less than a decade to the time when Archbishop Hubert Walter was Chief Justiciar of England and King Richard was imprisoned in Trifels Castle by the German Emperor. It was at the archbishop’s instigation that the system was set up in order to curb the power of the sheriffs who had an even more fearsome reputation for extortion and embezzlement then than they do now. I would like be able to say that the archbishop’s motives were to defend the ordinary peasant against the power of the sheriffs, but I fear it was more to recover money destined for King Richard’s ransom that had been disappearing into th
e sheriffs’ purses.

  Still, the system seems to have survived, mostly I suppose because both King Richard and King John saw its financial advantages. The way it operates is like this: every county in the realm has three coroners appointed by the Crown whose function it is to examine cases of violent or unexplained death - and, most importantly, to ensure the king gets his share of any confiscated chattels of a convicted felon. Unfortunately that predisposes the coroners to find cases proven since the greater the number of convictions the more money the king earns. But it depends largely on the integrity of the man occupying the coroner’s chair. In Suffolk the present chief coroner is an old soldier who last saw action with King Richard in the Holy Land a decade ago and who goes by the singularly unfortunate name of Sir Henry de’Ath. When he arrives Sir Henry will hear all the evidence in Hamo’s case and then decide whether to refer it on to the royal justices in London for trial. However, if he thinks the weight of evidence is sufficient he could simply order Hamo’s execution himself. That was our greatest fear and why it was vital we wasted no time in pursuing our goal of finding Fidele’s true murderer, preferably before the coroner arrives.

  Early next morning, therefore, I went over to Heathenmans Street with the intention of trying yet again to persuade Joseph to reveal the killer’s identity. I could understand his reticence. Being a Jew his motives would always be regarded with suspicion. On the other hand if he didn’t speak out he could be the next victim. I’d already suspected that something of the sort was behind the attack on Abbot Eustache in Lakenheath. If true, that may be the killer’s first mistake for it further exonerates Hamo who wasn’t among the mob that descended on Lakenheath that day - which meant, of course, that the killer was.