The knight could see the two women standing waiting at the door, and instead of riding through to the stableyard as normal, he cantered along the roadway and reined in before them.
“Is there anything the matter?” asked Margaret.
“Nothing,” replied the knight. “In fact, all is very well indeed. A murderer is in jail. Let’s get inside and we’ll tell you what we’ve done today.”
The fire was hissing and crackling merrily, the wine was warmed and spiced, sitting in pewter jugs on the hearth, the cold meats had been brought out with bread, and the four made a good meal while Baldwin and Simon told their ladies of their morning’s discoveries.
“But why,” said Jeanne, a slight frown wrinkling her brow, “why did Coffyn kill him then? Surely he could have killed Godfrey at any time?”
“Yes,” said Baldwin, “but at any other time he wouldn’t have had his enemy totally at his mercy. There is something about seeing a weak foe that does something to a certain type of man. I think Coffyn is of that kind. He met with Godfrey regularly, and probably passed the time of day with him, always having that vague, niggling doubt worrying at him, but never found the courage to strike at him, or even simply accuse him to his face.”
“Many men would have waited until they could find him with the woman and killed in hot blood,” said Margaret.
“And that was what he planned, I think. A surprise return, followed by a hideous slaughter. But although his blood was up, he couldn’t find his quarry. It was only when he remembered he had heard a shout from his neighbor’s house that he realized Godfrey must have got home, and that was when he rushed next door. And when he found that the man he hated was completely in his power, he couldn’t stop himself. All alone in that room with the man he loathed, and no one to prevent him taking his revenge. No constraints, no restrictions-and best of all, everyone would assume, as they did, that it was a tragic mistake, that the first blow had been the one to kill Godfrey.”
“Even the leper Quivil thought his blow had killed him,” mused Simon.
“I wonder whether his servant was persuaded, though,” said Baldwin.
Margaret paused with a morsel of meat at her mouth. “Why?”
“He has the look of a man-at-arms. Even John noticed Godfrey didn’t appear dead, and John had only very limited experience of warfare. William, Coffyn’s guard, seems much more experienced. I think he must have known Godfrey wasn’t dead when they first got to the hall.”
“True,” said Jeanne. “But just thinking Godfrey had died after they arrived wouldn’t mean he’d automatically assume his master had murdered him. He’d probably only think Godfrey had suffered some sort of collapse.”
Baldwin shook his head. “I think it’s more than that, Jeanne. He must have realized his master’s stick was missing; I suspect he noticed Godfrey’s wound was worse than when he first arrived. I expect he’d never admit it, but I think he knew perfectly well who was guilty.”
“Which leads us on to the other leper,” said Margaret. “He is the man I am most sorry for. And how his poor wife must feel! What a love she must have for her man, that she can still adore him when he is so hideously disfigured.”
Baldwin grinned and took a sip of wine. “That is the other thing. Thomas Rodde is not actually very revolting. Oh, he’s got lots of sores, and he looks a bit of a mess, but what can you expect from someone who lives in a lazar house?”
“But to think what he will become! And this Cecily still wants to stay with him and tend to him. She must have great courage.”
“I think she has to be one of the most loyal women imaginable,” said Simon frankly. “Don’t look at me like that, Meg! There’s no point denying the fact that most women would desert their spouse if he developed that disease. Yet this woman wants to make sure she doesn’t lose him again, and she appears to be utterly determined on that score.”
“And now, thanks to God, I think they may be able to live together,” said Baldwin.
Jeanne stared at him. “You mean the leper master has agreed to let her live with him?”
“I fear not. Brother Ralph is quite determined too, in his own way.”
“So they will leave the town together? That’s a shame. But maybe it’s for the best. There are so many sad memories for them both in Crediton.”
Baldwin let both arms fall to the table, and shook with laughter. “No, Jeanne! That’s not it!”
It was Simon who explained, while the knight chortled. “You see, this odious knight of yours has travelled widely. He has been to the Holy Land, and while he was there, he saw many lepers. But there are different kinds of skin disease.”
“There are two forms of leprosy,” said Baldwin. “Morphea alba and morphea nigra. It is hard to tell them apart, but if you prick the skin with a needle-”
“Baldwin!” Margaret wailed, pushing her trencher from her.
He gave her a grin of apology. “Let it be said, then, that there is an easy enough test, but morphea alba is curable. It is not the true leprosy, for that would kill even a strong man in less than eight years, and we all know what an old leper looks like. Yet this man told me that he had carried his disease for over nine years already. It struck me that his illness couldn’t be the black morphew.”
Jeanne stared. “You mean all the time the poor fellow has been living in leper camps he has been free of the disease?”
“Exactly. He is no more a leper than I am. And soon I think I should be able to have him declared clean by the Dean. As soon as that happens, he’ll be free to take up his life again. And so will Cecily.”
“So the murderer is arrested, the leper will be cured, and all ends well,” said Jeanne.
“Apart from poor Quivil,” said Margaret. “He went to his death thinking he had murdered a man-in fact, it was probably why he allowed himself to be killed. If he had felt innocent, surely he would have defended himself.”
Baldwin eyed her thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he said. “But then, how can we tell? It was undoubtedly a better death for him than the slow and lingering one fate was holding for him, and for that I am sure he was grateful. Especially since he died without defending himself, just as Christ taught. That must be some solace to his soul.”
They had all but finished their meal, and Edgar now released the mastiff. Uther bounded in joyfully, running pell-mell for his master, and sat at his feet panting, a long dribble of saliva hanging from one jowl.
“And you helped us get to the truth, Chops,” said Simon.
Baldwin stroked the broad head, ruffling the short fur. Uther panted up at him, mouth gaping in a broad smile. Then he twitched round, his great paw lifted, and he scratched at his ear. Baldwin watched, paralyzed with horror as the long stream of dribble rose, curved, performed a short, sinuous dance, and finally flicked off, climbing upward before the knight’s face, seeming to get ever closer.
Edgar, out in the buttery with Hugh, was sitting on a barrel and chatting when they heard the roar. He half- rose, then shrugged and sat back again.
“What was that?” asked the mystified Hugh.
“From the sound,” said Edgar, taking a reflective pull of his ale, “I think my master is debating whether to ask Emma to stay.” About the Author
