“Why yes-I suppose so. I think that-”
“Where will you cure him?”
“At the hospital attached to the church, of course, so-”
“So you should hold your lectures until he’s installed there, shouldn’t you?”
She quickly had the men take John’s door off its hinges, and they carefully lifted him onto it, suffering the lash of Cecily’s tongue when she thought they might have failed in any way or made him uncomfortable. Soon John was on the back of the wagon, and Cecily rode in it with him, still holding his hand.
They set off down the hill, the driver standing warily, talking to his two charges as they began the descent, for this was a steep hill in places, and he didn’t want to be called to Cecily’s attention for careless driving. As they went, Cecily was surprised to feel her hand squeezed by the injured Irishman. She looked down and smiled at him.
At that moment, with the sun above lighting her head like a halo, John of Irelaunde was blinded. “Have I died? Are you an angel?” he asked querulously. Before she could answer, the cart hit a stone and jolted, beating his bruised skull against the boarded walls. “Jesus’ Blood!” he swore, and when he glanced upward again and saw her smile, he gave a pale grin in return. “Ah, Mistress Cecily. You must be an angel-almost the best angel I could have hoped to meet this morning. I hope you won’t mind taking a message to my sweet girl?”
“Poor John. Was this all because of me?”
“Well now, I think it was, but don’t speak of it to anyone, or he might be taken-and then all this would have been in vain. Just keep quiet!”
Simon rode slumped on his horse, grinning. “You must be losing your touch, Baldwin. This town used to be quite a calm and quiet place, and now you’ve got a nutter of a smith trying to rouse the rabble.”
“You think it is because of me?”
Simon smiled at the knight and Baldwin gradually relaxed, even giving a self-conscious grin. “All right, so I am a little prickly. But that idiot got under my skin.”
“It’s not just him, it’s the murder. We still appear to have little to go on.”
“No. We know so much, but none of it makes any sense. For example, I am not sure why the smith was at Godfrey’s house.”
“You want to go back and ask him?”
“Thank you for the thought, Simon, but I don’t think it would be productive. Still, I wonder if there is anything that could link the smith to Godfrey.”
“He was ugly enough-do you think he might be the killer?”
“Who, Jack?” Baldwin laughed. “Oh, who knows? He’s repellent, certainly, but I don’t like to judge everyone by their outer appearance. That is what people like Jack are guilty of when they look at lepers. I don’t want to commit the same crime as them.” Baldwin mused quietly a moment. “The difficulty I have is, Godfrey used him on the afternoon he died…”
“Yes. For a horse that had cast a shoe.”
“And they had kept the shoe so it could be refitted.”
“A sign of real tightfistedness.”
“True,” said Baldwin, but there was a faraway look in his eye. “Many would have thrown the old shoe away, surely, and had a new one made.”
Simon put his head to one side, considering. “And then come to the smithy to get a new one the right size.”
“Precisely what I was thinking. If they had asked for a fresh one, it would have meant they would have had to bring the horse here. But they kept the old one, and that meant they could have the smith go to the house. All he needed was a rasp, some nails and a hammer.”
“But why should they want him there?”
“Let me finish: taking a horseshoe off is easy enough. All you have to do is lever it. It could well be that someone wanted the smith out of here, so they took off the shoe and pretended that it had fallen off just so that Jack would go to the house.”
“That’s one explanation, Baldwin, but don’t forget there’s another possibility. What if someone wanted the smith there, at the house? It could easily have been done to make sure that he was in Godfrey’s hall.”
“True, but why? Why would they want Jack there? And again I come back to Putthe: he could have levered off the old horseshoe in order to give an excuse for Jack’s presence at Godfrey’s.”
“You’re thinking that they could both have been involved in the killing? But that doesn’t make sense! All they achieved in having Jack at the house was to make him a suspect. There was no witness to his departure, no witness to his return, no gain for him whatever. Effectively all he did was point to himself with a large sign saying, ”Look at me! I was there on the night Godfrey died!“ It only served to bring him to our attention.”
“Perhaps it also tied him to his accomplice? If he and Putthe were partners in this felony, perhaps Putthe didn’t trust his confederate enough, and wanted to ensure that equal risk was enjoyed by both?” He threw his hands in the air with disgust. “It’s no good, it’s all guesswork. All we really know is that this man was at the hall for some reason. Whether he was there for his own purposes or for someone else’s entirely we may never know.”
“There’s another factor, though. What if the victimization of the lepers has something to do with it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure, but it seems an odd coincidence that Jack should start fomenting trouble so soon after the murder. I assume this was new to you? You’re not aware that there’s been a load of trouble brewing over lepers recently?”
Baldwin scratched his beard. “No, it was a complete shock to me. But before we go worrying at that idea, let’s go and speak to Putthe again. I’m not convinced he’s told us all he knows. And while we’re there, I want to talk to Mistress Cecily, too.”
“You can’t suspect her of killing her own father!”
“She’s not told us the truth,” Baldwin said. “I am certain she’s lied.”
“What about?”
“About being unconscious until she was woken in her room. I don’t believe her.”
“Sir Baldwin! Sir Baldwin, sir!”
The knight glanced up. Running toward them, his habit trailing, was a young novice monk. He came to a halt before them, panting and red-faced from his exertion.
“Well? Do you have a message for me?”
“Sir, someone’s tried to kill the Irishman, and my Dean asks you to join him as soon as you can.”
Simon and Baldwin exchanged a glance, and without a word the two men set spurs to their horses and galloped to Peter Clifford’s hall.
Waking from a short and troubled sleep, Rodde grunted as he rolled over. Immediately a cool, damp cloth was at his forehead, and he smiled through his pain. “Thank you.”
“It is nothing.”
His eyes snapping open, Rodde stared up at Mary. “What are you doing in here? What if the people in the town hear?”
Rodde knew as well as she that it was forbidden for any women other than wives or other relations to visit lepers in their cabins. “Women of easy fame” were supposed to be excluded from the camp, because it was too easy for gossip to start.
“It’s all right. I’m here too,” said Ralph. He was sitting near the door, gazing out over the lawned space. “Mary refused to let me continue to minister to you.”
“You’ve done enough, Brother. You were here all night, and got little sleep. Rest now, and I’ll see to these men.”