The Butcher of Avignon (23 page)

‘Innocent?’

‘Whatever the esquire’s sins, he did not deserve his throat to be cut and to be thrown into the river like a dog.’

‘I am making no judgement. But you might ask what he was doing out here after curfew.’

‘Was he, maybe, walking back from the Villeneuve bank, on an official errand of some kind?’

The priest was already shaking his head.

‘You nuns see no ill in these retainers. They are wild boys given to all the sins of the flesh with no godliness in them. The devil himself conducts activities under the arch over there.’ He gestured towards the Avignon bank.

Unwilling to hear some aged misanthrope’s harangue against the young she took a step forward, intending to leave, but the priest held up one hand. ‘I am, perhaps, harsh. Certain it is, he was not on an innocent mission. I saw him earlier accompanied by two disreputable mendicants.’ He gave her a long look. ‘They were ferried over to the other side. He returned. They did not. I know this for a fact.’

She held her breath.

He had seen.

He knew.

And it could not have escaped him that Fitzjohn, accompanied by the pope’s militia, had been out on the hunt for two men.

Fearing that he might have already given his account to others she forced herself to ask, ‘It was a black night, how can you be sure what you saw?’

‘Because I saw the boat go across in the light from the lamp. Four people in it. I saw the boat return with but two. I know the ferryman and recognised him as the man at the oars.’

‘Even so, it was dark and - ’

‘And the current brought them right under the central span of the bridge where the St Nicolas light shines down as guide. I watched because I feared for their safety. A storm was blowing and the river is at its most dangerous just now. They were clearly visible in the boat as it passed under the beam of light.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I did not see the faces of the two mendicants, hooded as they were. All mendicants look the same, do they not? And how they do swarm round Avignon these days! But the one who was ferried across and later returned wore a blue cloak.’

The priest’s eyes looked watery in the reflected light from outside. ‘I tell you this, domina, because you seem to have a genuine interest in these events. What I say is simple. Three passengers crossed the river by boat and the ferryman brought only one back.’

‘No doubt he ferries many people back and forth, some to stay on the other side, some to return.’

The priest smiled. ‘Use this information as you will. It’s all I have.’

‘What time did these three travellers happen to cross?’

He spread his arms. ‘I’m an old man. I sleep fitfully. I got up for the night office and to attend to the light - it guides people over the bridge. In navigable weather it acts as a beacon for the barges plying their trade up and down river. It’s my duty to keep it alight,’ he explained. ‘Around midnight I ring the bell for matins and later I ring it again for lauds.’

‘And at what time did you see the boat cross?’

A look of uncertainty flickered across his face but he answered firmly, ‘Just after I rang the first bell I saw a dark shape launch itself onto the foaming white flood water. It moved steadily across to the other side, cleverly navigating to use the current to reach the bank of Villeneuve. Then I saw it cutting across on the way back, not much later, using the known shoals and eddies to keep the oarsman’s course. The current brought the boat again close up under the bridge as I was relighting the lamp.’

‘It had gone out?’

‘Blown out by the storm.’

‘The boat must have been rowed by someone who knows the waters.’

‘Indeed. The fellow has worked here for several seasons despite having a betrothed somewhere down river or so I hear.’

The ferryman had certainly been parsimonious with the truth. Crossing and recrossing in the night. At least it confirmed the escape route of the two miners.

‘And on the return journey you’re sure - ’

‘The boatman with only one passenger, as I said.’

‘And your description suggests that it was the murdered youth.’

‘It is not for me to speculate on what I witness. I leave that to God in his wisdom. It was a passenger wearing a blue cloak.’

‘Why would someone who has just crossed and recrossed a river by boat then try later to cross again by the bridge?’

The old priest spread his arms. ‘I know nothing about that.’

‘And you say you heard an argument after seeing the boat return?’

‘I slept a little. Voices woke me. I realised it was already time to ring the bell for lauds.’

‘But what about the sentries?’ Hildegard was still thinking about Taillefer. ‘How would the murder victim get onto the bridge? Wouldn’t the sentries have stopped him?’

He gave a thin chuckle. ‘Would they stop him if he was accompanied by someone in authority?’

‘Such as?’

‘Who knows?’

‘You’re sure you heard voices shortly before the bell?’

He nodded. ‘They woke me.’

She prepared to leave. ‘Do you get many worshippers here for the night offices?’

‘Not many. I do it to maintain our link with St Nicolas. Most attend services in the
Grande Chapelle
.’

Hildegard left the scent of incense and beeswax and drew in deep gulps of fresh air as soon as she got outside.

Now to have a word with the men on night watch guarding the bridge. Let them check their records of all who had crossed the bridge last night for the night offices and returned to Villeneuve before lauds.

**

The sentry was sitting in his stone niche out of the wind at the top of the steps leading onto the bridge. He was plainly enjoying this out of the ordinary event but understood that he was not even a bit player in the drama, not having been on duty at the crucial time. Sadly he admitted he could tell her nothing.

‘When does the night sentry come back on duty?’ she asked, expecting a trek back to the guard house and a long wait until he emerged from his bed.

‘Any time now, domina. Four hours on. Four hours off.’

‘Is that him?’ she asked pointing to a man-at-arms just coming into view on the path underneath the palace walls. The sentry got up and poked his head out. ‘That’s the fellow!’

The two greeted each other affably a few moments later and although the first sentry, Jean or Jeanot, had been friendly enough, the newcomer, Emil, looked at Hildegard with suspicion. ‘What do you want to know about all that for?’

She explained as she had done so already to the ferryman and the priest.

He nodded. ‘Nobody out here last night. The weather kept everybody in their own beds for once.’

‘Didn’t anybody cross over the bridge?’

‘Of course. They have to, don’t they? It was the usual cardinals going back to their estates on Villeneuve. The bishop to his palace.’

‘Cardinal Grizac, you mean?’

‘Bien sur.’

‘At what time was this?’

‘They go over to attend the night offices.’

‘You mean they make the journey twice?’

He shook his head. ‘Most stay for matins after they’ve dined and then they stay on for lauds, crossing back home before dawn.’

‘And last night?’

‘You do persist,’ he muttered.

Hildegard was quick enough to catch the words, even though it was a different kind of French to the one she had learned in England and her brain was already taxed by the different dialects.

‘I need to know not out of curiosity but because two young men are dead,’ she pointed out.

The man tightened his lips. She could not bring a smile to her face. She was sick of lies and half-truths. Everything about him was unyielding and she wondered if he had been warned not to talk.

‘You must have been on duty earlier today when the body was fished out of the river.’

‘I was and I heard - ’ he stopped as if afraid of saying too much.

‘Heard what?’

‘I heard somebody had fallen onto some rubbish that had been carried downstream. If he’d gone into the river they’d never have found him.’

‘Didn’t you hear anything while you were on duty?’

He glanced hurriedly at his companion but he was eager to get off home now his shift was done and missed the plea for help.

‘It’s all the talk at the palace,’ he added lamely, ‘but I heard nothing of it until they showed up at first light with their grappling hooks. By then the bridge was open to merchants and there was quite a crowd up there. They’d been keeping me busy. I didn’t bother looking out until somebody said there was something wrong.’ He glanced over at the high, grim walls with the flag of Pope Clement fluttering from the highest pinnacle as if to find help there. ‘I heard it was a retainer in the pay of the Duc de Berry. That’s who it was. Wandering outside the walls at night. What did he expect?’

He gazed over towards the lane he had just walked along to where an inn stood on the corner surrounded by the usual characters who frequent such places.

A furtive expression came over his face. ‘See that place, domina? What do you think goes on there at night? Prayers?’ He sniggered. ‘The
poraille
do their drinking there and then they go under the arches. You nuns would blush to hear what goes on there. Me, I keep out of it.’

If I have to go and talk to the inn keeper I shall have to change my clothes, she registered. Monastics were plainly anathema to this surly fellow and the same would probably go for anyone down there too. ‘I take it you don’t remember anybody who crossed over the bridge early this morning?’

He was silent.

‘You must have been asleep at your post.’

Affronted, he started to contradict her.

‘In that case you must surely be able to name them?’

The first sentry chuckled. ‘She’s got you there, Emil. She’ll be getting you into hot water with the captain if he thinks you’re were sleeping on duty!’

‘All right, all right,’ the sentry replied irritably. ‘As I said, there weren’t many about because of the storm. So let’s see.’ He counted them off on his fingers. ‘Cardinals Bellefort, Fondi, Grizac and Montjoie. That’s about the lot.’

‘Anybody accompanying them?’

‘A page or two. That one with his little daughter.’

‘Name?’

‘Fondi.’

‘Did he have the child with him?’

‘That’s what I just said. And his woman.’

‘Did they all cross together?’

He shook his head. ‘Montjoie came first, then Fondi. Followed by Bellefort and after that Grizac with his page. Oh, and there was that English abbot.’

‘What English abbot?’

‘Meooks. Something like that.’

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘It’s what I’m telling you. Who crossed. That’s all I can remember.’

Hildegard could scarcely speak. Hubert had crossed the bridge? He was the only English abbot around that she knew of. ‘And you saw them all cross to the other side?’

‘Nah, I was in my shelter. I told you, it was pelting down. Windy. A nasty night. I let ’em go. They were bona fide.’

‘Did you hear an argument? I’m told there was one,’ she added when he seemed about to shake his head at whatever she asked next.

‘First I heard of it. The wind was howling off the river. You don’t hear nothing inside that niche. Isn’t that so, Jeanot?’

The other sentry, stalled by curiosity from going off duty, agreed. ‘That’s right. Can’t hear a thing. See nothing. Hear nothing. Know nothing. Once they’re on the bridge it’s their own look out till they get to the other side. There’s the chapel half way along if they need it. We just take the tolls and check the baggage for duty, and beat off beggars.’

Does this mean I have to go across to the Villeneuve sentries and cross question them as well? Hildegard’s spirits sank. She was getting nowhere.

If the men he named crossing the bridge were over in the palace for matins then stayed for lauds they all had cast iron alibis. The priest said he heard the argument just before he rang the bell in the chapel. If anyone had arrived late for lauds it would have been very late as it would take a fair time to walk from the bridge down the lane, past the guard house and into the labyrinth of the palace itself before finally reaching
la Grande Chapelle
. The short service at that time of night would have been almost over. Then the return with everyone else?

She was wasting her time even considering it. Anyway, they were prelates.. There was no-one more unlikely to be involved in cutting a boy’s throat than any of the men named by the sentry.

The question of Hubert, Abbot of Meaux, was another question entirely. What was he doing out? She could not deal with that just now.

‘Just tell me again,’ she invited, ‘nobody else crossed the bridge that night?’

‘Nobody.’

‘Thank you for your help.’ She gave him a coin and because the other fellow was still hanging about gave him one as well.

What would Athanasius make of all this? she wondered as she walked away. Maybe now the dagger had been recovered he would have no further interest in the unexplained murders of Cardinal Grizac’s acolyte and an esquire of the Duc de Berry.

**

She found the sentry at the other end of the bridge guarding the entry to Villeneuve. He was leaning over the parapet and looking thoughtfully into the rushing current ten feet below. She greeted him and he turned with a grimace. ‘Life’s short, domina. I could fall over this parapet and that would be that.’ He clicked his fingers to demonstrate the brevity of life. ‘So what can I do for you?’

She explained. ‘I’m trying to find out who crossed the bridge between matins and lauds this morning.’

‘I didn’t see the lad that got cut, if that’s what you’re asking. He didn’t come from over here.’

‘It’s the others I’m interested in.’

‘You won’t get much joy there, either, if you’re looking for somebody to blame. Nobody but cardinals and their hangers-on came back. The same ones that went over to dine early on.’

It had to be one of them.

‘Can you name them?’

‘I can indeed.’ He reeled off the same names as the other one, except that he gave Hubert’s abbey the French pronunciation. She wondered if that meant he had seen it written down.