Brother's Blood (11 page)

The prior kept hold of Edwin's hand. ‘Now, my son, tell me what happened. Where were you when you saw this ghost?'

Edwin's voice was shaky but Martin could see that he was trying hard. ‘Here. I was here. In the church. Last night. I … couldn't sleep so I came in to pray. I saw you all coming out of your service and going back towards your stairs, but two monks came towards me.' He was shaking. ‘Only, it wasn't two monks. It was Brother Godfrey twice.'

Martin had no idea what he was talking about. What did Edwin mean, twice?

But the prior was now smiling. ‘Have no fear, Edwin, for you saw no ghost.'

‘But I swear, Brother – he was there, and then he was there next to himself. I thought it was him, and he was dead, and his soul was walking next to him. What else could it have been? I wasn't seeing things, I wasn't. There were two of him.'

Prior Henry was remaining remarkably composed. ‘I will show you. Come, stand, there is nothing to be afraid of.' He turned to one of the young novices who was hovering curiously in the doorway. ‘Roger, have the goodness to find Brother Godfrey and Brother Waldef and bring them both here to me.'

The boy nodded and shot off, probably, Martin thought, using the excuse to run a bit faster than he was normally supposed to. The three men in the chapel remained standing, nobody speaking, until the novice returned with two monks.

As they entered the chapel, Martin felt his mouth opening in surprise. For there in front of him was Brother Godfrey, who had come to Conisbrough to fetch them; and beside him was Brother Godfrey again.

Edwin had fallen back and looked like he was about to faint, so Martin moved to support him as the prior spoke. ‘Edwin, Martin: this is Brother Godfrey and his brother, Brother Waldef.'

Edwin opened his mouth but no words came out. Martin tried to get over his shock and realised how much greater it would have been had he first seen them together in the dead of night, in the cold, dark church. ‘Brothers? But …' He looked from one to the other.

The prior nodded. ‘Yes. They are twins – have you never heard of twins? It is when a mother gives birth to two children at once.'

At last Edwin managed to frame some words. ‘A woman in the village once had two babies, but they both died. And one was a boy, the other one a girl.'

Martin dredged his memory. ‘I met two men at my lord's castle at Lewes once who said they were brothers born on the same day. But they didn't look any more alike than any other brothers.' He stared again at the two men in front of him, exact replicas of each other in every detail he could see. They both smiled at him, exactly the same and at the same time, and he took a step back, resisting the urge to make the sign of the cross.

Prior Henry led Edwin forward towards them. ‘Brothers, you will permit me?' They nodded. ‘They are both real, Edwin. Here, take their hands.' Martin watched as two identical right hands emerged from the sleeves of their habits. Edwin looked as though he was reaching into boiling water, but he stretched out and touched them both. He had regained a little of his colour.

Prior Henry was continuing. ‘From what I can gather from Brother Infirmarer, most twins die at birth because they are too small and it is not God's will that they should live. But some of them survive, and among those are a few who resemble each other like Brothers Godfrey and Waldef here.' His voice turned sad. ‘The Lord made them this way, but some men consider it witchcraft, and they were driven out of their manor by their brother after their father died. He agreed to pay their donation and they entered the cloister here. And you are content here, Brothers?'

One of the brothers – Martin had no idea which one it was – spoke. ‘Yes, Brother Prior. We are grateful to the Lord and give thanks every day, and again in this chapel every night after the service. May I – may I speak to these men, Brother?'

The prior nodded.

The monk turned to Edwin. ‘We do not like to be apart. There was some idea, when we were younger, that we should travel as far as we could in opposite directions, live out our lives in different places, and try to forget about each other. Then each could make a new life among people who did not know of the other. But we could not do it. We cannot be separated.' His voice wobbled.

The other one continued. ‘Father Abbot has in the past encouraged us to go separately. He has tried setting us different work in different places, but the further apart we go, the more it hurts. He spoke to us yesterday and said he can see the pain that this causes us, so he says he will accept that it is the Lord's will for us to stay together until death.'

Edwin seemed to be recovering himself. ‘So that's why you were so uncomfortable when you came to my lord's castle? You didn't like to be away from your brother?'

He was addressing the one who had spoken last, but it was the other who replied. ‘Yes. I thought I would be all right as I was only going for the day and would be back by nightfall, but when I had to stay away all night …' he faltered into silence and his brother gripped his arm.

The prior spread his hands. ‘So, we are done here? The hour of Mass approaches and we must not be late.' The three monks inclined their heads and left the chapel.

It was Sunday, Martin recalled. He took the still slightly shocked Edwin by the arm. ‘Come on. We'll stay for Mass then we'll find something to eat, and then we'll get on with our task.' He pulled Edwin towards the main body of the church, which was starting to fill with people.

Edwin mumbled something. Martin stooped to hear. ‘What?'

‘Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. But it was just —'

Martin patted him on the back. ‘Don't worry. If I'd seen them floating around in the dark I'd have run away screaming. Come on.' A thought struck him. ‘Let's hope it wasn't one of them who killed Brother Alexander – we'd never know which one to blame!'

That probably wasn't the right thing to say, as Edwin was turning pale again. ‘I'm sure it wasn't one of them anyway. You'll find who did it. But let's get through Mass and dinner first.'

Edwin felt the cold stone of the floor through his hose as he knelt during Mass. What an idiot he had been – but then again, how was he to have known that two men could be born identical to each other? And did this mean anything for his quest to find the killer of Brother Alexander? One of the things he'd already noted was that all the monks looked very similar in their habits, so it was going to be difficult for him to tell one from another and even perhaps from those who might have witnessed something.

He wasn't really paying attention to the Mass, just letting the familiar words wash over him, but from a distance he heard
Ite, Missa est
and he rose along with everyone else. Once the monks had filed out of their choir and the lay brothers out of their own part of the church, the parishioners mingled and broke into little gossiping groups. All except one: an old woman who stood alone. Edwin watched and something gave him the feeling that she wasn't unattached by chance; the others were deliberately shunning her. Something Brother Helias had said the previous day came back to him, and he approached a knot of men discussing the weather who appeared to be local. He nodded to them in a friendly manner, aware that for once his clothes, new and smart as they were, were making a good impression. He was also conscious of Martin looming behind him. After some general chit-chat which had Martin sighing and shuffling about, Edwin was able to turn the conversation to the subject of the cellarer's comment about ‘the witch in the woods', and he was unsurprised when one of the men turned and indicated the old woman, who had now settled herself on one of the benches vacated by the lay brothers and looked in no hurry to leave. Whispers of disapproval were directed at her from self-righteous gaggles of women, which eventually attracted the attention of the single monk still in the choir, who with something of a sad expression was putting out the candles and collecting up the plates and chalices used during the Mass.

The monk put down the items he was carrying and swept towards her. Edwin couldn't hear what he said to her, but from the expression on his face and the gestures he was making, he seemed to be admonishing her for sitting in the lay brothers' seats – presumably these were not meant to be used by the parishioners.

The woman did not seem overawed by his rebuke; rather the opposite, in fact. She replied with spirit and started waving her hands around. Then she asked him a question, which he did not answer. He put his hands up in front of him as though denying knowledge or pushing away responsibility, and then went back to what he had been doing. The woman made a face at his departing back and then stood.

The church was now emptying, the parishioners no doubt heading back to their homes for something to eat and an afternoon spent with their families: there would be no buying and selling or labour in the fields on a Sunday. Not officially, anyway. Edwin turned away as the old woman passed them, hoping she hadn't noticed that he was watching her. Once she had left through the west door he nudged Martin in the ribs. ‘Come on.'

‘Where? Back to the guesthouse?'

‘No. We have to follow that woman.'

‘What? Why?'

‘Because she might know something important. Come!' He pulled at Martin's sleeve.

‘But what about dinner?'

‘You think too much about your stomach. Hurry up or we'll lose her!'

‘Can't we go after we've had something to eat?'

‘Fine. You go back to the guesthouse and I'll go to the woods on my own.'

Martin rolled his eyes. ‘You always know just what to say, don't you? All right. Lead the way.'

The woman made her way through the precinct and out of the gatehouse. She moved surprisingly fast for one who looked to be an old crone. She joined the road outside, but when she reached the fork which led either to the nearby hamlet or to the villages on the way back to Conisbrough she took neither path but veered off into the woods. When Edwin and Martin reached the same spot they noticed a small track which led through the undergrowth.

They looked at each other. Martin shrugged. ‘She's one old woman. What harm can she do?' He stepped on to the track, shoving some bushes out of the way as he did so. He peered ahead and then turned back. ‘It continues up here – not very well used but you can still follow it. Come on.'

Edwin followed him. ‘Quietly then. We don't want to scare her.'

It was quite dark as they made their way along the track, the bushy undergrowth turning to thick trees within a few yards. They stepped as silently as they could, hearing only the sound of birds. Martin had his hand on the hilt of his sword, although he did not draw it.

After a short while the path, such as it was, petered out completely and they stood at something of a loss in a small clearing.

‘What do you want?' The voice made Edwin jump, coming out of nowhere.

He held his arms away from his sides and gestured for Martin to do the same. ‘Just to talk to you. We mean you no harm.'

The voice sounded again, this time seemingly from a different direction. ‘And why should I believe you? What's a well-dressed man with an armed guard got to do with me?'

Edwin turned to face where he thought the voice had come from. ‘I'm here to try and find out who killed Brother Alexander. I heard that you knew him so I thought you might be able to help me.'

The woman appeared suddenly, out of nowhere, from a totally different direction to the one Edwin expected, making Martin swear and clutch at his sword again. She made no move to approach them but stood still some ten yards away.

‘Brother Alexander? Yes, I knew him. He wasn't as bad as some of the others – it's a shame he died in such a way. If that's what you want to talk about, then come.' She turned and disappeared into the undergrowth. Martin bounded after her, calling back to Edwin, ‘It's all right. There's a trail here – not much more than a deer path, really, but it's here.'

Edwin followed, brushing branches out of his face and not entirely sure of which way he was going until he was met by the sight of a cottage – no, he wouldn't even dignify it with the name, it was more of a bothy – squatting among the trees. It was tiny, made of wattle and covered in daub which looked like it needed replacing. There were no windows but smoke drifted out through a hole in the turf roof; a wooden stool stood against the outside wall, positioned to catch the sunlight which made its way into the clearing; a garden of sorts had been hacked out of the forest floor and fenced off, and a goat was tethered to a nearby tree.

The woman settled herself on the stool. ‘Come, sit. There's more space out here.'

Edwin glanced inside the building as he passed the doorway. It was cramped: a little hearth, partly covered as she must have left it when she went to church, a pile of bracken or something covered with a blanket in the far corner, a table with a dish and cup on it, and a large wooden cross on the wall. The floor was of beaten earth, worn into a dip in front of the cross. The roof was low – Edwin wasn't sure he'd be able to stand up straight in there, and Martin certainly wouldn't.