“Do not leave me hanging in the air!” he said.
“We will talk about it later, Ralph.”
“At least give me some idea. The wrong saint?”
“St. Oswald is our man.”
“But why? What is so special about him?”
“His emblem.”
“Emblem?”
“Do you know what it is?”
“If you tell me it has a magpie on it, I'll go berserk!”
“No magpies, Ralph, I promise you.”
“Then what?”
“A raven and a ring.”
“I thought you would condemn me for disobedience,” she said.
“Why should I do that, my lady?”
“A father has a right to choose my husband.”
“You have a right to be consulted.”
“He does not see it that way.”
“No,” agreed Oslac, “I imagine that he does not. Your father is so used to making decisions that he will not stand for any objection to them. You and he have very different ideas about marriage. My lord, Hamo, is selecting a husband so that he can join family to family and not heart to heart.”
“Miles Champeney is the man I want.”
“I marvel that the two of you managed to get so far.”
“We have exchanged vows.”
“True love thrives on adversity.”
They were in Matilda's chamber at the top of the house. Oslac had been taken along the gallery by a servant. The guard had been removed from outside but the door was still locked and the priest soon understood why. Having come to console Matilda over the death of her brother, he found her mounting the loss of the man she loved. He was shocked to hear of her incarceration in her own home and of the brutal treatment of Miles Champeney. It was a situation in which he felt he ought to offer practical assistance.
A shout took them both to the window. Down in the courtyard, Hamo FitzCorbucion had mounted his white destrier and pulled out his sword. He was wearing full armour and looked a most striking figure. Jocelyn was with him and so was Fulk the Steward but they were lost in the armed escort. Hamo was bristling. If the commissioners dared to call him before them, he intended to arrive at the hall with forty knights at his heels in a display of naked force. The visit to Coutances had not just produced a potential son-in-law. It had rekindled the hot blood that ran in his veins. Hamo envied the chaos of Normandy where barons like himself built castles without license and conducted their private wars unimpeded. That was the spirit that was needed in England. He would answer to no man and bend the knee to no king. With another loud yell, he led the full troop out of the courtyard and towards the town. Victory was assured.
Matilda watched them go, then stayed at the window for a few minutes. When she turned to Oslac, her eyes were moist.
“You must think me very callous,” she said.
“Why?”
“My brother lies in the churchyard and all that I can do is to talk about myself.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “But I do care about Guy. He had many faults but he did not deserve such a hideous death. I have been ashamed, Father Oslac. I should be weeping for a brother's death and praying for his soul. I should be hoping that they will soon catch his murderer.”
“And do you hope that, my lady?”
She shrugged. “I do and I do not.”
“Your mind is too full of Miles Champeney.”
“Father threw him into the dungeon!”
“It was an unkind way to welcome a suitor,” said Oslac with mild irony, “but it is not altogether unusual. Fathers often disapprove of the men whom their daughters favour as husbands. They may not all go to the extent of flinging an unwanted son-in-law into a cell, but they can make their opposition very clear.” He gave a nostalgic smile. “I know that to my cost.”
“You?”
“I was young once, my lady.”
“Of course.”
“And even a priest may fall in love.”
“I have met your wife. She is a charming woman.”
“Her father did not think me a very charming man,” he said. “In fact, he found me unsuitable in every way and made no bones about telling me so to my face. He swore that he would not let his daughter marry beneath her. His opinion of priests was not high. It was a trying time for us.”
“Yet the marriage went ahead.”
“Eventually.”
“How?”
“It is not for me to put ideas into your head, my lady.”
“Ideas?”
He studied her for a moment. “You are right to reproach yourself,” he said seriously. “It is only fitting that you should grieve for a brother who has passed away. I think it might help if you were to visit the churchyard and pay your respects at his grave.”
“But Father will not allow me out of this house.”
“He is not here to enforce that decree.”
“There was a guard outside my door.”
“He is not there now,” said Oslac. “You watched the troop ride out. My lord, Hamo has taken all his men-at-arms with him.”
“There are still servants in the house.”
“A lady may command a servant.”
“What if they try to stop me?”
“Tell them that I am escorting you to the church. They would not dare to stand in the way of a priest, would they?” His eyes twinkled. “The decision must be yours, my lady.”
The shire hall was now so full that latecomers had to stand pressed against the walls. Ralph Delchard's men-at-arms could barely find room for themselves at the rear of the building. Up in the rafters, Wistan could hear the noisy jostling and feel the sense of expectation. The whole of Maldon seemed to have come along to witness the encounter but one of the disputants had failed to turn up. Was Hamo FitzCorbucion scorning the summons of royal commissioners? If he did not come, did they have the means to compel him? Gervase Bret's acuity and Canon Hubert's gravitas had impressed all the witnesses who had appeared before them and they had also admired Ralph Delchard's brisk authority. But none of these things could be brought into play if the lord of the manor of Blackwater ignored their warrant. As the appointed time came and went, murmurs of doubt began to swell. The summons was being spurned.
Then the door of the hall was thrown open. Every head turned and every eye expected to see Hamo FitzCorbucion come storming in but the spindly character who pushed a way past the guards was Tovild the Haunted. Carrying a spear and wearing his mottled armour, the old man gazed around in wonderment. He had not gone down to the bank of the river to quote his poem that morning. With the instincts of a true warrior, he knew that the real Battle of Maldon was being fought in the shire hall. The taut silence gave way to laughter and the mockery soon came. Tovild was a figure of fun to Saxons and Normans alike and they taunted him happily, urging him to spear a few Vikings for them by way of entertainment. The commotion was quickly smothered beneath a louder and more menacing noise. A large troop of men could be heard cantering towards the hall and dozens of hooves clacked on the hard surface of High Street as the knights came to a halt.
This time Hamo FitzCorbucion did enter. Four men-at-arms came first to clear a way roughly through the crowd. Hamo walked after them like a conquering hero walking in triumph through a vanquished territory. Jocelyn FitzCorbucion and Fulk the Steward brought up the rear, each bearing a sheaf of documents. Seats had been left vacant in the front row and the newcomers settled into them with an arrogance borne of years of unchecked power. Hamo dismissed his soldiers with a flick of the fingers and then reached up to remove his gleaming helm before handing it to Jocelyn. He looked at each of the four men who sat in judgement behind the table and found nothing to trouble him.
He glared at them with total disdain.
“You sent for me, sirs,” he growled, “and I have come.”
“We sent for Hamo FitzCorbucion,” said Ralph.
“I am he!”
“What proof do we have of that?”
&n
bsp; “Every man here will know me!”
“We do not.”
“I am the lord of the manor of Blackwater!”
“Then why do you act like a renegade baron?” challenged Ralph. “Why do you arrive here with a troop of men and force your way in? Why do you appear before us in armour? Why do you try to threaten us with the trappings of your power and to pervert the course of justice?” His voice crackled with sarcasm. “We recognise a lord by his demeanour. We look for dignity and a natural authority. We expect an honourable man. When you come charging in here like this, all that we see is a marauding soldier.”
Hamo leapt up. “I am hunting my son's killer!”
“You will not find him here.”
“Do not provoke me, sir!”
“Resume your seat.”
“I am here before you. State your business.”
“Only when you sit down again.” Hamo remained on his feet to show his defiance. Ralph was peremptory. “Very well. We will adjourn this session, if you wish, and call you again tomorrow. On that occasion, the sheriff himself will be sent to fetch you. Show him the contempt you are showing us and you will not find him so lenient. Peter de Valognes would be only too happy for an excuse to place you under arrest.”
Hamo put a hand on the hilt of his sword but Jocelyn and Fulk quickly restrained him. They had a whispered conference with him and held up the documents that they carried. It was madness to institute a brawl when they had come to take part in a legal dispute that they were bound to win. Ralph Delchard was deliberately goading Hamo to bring out his choleric streak and throw him off guard. The most effective reply was to subject the commissioners to a crushing defeat in front of the whole town.
“Will you take your seat again, my lord?” said Ralph.
“He will,” said Jocelyn, tugging at his father's arm.
“We wish to begin the proceedings.”
Smouldering with anger, Hamo finally resumed his seat.
Ralph formally introduced each of his colleagues then called on Gervase Bret to read the list of charges. It was long and complex and it drew murmurs of approval from every part of the hall. The commissioners had been exhaustive in their researches. Hamo and Jocelyn listened with motionless expressions but Fulk could not resist a sly smile. The accusations were exactly those set down in one of the documents in his sheaf. Gilbert Champeney had done them a good service when he robbed his guests of their satchel. Blackwater Hall could be attacked with words but there were no writs and charters to lend them any bite.
“This concludes the list of charges,” said Gervase. “As you have heard, it affects a large number of people in the town. If we can substantiate all these claims against my lord, Hamo, there will be restitution and compensation of a high order.”
The promise drew a muffled cheer from the audience but Hamo cut through it with a snarled accusation of his own.
“You have no evidence!”
“Canon Hubert will take up that point,” said Gervase.
“Where is your proof?” demanded Hamo.
“The burden of proof is upon you, my lord,” said Hubert at his most stern and fearless. “When charges are levelled against you by royal commissioners, it is incumbent on you to answer them. We are not on trial here—you are. I realise that you are not closely acquainted with the law, because you have broken it in a hundred different ways …” He paused to allow the general laughter free rein. “… but it does impose a strict code of behaviour on you. We ask the questions. You will answer. As and when directed.”
“This idiot will keep us here all day!” moaned Hamo.
“Are you referring to me?” said the indignant Hubert.
“No,” said Jocelyn, seeing the chance he wanted. He had come to demonstrate his skills and not just to sit there with his father's helmet on his lap. His voice rang out. “You must forgive my father. He is anxious to continue the search for my brother's killer. Beside that outrage, these claims of yours are petty and absurd. They can be dealt with very quickly.”
“I beg leave to doubt that,” warned Hubert.
“Let us take the first charge in your list.”
“We intend to.”
“It concerns the annexation of three hides of land formerly owned by Robert of Verly,” said Jocelyn without even referring to his documents. “We can refute this insulting allegation at once. That property was not annexed at all. It was given to us by deed of gift.”
“It is still held by Robert of Verly's subtenant.”
“Produce him and he will swear in our favour.”
“I am sure that he would,” agreed Hubert. “Under duress. Fear will make a man swear to anything and we have found a lot of fear in Maldon. But we do not need to rely upon the testimony of a subtenant when we have the charter that originally granted this land to Robert of Verly.”
“Show it to us,” challenged Jocelyn.
“If you can!” said Hamo with a grin.
“Give us a sight of this famous document.”
“We will.”
Canon Hubert picked up the rolls of parchment that lay scattered before him and pretended to search through them. He nudged Brother Simon and the two of them hunted for the relevant charter with increasing dismay. Hamo was now chuckling aloud and Fulk sniggered but Jocelyn retained his poise. He was growing into his role with every second and determined to make his impact felt. Disappointment and discontent spread through the hall. They had come to see the ravens of Blackwater caged by the law, not to be set free with even more ravenous appetites. Obviously, the charter could not be found. The hunt became more frenetic.
Jocelyn leaned forward with a smile of polite mockery.
“Would you like us to help you in the search?”
“There is no need,” said Gervase Bret, bringing a sheet of parchment from the satchel that lay at his feet. “I have the appropriate charter here.”
“But that is impossible!” exclaimed Jocelyn.
“Examine it if you doubt its authenticity.”
“It bears the royal seal,” indicated Canon Hubert. “We were given it by Robert of Verly himself.”
“Step forward and see it for yourselves,” said Gervase.
“Yes,” added Ralph with a smirk. “Compare it with the version that you carry in your own satchel. I think you will find that they match each other word for word. But we have the genuine charter and not the clever forgery.”
Hamo stirred, Jocelyn blanched, and Fulk began to stammer. All three of them swung round to search the ranks of faces behind them for the one that had so comprehensively betrayed them. Gilbert Champeney stood up obligingly and gave them a cheerful wave. Instead of stealing documents from the commissioners, he had been working in collusion with them. Hamo FitzCorbucion was caught in a trap from which even his son could not rescue him and it made him seethe with fury.
“Forgive the delay,” said Canon Hubert, taking control once more. “Here is the charter, as you may see. We have documentary proof of every illegality that has taken place and sworn statements to support them. Twenty years of theft and fraud have been uncovered here and it will take time to go through each instance. Bear with us while we do so and a great oppression will be lifted from this town.” He used his pulpit voice. “Good always triumphs over evil in the end.”
A cheer went up and Canon Hubert acknowledged it with a lordly smile. He performed best before an audience and felt he had been right to allow the public into the session. Hamo was now impaled by the law in front of him. It was time to exact full and uncompromising punishment.
“To return to the first charge …”
“No!”
Hamo jumped to his feet, pulled out his sword, and used it to sweep all the charters from the table. He was not going to sit there quietly and listen to the catalogue of his crimes. He would do what he had always done and fight his way out of trouble. Turning on the audience, he swung his sword in a circle above his head.
“Out of my way!” he yelled. “I'll kill
the first man who dares to block my path!”
Panic ensued. Benches were knocked over, heads cracked, and bodies sent flying. Everyone fought to get out of his way. A gap opened up down the centre of the hall and Hamo stalked up it with his weapon still flailing. No man was brave enough to stand in his way.
“Stop!”
A boy of fifteen had all the courage that was needed. He dropped onto the floor from the rafters and held up his sword. Hamo halted in astonishment then let out a bellow of rage as he recognised the sturdy figure who confronted him.
“Wistan!”
“Yes,” said the boy proudly. “Son of Algar.”
“Wistan!”
The swords clashed immediately. Hamo saw the killer of his son and Wistan saw his father's persecutor. As the metal clanged and the bodies grappled, everyone else pushed away in blind terror. Ralph Delchard tried in vain to get to the combatants to separate them but even his strength could not force a path through the swirling crowd. The fight, in any case, was soon over. Wistan had youth on his side and a burning need for revenge but they were not enough to overcome the skills of a veteran soldier. Hamo held the boy in a grip of steel, spat in his face, twisted the sword from his hand, then flung him to the floor. The boy lay spread-eagled helplessly as Hamo lifted his sword in both hands in order to jab it down with full force into his chest. But the weapon never reached its target.
“Wistan!”
The name had been enough to ignite the spirit of Tovild the Haunted. When his brave compatriot fell, he had to fight on to keep the invader at bay. Saxon pride compelled him to win the Battle of Maldon once and forever.
“Wistan!”
With every ounce of his remaining strength, he thrust with his spear at the advancing enemy. Hamo was about to bring his sword down for the kill when the point of Tovild's blade went clean through his unguarded neck and out through the back. Blood spurted wildly. There was a loud gurgle of pain and outrage, then the lord of the manor of Blackwater fell backward to the floor with terrifying finality.
The Ravens of Blackwater (Domesday Series Book 2) Page 26
