Resignation was alien to the character of Miles Champeney. He could never simply accept defeat with a philosophical shrug. His harsh reception at Blackwater Hall had hurt his pride but it had not weakened his determination to rescue Matilda from her imprisonment in her own home. He wanted to go straight back to the house and force his way in, but common sense told him that this was a forlorn hope. He had to be far more careful next time. Although he had nobody to take a message to his beloved, he had her servant to give him advice about the habits of the household and the best way to penetrate its defences. The man had even more cause to help him now. But for the kind intercession of Miles's father, the servant would still be locked away in what might well have turned out to be his tomb. Loyal to Matilda, the man also owed allegiance to the Champeneys.
Loyalty was something that now troubled Miles himself. His father's opposition to the match had been distressing but it had also strengthened his resolve. When he had ridden out from Champeney Hall in the night, he had experienced few qualms at turning his back on a man who was so hostile to his choice of bride. Filial duty had been cast aside by the urgency of his love. Now it was different. Gilbert Champeney had shown a father's devotion when he came to bargain for the freedom of his son. Given the fact that he was also bearing forged documents, he had acted with considerable coolness and tenacity, even to the extent of securing the release of the blameless messenger. Yet Miles was planning to betray the old man once again, to steal away in the night in order to free Matilda from custody.
There seemed to be no way to reconcile the conflicting loyalties. His love of his father was strong but it paled beside his devotion to Matilda. She was being blamed for the faults of her family. The name of FitzCorbucion was like the mark of a leper upon her. Miles shook off his feelings of guilt. His own needs were paramount. He had to devise a plan to get into the house at a time when they would least expect him and that required the connivance of the servant. A plan had to be set in motion at once. He went off in search of the man but could not find him anywhere in the house. Miles came out into the courtyard and crossed to the stables.
He was about to call out for the servant when he was distracted. A lone figure was riding slowly towards the house in the middle distance. He thought at first that it must be his father, returning from a morning at the shire hall, but the posture of the rider and the gentle gait of the horse soon changed his mind. It was a woman. When she got closer, Miles saw that it was a young woman. For a moment, he could not believe what he was looking at and blinked in wonderment. He could recognise her profile, her attire, even her palfrey. She waved to him. He had spent all that time trying to plot her rescue and Matilda FitzCorbucion was now coming towards him. It was the answer to a prayer. Miles let out a gasp of joy and sprinted across the grass to meet her, grabbing the bridle of her horse, then catching her in his arms when she dropped down to him.
They held each other in a fierce embrace and kissed away the long separation. Miles Champeney did not know whether to laugh or cry as he clutched her to him.
“How on earth did you escape?” he asked.
“I went to church.”
“Church?”
“Yes,” she said. “Father Oslac looked the other way.”
Prioress Mindred was in her quarters with Sister Lewinna when the bell rang, trying to still the nun's waywardness with some kind words of advice and suggesting that the homely wisdom of Aesop's Fables should be supplemented with a study of Aldhelm's De Virginitate. Visitors were not expected. Sister Lewinna was sent to answer the door and returned breathlessly with the news that Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret were insisting on another interview with the prioress. Mindred composed herself and told the young nun to conduct the visitors in to her. Sister Lewinna obeyed at once then left the three of them alone.
The guests were invited to sit down and the prioress lowered herself into her chair. Having believed that she had routed them, she was disturbed by their return and by the quiet determination of their manner.
“We are sorry to intrude once more,” said Ralph, “but it was unavoidable. We believe that what we are seeking is within the walls of this convent, after all.”
“I thought I dealt with all your enquiries,” she said.
“You did, my lady prioress, but there was something that you held back from us, something of crucial importance.” She shifted uneasily on her chair. “Before we come to that, however, there is something you should know because it has a bearing on our visit. Hamo FitzCorbucion is dead.”
“Dead!” She was aghast. “When did this happen?”
Ralph gave a terse account of events at the shire hall that morning and explained that Tovild the Haunted had been taken into custody by the sheriff. The circumstances had forced a postponement of their own deliberations and enabled them to address themselves to a related problem. Hamo had been killed by a mad old man, but his son's murderer was still at large and had to be brought to justice. Prioress Mindred listened with evident discomfort and steeled herself.
“St. Oswald brought us back here,” said Ralph. “He has helped us just as he once helped you. Gervase will explain.”
“That chalice gave us a link with Blackwater Hall,” said Gervase. “When we put a chalice and a raven together, we had the emblem of St. Benedict and that seemed to sit easily on a Benedictine house like this. But St. Oswald has an emblem as well.”
“Raven and ring,” she said dully.
“That is what the chalice was,” said Gervase. “A ring. It was a token of love given by Guy FitzCorbucion to Sister Tecla. It was the most valuable thing he possessed and he offered it to her in order to win her favours. Other ladies succumbed readily to his charms, it seems, but Sister Tecla—or Tecla, as she then was—held him at bay until he gave her a promise of marriage.”
“The chalice was that promise,” said Ralph.
“A ring to mark their betrothal,” continued Gervase. “When she submitted to him, he soon tired of her and demanded the return of his gift. Tecla refused but she knew that she could not hold out against a FitzCorbucion. She fled to the only place of refuge—this priory.”
Mindred let out a cry of alarm and crossed herself.
“There was a slight complication,” said Gervase softly. “She was carrying his child. I do not know what happened to it, but I suspect that she lost it. You spoke earlier of her physical collapse and of her spiritual deterioration. I believe that came in the wake of the baby's death.”
“Go on,” she murmured.
“The chalice had been a ring to confirm her betrothal but Guy had forsaken her. It then became the baby she had lost. She pined for it at Barking Abbey. When you took the chalice to her, she was like a child with a doll.”
Tears formed in the prioress's eyes. She did not sob with anguish on her own account but wept quietly for the pain of another. She stood up and crossed to the window to gaze into the garden. After a moment she beckoned them across with a gesture and they came to stand beside her. The picture that they saw supplied its own explanation. Sister Tecla was in the far corner of the garden. It was the place where Sister Gunnhild had found her sleeping one night and where Wistan had watched the young nun kiss the ground. Tecla was kneeling at the same spot again now and watering it gently with a can.
“The child miscarried,” explained Mindred. “We buried it where Sister Tecla now kneels. It was a difficult time.” She turned to face them. “We saved her life. If she had not come to us, Tecla would have died of grief. She told me about the child but she would never admit who the father was. I accepted that chalice in the belief that it was her own.” She glanced through the window again. “In a sense, it was. I see now why Tecla revered it so much. She clung to it so desperately because it was the only proof she had that he had once loved her. When he was killed, the chalice took on even more significance for her. Sister Tecla has been desolate since it was sent back to Blackwater.”
“It had great significance for Guy FitzCorbucion as well,�
� said Gervase. “His mother bequeathed it to him. He knew how angry his father would be if it was found to be missing. He sent his men to ambush you and steal that chalice. Before they returned, he was murdered.”
“I do not understand,” she said with a shrug. “How did he know that I was travelling with that chalice?”
“Someone told him,” explained Ralph. “It was the same person who arranged to meet him in the marshes. She felt there was only one way to rid Sister Tecla of the menace of Guy FitzCorbucion. She killed him.”
The prioress shuddered. “She?”
“Sister Gunnhild,” said Gervase. “With this.”
He produced the knife, winch had been given to him by Tovild, and held it out to her. Mindred started. It looked very much like one of the priory's own kitchen utensils. She fought hard to rebut the idea that one of the holy sisters could actually commit a murder, but the evidence was too strong and it could be buttressed by things that she herself had noticed about Sister Gunnhild—not least the Danish nun's obsessive attachment to Sister Tecla. Shame would descend on the convent if it were known to harbour a murderer but Prioress Mindred did not hesitate. She snatched up a little silver bell from the table and opened the door. When she shook the bell hard, the urgent noise brought Sister Lewinna hurtling along the passageway.
“Go and fetch Sister Gunnhild!” ordered Mindred.
“She is not here, Reverend Mother,” said Lewinna. “When I told her who your guests were, she ran straight out through the door. It was most unseemly behaviour for someone who has always criticised me.”
The two men came quickly across to her.
“Which way did she go?” asked Ralph.
“I do not know, my lord.”
“She cannot hope to outrun you,” said Mindred.
“I'll get my men and start a search,” said Ralph. “She is very distinctive and they will soon track her down.”
“No,” said Gervase, thinking. “She is not trying to escape.”
“Then where has she gone?” asked Ralph.
“I will show you.” Sister Gunnhild was on the point of exhaustion by the time that she reached the marshes. She felt no contrition for what she had done and even had a momentary sensation of triumph when she came to the place where it had happened. Sister Tecla was a young and vulnerable woman who had been yet another victim of Guy FitzCorbucion's lust. The young nun would refuse to name the father of her child but Gunnhild had discovered who it was. She was in charge of the convent while the prioress was travelling to Barking Abbey where Sister Tecla had been taken to recover from her traumas. Guy FitzCorbucion had arrived at the priory and demanded the return of his chalice, threatening to ransack the place if it were not handed over. She was forced to tell him where it was and her resentment had boiled over. It was not the first time she had suffered at the hands of an aggressive man.
Gunnhild walked to the bank of the river estuary. It was there that she had arranged to meet Guy FitzCorbucion. She knew that he would have to come. Her letter had been explicit. If he did not obey her summons, she would tell his father about the use to which the precious family heirloom had been put. Guy responded at once to the threat of blackmail, intending either to bully her out of it or buy her off. The last thing he was expecting was a murderous attack. Gunnhild smiled as she looked at the place where she had thrown him in.
A harsh sound shattered through her reverie. Two horses were galloping towards her. Sister Gunnhild jumped into the river and waded through the reed beds before flinging herself forward into the deeper water. Weighed down by her sodden habit, she sank quickly beneath the surface. Ralph Delchard was the first to reach the scene, reining in his horse and leaping from the saddle to run to the bank. Overcoming his hatred of water, he plunged straight into the river and threshed his way towards her. In an emergency, Ralph could indeed swim. The nun had already swallowed a lot of water and was failing fast but she still had one last reserve of strength left. As Ralph came splashing up in an attempt to save her, she lashed out an arm to fight him off. He tried to overpower her but he was encumbered by his attire and could not master her sudden ferocity.
In the hectic struggle to subdue her, Ralph grabbed hold of her wimple but she twisted her head violently away from him. Hood and wimple came away in his hands and her whole head was exposed to view. Ralph let go of her in surprise. Sister Gunnhild was almost totally bald. Tufts of grey hair ran down the sides of her head but they could not hide the ugly wounds where both ears had been cut completely away. She sank beneath the water again and he tried to pull her back to the surface. Gervase had now swum out to assist him but their efforts were too late. When the mutilated head reappeared above the water again, Sister Gunnhild had the smile of a woman who had finally escaped from the ordeal of men.
Epilogue
CANON HUBERT WAS SAD TO LEAVE THE TOWN OF MALDON. HE HAD EATEN SO well at Champeney Hall, and with such wanton self-indulgence, that his donkey brayed in protest whenever he mounted it. But his regrets were not confined to the kitchen of his genial host. Their visit had been almost wholly satisfactory. They came to attack the rank injustices that had been exposed by their predecessors and they had done so in the most signal way. All was now concluded. A decent interval had been left for the family to bury Hamo FitzCorbucion but two deaths at Blackwater Hall did not absolve it of its crimes. It was Jocelyn who had been arraigned in the shire hall and who had been destroyed there by the commissioners, and Hubert felt that his personal contribution in that arena had been vital. Large amounts of land had been restored to their rightful owners or tenants. Compensation on a massive scale was to be paid out by the new lord of a much-depleted manor of Blackwater.
Brother Simon's memories of the town were more mixed. His brilliant forging of the documents had been a decisive element in their campaign—even though he still had doubts about its moral validity— and he could look back on it with some pleasure. He looked back with less enjoyment on discussions of mutilation and the nickname of a local magnate, and he was praying that their homeward journey would not oblige them to enter a house of nuns again. The revelation that it was a holy sister who had butchered Guy FitzCorbucion confirmed his most deep-seated fears about the opposite sex. On balance, he was relieved when they finally took their leave of Champeney Hall and wended their way towards Chelmsford. Chastity was a comforting thing.
Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret led the cavalcade. It was a bright day and the open road beckoned. They were moving at a rising trot through sporadic woodland.
“Our stay was much longer than we anticipated,” said Ralph. “But our efforts were very worthwhile. If it had not been for us, Hamo's reign of terror would still be continuing.”
“Yes,” said Gervase. “Jocelyn will be a much more amenable lord of the manor now that we have cut him and his demesne right down to size. His sister will profit as well.”
“How so?”
“The marriage in Coutances will be called off,” he predicted. “When it was arranged, she was the daughter of the mighty Hamo and brought a rich dowry. That situation has been altered dramatically. Her elected husband will think twice before allying his family to that of the FitzCorbucions now.”
“Miles Champeney may yet come into favour, then.”
“In time, Ralph. In time. My guess is that Jocelyn will warm to the idea eventually. Now that his wings have been clipped, he needs friends in Maldon.”
“Gilbert will soon mellow as well, I think.”
Matilda FitzCorbucion's escape from her house had not led to the idyllic reunion she had hoped. Miles Champeney had been delighted to see her and immediately saddled up his horse to ride off with her, but the news of her father's death arrived before they could depart. It changed everything. Overcome with remorse, she went back to Blackwater Hall. It was her father's domineering personality that had held the whole demesne together and that quickly became clear, even to Jocelyn. He would never exercise the power or the influence of Hamo and he would need all
his energies to administer a demoralised estate. Jocelyn and his sister had reasons to hate each other but they were reconciled by the adverse circumstances. By the same token, Gilbert and his son came to a deeper level of understanding. With the death of his rival, Gilbert was able to take a slightly more accommodating view of the FitzCorbucion family. Miles, too, had learned the importance of blood ties. As the son of a prominent lord, he would now have something to offer Matilda. Hard reality had made a romantic elopement impossible but the passage of time would bring the lovers ineluctably together.
“Did you see who else was waving us off?” said Ralph.
“Wistan.”
“Gilbert has taken the lad under his own wing.”
“There is no place for him at Blackwater now.”
“Wistan had the courage to take on Hamo in single combat,” recalled Ralph. “The boy is lucky to be alive. He has Tovild the Haunted to thank for that.”
“And his own father, Ralph.”
“His father?”
“Wistan was named after a brave warrior who fought in the Battle of Maldon.” He smiled wryly. “That was what brought Tovild to his aid. If the lad had been called Ralph or Gervase, he would now be lying dead in his grave.”
“Too true.”
“He will now have a kinder lord to serve.”
“Yes!” said Ralph with mock horror. “Gilbert is half-Saxon.”
“There is nothing wrong with that,” said Gervase.
Ralph started to rhapsodize about the virtues of Sister Tecla and to wonder if he could not have rescued her from the strictures of convent life. Cold fact then intruded. Hers was indeed a sad condition but Maldon Priory would be a more secure and loving environment for her now that its darker element had been purged. He could never offer her the peace and spiritual companionship that she needed to help her to recover from all she endured. Whatever his faults, she had loved Guy FitzCorbucion once and cherished the gift that he had given her. His murder was a blow to her. The fact that it had been committed by one of her holy sisters was even more devastating.
The Ravens of Blackwater (Domesday Series Book 2) Page 27
