‘But he is not your only rival here,’ Grimketel reminded him.
‘He is the only one of consequence.’
‘What of the Bishop of Lichfield?’
‘Another grasping prelate.’
‘Ednoth told me that the bishop also has a charter.’
‘I am sure that he does,’ sneered Reynard, ‘but I am equally sure that it is a forgery. The bishop has no legitimate claim to that property. He is simply trying to build up his holdings in the county. It is rumoured that he acquired land to the north of Coventry with a forged charter but he will not succeed here. Nor will Thorkell,’ he said with a dark chuckle. ‘Now that he has lost the persuasive voice of his reeve. My kinsman cannot help him from beyond the grave.’
‘No, master.’
‘What news of Boio?’
‘Arrested and thrown into a castle dungeon.’
‘Have they beaten a confession out of him yet?’
‘I do not know.’
‘They will, they will.’
‘Thorkell was enraged by the loss of his blacksmith.’
‘He will be even more upset when Boio is hanged.’
Grimketel sniggered. ‘If they find a rope strong enough.’
‘Everything works to our advantage here.’
‘Hopefully.’
‘A celebration may soon be in order,’ he decided, clapping his hands together. ‘A small banquet with close friends. A special dish to grace the table. I think you know what that will mean?’
‘Oh, yes!’ said Grimketel.
And the two of them went off into peals of laughter.
When Gervase and Benedict returned to the castle, the first person whom they sought out was Ralph Delchard. He listened to them with a mixture of interest and irritation, fascinated by what they told him but annoyed that he was not involved in the discovery itself.
‘Why did you not take me with you?’ he said.
‘Because we were not certain if we would find anything,’ explained Gervase Bret. ‘It might just as easily have turned out to be a wild-goose chase and you would not have thanked us for taking you along.’
‘True,’ conceded Ralph.
‘Besides,’ said Brother Benedict, ‘we did not have time to search for you, my lord. Shadows were already falling when we set out. Had we delayed any longer, we might never have found our way there in the dark. As it was, we had barely enough light to see in the forge.’
‘But you found this,’ said Ralph.
He held the stone bottle up against the flame of a candle to inspect it. They were in a small antechamber in the keep, aware of the kitchen clatter through one wall and hearing, from time to time, the angry voice of Henry Beaumont coming through another. Uncorking the bottle, Ralph had a tentative sniff and found the aroma pleasing. He replaced the little stopper and handed the bottle back to Gervase.
‘Who was this woman?’ he asked.
‘She would not give us her name,’ said Gervase. ‘And she scampered off when we tried to question her.’
‘She was a friend of the blacksmith's?’
‘Something more than friendship was involved,’ said Benedict with a genial smile. ‘She told us that she came to the forge to clean for Boio but the place was in chaos. No busy housewife's hand has been there in ages. I think she came to enjoy his companionship.’
‘She was distressed to hear he was being held,’ noted Gervase, ‘and it was much more than the distress of a friend or neighbour.’
‘Yet you know nothing about her?’ said Ralph.
‘I fear not.’
‘What do you intend to do now?’
‘Go to the lord Henry with this evidence,’ said Gervase.
Ralph was sceptical. ‘A stone bottle from a mysterious stranger, given to you by a woman whose name you do not even know? It is hardly conclusive evidence.’
‘It is proof that Boio was telling the truth,’ argued Benedict.
‘Possibly.’
‘It is, my lord. We simply have to convince the lord Henry of that.’
‘He does not sound in a mood to be convinced,’ said Ralph as their host's voice was again raised in the adjacent hall. ‘I think you will need more than a stone bottle to secure Boio's release.’
‘It may at least force the lord Henry to have second thoughts,’ said Benedict. ‘I will reason with him. He is not an ogre. I will persuade him that he has the wrong man in custody.’
Ralph pondered for a full minute before reaching a decision.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Gervase and I will tackle him. If he realises that you went off to the forge, he will not respect your cowl, Brother Benedict. Your holy ears will hear warmer words than any which have so far come through the wall. The lord Henry allowed you to talk to the prisoner in order to coax a confession out of him, not to take up his cause. Leave this to us. We are used to foul language.’
‘I am not afraid of abuse,’ said the monk happily.
‘The lord Ralph is right,’ said Gervase. ‘We must keep you out of this as much as possible, Brother Benedict. You will not be allowed near the prisoner again if it is known that you are acting in his defence.’
‘Very well!’ sighed the other. ‘But I am disappointed.’
‘This is work for us.’
‘Then I will leave you to it, Gervase, and talk to Boio's other friend.’
‘Other friend?’
‘God,’ said the monk. ‘I will pray to Him to intercede on behalf of an innocent man. You will find me in the chapel when you need me.’
Benedict padded off and the others rehearsed what they were going to say to their host. When they were ready they knocked hard on the door which connected with the hall. Footsteps were heard coming swiftly towards it, then it was pulled open and the unwelcoming face of Henry Beaumont appeared. Seeing his guests, he composed his features into a semblance of friendliness.
‘Yes?’ he said.
‘We crave a word in private,’ said Ralph.
‘Can it not wait until later?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘It concerns the murder investigation,’ said Gervase.
Henry gave a sigh of exasperation but invited them into the hall with a wave of his hand. Grateful for the interruption, the man who had been talking to his master turned to leave. Henry flicked his fingers.
‘No, stay.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
The man halted obediently. Wearing helm and hauberk, he was a short, thickset individual with a livid scar down one cheek. Ralph was unhappy about the presence of a stranger.
‘We would prefer to talk with you alone, my lord,’ he said.
‘This is the keeper of my dungeons,’ said Henry. ‘If you have anything to say concerning the prisoner, he should hear it. We have just come from interrogating the blacksmith.’
‘Did he confess?’ said Ralph.
‘No, my lord,’ said the other with a grimace. ‘We burned his arms and his chest but he hardly squealed in pain. Fire does not frighten him. He works with it every day.’
‘Do not torture him again.’
‘We must get the truth from him somehow.’
‘You already have it, my lord,’ said Gervase. ‘He is innocent.’
Henry glanced at the gaoler. ‘Do you hear that? Innocent?’
The man lifted a cynical eyebrow but said nothing.
‘We have brought something to show you,’ continued Gervase. When I asked Brother Benedict how he found the prisoner, he mentioned a stranger who might be able to provide the blacksmith with an alibi. This man, it seems, called at the forge at the very time when Boio is alleged to have been seen in the forest. Boio shoed his donkey for him but, since the stranger had no money to pay, he gave the blacksmith a bottle of medicine instead.’ He held up the object. ‘Here it is, my lord.’
‘Where did you get that?’
‘At his forge.’
Henry flushed angrily. ‘You rode out there?’
‘I felt that it was important.
’
‘How do you know that bottle was left by this stranger?’
‘There was a woman at the forge, a friend who calls there often. She swore that it was not there when she came at the start of the week and when,’ he emphasized, ‘Martin Reynard was still alive. It must have been left in the way that Boio described.’
‘Must it?’ said Henry with disgust. ‘I am disappointed in you, Master Bret. This is feeble advocacy from a lawyer like you. All you have to go on is the word of a woman and the lie of a murderer. They are in collusion here. How do you know that the bottle has not lain at the forge for weeks, even months?’
‘The woman was certain that it had not.’
‘Did she see this stranger give it to Boio?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Did anyone else?’
‘It appears not.’
‘Do you have any proof – beyond a stone bottle – that this man with the donkey ever existed?’
‘We have the blacksmith's own testimony,’ said Ralph.
‘He invented the whole tale.’
‘From what I hear of him, my lord, he is not capable of that. The poor man has difficulty stringing two or three words together. His skill lies in his muscles not his mind. How could he make up such a story?’
Henry Beaumont flicked another glance at the gaoler, then held out his hand towards Gervase. When the bottle was passed to him, he studied it with patent misgivings.
‘This is no evidence at all,’ he said.
‘In itself, perhaps not,’ agreed Gervase. ‘But it may serve as a signpost to proof of a more secure nature. I speak of this stranger. If he is travelling by donkey he will not have ridden by so far that he is beyond the reach of your men. Send out a posse, my lord. Bring back this traveller and he will supply an alibi for Boio.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I sense it.’
‘Well, I sense deception.’
‘Search for the man.’
‘Where?’
‘In the neighbouring counties.’
‘Can you tell me in which direction he was riding?’
‘Unhappily, no.’
‘Then leave off. Even if this stranger exists – and I beg leave to doubt it – he may be several miles away by now. I cannot spare men to go searching for this phantom. In any case, what trust could I place in the word of an itinerant who tricks people out of money by giving them fake medicine?’ His hand closed tightly around the bottle. ‘There is something which you do not seem to have considered.’
‘What is that?’ asked Ralph.
‘If the blacksmith did not kill Martin Reynard – who did?’
‘Someone who stood to profit from his death.’
‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘That is my argument as well, though you dismissed it earlier, my lord. Murder requires motive. Boio had none. Others did, it seems.’
‘Name one,’ challenged Henry.
‘Thorkell had suspicions about Adam Reynard.’
‘He would! If your judgement goes in his favour, Adam is set to deprive Thorkell of some prime holdings. No wonder the old man wants us to hound Adam. It would remove one of his rivals. No,’ he asserted, ‘we already have the culprit locked up and you will need a bigger key than this bottle to open the door. Here,’ he said, tossing the object to the gaoler. ‘Give this to the prisoner. If it really is medicine, it may help to soothe his wounds.’
‘At least question this Adam Reynard,’ urged Gervase.
‘We have already done so. He is not implicated.’
‘His man is the chief witness against Boio.’
‘What does that signify?’
‘Do you not find it a coincidence, my lord?’
‘Indeed. A happy one at that.’
‘Adam Reynard profits by the death of his kinsman and by the arrest of an innocent man on the charge of murder. Look more closely at him, I beg you,’ said Gervase. ‘He is Thorkell's enemy.’
‘He is not the only one,’ retorted Henry. ‘You forget that another man is embroiled in the dispute over that property. Robert de Limesey.’ Mockery intruded. ‘Am I to arrest the Bishop of Lichfield as well?’
Robert de Limesey, Bishop of Lichfield, pored over the document which lay before him on the table and emitted a gentle wheeze of pleasure. With the candlelight directly behind it, the crucifix which stood before him threw its shadow on to the parchment as if conferring approval from heaven. It did not go unnoticed by the bishop. A slim man with a sensitive face and pale blue eyes, he had an aura of religiosity about him which was almost tangible. It was difficult to believe that such a saintly man began life in so common a way as lawful copulation between a husband and wife. Anyone viewing him now would imagine that he had dispensed with the ignominies of conception altogether and emerged fullgrown from the pages of a Holy Bible in order to take up his mission among ordinary mortals and inspire them with his example.
Brother Reginald, his chosen companion, was still inspired by his master even though he was privy to the bishop's human failings and aware of his occasional mistakes. When the monk had tapped at the door and let himself into the chamber, he stood there in quiet awe until the bishop deigned to look up from his work. Reginald was a round-shouldered man of middle height with a black cowl which seemed too large for him and an intelligent face which always lit up when he was alone with his master. The bishop's voice was soft and caressing.
‘What news, Reginald?’ he enquired.
‘The royal commissioners have taken up residence at Warwick Castle, my lord bishop,’ said the other. ‘It may be a day or two before the dispute in which we are involved comes before them.’
‘Does it not take precedence?’
‘I fear not.’
‘But it is their main reason for coming to Warwickshire?’
‘That is so.’
‘Then why this delay?’
‘It is occasioned by this unfortunate crime, my lord bishop.’
‘Ah, yes. I was forgetting. Foul murder in the Forest of Arden.’
‘Since the victim was to have been involved in the dispute, the commissioners want the crime to be solved to see if it has any direct bearing upon the dispute itself.’
‘And does it?’
‘I do not know.’
Robert de Limesey sighed. ‘Then we will have to brook this delay,’ he said. ‘As long as it does not in any way imperil our own position.’
‘It does not,’ Reginald assured him. ‘If anything, our position is enhanced by this crime. One should never seek to profit by the death of another man – especially when it is such a violent death – but we are the unwitting beneficiaries of his demise.’
‘God may be sending us a sign here.’
‘Only a man as pious as you could discern it, my lord bishop.’
‘I believe that I do discern it, Reginald.’
The monk bowed. ‘I accept your word.’
The bishop sat back in his chair and surveyed the document on the table with a contented smile before picking it up between delicate fingers and offering it to his companion.
‘Read this for me,’ he instructed. ‘Aloud.’
‘Yes, my lord bishop.’
‘Let me see if my translation accords with yours.’
‘You are ever the finer Latin scholar.’
‘Nevertheless, I would value a second opinion,’ said the other, sitting back in his chair and putting his hands in his lap. ‘Hold it with care, Reginald. What you have in your possession is nothing less than the charter of confirmation for this monastery, issued in the first year of his reign by King Edward the Confessor with the concurrence and approval of thirty-eight prelates and great men of the realm. The monastery, as you know, was endowed by Leofric, Earl of Mercia, with the consent of the Pope and with the active support of the earl's wife, Godiva.’
‘Hers is a name which still echoes through Coventry.’
‘Alas, yes,’ said the bishop with mild distaste. ‘Read to me.’
&n
bsp; Holding the charter in both hands, Reginald angled it to catch the candlelight, blinked repeatedly as he studied the words, then translated them without a single pause.
‘Duke Leofric, by divine grace inspiring, and by the admonitions of the glorious and beloved of God, Alexander, Chief Pontiff, hath founded the monastery of Saint Mary the Mother of God and Saint Peter and All Saints in the villa which is called Coventry, and hath adorned and decorated it with liberal gifts and these underwritten manors with my full donation and grant hath there conferred, in aid of the sustenance of the abbot and monks perpetually serving God in the same place (that is to say) the moiety of the villa in which the said church is founded …’
Reginald's voice rolled on, deep and confident, listing the twentyfour lordships with which the monastery was endowed, fifteen of them in the county of Warwickshire itself. The bishop's lips moved as if speaking in unison with him. When the litany was complete he nodded his thanks then took the charter back into his own hands.
‘Leofric was a generous man,’ he commented.
‘They are princely endowments, my lord bishop.’
‘The noble earl will have received his gratitude in heaven.’
‘And the lady Godiva too,’ said Reginald solemnly. ‘All the records show that her piety was the equal of his.’
‘It is not her piety for which she is principally remembered,’ said the bishop primly. ‘Let us put her aside and reflect instead on the bounty which she and her husband bequeathed us. That phrase about the sustenance of the abbot. It appealed to me, Reginald. Yes, it had a definite appeal.’ He gave a quizzical smile. ‘What do you think of Coventry?’
‘A goodly town, my lord bishop.’
‘Bigger than Lichfield, to be sure. But more suitable?’
‘Only you could make that judgement.’
‘Your counsel is always respected.’
‘Then, yes,’ said Reginald, committing himself unequivocally. ‘In some ways, more suitable as the centre of the episcopal see. Much more suitable, my lord bishop. It is just a pity that—’ He broke off abruptly.
‘Go on,’ coaxed the other.
‘It is not my place to make such an observation.’
‘You may speak freely in front of me.’
‘I appreciate that.’
‘Nobody else will hear – except God, of course, and I can rest assured that you will utter no words to offend Him.’
The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9) Page 9
