‘Has the man been watched?’ he said.
‘Yes, my lord bishop.’
‘Is there any cause for alarm?’
‘I believe that there is.’
‘Explain why.’
‘He spoke to a small crowd this morning,’ said Reginald, relaying information passed directly to him. ‘In the marketplace. He was trying to sell them his medicine but they would not buy it. He became boastful and talked about performing a miracle.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow, my lord bishop.’
‘Where?’
‘In the same place, close to the same time.’
‘What form is this miracle to take?’
‘He promises to cure a boy who is possessed by demons.’
The bishop was aghast. ‘He dared to claim that?’
‘More than once, I am told.’
‘Who is this child? And why must this vaunted miracle be delayed until tomorrow?’
‘Because the boy lives some distance from Coventry,’ said the monk. ‘Hearing that the old man was in the town, the father came here to enquire if there was any hope for his son. He has been assured that there is. Instead of going to help this child at his home – as any honest physician assuredly would – the old man insists that the boy be brought to Coventry so that his "miracle" has an audience and so that he can sell his medicine on the strength of it.’
‘This is disturbing intelligence.’
‘There is worse yet.’
‘Save it until we are in the privacy of my apartment.’
They went into the monastery and headed for the bishop's private chamber. As soon as he entered he was assisted in the removal of his vestments by the dutiful Reginald. Only when he had settled in the chair behind the table was Robert de Limesey ready to continue, picking up the conversation at the precise point of its termination.
‘Worse yet?’ he said.
‘The man claimed divine assistance for his miracles.’
‘He actually invoked the name of the Almighty?’
‘He claimed that God was working through his hands,’ said Reginald querulously. ‘He even had the temerity to compare himself with the Lord Jesus as a man who performed miracles with no thought of personal gain but only to relieve suffering.’
The bishop scoffed. ‘So that is who he is! A second Messiah!’
‘Witchcraft is at work, my lord bishop.’
‘It has all the signs.’
‘I begin to think that flea-bitten donkey of his may be a familiar.’
‘Unless he intends to ride into Jerusalem on it and proclaim the Second Coming!’ The bishop controlled his sarcasm. ‘That remark was uncalled for, Reginald. I withdraw it.’
‘I did not hear it, my lord bishop.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Shall we have this man taken?’
‘Not yet, not yet.’
‘But he may do untold damage if left at liberty.’
‘Remind me when this miracle of his is due.’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘Let us wait until then. Have men ready. If he really does try to practise sorcery he will be arrested and thrown into custody. No mercy will be shown.’ He looked up. ‘What is this man's name?’
‘We do not know, my lord bishop.’
‘I think we do, Reginald.’
‘Do we?’
‘He is called Satan.’
Golde was pleased to be invited to join the lady Adela in her private apartment and relieved to discover that Marguerite was not there.
‘Confined to her chamber with a headache,’ said Adela.
‘I am sorry to hear that, my lady.’
‘The lord Philippe is with her at the moment.’
‘I see.’
‘She will soon recover, I am sure. Meanwhile, you and I have time for private conference, Golde. We can get to know each other properly.’
‘Nothing would please me more,’ said Golde warmly. ‘It is not always easy to have a conversation in the lady Marguerite's presence.’
‘That was tactfully put.’
‘She is a forceful lady.’
‘Have you ever considered why?’
They were seated either side of the fire in Adela's apartment in the keep, a small, neat, comfortable chamber with rich hangings on the walls. While she talked, Adela worked quietly at a tapestry which was stretched on a frame in front of her. When Golde hesitated, her companion looked up with a quizzical smile.
‘No, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘I have not considered why because I felt that it was too apparent. The lady Marguerite has a strong personality. It is in her nature to thrust herself forward. I imagined that she inherited her characteristics.’
‘That is what I imagined at first.’
‘But not now?’
‘No, Golde.’ She studied her visitor's face. ‘I can see that you have not yet heard what transpired after you left the table last night.’
‘Nothing has been said to me.’
‘Then I will tell you. I know that I am not speaking out of turn here for the lord Ralph will surely have been told by now and he would not keep the intelligence from you.’
‘What intelligence?’
‘When you quit the table,’ explained the other, ‘only four of us remained. One of which was Heloise, who grew surprisingly talkative in the absence of her mistress, though always discreet in her comments until the confession unwittingly slipped out.’
‘Confession?’
‘Archdeacon Theobald drew it from her.’
‘What did Heloise say?’
‘That the lord Philippe's first wife died by her own hand.’
‘Oh, my lady!’ exclaimed Golde. ‘That is terrible! Poor woman! She must have been driven beyond reason to commit such an act. Did Heloise give any details?’
‘No, Golde. Nor did we seek any. We were too shaken by the revelation to pursue the matter. Archbishop Theobald was mortified that he had unthinkingly brought the matter into the light. It is a private tragedy which, I am sure, the family prefers to keep to itself.’
‘How did Heloise react?’
‘With horror when she realised what she had said.’
‘I can understand it.’
‘She rushed off at once,’ said Adela. ‘I am certain she will have confided in her mistress and that that is probably the reason why the lady Marguerite declined to join us. She feels … vulnerable.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘And embarrassed.’
‘So must Heloise. Eaten up with remorse.’
‘That is why I felt you should be told sooner rather than later. So that you would comprehend their behaviour. We must treat the lord Philippe and his wife as if we knew nothing at all of this.’
‘Of course.’
‘It was an unfortunate lapse on Heloise's part.’
‘She will be harshly reprimanded by her mistress.’
‘Not as harshly as by herself,’ noted the other. ‘But let us put her aside. We do not know the circumstances of this dreadful event but one thing is certain: when suicide strikes a family, those left behind suffer agonies of guilt which are insupportable.’ She plied her needle for a few moments. ‘That is why I asked about the lady Marguerite.’
Golde pondered. ‘You think she was … implicated in some way?’
‘Did she not hint as much to us?’
‘When?’
‘When the three of us sat together in the hall.’
‘Why, yes,’ said Golde, recalling the exchange. ‘You said that her husband would never go astray because he adored his wife. And the lady Marguerite replied that he adored his first wife until …’
‘Until he met her.’
‘Then she may be involved.’
‘Not in the way we think,’ said Adela quickly, ‘and we must be careful not to sit in judgement when we know so little. When the lady Marguerite met her future husband she may not have been aware that he was married. Why should she, brought up in Norm
andy? Nor do I mean to impugn the integrity of the lord Philippe. He strikes me as an honest man and the death of his first wife may not have been prompted in any way by his actions. But I am bound to wonder this,’ she concluded. ‘What does his ebullience and her force of character signify? Is it merely a shield behind which both of them hide?’
‘A shield?’
‘A show of bravado almost.’
‘To conceal their inner torment?’
‘If that is what it is, Golde.’
‘I do not know, my lady.’
‘What else could it be?’
‘In the case of the lord Philippe, I could not hazard a guess.’
‘And the lady Marguerite?’
‘There may be a much simpler explanation.’
‘What is that?’
‘She has a foul temper.’
Marguerite was perched on the stool in an attitude of cold indifference. The fire which lit up their chamber did nothing to melt her ire. Philippe Trouville watched her in silence, marvelling at her beauty as if seeing her for the first time, pulsing with joy that he had taken her as his wife yet feeling, at the same time, both rejected and inadequate. He was standing very close to the woman he loved yet she seemed miles away. Wanting to reach out to touch her, he felt powerless to do so. Marguerite was exuding displeasure from every pore. She was quite unattainable.
The silence became longer and more painful. He shuffled his feet. The bell for sext began to chime in the distance. It prompted him to take a small step forward and clear his throat.
‘Marguerite,’ he whispered.
‘Are you still here?’
‘I have to go back to the shire hall.’
‘Then go – I do not want you here.’
‘We must talk.’
‘We have talked interminably.’
‘I am sorry about what I said last night.’
‘It is what Heloise said which concerns me more.’
‘You surely cannot blame that on me.’
‘I can, Philippe.’ She turned to face him. ‘Indirectly.’
‘How could I have stopped Heloise?’
‘Think, you stupid man!’
‘I will not be spoken to like that!’ he said, reddening.
‘Then do not provoke me.’
‘How am I at fault?’
‘An ugly family secret cannot be divulged when it does not exist.’
‘It does not, Marguerite. Any longer.’
‘Have you so soon shrugged it off?’
‘No!’
‘I did not think even you were that callous.’
‘There is no need to insult me.’
‘I thought you might take it as a compliment.’
‘Marguerite!’
‘Do not bellow so.’
‘I am your husband!’
‘Will I ever be allowed to forget that?’
‘It gives me certain rights. Legal and moral rights.’
‘Rights have to be earned,’ she said, standing up with eyes blazing. ‘Remember who I am, Philippe. And what I am. You are not talking to your first wife now.’
Trouville's exasperation made the veins in his temple stand out and deepened the hue in his cheeks. He battled to hold on to his anger. He was in a dilemma. Expected at the shire hall by his colleagues, he felt that his place was with his wife, trying to achieve, if not a reconciliation, at least a degree of calm between them. There had been arguments with Marguerite before and he found it easier to permit her an occasional victory in order to prevent a war of attrition. But they had never seemed quite so far apart as at that moment and it galled him that he was unable to do anything about it.
‘I will have to leave,’ he decided at length.
‘Adieu!’ she said, crossing to open the door for him.
‘Is that all you have to say to me?’
‘Words could not express my full disgust.’
‘What have I done, Marguerite?’
‘Go to the shire hall. Try to do something correctly.’
‘Tell me,’ he insisted. ‘What is my crime?’
‘You married me!’
The contempt in her voice rocked him. He spread his arms.
‘I loved you. I wanted you. I needed you.’
‘Did you ever consider my needs?’
‘Constantly. Besides, nobody forced you to marry me.’
‘That is a matter of opinion.’
Biting back a reply, he strode across to the open door.
‘We will discuss this later,’ he said, trying to assert himself. ‘When you have come to your senses. And when you have realised that I am not the villain here. The person to blame is Heloise.’
‘Forget her. She is gone.’
‘Where?’
‘Who cares? She has been dismissed.’
‘Heloise has gone for good?’
‘I hope so. It will teach her to keep her mouth shut in future.’
‘Were you so furious with her, Marguerite?’
‘No,’ she said vehemently. ‘I was only annoyed with her. I reserve my full fury for you. Go now, Philippe. And do not hurry back.’
Chapter Eight
The afternoon session at the shire hall gave them a severe jolt. After such an efficient start to their deliberations that morning, Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret were confident that they could continue in the same vein and, with the help of colleagues who were now proven assets, build on their earlier success. It was not to be. Everything conspired against them. When the session was due to begin, Philippe Trouville was not even there, arriving late with profuse apologies but so preoccupied thereafter that he seemed in some sort of dream. Archdeacon Theobald, too, was far less effective than during his first outing, nervous, hesitant and uncharacteristically slow in grasping salient detail. The burden of the examination fell squarely on the shoulders of Ralph and Gervase.
Had the case before them been a simple one they would not have minded but it developed complexities which had not been visible when they'd first studied the documents relating to it. Holdings which ran to several hides were being fought over by three different people, each of whom appeared to have a valid claim, but in the interval between the visit of the first commissioners and the arrival of the second team, one of the disputants had died and left a controversial will which was being hotly contested and whose provisions spilled over into the shire hall. The tribunal found itself presiding over a ferocious family battle before it could begin to address the problem of who rightfully owned the property in question.
The session was long, convoluted and increasingly tedious. When the bell was heard ringing for vespers they were still no nearer a decision and had to adjourn the proceedings until the following day. As they gathered up their things, the commissioners were tired and jaded. Alone of the team, Brother Benedict retained his buoyancy.
‘That was intriguing,’ he said.
‘It was the apotheosis of boredom,’ groaned Ralph.
‘Surely not, my lord. All human activity has interest.’
‘I disagree.’
‘Who would have thought that such an apparently civilised group of people could descend to such violent abuse of each other? You did wonders in controlling them, my lord. The dispute itself had so many twists and turns. It was stimulating.’
‘I wish that I could say the same,’ observed Theobald drily. ‘I have to admit that I had great difficulty following those twists and turns. If Gervase had not been so sure-footed a guide, I would have been lost.’
‘I was myself at times,’ confessed Gervase.
‘So was I,’ said Ralph, ‘and the worst of it is that we have more of the same nonsense tomorrow. If the judgement were solely in my hands, I would divide that property into three equal parts, give one to each of the claimants, then throw them out on their ungrateful necks.’
‘That would not be kind,’ said Benedict.
‘Nor ethical,’ said Theobald.
‘Nor legally defensible,’ said Gervase.
Ralph grinned. ‘Who cares? It would give me peace of mind.’
As soon as the session ended, Trouville hurried back to the castle but the others returned at a more leisurely pace, walking through the darkened streets with their escort behind them. When they went in through the gate Theobald headed straight for the chapel but his colleagues lingered in the bailey. It was the first opportunity which Ralph had to tell Benedict about their visit to Adam Reynard's manor house. The monk was keen to hear all the details and kept one eye on the dungeons as he did so, running a meditative hand over his bald pate and murmuring softly to himself. Though the questioning of Grimketel produced no new murder suspect, it confirmed all three men in their belief that the blacksmith was innocent of the crime.
‘I will visit him again,’ decided Benedict. ‘He is like a caged animal down in that dungeon. Alone and bewildered. It will ease his despair to know that we are working on his behalf.’
‘Not only us,’ said Gervase. ‘Asmoth is doing her share.’
‘That news will rally him the most.’
‘If you are allowed to pass it on to Boio,’ said Ralph.
‘I will be, my lord.’
‘The lord Henry may obstruct you.’
‘I can talk my way past any obstruction.’
It was a cheerful boast but it soon foundered. When the three men reached the keep the constable was waiting for them, his body rigid with anger and his eyes smouldering. Only a room as large as the hall could contain his anger and he led them to it before rounding on them with a voice like the swish of a battleaxe.
‘Hell and damnation!’ he roared, stamping a foot for emphasis. What on earth do you think you are doing?’
‘Doing, my lord?’ asked Ralph innocently.
‘You went riding off to Adam Reynard's house.’
‘Ah, you have heard.’
‘He came here in person to complain to me.’
‘I had a feeling that he might.’
‘You had no right whatsoever to interrogate him or his man. No right, in fact, to be anywhere near his land. Why did you do it?’
‘Calm yourself, my lord,’ soothed Ralph with a smile. ‘It is not as sinister as it sounds. Gervase and I found the shire hall excessively musty this morning. Needing some fresh air, we went for a ride outside the town and found ourselves on Adam Reynard's property. It seemed foolish not to make his acquaintance when he is shortly to appear before the tribunal. So we elected to call on him.’
The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9) Page 14
