The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9)

by Edward Marston

  ‘So might our other suspect.’

  ‘There is another?’

  ‘There may be,’ said Gervase. ‘The lord Henry made a jest of it but the man might still warrant investigation. He is as resolute as Adam Reynard in pursuit of those disputed holdings. The loss of his reeve at such a critical moment will disadvantage Thorkell when he pleads his case in the shire hall, but it will greatly help his rivals.’

  Ralph blinked. ‘Do I hear you aright, Gervase?’

  ‘We must examine every option here.’

  ‘Would such a man instigate a murder?’

  ‘If he stood to gain enough by it, Ralph. And if he was sufficiently ruthless. I do not know him and hesitate to malign him but there are rumours about the way that he acquired land to the north of Coventry. It is said that forgery was involved.’ He turned to his companion. ‘If a man will condone forgery, is it such a big step to approve of homicide?’

  ‘No, it is not.’

  ‘Let us make full use of our time in Coventry.’

  ‘Call on him to make his acquaintance?’

  ‘Yes, Ralph,’ said Gervase seriously. ‘It may pay us to take a shrewd look at the Bishop Robert of Lichfield.’

  Robert de Limesey was at his most incisive when he assumed a judicial role. Brother Reginald, acting as scribe to the proceedings, was only a mute witness but he was nervous in the presence of the saintly bishop. What irritated the monk was that the old man before them showed no sign of apprehension. Arrested in the street and hauled roughly to the abbey, the man did not seem at all upset by the experience or troubled by the severity of the charge which he faced. He stood there calmly, flanked by the two armed men who had seized him, and answered every question with amiable willingness. No interpreter was needed. The prisoner had sufficient command of French to be able to understand, a fact which in itself was highly disturbing to Reginald, who believed that the Devil's voice was talking to them through the agency of an ignorant old man. The chapter house was being used for the examination and the bishop's voice explored every crevice of it as it rang out. Seated in the abbot's chair and wearing full vestments, he pointed a bony finger down at the accused man.

  ‘You have been brought here on a charge of sorcery,’ he said.

  ‘Have I, my lord bishop?’

  ‘Do you know what the penalty is?’

  ‘It does not matter, for it does not apply to me.’

  ‘That is for me to decide.’

  ‘I am no sorcerer,’ said the old man.

  ‘Then what are you?’

  ‘A humble traveller who helps the sick with his gifts.’

  ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Huna.’

  ‘Where do you come from?’

  ‘I have no home but the place where I am at any moment.’

  ‘Where were you born?’

  ‘In London.’

  ‘Who were your parents?’

  ‘They were good Christians, my lord bishop.’

  ‘What was your father's occupation?’

  ‘He was a carpenter.’

  Bishop Robert gurgled and Reginald's stylus slipped on the parchment.

  ‘That is to say, he helped to build houses,’ continued Huna. ‘My father was a strong man, used to hewing beams from the trunks of trees. I was far too puny for such work and spent more time with my mother.’

  ‘Your mother?’ echoed the bishop.

  ‘She was a herb-gatherer.’

  ‘Now we are getting somewhere.’

  ‘She took me out into the country and taught me which herbs would cure what diseases. That was how I discovered my gifts.’

  ‘Gifts?’

  ‘For making herbal compounds of my own. For devising stronger remedies than any which my mother knew. People came to us. When she was not able to help them, I often could. They trusted me. That is one of my other gifts. To inspire trust.’ He gave a smile. ‘Though the skill seems to have deserted me in here.’

  Robert's frown deepened. ‘Do not be humorous with me.’

  ‘I was never more solemn, my lord bishop.’

  ‘You were watched.’

  ‘Watched?’

  ‘Evidence had been laid against you by a reliable witness. What he saw in the marketplace today was a display of witchcraft.’

  ‘I cured a sick boy, that is all.’

  ‘You cured someone beyond the reach of any physician.’

  ‘But not beyond the reach of God.’

  ‘God!’ repeated the other with proprietary anger. ‘Do you dare to link your devilish practices with the name of the Almighty?’

  ‘What else am I to do?’

  ‘Admit the truth. Your master dwells in hell itself.’

  ‘Then he has chosen the wrong servant in me,’ replied Huna. ‘For I will never do his bidding. I cure and save. That is God's work. If I was in the Devil's employ, I would be urged to maim and kill. There are herbs which are capable of doing both but I would not use them. Ask of the boy who was cured today. He and his father went straight off to church to give thanks. They do not believe I practised evil. I drove the demons out of the boy's body and allowed the wonder of God to come in.’

  ‘This is blasphemy!’

  ‘It is my mission,’ said Huna simply.

  ‘A mission to corrupt by the use of black arts.’

  ‘I use my gifts on those in need.’

  ‘Only because nobody has tried to stop you before.’

  ‘Oh, they have, my lord bishop. They have, they have.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In a number of towns. Some have driven me out, others sought to put me on trial as you are doing right now. But God always spared me to continue His work.’

  ‘Stop hiding behind the name of God!’

  ‘I am not hiding. I am proud to be His servant.’

  ‘And is that the height of your pretence?’

  ‘My pretence?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the bishop sourly. ‘When you spoke in the marketplace yesterday you claimed to be more than a servant. You compared yourself with the Lord Jesus. Do you deny it?’

  ‘No, my lord bishop.’

  ‘That was both a sin and a crime.’

  ‘Then every Christian is both sinful and criminal,’ replied Huna with a bland smile. ‘On whom else should we pattern our lives but on Jesus Christ? He was the Son of God who was sent down from heaven to earth to act as our guide. We all strive to follow His example. When I compared myself to Christ, it was only to show that I was trying to follow where He led, to help those most in need with whatever gifts we have. Mine are poor indeed beside those of which we hear in the scriptures but that does not stop me comparing myself with Jesus. I aspire to walk in His footsteps, that is all. Does not any God-fearing man? If that is blasphemy, then we are all guilty of it, even you and Brother Reginald.’

  The speed and coherence of the old man's words made Robert de Limesey gape in astonishment. Recovering his poise, he brought the accusatory finger back into action. His voice reached a whole new octave of controlled indignation.

  ‘Be silent!’ he ordered. ‘Do you have the effrontery to preach a sermon to me? Do you know who I am? And what I am?’

  ‘Yes, my lord bishop.’

  ‘I could have you whipped for insolence.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Or thrown into the town gaol.’

  ‘That would be no worse a place than most I inhabit,’ said Huna wryly. ‘When you spent last night – as I did – sleeping in a stable with a donkey and a performing bear, you do not fear the town gaol.’

  ‘You will fear what follows it, Huna.’

  ‘What is that, my lord bishop?’

  ‘Trial and conviction for sorcery.’

  ‘On what evidence?’

  ‘We will produce witnesses,’ said the bishop. ‘They will include the boy you claim to have cured and his father. They are being questioned by the abbot even as we speak.’

  ‘They will not say anything against me.’
r />   ‘We shall see.’

  ‘I promised I could cure the boy and I did.’

  ‘By means of witchcraft!’

  ‘By using healing gifts which come from God.’

  ‘I have heard enough,’ said the bishop with a flick of his hand. ‘Have him locked up until he can answer my questions more honestly. Mark this, old man,’ he warned. ‘Your age will not save you. The Devil comes in many forms to beguile us. If it is proved that you are his creature, you will be burned at the stake as a warning to others. And I will light the faggots myself.’

  Hunting was one of the ruling passions in the life of Philippe Trouville and he was never happier than when pursuing deer or wild boar. The excitement was even greater, he now discovered, when the quarry was human and marked for slaughter. Trouville soon joined up with the search party led by Henry Beaumont, and the thrill of the chase helped him to forget all about his marital disquiet and his tiresome duties as a commissioner. Riding through the Forest of Arden, he was able to enjoy good sport and ingratiate himself with his host at the same time. The lord Henry was a valuable friend with a seat on the King's council. If Trouville was to become sherrif of the neighbouring county, he would need to be on good terms with the constable of Warwick Castle.

  ‘Are you sure that he came in this direction, my lord?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ replied Henry, ‘but it is the most likely route to take.’

  ‘Would he not strike south to get out of the county itself?’

  ‘He will get short shrift from Robert d'Oilly if he does. The Sheriff of Oxfordshire will hunt him with as much zeal as ourselves. But I do not want the prize to fall to him. Boio is mine!’

  ‘I hear that he presents a large target.’

  ‘Very large.’

  ‘Slower than deer and bigger than wild boar. We should not have much difficulty in finding prey of this nature. He has no hope at all of outrunning us.’

  They emerged from the trees into one of the many clearings which speckled the forest. Henry raised an arm to call a halt. While he talked to his companion, Trouville's concentration did not slacken. His keen eye roved in every direction. Vigilance was eventually rewarded. Seeing a movement among the bushes on the other side of the clearing, he did not pause for a second.

  ‘There he is!’ he yelled and spurred his horse.

  The rest of the posse gave chase but Trouville was twenty yards ahead of them, his sword drawn and his voice raised in a battle cry. He caught sight of the fleeing man and kicked more speed from his horse. Overhauling his quarry with ease, he used the flat of his sword to knock the man to the ground, then reined in his destrier, dismounted in one fluent move and ran back to place a foot on the captive's chest. He looked up at Henry with a grin of triumph but his host was crestfallen when he saw the dishevelled little man squirming on the ground.

  ‘That is not Boio,’ he said.

  ‘Is it not?’

  ‘It is some miserable poacher half his size.’ He turned to one of his men. ‘Arrest him and hand him over to a forester. I'll have the wretch's eyes for poaching and his balls for giving us false hope. Away with him!’

  Coventry was much smaller than Warwick, with nothing like its scope or presence, but it was a pleasant place which had made a steady journey from village to town since the endowment of its Benedictine Abbey. Situated on the River Sherbourne, its mills were able to make full use of the rushing waters. Abbey and churches dominated but there was no castle and no perimeter wall. A motte-and-bailey fortress had been raised in Brinklow to the north-east, close enough to Coventry for the Count of Meulan, who resided in the castle, to visit the town with ease but far enough away to keep him unimpeded by its civic activity. Ralph was agreeably surprised by the size and appearance of the town. The returns from the earlier commissioners gave the impression that Coventry was no more than a large agricultural estate, but Gervase had been able to read between the lines of the abbreviated Latin in the Great Survey and thus saw exactly what he expected.

  The newcomers rode along the busy main street of the town.

  ‘A lively place,’ said Ralph. ‘I looked for something sleepier.’

  ‘The Bishop of Lichfield would not move to a village,’ argued Gervase. ‘Coventry is well placed. Come back in ten years and we may find it twice the size that it is.’

  ‘One visit is enough for me. That was only by force.’

  ‘We are on an errand of mercy, Ralph.’

  ‘Is that what it is?’ He stared around him. ‘I can see no old man with a donkey.’

  ‘Let someone else find him for us.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The monks at the abbey. Nothing will escape their notice.’

  They steered their horses towards the huge stone edifice which they had seen from miles away. When they'd announced themselves to the porter they waited while word was sent directly to the abbot. Visitors as important as royal commissioners did not call every day and the two friends were not kept waiting for long. Instead of being taken to the abbot, however, they were instead shepherded along by Brother Reginald to meet the bishop. Robert de Limesey rose graciously from his chair and gave an ethereal smile as the introductions were performed.

  ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ he said, waving them to seats and indicating that Reginald should lurk in the background. ‘I take it that this visit concerns my claim to certain holdings in the county and I appreciate your kindness in coming here instead of forcing me to make the journey to Warwick. Litigation can be so wearing. Is there no way that this dispute can be settled without recourse to endless haggling in the shire hall?’

  ‘I fear not, my lord bishop,’ said Ralph. ‘We are not here to discuss your claim with you. Our business in Coventry does not concern our judicial duties at all.’

  ‘It may do so indirectly,’ corrected Gervase. ‘That is true.’

  ‘And it is the reason our work was suspended.’

  ‘Perhaps you would care to explain.’

  ‘I wish that somebody would,’ said the bishop. ‘I am confused.’

  ‘Thus it stands, my lord bishop,’ began Gervase.

  His recital of events was clear and succinct. Robert was deeply disappointed that they had not come to show favour towards his property claim and he was shaken by the news of the murder and the escape of the man charged with it but the biggest jolt came when the old man with the donkey was mentioned.

  ‘Can you describe this fellow, Master Bret?’

  ‘All that we know is that he is old, poor and was heading this way. He sells potions to cure the sick and claims to be a miracle worker.’

  ‘And this,’ said the bishop, clicking his tongue, ‘is the witness on whom you rely to clear the blacksmith's name?’

  ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘Then your hopes are doomed.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Ralph. ‘Is the man not here?’

  ‘Oh, he is here right enough. Safe behind bars where he should be. The fellow is in league with the Devil. I have examined him myself and feel there is a strong case to put him on trial for witchcraft.’

  ‘But we need the man.’

  ‘His testimony would be unsound.’

  ‘Nevertheless we must hear it.’

  ‘Do not waste your time, my lord.’

  ‘We have not come all this way to leave empty-handed.’

  ‘Would you presume to take him from us by force?’

  ‘If necessary, yes!’

  ‘No, my lord bishop,’ said Gervase, raising a conciliatory palm. ‘We would do nothing without your permission. The lord Ralph spoke in jest. We are pleased to hear that the man is actually here though we could wish him at liberty. Does he have a name?’

  ‘Huna,’ said the bishop.

  ‘Where does the man hail from?’

  ‘The depths of hell – though he claims to have descended from the kingdom of heaven. A devil will always quote scripture.’

  ‘Was he aggressive under questioning?’

  �
�No,’ admitted the other. ‘Calm. Unnaturally calm.’

  ‘And he gave you ready answers?’

  ‘We could not stop him. The man has more ready answers than anyone I have ever encountered. He had the gall to preach at me.’

  ‘Let us speak with Huna,’ said Gervase.

  ‘That will not be possible.’

  ‘It must be!’ insisted Ralph.

  ‘With your consent, of course,’ said Gervase, nodding in deference to the bishop before shooting Ralph a warning glance. ‘It may be to your advantage, my lord bishop.’

  ‘Advantage?’ His interest was roused. ‘How?’

  ‘We will not only talk to him about his visit to the forge. We will also test his character. When he came before you, he was an accused man facing a judge. He had plausible answers for questions which he already predicted. It is not so with us,’ said Gervase. ‘He will be off his guard. Though we will discuss his meeting with the blacksmith, we will also sound him on your behalf. If witchcraft is involved, we will soon coax it out of him. Trust us, my lord bishop. We are cunning interrogators. We will learn exactly what you wish to know.’

  Robert de Limesey scrutinised him through narrowed lids then crooked a finger to beckon Reginald across. The monk was at his side in a flash and the two of them had a long mumbled conversation. Ralph tapped an impatient foot but Gervase kept his composure. At length the bishop flicked Reginald away again then rose from his seat.

  ‘What you are offering me is a form of bargain. Correct?’

  ‘Yes, my lord bishop,’ said Gervase.

  ‘Both of us stand to gain.’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘I see,’ said Robert, eyes sparkling. ‘It is refreshing to find you so amenable. The notion of a bargain is appealing.’ He put his hands together in prayer. ‘Let us talk about the dispute in which I am engaged over property which I dearly covet.’

  Adam Reynard was in the middle of his meal when the visitor called. The servant opened the front door to admit Grimketel, who was twitching with fright. Reynard was not pleased to have his favourite occupation interrupted. He chewed the last of the chicken, then sluiced it down his throat with a cup of wine. His wife and servant withdrew so that he could accost Grimketel alone.