‘Coventry! How did he get that far?’
‘I do not know, my lord.’
‘Is he taken? Held in chains? Who captured him? They will be richly rewarded for this service. Speak, man. Tell me all.’
‘Boio has not been captured, I fear.’
‘Then where is he?’
‘At the abbey. They have granted him sanctuary.’
‘What!’ roared Henry. ‘To a murderer!’
The news spread around the castle like wildfire. Jaded by their futile search, the soldiers were revived by the information that the blacksmith had finally been located but they were irked that he was, at least temporarily, beyond their reach. Gervase and Ralph were relieved to hear that the fugitive was safe, and Brother Benedict, now freed from the very cell which had once held Boio, was thrilled and fell into a long discussion with Theobald about the moral essence of sanctuary. Henry Beaumont recognised no moral essence. His first instinct was to ride through the night to Coventry and demand that the fugitive be yielded up to him but common sense and fatigue combined to dissuade him. It was Trouville who suggested a compromise.
‘Let me go to Coventry, my lord,’ he offered.
‘Now?’
‘When I have spoken with my wife and taken refreshment. Fresh horses will carry us there. I will not usurp your authority,’ he vowed. ‘I will simply establish that Boio is still within the precincts of the abbey before I mount a guard on it. That way, he will not escape. When you arrive in the town tomorrow, you can tell the abbot his duty.’
‘The bishop,’ said Henry. ‘Robert de Limesey.’
‘I had forgotten that he was there as well.’
‘More's the pity! He is an obstinate old goat. The abbot might have given way to my threats but the bishop will dig in his heels. No matter. I'll prise Boio out of their grasp somehow. Thank you, my lord,’ he said, appraising Trouville. ‘I embrace your offer willingly. Unlike your fellows, you have been a source of help to me. It will not go unmentioned when I next meet the King in council.’
‘Thank you, my lord!’ said Trouville. ‘One question.’
‘Well?’
‘What if we catch the fugitive trying to slip away in the night?’
‘Kill him!’
Huna was overjoyed to meet his benefactor again. When he was taken to the abbey and shown into the chamber where Boio was waiting, he flung out his arms in greeting and embraced him. Brother Reginald and an armed guard were also present but that did not inhibit the old man at all. The life of an itinerant had made him used to an audience.
‘What are you doing here, my friend?’ he said.
‘They have granted me sanctuary.’
‘That is more than they offered me.’
‘I need your help, Huna.’
‘It is yours for the asking.’
‘Tell them the truth about that morning when I shoed the donkey.’
‘But I have already done so, Boio.’
‘You have?’
‘They came to the gaol to talk to me.’
‘Who did?’
‘The two men. Royal commissioners, no less. You have friends in high places, Boio. They were keen to help you.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because they believe you are wrongly accused. So do I.’
‘But who were these two men?’ asked Boio.
‘One was called Gervase Bret and the other, Ralph Delchard. They came to Warwick on the King's business but got involved in yours.’
‘How? They do not even know me.’
‘One of their number does. Brother Benedict.’
The blacksmith nodded. ‘He was very kind to me.’
‘He paid for his kindness,’ said Huna ruefully. ‘The constable of the castle believed that he helped you to escape so he has flung him into the cell which you left.’ Boio was wounded by the news. ‘You will have to go back and show him how to escape from it.’
‘I got away on my own. It was not Brother Benedict's doing.’
‘God will release him soon.’
Reginald sniffed loudly and shuffled his feet in disapproval.
The two friends talked on. Boio was astonished to hear that complete strangers had taken up his cause and ridden to Coventry on his behalf. He was deeply moved by their belief in him. At the same time, he knew that they could not save him from Henry Beaumont. Only the testimony of Huna could do that and the old man could hardly give it if he was locked up in a gaol. Both men were heartened simply by being together again. They had suffered a great deal since their last meeting. Boio bore the physical scars of his experience but Huna carried his suffering lightly.
‘I have had a good time here in Coventry,’ he said blithely.
‘But they arrested you.’
‘Even bad things have a good side to them. I had the pleasure of meeting the bishop himself and discussing the Word of God with him. And,’ he continued, indicating Reginald, ‘I was also able to meet his holy brother here. It has been a privilege. But they are not the only friends I have met. We spent the night with Ursa and his master.’
‘Ursa?’
‘A performing bear.’
‘How did you meet him?’
When the old man recalled the bear's antics in the marketplace, he actually managed to make the blacksmith laugh. Bound up in his own problems for the last few days, Boio found the tale diverting enough to forget them. Laughter was a blessed relief. Brother Reginald took another view. The men had not been brought together to enjoy each other's company but to furnish information. Since they were no longer doing that the conversation was abruptly terminated.
The guard took Huna by the arm and led him to the door. Boio was deeply distressed to see him go. He reached out a hand in supplication.
‘Huna!’
‘Yes, my friend.’
‘What is going to happen to me?’
‘You will be saved,’ said the old man with a grin.
‘Saved? But how?’
‘I will perform another miracle.’
Warwick Castle was bustling with activity long before dawn. Its constable was ready to depart for Coventry at first light with twenty armed men at his back, a sufficient display of force, he felt, to incline both abbot and bishop to accede to his demands. Ralph Delchard was not far behind him, riding out of the gate with six of his men and veering off on the road towards the Forest of Arden. It was a brisk morning but the sun soon appeared to gild the countryside and to lift their spirits. In a place as large and sprawling as the forest, it was not easy to track down the man they were after but they eventually found him on patrol around the fringes. Ralph and his men surrounded him.
‘Warin the Forester?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said the man politely.
‘My name is Ralph Delchard. I am in Warwick with others on the King's business and, in a sense, that is what has brought me here. The protection of his forests is very much the King's business.’
‘He will hear no complaints about us.’
‘No, the lord Henry tells me that you all know your occupation.’
‘I was born to it, my lord.’
Warin had an easy assurance. He was a sturdy man, almost six feet in height, and his weathered face had a craggy handsomeness. He was not afraid that seven men in helm and hauberk had accosted him.
‘Is the hunting good?’ asked Ralph.
‘Very good, my lord. You must ride here with the lord Henry.’
‘He is engaged in another hunt at the moment.’
‘We have roe deer and fallow deer in abundance.’
‘So I hear.’
‘Everyone who hunts here is pleased.’
‘Does that include Grimketel?’
‘Grimketel?’ said Warin, his manner becoming more circumspect. ‘I do not know the man.’
‘Then you will not have heard that he has been murdered.’
‘Murdered? When?’ A shadow of fear passed across his face.
‘You show surprising concern for the death of a man you do not even know,’ sai
d Ralph. ‘And I suppose you know nothing about the carcasses of three fallow deer I found hanging in his outhouse?’
‘No, my lord. Was this man a poacher?’
‘In the pay of Adam Reynard–but you have probably never heard of him either, have you?’ Ralph dismounted. ‘It is too cold to bandy words out here. Reynard has confessed to me. He names you as the accomplice who helped Grimketel to poach those deer.’
‘Then he is lying!’
‘Is he?’
Warin saw the glint in the other's eye and knew that he was trapped. Denial was pointless. His only hope lay in trying to ingratiate himself. He flashed a deathly grin at Ralph.
‘I am no poacher, my lord,’ he said. ‘To take deer I am paid to protect would be a terrible crime. Grimketel had rights of warren, that is how I came to meet him. He asked me to look the other way from time to time, that is the height of my offence.’
‘That would be bad enough in itself but there is far more, Warin. You know the habits of deer, Grimketel did not. The only way for him to fill Adam Reynard's larder was to have your assistance. When did you catch them? The deer I saw looked as if they were killed earlier this week.’ He gave an enquiring smile. ‘It wouldn't happen to be on the same morning that a dead body was found in the forest, would it?’
‘I don't know what you mean.’
‘I think you do, my friend.’ Ralph looked him up and down, trying to assess his strength. ‘What I am wondering is whether you should face a more serious charge than poaching.’
‘More serious?’
‘Wrestle with me.’
‘What?’
‘Wrestle with me,’ said Ralph. ‘Try a fall.’
‘Why?’
‘Just do it, man!’
Ralph jumped at him and they grappled hard. Though Warin had no wish for combat, he defended himself well. Catching Ralph off balance, he suddenly hurled him to the ground, then went into a gabbled apology. Ralph climbed to his feet with a grin and dusted himself off.
‘You are a strong man, Warin,’ he said approvingly. ‘Strong enough to throw me and strong enough–perhaps–to get the better of Martin Reynard.’ He snapped an order. ‘Seize him!’
Asmoth did not sleep at all throughout the night. It was not only because of her father's wheezing and coughing, nor because she had to get up from time to time to give him water, comfort him, tuck him into bed then mend the fire. Those duties were such second nature to her now that she could perform them when only half awake. What kept her fretting on her mattress was her fear for Boio's safety. When she dropped him off near Coventry on the previous day, she did not even know if he would reach the abbey, let alone be given sanctuary there, and she wished he had let her go with him. But he insisted that she had taken enough risks for him already and urged her to return the horse and cart before going back to her sick father. Even in his extremity, Boio had concern for her.
Dawn found her still caught up in her recriminations. Her father's needs then took over. She made and served him some breakfast, soothed him until he dropped off to sleep once more, then put the last of the logs on the fire. As she gazed into the flames, she thought of the crackling blaze at the forge and of the many happy hours she had sat beside it as she talked with her friend. Whatever happened now, she might never see Boio again. The only way she would know his fate was by waiting to pick up gossip from her neighbours. The thought made her head spin. She made herself a meal but found she had no appetite to eat it.
When she left the house, someone was waiting outside for her.
‘Hello, Asmoth,’ said Gervase gently.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, instantly alarmed.
‘There is no need to worry. I will not harm you. I brought an escort but I made them wait a distance away so that they would not frighten you. I just wanted to talk to you, that is all.’
‘Have you brought news of Boio?’
‘He claimed right of sanctuary at the abbey in Coventry.’
‘They have taken him in?’
‘Yes.’
She heaved a sigh of relief. Her efforts had all been worthwhile.
‘I came to see you yesterday,’ he said.
‘Here?’
‘Yes. A man down the road told me that you would not be here. You had borrowed his horse and cart to take your father to Warwick.’
‘That was right.’
‘But your father was still here. I talked with him.’
‘Oh!’
‘Then I took the road to Warwick myself,’ he said quietly. ‘We would surely have overtaken you if you had been heading that way.’ Asmoth blushed guiltily. ‘Have no fear. I will not betray your secret. I know that you drove Boio to Coventry in that cart and I know that you gave him the file which helped him to escape. We, too, have tried to help him. We went to Coventry and talked to the stranger who called at the forge with his donkey.’
‘Will he speak for Boio?’ she asked eagerly.
‘He will be pleased to if they let him out of gaol,’ said Gervase, ‘but I fear that it may have gone beyond the point where Huna's testimony alone will exonerate your friend. The lord Henry is very angry. He needs to hang someone for the murder of Martin Reynard. And for the second crime as well.’
‘The second one?’
‘Someone killed Grimketel yesterday.’
‘Grimketel?’ She was shocked. ‘Murdered?’
‘They are trying to blame that crime on Boio as well.’
‘But he did not do it,’ she said with sudden passion. ‘I know he didn't. He would have told me. We were friends. Boio was honest with me. When we talked yesterday, he told me everything.’ Her head lowered to her chest. ‘It showed me how much I meant to him,’ she whispered.
‘Did he mention Grimketel at all?’
‘No.’
‘Did he say where he had been?’
‘Running throughout the night, then dodging the men who were out looking for him. He went nowhere near Grimketel's house.’
‘That is what I decided.’
‘All he thought about was reaching me,’ she said proudly. ‘He waded four miles upstream to get here. He was soaked through when I found him.’
Gervase smiled. ‘He knew where to come.’
Asmoth fell silent, still not entirely sure that she should trust him and half expecting the soldiers to come out of hiding any moment to arrest her.
Gervase saw her anguish and tried to ease it. ‘You are quite safe,’ he assured her. ‘I only came to tell you that Boio was at the abbey because I knew that you helped to get him there.’
‘That was kind. Thank you.’
‘Will you do a kindness for me, Asmoth?’
She tensed slightly. ‘What?’
‘You said a moment ago that Boio told you everything. So he should, for you are the best friend he has. We are keen to prove his innocence but we may need a little more help. Now,’ he said, moving in closer, ‘when you talked with him yesterday did Boio say anything else about Martin Reynard or about that morning when he was supposed to have been seen in the forest near the place where the reeve lay dead? Even the smallest detail may make a difference.’ She remained mute. ‘You spoke with Boio. We have not. You may be in a position to help your friend, Asmoth. Think hard. What did you talk about yesterday?’ He saw the flicker of apprehension in her eyes. ‘Tell me, please. For his sake. What was it that Boio said to you?’
A look of blank refusal came over her face and she backed away.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘Will you go now?’
For the second day in succession the castle seemed largely deserted. Most of those left behind accepted the situation without complaint but one of them was not attuned to the notion of resignation. The lady Marguerite felt obliged to have a tantrum.
‘Where is everybody?’ she wailed, pacing restlessly.
‘They are called away on business,’ said Adela quietly.
‘The lord Henry is, I can see that. He is the constable of the
castle and has responsibilities. But why,’ she demanded, ‘does my husband go riding off to Coventry in the dark? What is the point of bringing me here if he is not willing to spend any time with me? It is so inconsiderate. I have lost Heloise, I am in a strange place and Philippe abandons me. It is too much to bear!’
‘Your husband has not abandoned you,’ said Golde, ‘any more than mine has abandoned me. It is one of the perils of marrying men of importance, my lady. Work preoccupies them.’
‘I want a man who is preoccupied with me!’
‘That can be tiresome after a while,’ suggested Adela.
‘It is better than being left all on my own. Especially now Heloise has gone.’
‘You are not on your own, Marguerite.’
‘No,’ said Golde. ‘We are neglected wives as well.’
Marguerite would not be appeased. They were in Adela's chamber in the keep but its usual tranquillity was shattered by a shrieking voice and stamping feet as Marguerite circled the room to vent her spleen. Her companions gave up trying to calm her down and let her rant on for several minutes. It was only when, lacking Heloise's moderating influence, she had worked herself up into a pitch of impotent rage that she seemed to realise what she was doing. She let out a cry of horror and rushed to shower her hostess with apologies.
‘I am so sorry, my lady. I did not mean to offend you.’
‘You did not, Marguerite.’
‘I just feel so ignored.’
‘You will have to learn to live with that, I fear.’
‘It is so ridiculous,’ said Marguerite. ‘Often when my husband is with me, I just wish that he would go away yet when he does, I miss him.’
‘It is called marriage,’ commented Golde softly.
‘I want more!’
‘More of what, my lady?’
‘More of everything,’ asserted Marguerite, eyes flashing. ‘More love, more wealth, more attention, more pleasure, more interest, more husband, more of a proper marriage.’
Adela smiled. ‘What is a proper marriage? I am not sure that I would care to answer that question. Would you, Golde?’
‘We would all have different ideas on the subject.’
‘Both of you seem to have proper marriages,’ said Marguerite.
‘Do we?’ said Adela.
‘Yes, you both seem settled. You have grown into your situation.’
The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9) Page 24
