The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10)

by Edward Marston

  ‘That will not be feasible, my lord.’

  ‘Did you not summon him in time?’

  ‘Of course. He had ample warning.’

  ‘Yet he fails to present himself on the appointed day. What are we to make of this?’ he asked, turning to his colleagues. ‘Is this a deliberate attempt to flout our authority or is the Archdeacon of Gwent so absent-minded that he forgot that he was due in Gloucester today?’

  ‘You will have to ask him,’ suggested Nigel.

  ‘Not if it means sitting on our arses in here until it grows dark,’ said Ralph sourly, rising to his feet. ‘We will have to delay the ambiguous pleasure of making his acquaintance until tomorrow.’ He glared at Nigel. ‘See that he presents himself here when the abbey bell rings for Prime.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘If he does not, he will not be heard at all.’

  ‘I will emphasise that to him,’ said Nigel, turning to leave.

  ‘One moment,’ called Ralph, checking his departure. ‘Hamelin of Lisieux was here earlier and seemed to know that Abraham the Priest was now included in this dispute, a fact of which the other two claimants were noticeably ignorant.’

  ‘What point are you trying to make, my lord?’

  ‘That you disclosed privileged information to Hamelin.’

  A curled lip. ‘Did I?’

  ‘He probably knew about the archdeacon before we did.’

  Nigel was unruffled. ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ralph angrily. ‘You are there to serve us, not to show favour towards someone who is due to appear before the commission. Impartiality is our touchstone and it should be yours as well.’

  ‘It always is, my lord.’

  ‘Not in this case. What else did you tell Hamelin of Lisieux? What other unfair advantage did you give him over his rivals? Are all your dealings based on whispered warnings to your friends?’

  ‘I deny that I have done anything wrong,’ said Nigel haughtily. ‘Please excuse me while I attend to more pressing matters.’

  ‘I'll give him pressing matters!’ growled Ralph as the reeve went out of the door. ‘I'll press that stupid head between my hands until his eyes pop out! I'll wager he told Hamelin who sat on the commission and how best he could win us over.’

  ‘By dangling his pretty wife in front of you,’ said Hubert sharply. ‘Come, Brother Simon,’ he added before Ralph could reply, ‘we must take advantage of this early end to our deliberations. If we hurry back to the abbey, we may be in time to attend the funeral of Brother Nicholas.’

  Gathering up their belongings, they exchanged farewells with their two colleagues and bustled out of the hall. Ralph was still fuming in silence. Gervase searched in his satchel.

  ‘Canon Hubert is right,’ he said, taking out a small parchment. ‘We must put aside our own concerns and think of Brother Nicholas instead. Here is the list of tenants you requested from Abbot Serlo,’ he continued, holding it up. ‘Why do we not make best use of this unexpected freedom and ride out to the holding last visited by Brother Nicholas?’

  ‘I am not in the mood for social visits.’

  ‘Then I will go alone, Ralph.’

  ‘Do so.’

  ‘I feel that it's important.’

  ‘Wait,’ said his friend as Gervase was about to move off. ‘Forgive my choler. Our royal reeve made my blood boil with his impudence. You are right, Gervase. This matter must be pursued. Besides, a ride will help to clear my pounding head. Instead of contemplating murder, as I am doing now, I will be more usefully employed trying to solve one.’

  ‘Try to forget Nigel the Reeve.’

  ‘I will, Gervase, and I'm sorry to be so churlish.’

  ‘Turn your thoughts elsewhere.’

  Ralph grinned. ‘I will. To the lady Emma. She was an angel. I could have sat there and looked at her all day.’

  ‘That was her husband's intention. Let us go.’

  * * *

  Abbot Serlo opened the neck of the pouch and tipped its contents on to the table in his lodging. Even though he knew what to expect, Brother Frewine was duly surprised. The hoard was far bigger than he had imagined. The abbot reached down to pick up a handful of coins.

  ‘New-minted here in Gloucester.’

  ‘How much is there, Father Abbot?’

  ‘The amount is immaterial,’ said the other, dropping the coins back on to the pile. ‘The fact of its existence is shocking enough. Is this what you hoped to find when you searched Brother Nicholas's cell?’

  ‘I hoped to find nothing at all.’

  ‘But you sensed that you might. I am grateful to you, Brother Frewine. Your instinct was more reliable than my own. I was foolish enough to think that I had established complete discipline in the abbey and that all the monks were wholly committed to our common purpose. Obviously,’ he said, his voice heavy with sadness, ‘I was mistaken. Brother Nicholas rebelled against my leadership.’

  ‘It may look that way, Father Abbot.’

  ‘No other conclusion can be drawn. A hoard of coins was found hidden in his cell. Private possessions are strictly forbidden by the rules of the Order.’ He pointed at the table in disgust. ‘What use is money to a Benedictine monk? How could it be spent?’

  ‘On the abbey, perhaps,’ said the Precentor tentatively. ‘Who knows? Could not Brother Nicholas have been saving it up in order to present it to us?’ He saw the disbelief on the other's face. ‘No, probably not. I just hate to assume the worst about our dear departed brother, especially when his funeral is shortly to take place.’

  ‘You are a kind man, Brother Frewine,’ said the abbot, ‘and always search for the goodness in human beings. But the evidence is too overwhelming. Brother Nicholas betrayed his vows. Though we will mourn his death, we must also ask one of the questions it leaves behind him.’

  ‘What is that, Father Abbot?’

  ‘Where on earth did this money come from?’

  ‘I think that we can both hazard a guess at the answer.’

  ‘The rents?’

  ‘How else? Brother Nicholas must have been overcharging our tenants, entering the correct payments in the accounts and keeping the difference for himself.’

  Serlo shook his head. ‘Look at the coins.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They are fresh from the mint. Which of our tenants has shiny new coins in his pocket? They usually pay us in old and battered coinage with hands made filthy by work on the land. And there is another thing,’ he said wearily. ‘Tenants are quick to complain. If they felt that Brother Nicholas was putting up their rent unfairly, they would be banging on our gates in protest.’

  ‘All this is true.’

  ‘Put the money back in the pouch. It offends my sight.’

  ‘Yes, Father Abbot,’ said Frewine, gathering it up. ‘You will have to report this to the sheriff.’

  ‘Not until after the funeral. That takes precedence.’

  ‘What of the royal commissioners?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Those colleagues of Canon Hubert. They have shown a keen interest in the murder and are making enquiries on their own. Should they not be told about this distressing evidence?’

  Abbot Serlo frowned. ‘I will need to think about that.’

  ‘Did you know that Brother Nicholas was murdered?’ asked Gervase.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The sheriff's officers told me when they came to question me.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘The same as I will tell you. I had nothing to do with his death.’

  ‘You were the last person to see him alive.’

  ‘So I am told.’

  ‘It is natural that enquiries should start here.’

  ‘Why?’ said the man resentfully. ‘There is no proof that I was the last person he met that day. Others must have seen him after me. The killer certainly did. Why bother me?’

  ‘Because we need your help, Osgot.’ />
  ‘I have work to do.’

  ‘So do we,’ snapped Ralph.

  Osgot was taken aback to hear himself addressed in his own language by a Norman lord. Ralph Delchard had been silent until now, letting Gervase put all the questions to the truculent Saxon. His answers had been reluctant. Osgot was a tall, stringy man in his thirties, worn out by toil but sustained by an innate pride. Needing to repair some fencing on the land he rented from the abbey, he was peeved at the interruption. Arms folded, he eyed both of them sullenly.

  ‘When did Brother Nicholas leave you that day?’ said Gervase.

  ‘Ask the sheriff.’

  ‘We are asking you,’ declared Ralph. ‘When was it?’

  A silent battle of wills was resolved when Ralph took a menacing step towards him. Osgot's reply was grudging.

  ‘Towards evening, my lord.’

  ‘Did he head back to the abbey?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Let me ask you for the last time,’ cautioned Ralph. ‘Did he?’

  ‘No,’ said Osgot. ‘He rode south.’

  ‘You remember that now, do you?’

  ‘I watched him go,’ said Osgot, pointing to the road. ‘That way.’

  Gervase was puzzled. ‘Away from the abbey? Where could he have been going? This was the last holding he was due to visit that day. Why ride off in the wrong direction?’

  Osgot gave a shrug, his face still a mask of indifference.

  ‘You didn't like him, did you?’ said Gervase.

  ‘None of us did.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He collected rents.’

  ‘Any other reason?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Very much, Osgot.’

  ‘He's gone. I'm glad. That's all I have to say.’

  ‘Glad that a monk was cruelly murdered?’ pressed Ralph.

  ‘Glad that he won't come here again.’

  ‘Someone else will.’

  ‘I don't care. I pay my rent.’

  ‘But you'd rather not pay it to Brother Nicholas, is that it?’

  ‘You say that none of you liked him,’ resumed Gervase. ‘What was the cause of his unpopularity? Was he harsh? Bullying? Sly?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Did he ever try to charge you too much rent?’

  ‘No, never.’

  ‘So why this general dislike?’

  There was a long pause, ended by Ralph's snort of impatience.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘Something about him,’ admitted Osgot. ‘I can't say what it was. But it made us all feel uneasy. Brother Nicholas was strange.’

  ‘In what way?’

  But the man had elaborated all he could. Though they searched for more detail, Osgot had none to give. It was clear that he spent as little time as possible with the rent collector and was glad to see him ride away each time. Ralph and Gervase thanked him for his help and mounted their horses again. They were about to leave when a young boy came bounding into the field, flaxen hair shining in the sun and trailing in the breeze. Osgot's son had the vitality and innocence which he himself must have possessed at one time. As the boy called out to him, Osgot threw a worried look up at his visitors. In that moment, they learned exactly why he despised Brother Nicholas so much. Osgot had seen the monk as a threat to his son's innocence.

  Now that the novelty had worn off, Golde was finding her stay at the castle slightly tedious. Maud was doing her best to entertain her guest but the latter soon tired of watching her hostess work at her embroidery and answering questions about her first marriage. There were moments when Golde felt as if the needle was threading its way through her heart. Willing to discuss her life with Ralph, she was very reticent on the subject of the husband who preceded him, a man whom she had not chosen and could never love and whose early demise she was unable to mourn with the full commitment of a grieving widow. Her discomfort was intensified by anxiety about her sister, due to arrive in Gloucester at any moment but so far unseen and unreported. Fears for Aelgar's safety lapped at Golde's mind. Even with an escort, travellers were never entirely safe on the open road.

  ‘Were you sorry to quit Hereford?’ asked Maud, sewing away.

  ‘In some ways, my lady.’

  ‘It must have caused you much regret.’

  ‘Occasionally.’

  ‘Have you been back to the town since?’

  ‘Only once,’ said Golde. ‘When the commissioners visited Chester. Ralph provided me with an escort and I stopped off in Hereford on the way before riding on to rejoin them.’

  ‘Marriage has given you many opportunities for travel.’

  ‘And much more besides.’

  ‘I wish that I could say the same of my husband. The journey from Normandy was the only one of significance that I have made. For the rest, my wanderings are largely circumscribed by the city boundaries.’ She looked up as if the thought had struck her for the first time. ‘To all intents and purposes, I am a species of prisoner.’

  ‘Surely not, my lady!’

  ‘How else would you describe me?’

  Golde was spared the problem of manufacturing a tactful reply. After knocking at the door, a servant entered the chamber with the news that two visitors were at the castle gate, asking to see Golde. Delighted that her sister had at last arrived, Golde excused herself and followed the man along the passageway and out into the fresh air. As she skipped down the steps which led from the keep, she caught a distant glimpse of Aelgar and her betrothed, waiting inside the gate with one of the sentries. Golde quickened her pace. A happy reunion was soon effected.

  Introduced to Forne by her sister, Golde deluged them with questions while taking stock of the young man who would soon become her brother-in-law. Forne was a sturdy character with pleasant rather than handsome features. The receding fair hair revealed a high forehead and his eyes sparkled with devotion. Golde was content. Though she wished that he trimmed his beard more closely, she could see his essential goodness reflected in his face. He loved her sister and she, in turn, was patently enthralled by him. It was enough.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ asked Aelgar, looking around the bailey with awe. ‘I am so proud that my sister can be invited to stay in such a place.’

  ‘It has its drawbacks,’ said Golde. ‘I've been here a couple of days and I'm already finding out what they are.’

  ‘Too many Norman soldiers,’ observed Forne drily.

  ‘That is true of Hereford as well.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘No more of that,’ ordered Golde with a laugh. ‘If you are to marry my sister, I'll not be called “my lady”. You will be Forne to me and I will be Golde to you. Is that a fair exchange?’

  Forne brightened. ‘Very fair.’

  ‘What of Ralph?’ said Aelgar.

  ‘He will not stand on ceremony. But where are you staying?’

  ‘In the town with Forne's kinsman.’

  ‘Then let us go there so that we can have a proper talk. It seems such an age since we last met and I have a thousand questions for you.’

  ‘I have a few for you, too, Golde,’ said her sister.

  ‘Then why do we dawdle here?’ Yet when she tried to lead them out of the castle, they hesitated. ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘Are you going to walk?’ said Forne.

  ‘I have not lost the use of my legs.’

  ‘The streets are filthy. That dress is too beautiful to soil.’

  ‘Let me worry about that,’ said Golde, standing between them to link arms with them both. ‘What is a dirty hem beside the pleasure of seeing my only sister again? Not to mention the delight of meeting you, Forne. I would walk through a swamp to be with the pair of you. Come on. Tell me all about the journey from Hereford.’

  And the three of them sauntered happily out through the gate.

  Abbot Serlo surpassed himself. Conducting the burial service wit
h due solemnity, he spoke so movingly in the abbey church that every eye was soon moist and every heart touched. The Precentor watched the service with growing admiration. When mass was sung, the abbot delivered a eulogy which was a masterpiece of careful selection. By stressing the finer qualities of Brother Nicholas, he made the less attractive aspects of the dead man's character fade into temporary oblivion, and nobody listening would have guessed what dark secret had been unearthed by a search of his cell. Even those who disliked Nicholas the most – Kenelm and Elaf among them – found themselves consumed with genuine pity.

  Since the church had no burial rights, part of the cemetery was set aside for the graves of deceased inhabitants of Gloucester, brought to the abbey by means of Lich Lane. Serlo led the solemn procession to the area reserved solely for the bodies of departed monks, a corner of the cemetery which was tended with loving care. The coffin was borne aloft on the shoulders of six monks before being lowered on ropes into the gaping slit in the earth. More prayers were said in unison then the abbot committed the body to its last resting place. Those who died of natural causes excited sorrow enough among the monks, but the nature of Brother Nicholas's death brought additional misery. Some of the older people around the grave had to be supported as that misery robbed them of strength and movement.

  It was a long time before the assembled monks began to disperse in silence. Abbot Serlo went back to his lodging with Brother Frewine but most of the others adjourned to the church to pray once more for the salvation of the murder victim's soul and the speedy capture of his killer. Everyone was so caught up in their own anguish that they took little note of anyone else around them. Nobody lingered to see the solitary figure who hovered in the deserted cemetery.

  Owen was torn between grief and remorse. As he looked down at the grave, his tears poured forth once more. When handfuls of earth had been tossed reverentially on to the coffin, spades had taken over to complete the burial and to leave a mound which would in time disappear as the earth slowly settled into the cavity. Owen glanced around to make sure that nobody was watching him, then he opened his hand to reveal something which had been burning a hole in his palm since the funeral began. It was a bright new coin from the Gloucester mint and he could no longer keep it. Scooping a hole in the mound of earth, he inserted the coin as deep as it would go then quickly covered it up.