The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10)

by Edward Marston

  When the others dispersed after choir practice, Elaf lingered to speak to Brother Owl. The Precentor knew why. He sat on a bench with the boy and turned a sympathetic ear to his concerns.

  ‘Are you still worried about Kenelm?’

  ‘Yes, Brother Frewine.’

  ‘He will recover in time.’

  ‘That is what I thought but he seems to get worse. Fearful thoughts haunt him day and night. Can you not tell by his face?’

  ‘Yes, Elaf. I can and did. Kenelm looks harrowed.’

  ‘He will not survive much longer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He has talked of putting an end to it.’

  ‘How?’ asked Frewine with sudden alarm. ‘He is surely not contemplating suicide? That would be an unforgivable sin.’

  ‘Kenelm feels that he has already committed an unforgivable sin.’

  ‘And he plans to take his own life?’

  ‘No, Brother Frewine. His thoughts do not tend that way.’

  ‘Thank the Lord!’

  ‘He knows the penalty for such an act.’

  ‘To lie forever in unconsecrated ground,’ warned the other. ‘To be turned away from the kingdom of heaven. Nobody should pay such a hideous price. In a young boy, it would be doubly tragic.’

  ‘Kenelm realises that.’

  ‘So whence comes this talk of ending it?’

  Elaf gave a shrug and tussled with his conscience. Kenelm was his friend and he did not wish to betray a confidence. At the same time, he did not want to lose the one person who made his own life at the abbey more bearable. Seeing his dilemma, the Precentor tried to help him out of it. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

  ‘You were right to come to me, Elaf,’ he said. ‘Whatever you tell me will go no further. I have helped you both in the past and, I like to think, pulled the pair of you out from beneath Brother Paul's avenging arm more than once. Let me help you again.’

  ‘I'm not sure that you can.’

  ‘Simply talking to me will bring its own reward for it will ease your mind. Unburden yourself of the load you carry.’

  ‘It's such a heavy load,’ confessed the novice. ‘I have remorse of my own, Brother Frewine, as you can imagine. During the funeral yesterday, I thought that I would faint. But Kenelm suffers something far worse than remorse. It pursues him every hour of the day.’

  ‘So what does he intend to do about it?’

  ‘Leave the abbey.’

  ‘Abandon his novitiate?’

  ‘Yes, Brother Frewine.’

  ‘But that would be such a waste.’

  ‘So I told him.’

  ‘His parents would never condone it.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Then why does he indulge in such futile talk?’

  ‘If only it were futile!’

  ‘Kenelm would not disobey his parents.’

  ‘I fear that he may, Brother Frewine.’

  The old man's face was at its most owlish. ‘What are you telling me, Elaf?’ he said in alarm. ‘Kenelm is planning to run away?’

  ‘I'm afraid so.’

  ‘That would be a scandal.’

  ‘I told him that.’

  ‘A scandal for the abbey and a bitter blow for his dear parents. Nobody ever flees from here. It is unheard of, Elaf.’

  ‘What about Siward?’

  Frewine was checked. ‘That was different,’ he muttered.

  ‘He disappeared one day. So did Dena. Those were the names that Kenelm cited. He said he'd follow their example.’

  ‘I pray to God that he doesn't do that!’

  ‘Why? What happened to them?’

  ‘If only we knew!’

  ‘What drove them to quit the abbey in the first place?’

  ‘We are not even sure if that is what they did, Elaf.’

  ‘But they vanished.’

  ‘Sadly, they did.’

  ‘So they must have run away because they hated it here.’

  ‘Dena did not hate it,’ said the Precentor. ‘He had a beautiful voice and loved singing. Dena was always the first to come to choir practice and the last to leave. He liked it here. It was his natural home.’

  ‘Then why did he want to escape?’

  ‘I have no idea, Elaf. Nor do his parents. It is baffling. And Siward's disappearance was equally mysterious. He was more wayward, perhaps, more accustomed to feel the wrath of Brother Paul, but that would not have been enough to drive him away.’

  The boy was apprehensive. His heart was starting to pound.

  ‘I am not sure what you are telling me,’ he said slowly.

  ‘We do not know if Siward or Dena fled the abbey.’

  ‘How else did they vanish?’

  Brother Frewine winced. ‘They may have been taken.’

  Abraham the Priest was a revelation. On the face of it, he had by far the weakest claim, and yet he advanced it most convincingly. He needed no bullying manner like Strang the Dane and no beautiful wife like Hamelin of Lisieux. Nor did he trade on the unvarnished directness of Querengar the Breton. Advocacy was his weapon. Arguments were cleverly arranged before being presented in a lilting voice which seemed to lull his hearers into agreement. Resolved to dislike him, Ralph slowly warmed to the archdeacon. When the latter strayed briefly into the realms of canon law, he was challenged immediately by Hubert but he held his ground with equanimity and beat off the attack. Even Gervase's probing questions could not find a chink. Abraham was confounding them all.

  ‘Let us end there,’ announced Ralph, slapping the table, ‘before we become entirely bemused. Thank you, Archdeacon. I am sorry to give you such a sour welcome. I had no idea that your delay was caused by your compassion for a young mother. If your skill in midwifery matches your ability in a courtroom, the lady was indeed fortunate.’

  ‘She came bravely through the ordeal.’

  ‘Do not put us through it again!’ implored Simon.

  ‘There is no time,’ said Ralph. ‘We have spent the whole morning listening to you. If nothing else, I hope that absolves me of the charge of prejudice. What we now need is a recess so that we may study your charter alongside the others in our possession. We also need to weigh your arguments in the balance and decide if there is need for any further examination.’

  ‘I will await your summons, my lord,’ said Abraham.

  ‘Keep well away from pregnant women in the meantime.’

  ‘This is not my diocese.’

  ‘One last thing,’ said Ralph as the two men rose to go. ‘I expected to speak to you through an interpreter. How is it that you know our language so well?’

  ‘I took the trouble to learn it, my lord.’

  ‘Patently. But why?’

  ‘It is very useful to speak in the tongue of our neighbours. In my experience, it is the best way to avoid misunderstandings. Also, my lord, simple necessity came into play.’ He gave a tolerant smile. ‘I learned your language because I had a strong feeling that you would never deign to learn mine. Am I right?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  They parted on good terms and the two visitors left the room. Ralph turned first to Canon Hubert and invited his comment with a raised eyebrow. The latter needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

  ‘Our archdeacon has a beguiling tongue,’ he said at length, ‘but I was not entirely persuaded by it.’

  ‘What about you, Gervase?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘I found his arguments very cogent.’

  ‘More so than those of the other claimants?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gervase, ‘but he did not resolve the basic contradiction. All four of them have shown us royal charters relating to land in the Westbury Hundred. The problem is that they may not all refer to the hides in question. All the charters lack definition. As things stand, we could do no worse than to quarter the whole property and parcel it out between them.’

  ‘That is a mischievous suggestion,’ said Hubert.

  ‘Then let me offer a better one. Wh
y not see for ourselves?’

  ‘I do not follow, Gervase.’

  ‘It is simple, Canon Hubert. Let us suspend our work here and ride out to the Westbury Hundred. We may well find that the twenty hides claimed by the lord Hamelin are quite separate from the eight to which Strang would seem to have the right. And where do Querengar's lie?’

  ‘In the control of Hamelin of Lisieux,’ said Ralph.

  ‘And his wife,’ added Hubert pointedly.

  ‘And, as you remind us, his charming wife.’

  ‘I was less charmed and more critical of him, my lord.’

  ‘Be that as it may, Hubert, I think that Gervase has a point. There is confusion here. The only way to plumb the depth of this controversy is to visit the disputed property in person.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’

  ‘I believe it is, though we do not all have to go.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that!’ said Brother Simon.

  ‘No, Hubert,’ taunted Ralph. ‘You and Simon can go alone. Who knows? On your way, you may come across a woman in labour and discover that you have the medical talents of Abraham the Priest.’

  ‘Never!’ exclaimed Simon.

  Hubert shuddered. ‘The very thought makes me go numb.’

  ‘Ralph is only jesting,’ said Gervase, shooting his friend an admonitory glance. ‘I will volunteer to make the journey. Alone, if need be. You and Brother Simon will certainly be spared, Canon Hubert.’

  The two of them nodded their gratitude in unison.

  ‘That only leaves me,’ said Ralph. ‘What can I say?’

  ‘That you will bear me company.’

  ‘If I must, Gervase.’

  ‘It is agreed. In the course of our travels, we may be able to kill two birds with one stone. Our journey should take us past other portions of abbey land. We can speak to the sub-tenants about their rent collector.’

  ‘I am glad you mention Brother Nicholas,’ said Hubert, ‘because we bring news from the abbey about him. Abbot Serlo divulged it to us only this morning and it casts the rent collector in a new light.’

  ‘Go on,’ urged Ralph.

  He and Gervase listened to a description of what was found in Brother Nicholas's cell. They were intrigued. Ralph scratched his head.

  ‘Who has the pouch with the coins in it?’ he asked.

  ‘Brother Frewine, the Precentor,’ said Hubert.

  ‘I will need to speak to him.’

  ‘Is there any message we can convey, my lord?’

  ‘Simply that we are one step closer to identifying the murderer,’ said Ralph confidently. ‘Come, Gervase. We have a long ride ahead of us. And a great deal to discuss as we go.’

  Leaving their satchels with Brother Simon, the two of them set off at once. Outside the shire hall, Ralph gave instructions to the reeve's deputy then asked him for directions to the Westbury Hundred. He and Gervase mounted, gathered their escort then kicked their horses into action. As they turned the first corner, they were confronted by a sight which made Ralph gurgle in despair. Riding towards them at the head of his own escort was a small, wizened figure in a black cowl over which was worn a lambskin cloak frayed by age and stained with filth.

  ‘He's here after all!’ said Ralph, aghast. ‘It's Archdeacon Idwal!’

  Gervase laughed. ‘Look more carefully,’ he suggested. ‘Since when would Idwal have an armed escort of Norman soldiers? And since when has he been promoted to the Bishopric of Worcester?’

  ‘Is that who it is?’ asked Ralph, giggling with relief.

  ‘Yes. It is Bishop Wulfstan. I recognise him clearly.’

  ‘This is excellent news, Gervase!’

  ‘I would not say that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Wulfstan is a royal counsellor. My guess is that he is not only here because Gloucester is part of his diocese. He has come from Worcester on a more temporal errand.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘His presence here confirms it, Ralph. The King is indeed coming.’

  Ralph squirmed in the saddle as he foresaw a prickly discussion ahead with his wife. It made him ride out of the city with eagerness.

  Durand the Sheriff conducted his guest to the hall in the castle. Wine awaited them and a servant poured two cups before he retired. When it was offered to him, the bishop waved the cup politely away but Durand felt the need of sustenance. He gulped down his own wine with undue haste and undisguised relish.

  ‘That's better!’ he said, licking his lips. ‘I needed that.’

  ‘Wine is a mocker, my lord. Put it aside.’

  ‘I prefer to be mocked.’ He indicated a chair and his visitor sat down. ‘It is good to see you again, Bishop, though I would be grateful to know precisely why we are meeting like this.’

  ‘So would I, my lord sheriff.’

  ‘Do you have no notion what this portends?’

  ‘None. I was hoping you might enlighten me.’

  ‘All I know is that King William is on his way.’

  ‘When is he due to arrive?’

  ‘By nightfall today.’

  ‘That is more than I was told.’

  ‘A message to that effect arrived this morning.’

  ‘I am glad I reached Gloucester before him,’ said Wulfstan. ‘The King does not like to be kept waiting. Who else has been summoned? If others descend on you, we may have some clue as to the size and nature of the crisis.’

  ‘If, that is, a crisis actually exists.’

  ‘Why else would he come here? Much as he appreciates us, I do not believe that King William would ride all this way to enquire after our health. Something is afoot. I smell an emergency.’

  Durand took a step away from him. What he could smell was the noxious stink which came from the lambskin cloak. The garment looked even more ragged at close quarters, as wrinkled with age as its wearer and far more blotched. Wulfstan seemed sublimely unaware of the reek. He was a small man with a huge reputation, the only surviving Saxon bishop in England, ready to serve Archbishop Lanfranc as steadfastly as he had served Stigand, the previous primate. Well into his seventies, Wulfstan still had remarkable vitality and an extraordinary range of interests. His learning was matched by his political skills, making him one of the King's most able counsellors. Durand distrusted him as much as the bishop distrusted the sheriff, but he could not deny the prelate's expertise in affairs of state. Wulfstan was the Great Survivor. That, in itself, entitled him to a respectful hearing.

  ‘I wonder if it may concern Wales,’ ventured Wulfstan.

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Disturbing reports have reached me from Bishop Robert. He tells me that Hereford is reinforcing itself against the possibility of attack.’

  ‘We have also had worrying intelligence about activity on our western border,’ confided Durand. ‘Sporadic raids have taken place. They are on a very small scale but I wonder if they presage a larger assault.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘So do we all, Bishop.’

  ‘But if not Wales, what, then, brings the King to Gloucester again?’

  ‘We will have to wait until he tells us but I begin to doubt that it is a real emergency. I know of nobody else who has been summoned. You and I are the sum total of his advisors, unless we count Hamelin of Lisieux, that is.’

  ‘Is he in Gloucester as well?’

  ‘On his own account. Commissioners have descended on us.’

  ‘I thought they came and went.’

  ‘The first ones did,’ said Durand petulantly. ‘After they had caused several flutters, I may say. When the returns for this county were examined in Winchester, irregularities appeared. Serious discrepancies. The new commissioners have come to investigate them.’

  ‘That might explain the King's need to be here.’

  ‘Might it?’

  ‘Yes, my lord sheriff. The King needs money to raise an army to fight the Danes. That is the main purpose of this Great Survey, is it not?’

  Durand
was rueful. ‘To see who owns what and how much can be wrung from them by way of tax or knight-service. I do not like tax collectors at the best of times, but these have been the worst who have ever afflicted my county.’

  ‘And mine,’ said Wulfstan philosophically. ‘Letters of complaint flooded in to me, asking me to use my influence with the King to relieve the burden of taxation. What influence, I cry? If I had any, I would employ it to seek relief for myself. The church of Worcester suffers as much as anyone.’

  ‘Why grant us land if he then bleeds us dry with taxes?’

  ‘Take the matter up with him,’ suggested Wulfstan with a chuckle. ‘I am not sure that I have the courage to do so. You saw how determined he was to push this Great Survey through when he first mooted the idea at the Christmas council here in Gloucester. The King would hear no whisper of criticism.’

  ‘I admire that aspect of him.’

  ‘So do I, my lord bishop. From a safe distance.’

  ‘But to answer your original question, I doubt very much if he is coming on the heels of his commissioners. Apart from anything else, they knew nothing about his imminent visit. Other teams are visiting other counties to unravel peculiarities in the returns. Why should the King pick Gloucester when he has so many other counties to choose from?’

  ‘A telling point.’

  ‘All I know is that it is a most inconvenient time to receive a royal visit. Still less to host a meeting of the whole council, if that is what is in the wind. Not only are the commissioners here, I have had another problem dropped into my lap.’

  ‘Another problem?’

  ‘A murder, Bishop Wulfstan.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the abbey.’

  The bishop was on his feet. ‘Who was the victim?’

  ‘One of the monks, Brother Nicholas.’

  ‘This is dire news,’ said the other. ‘Has any arrest been made?’

  ‘Not yet,’ admitted Durand, ‘nor is there likely to be one in the near future. My officers are hunting high and low for clues but they are very scarce. It is a most vexing case in every way. Abbot Serlo refuses even to consider the possibility, but I feel more and more that the killer lives within the abbey itself.’

  ‘A Benedictine monk? Out of the question!’

  ‘The evidence points that way.’