‘But you just told me how flimsy it is. Do not accuse a monk, my lord sheriff. I have spent a whole lifetime within the enclave, first in the abbeys of Evesham and Peterborough, then in my beloved Worcester. In well over half a century inside a cowl, I have never once met a monk who would dare to contemplate murder, let alone actually commit it. This has upset me more than I can say,’ he confessed, starting to pant slightly. ‘I must go to the abbey at once to learn the full details of this crime.’
‘I expected that you would stay here at the castle.’
‘In these circumstances?’
‘But I have an apartment prepared for you, Bishop.’
‘Thank you,’ said Wulfstan, pulling his cloak around him so tightly that bits of it were shaken off to float aromatically to the floor. ‘But I must decline your kind invitation. When the King calls me, I will return at once. Meanwhile, I will be at the abbey,’ he asserted, hurrying towards the door. ‘Look for me there. That is where I am needed.’
Chapter Eight
Caradoc made them think again. Having heard so much about Brother Nicholas from a variety of sources, Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had formed a very clear idea of his character. The deceased monk was a loner, deliberately kept away from an abbey where he never earned general acceptance, who had a suspect interest in attractive boys. The cache found by the Precentor confirmed that there was a darker side to the murder victim, one which he had cunningly hidden from his Benedictine brothers and which might in time provide the motive for his death. Caradoc talked about another Brother Nicholas, however, but he did so at such breathtaking speed that Ralph was only able to catch one word in three and sensibly left the questioning to Gervase.
‘How long have you known him?’
‘Some years now,’ said Caradoc.
‘And you say that you liked him?’
‘Very much. Brother Nicholas was such a jolly fellow.’
Gervase looked at Ralph. ‘Jolly?’ he repeated.
‘For a monk. They are often such solemn individuals.’
‘Jollity does not sit easily inside a monastery,’ said Gervase. ‘I was reared in one so I know it to be a fact. Yet a certain amount of merriment did break out even there from time to time. However, I would not have thought that your rent collector would ever be party to harmless fun.’
‘He made me laugh, Master Bret.’
‘That is extraordinary.’
‘And my wife. Ask her.’
‘Do you have a family, Caradoc?’
‘Four boys. If you ride across my land, you are sure to see them.’
‘How did they get on with Brother Nicholas?’
‘Very well. They poked fun at him, but you expect that from lads of that age. Underneath, they thought him a likeable fellow.’
‘This description does not match other reports of him.’
‘I care nothing about that,’ said Caradoc cheerily. ‘All that I can talk about is our own experience. Brother Nicholas could not have been more pleasant while doing an unpleasant task. Nobody likes to part with money but it was far less painful to part with rent when he called.’
‘Would you call him trustworthy?’
‘I'd stake my life on it.’
Gervase translated the last remark so that Ralph understood its full force. Caradoc was a friendly man. Born of a Welsh mother and a Saxon father, he spoke the guttural language of the latter with the melodious voice of the former. Dark, bearded and swarthy, he had a face of appealing ugliness with twinkling eyes set too far apart and a nose which inclined first one way and then the other with almost grotesque uncertainty. His affable manner more than compensated for his facial deficiencies. On guard when he first saw them approach with an armed escort, Caradoc relaxed when he realised that they merely wished to talk about the rent collector.
‘When did you last see him?’ asked Gervase.
‘Three or four weeks ago.’
‘And was he in a jolly mood then?’
‘He always was, Master Bret.’
‘Where did he go when he left here?’
‘Towards the river. It's only a couple of miles away.’
‘Why there?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Caradoc, his face crumpling. ‘And it is too late to ask him now. I cannot believe that he has been murdered in the way that you tell me. My wife will be very upset.’
‘What about your sons?’
‘They will shed a tear or two.’
Gervase was puzzled. Caradoc's remarks were at variance with everything he had ever heard about the monk. He probed deeper.
‘Did they find nothing odd about Brother Nicholas?’ he said.
‘Odd?’
‘Strange. Unusual. Unsettling in some way.’
‘No, Master Bret. We farm abbey lands. That means we are bound to pay rent to the monk assigned to the task. It's in our interests to befriend the man so that he'll give a good report of us to the abbot. We would certainly give him a good report of Brother Nicholas.’
Gervase translated again and Ralph nodded his head pensively.
‘Ask him about the others, Gervase.’
‘I was about to,’ said his friend, turning back to Caradoc. ‘This is one of the abbey's outliers. You are not far from Westbury Hundred.’
‘Not if you have a swift horse.’
‘Who holds that land?’
‘Everyone knows that. The lord Hamelin.’
‘Hamelin of Lisieux?’
‘Yes,’ said Caradoc, choosing his words with more care. ‘He is a mighty man in these parts and much respected by all of us. Respected and envied, I may say, for he has the most beautiful wife. Or so it is rumoured, for I have not had the pleasure of seeing her.’
‘We have,’ said Ralph, understanding him this time.
‘And is she the angel of report, my lord?’
‘I think so. Gervase?’
‘The lady Emma is indeed well favoured,’ he agreed, ‘but that is not the point at issue. You say that her husband holds the land, Caradoc. Has it always been so?’
‘Oh, no. Strang the Dane used to hold sway over it.’
‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘Several times.’
‘What opinion did you form?’
‘Not a very high one, Master Bret. He was too bellicose.’
‘That's what we found.’
‘Nobody dared to trespass on his land when Strang was there. He guarded it jealously and employed a creeping reeve called Balki. I only came across the fellow once but that was enough. He treated us like dirt and I'll not let any man do that to me.’
‘How did he come to lose the land?’
‘You will have to ask the lord Hamelin,’ he said evasively.
‘Was it taken away from him?’
‘It is not for me to say.’
‘But you must have heard rumours.’
‘My whole life consists of hearing rumours,’ said Caradoc with a grin. ‘Rumours and snores, to be exact. For my wife works as hard as we do and she is so tired that she snores her way to heaven every night.’
‘Tell me about these rumours.’
‘I pay no heed to them.’
‘Do they paint the lord Hamelin in a favourable light?’
‘No, Master Bret.’
‘How does he deal with trespassers?’
‘Harshly, I think.’
‘Have you ever heard of one Querengar the Breton?’
‘Yes,’ replied the other. ‘A decent man, by all accounts. He holds land near a kinsman of mine in one of the commotes. Unlike most of the others, he has tried to adapt to Welsh customs.’
‘Did you know that he has an interest in the Westbury Hundred?’
‘No, Master Bret.’
‘So he has never held land there?’
‘Not to my knowledge, but that is very limited. Querengar may have held it in the past but I doubt that he does so now.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of the lord Hamelin. He ru
les the roost.’
‘By force of arms?’
‘There have been stories. How true they are, I have no notion. For my own part, I will not say a word against the lord Hamelin.’ Another grin. ‘And certainly not against this fabled wife of his. She came from France, they tell me. Her beauty holds everyone in thrall.’
‘I see that you do pay heed to rumours, after all.’
‘Only pleasant ones.’
‘Are all the others unpleasant, Caradoc?’
‘We must move on,’ said Ralph with a nudge. ‘Hurry, Gervase.’
‘A last question, then. Tell me, my friend, is the name of Abraham the Priest known to you?’
‘Why, yes. Known and respected. A wonderful man.’
‘Yet you are not part of his diocese here.’
‘That does not stop him visiting this area. Abraham is a kind man. I have met him a number of times and always enjoyed his company.’
‘What brings him this far afield?’
‘The spirit of friendship.’
‘There must be something else.’
‘Not to my mind.’
‘Does he ever talk about the others I've mentioned? Hamelin of Lisieux? Querengar the Breton?’
‘Neither, but Strang's name sometimes passes his lips.’
‘With some distaste, I fancy.’
‘Yes, Master Bret, though I cannot say why.’
‘Gervase,’ called Ralph. ‘We must away.’
‘One second, please.’
‘You've asked a dozen last questions already.’
‘It must take the archdeacon a long time to get here,’ said Gervase, ignoring Ralph's impatience. ‘He would have to ride in a loop around lord Hamelin's holdings. Unless, of course, he rides across them.’
‘He would be a brave man if he did that.’
‘Too hazardous?’
‘According to the rumours,’ said Caradoc. ‘I am also sure that neither Strang nor Querengar would dare to venture on to that land. In fact, there is only one man I know who rode into Westbury Hundred without the slightest sign of fear.’
‘Who was that?’ asked Gervase.
‘The man you've been asking me about.’
‘Your rent collector?’
‘Yes. Brother Nicholas.’
It was impossible not to notice the commotion. From the window of their chamber, Golde could see the activity down in the bailey. Soldiers were being mustered, orders given, visible attempts at smartening up made. Provisions began arriving in large quantities; butchers, bakers and other tradesmen delivered their wares to waiting servants who hurried away to the kitchens. Inside the keep itself, the sound of bustle and urgency drifted up to Golde. She guessed its meaning at once. A pattern of behaviour which she had seen so many times at Hereford Castle was repeating itself here. Important visitors were coming. The mild panic down below gave her an idea of the scale of their importance.
When Golde went down to join her hostess, Maud was not in her customary position with her embroidery. Instead, she was issuing shrill orders to a bevy of female servants before shooing them out with fluttering hands. She gave Golde a strained smile of welcome.
‘We are having more guests,’ she explained.
‘I gathered that.’
‘Durand has only just told me. That's so typical of him. We have no time to prepare, no time to make the castle look its best. Why on earth didn't you warn me, Golde?’ she scolded, waving a finger. ‘You must have known that this was in the wind.’
‘Must I?’
‘Of course. Durand told your husband when the message first came. And since the lord Ralph hides nothing from you, he must have confided the tidings.’
‘What tidings, my lady?’
‘The possibility of a royal visit.’
Golde was surprised. ‘The King is coming here?’
‘He should arrive by nightfall.’
‘I see.’
‘Bishop Wulfstan has already ridden into Gloucester and there may be other counsellors due before long. They will find us in disarray.’
‘Not at all, my lady,’ said Golde, trying to adjust her mind to the news. ‘It's a great honour to be given a royal visit. I am sure that King William will find nothing about which he can complain.’
‘Durand has already found a hundred things. He left my ears buzzing. That is why I am rushing around in such a frenzy.’
‘Then I will not get under your feet, my lady.’
Seeing the chance to withdraw, Golde took it gratefully and moved towards the door. Maud hurried across to intercept her.
‘Answer my question first,’ she demanded.
‘What question?’
‘Are we not friends, Golde?’
‘Of course, my lady.’
‘Then why did you not have the kindness to warn your friend? It is embarrassing to be the last person to know. How can I play the hostess if I am not told that guests are descending on me?’
‘It was unfair of your husband to keep it from you.’
‘Forget my husband. Talk about yours.’
‘Ralph?’
‘Yes,’ said Maud tartly. ‘When did he tell you?’
‘Well …’
‘Come on. You pretended to be surprised at tidings you already know. How long have you been keeping this secret from me?’
‘I have kept nothing from you, my lady.’
‘Then why remain silent?’ She saw the dismay in Golde's face and her anger mellowed into sarcasm. ‘So? The lord Ralph is not the paragon you imagined. He is not the soul of honesty, after all. You have been deceived as cruelly as I have, Golde. The wonderful husband who tells you everything has this time held his tongue.’
‘With good reason, I am sure,’ said Golde loyally.
‘An excellent reason. It is the one used by Durand. I am a wife. A mere woman. I have to wait my turn in the queue before I learn what is going on.’ She gave a cold smile. ‘It's comforting to know that there is at least one person standing behind me in the queue.’
Golde reddened. ‘You have much to do, my lady. Excuse me.’
‘The lord Ralph did not tell you because he did not think it fit.’
‘That is a matter between the two of us.’
‘I wish that I could be there when you raise it.’
Golde dropped a curtsey then went quickly out through the door. Bitter recrimination took her all the way back up the stairs. Her hostess had crowed over her. It was galling to be put in such a position and the fault lay squarely with Ralph. She vowed to tax him on the subject at the earliest opportunity. Sweeping into the room, she gave vent to her humiliation by slamming the door behind her and emitting a yell of rage.
They had ridden only a short distance across the Westbury Hundred before they were challenged. A horseman approached, waved them to a halt then demanded to know their names and their business. Ralph Delchard gave him a dusty answer and sent him on his way, peeved that anyone should dare to obstruct his way. He rode on with Gervase and his escort, stopping only when they met some of the sub-tenants who worked the land nominally held by Hamelin of Lisieux. It was an area of rich pastures and gurgling streams, undulating gently and dotted with woodland. They could see why it was sought after so eagerly by all four claimants.
The sub-tenants refused to a man to discuss the competing claims. As far as they were concerned, Hamelin of Lisieux was their overlord and they accepted him without protest. The commissioners realised why.
‘Fear!’ said Ralph as they cantered on. ‘That's why they're all so tight-lipped, Gervase. Naked fear. The stink of it is unmistakable.’
‘The lord Hamelin knows how to instil loyalty.’
‘With a sharp sword. Not one of them has the courage to speak up for Strang or Querengar yet they clearly know both men. What's happened to Saxon bravery? Is it extinct in these parts?’
‘Apparently.’
‘There must be someone who will tell the truth.’
‘Under oath, perhaps. And gu
aranteed indemnity.’
‘Then that is how it must be,’ decided Ralph. ‘I'll summon every man in the Westbury Hundred before us if I have to. Get them in the shire hall and I'll make the rogues talk.’
‘Do not blame them, Ralph. They are frightened.’
‘Then I will frighten them even more!’
‘Turn your terror on the lord Hamelin.’
‘If we find he is at fault, I certainly will.’
‘Why not mention it to him?’
‘What's that?’
‘You have a chance to do it right now,’ said Gervase, gazing off to the left. ‘If I am not mistaken, he is coming to meet us in person.’
‘God's tits!’
Ralph's bellow was prompted by the sight of Hamelin of Lisieux riding towards them on a destrier with a dozen armed men at his back. Coming around a stand of trees in an orderly column, they galloped towards the visitors and came to a noisy halt in front of them, fanning out so that a wall of armour blocked their path. Hamelin gave them a quizzical smile of welcome.
‘What are you doing on my land?’ he asked politely.
‘Finding out if it is really yours,’ said Ralph.
‘Can there be any doubt about that? Speak to the sub-tenants.’
‘We have,’ said Ralph. ‘They are too scared to talk.’
‘Too scared?’ mocked the other. ‘Scared of what? Of whom?’
‘Overlords who ride around with their men-at-arms.’
‘But that is exactly what you are doing.’
‘I am fulfilling the King's command,’ said Ralph sternly, ‘and that means that nobody, however many swords at his beck and call, can stand in my way.’
‘We are not standing in your way, my lord. Ride where you will, ask what you wish. We merely came out to see what brought you here.’
‘We might ask you the same thing, my lord,’ said Gervase. ‘Your manor house is several miles from here, as are the bulk of your holdings. Why come to the Westbury Hundred?’
‘To check that all was well, Master Bret.’
‘Could not your reeve have done that?’
‘Of course,’ said the other airily, ‘but I wanted to remind myself what beautiful land this is. Well worth fighting for in the shire hall.’
‘Is that the only place fighting has taken place?’ asked Ralph.
The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10) Page 15
