Domesday Books
Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret are commissioners, appointed by William the Conqueror, to look into the serious irregularities that come to light during the compilation of Domesday Book, the great survey of England. Delchard is a Norman soldier who fought at the Battle of Hastings, and who does not suffer fools gladly. Bret, a talented lawyer, comes from mixed Saxon and Breton parentage. They make a highly effective crime-fighting team in a violent and unstable period of history. Each of the books in the series takes them to a different English county.
Edward Marston was born and brought up in Wales. He read Modern History at Oxford then lectured in the subject for three years before becoming a full-time freelance writer.
www.edwardmarston.com
Domesday Books:
The Wolves of Savernake
The Ravens of Blackwater
The Dragons of Archenfield
The Lions of the North
The Serpents of Harbledown
The Stallions of Woodstock
The Hawks of Delamere
The Wildcats of Exeter
The Foxes of Warwick
The Owls of Gloucester
The Elephants of Norwich
The Wildcats
Of Exeter
Edward Marston
Domesday Book 8
Ostara Publishing
Copyright © 1998 Edward Marston
The right of Edward Marston to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Originally published in 1998
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP reference is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781906288488
Printed and Bound in the United Kingdom
Ostara Publishing
13 King Coel Road
Lexden
Colchester CO3 9AG
www.ostarapublishing.co.uk
To Shona, exiled Countess of Sutherland
O fortunam dux femina facti Grantam
The king, however, closely besieged the city, attempting to storm it, and for many days he fought relentlessly to drive the citizens from the ramparts and to undermine the walls. Finally the citizens were compelled by the unremitting attacks of the enemy to take wiser counsel and humbly plead for pardon. The flower of their youth, the older men, and the clergy bearing their sacred books and treasures went out to the king.
Orderic Vitalis
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Prologue
While he put on his apparel again, Nicholas Picard deliberately kept his back to her. It was not the only thing which peeved her about his visit.
‘What is wrong?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, my love.’
‘Why do you turn away from me like that?’
‘No reason,’ he said, making the effort to face her again and managing a token smile. ‘Is that better?’
‘Something has happened,’ she decided. ‘What is it?’
‘I called to see you and taste the sweetness of your company. That is what happened. Have you so soon forgotten?’ he teased her. ‘Five minutes ago, your lover lay in your enchanting arms.’
‘He did not,’ she complained, sitting up on the bed and pulling a robe around her naked shoulders. ‘That was not my lover I held in my arms. It was a complete stranger. His body was like yours but his mind was a hundred miles away. And he had no heart whatsoever.’
‘My love!’ he protested.
‘What is going on?’
‘I have told you – nothing!’
‘Do not try to fob me off with lies.’
‘They are not lies.’
‘I know you too well, Nicholas,’ she reminded him. ‘Better than any woman knows you. Far better than that ice-cold wife of yours.’
‘Leave her out of this,’ he warned.
‘I was hoping that you would do the same,’ she said crisply. ‘But you seemed to be looking over your shoulder all the time, as if she was in here watching us. Is that your fear? Discovery? Are you afraid that Catherine will find out about us?’
‘Silence!’
Nicholas Picard spoke with more anger and authority than he intended, using the peremptory tone he normally reserved for erring servants or irritating Saxons. She was cowed by the force of his command and lowered her head in submission. Picard was at once irked and guilt-stricken, annoyed by her questions but sorry to have snapped at her with such open contempt. He wanted to make amends by putting a comforting arm round her but something held him back. She was deeply hurt and he was unable to soothe her in the way he had done so many times before. The rift between them widened still further.
While he finished dressing, Picard studied her carefully and tried to reconcile the competing emotions in his breast. Did he still love her? He was not sure. She was still very beautiful and he felt a faint stirring of lust as his eye roved over her sensuous body once more, tracing its graceful curves and caressing its silken skin. No woman had pleased him like this one though many had tried. With the signal exception of his wife. Mention of Catherine cut him to the quick. He rode into Exeter to escape her indifference, not to be forcibly reminded of it. Until today, his mistress had completely understood the terms of their relationship. Now she had broken the rules. She talked about his wife.
Head still bowed in contrition, she murmured her apology. ‘I am sorry, Nicholas. Forgive my folly.’
‘You were provoked,’ he admitted.
‘I was frightened.’
‘By what?’
‘Your behaviour towards me,’ she whispered, looking up at him with a wan loveliness that almost made him reach out for her. ‘I count the hours until your visits. They have been few and far between of late which means that each one is more important to me than the last. I expect too much, I know. It is a grievous fault. But I was so disappointed today. I am bound to wonder if it is because of some failure on my part.’
‘No, my love.’
‘Do I not attract you any more?’
‘Of course you do.’
‘Can I not delight you?’
‘Blissfully.’
‘Then why do I feel so inadequate?’
He fell back on the charm which had served him so well in the past. ‘You are the most wonderful lover in Creation,’ he said with a flattering smile, ‘and any man would envy me for possessing you. The fault is not in you, my sweet. I was distracted, I confess it. I have much on my mind at the moment. When I come to you I can usually shake off my worries, but they were too tenacious this time. It is I who should be asking for your forgiveness.’
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ she said, judging it the right moment to rise from the bed and step into his embrace. ‘I am honoured that you come to me. All that I strive to do is to make it a special occasion for you.’
‘And you do,’ he assured her. ‘Every time.’
‘Until today.’
‘My mind is troubled.’
‘About me?’ she asked in mild alarm. ‘Am I the cause of your anxiety?’
‘No, no,’ he said but his denial carried no conviction. ‘It is another matter which weighs upon me. Royal commissioners are due
in the city any day. Amongst other things, they will investigate my affairs and may even challenge my right to certain of my holdings.’
‘How can that be?’
He shook his head dismissively. ‘Let it pass.’
‘I will let nothing pass when it preys upon you so,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek. ‘If you have worries, share them with me. Everything that touches upon your life is precious to me. Surely you realise that by now?’ Another kiss, softer and more lingering. ‘I love you.’
The warmth of her body was exciting him again. Holding her tight and stroking her hair, he tried to work out what to say and do. She was not making it easy for him. He had come to Exeter in order to tell her that they had reached the parting of the ways. On the ride to the city, he had rehearsed his speech a dozen times. He vowed to be firm but considerate, making a complete break but doing so as gently as possible. A letter would have been cruel. After all this time, he owed her an explanation to her face. It was the only fair way to end their romance.
But he reckoned without her charms. Instead of spurning them for ever, he yielded to them again in the misguided belief that he was doing her a favour rather than satisfying his own primal urges. In the intimacy of the bedchamber, he felt, he could break the news to her in a less painful way, but he had done the opposite. His desultory lovemaking was a declaration of intent. Sensitive to his moods and responsive to every motion of his body, she knew what he was there to tell her. Fear of losing him made her give herself more eagerly than ever before. She pleasured him until they neared exhaustion.
Yet it was not enough. She must be told. For a number of reasons, Picard simply had to walk away from the house in Exeter for good. Their relationship was too dangerous to continue. He searched for the words to bring it to a conclusion but it was she who spoke first.
‘Do you remember how we first met?’ she said, looking up at him.
‘By accident.’
‘Happy accident.’
‘Yes,’ he said gallantly.
‘I was about to leave the cathedral as you were about to enter. You looked so proud, so upright, so handsome. I have never had such sinful thoughts on consecrated ground.’
‘Nor I.’
‘Every time I go to the cathedral, I think of you.’
‘That is good.’
‘It has such significance for me.’
‘And for me, my love.’
‘Is that the truth?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you glad that we met that day?’
‘Of course.’
‘How glad?’
‘What do you mean?’ he said defensively. ‘You've had ample proof of my gratitude. I have come to see you whenever I could and brought occasional gifts for you as a token of my devotion. What more do you want?’
‘The fulfilment of your promise.’
‘Promise?’
‘You see,’ she said, breaking away from him, ‘you have forgotten already. A promise made in the throes of passion is worthless. Easily given but just as easily abandoned. I do not believe you ever meant to keep your word. Did you, Nicholas? It was a ruse.’
‘No, it was not.’
‘A cunning way to worm yourself into my affections.’
‘That is not what I did.’
‘Then why not honour your promise?’
He hesitated and bit his lip. ‘It is difficult to explain,’ he said at length. ‘Circumstances have changed.’
‘Yes,’ she accused him. ‘You no longer love me.’
‘I do!’
‘Then why do I not feel loved? Why do you take me to bed when you do not really want me any more? I am not blind. I am not stupid. Why did you come here today, Nicholas?’
It was the perfect moment to tell her the truth but it died on his lips. Picard lost his nerve. He persuaded himself that it would be too brutal to part in this way and tried instead to calm her, pulling her to him again and burying his intentions in a long kiss. She responded willingly, but there were tears in her eyes when she stepped back from the embrace.
‘Ignore my complaint,’ she said. ‘I spoke too hastily.’
‘Not at all.’
‘You owe me nothing. I absolve you from your promise.’
‘I will be indebted to you for ever,’ he said with more sincerity than he actually felt. ‘It is impossible for me to repay you in full for the love and the happiness you have given me here.’
‘Do you really mean that, Nicholas?’
‘Why else should I say it?’
‘And will you come again?’
‘Yes.’
‘Soon?’
‘Very soon,’ he affirmed.
But they both knew that he was lying. Their final embrace was perfunctory. Her eyes were still moist as she walked across to the door with him. There was a valedictory kiss, then she ran her hands round his face and down his body as if trying to memorise every last contour. Picard smiled bravely but his stomach was churning. He was betraying a woman whom he once loved and who clearly still doted on him. Other mistresses had been discarded with relative ease, but this one had a deeper hold on him. He was in pain.
‘Farewell!’ she said.
‘Adieu.’
He let himself out and descended the steps at speed, leaving by the back door of the property and collecting his horse from the stables. A sense of relief welled up in him, but it was tempered by regret. He would miss her badly. The loss, however, was outweighed by several gains and he tried to concentrate on those. As he rode through the busy streets at a brisk trot, Picard fought off the impulse to look back. She belonged to his past now. Other priorities would take her place.
He had business in the city with the town reeve and headed for the man's house. When he was offered a cup of wine by his host, he downed it in one gulp. More wine was served. Memories of his earlier visit soon began to fade. It was some hours before he was ready to begin the homeward journey and it took him past her house once more. Picard did not even give it the tribute of a glance. Untroubled by sorrow or remorse, he went on through North Gate and breathed the clean air of freedom.
Evening shadows were starting to dapple the grass and there was a hint of rain on the wind. He was in a buoyant mood. The town reeve had complied with his requests and been a generous host. Picard had achieved all that he had set out to do, ridding himself in the process of a lady who was starting to become an encumbrance. He was so pleased by his visit to Exeter that he did not even think about the bleak welcome which awaited him from his wife. For the first time in years, he rode home with a degree of real pleasure.
He was still congratulating himself on his success when he entered the wood. Shadows turned to patches of darkness. Leaves rustled. Branches creaked gently in the breeze. Picard felt no fear. Other Norman barons always travelled with an armed escort, but his was too short a journey to merit company and he had been very keen to arrive in Exeter alone so that he could call on his mistress unseen. A noise in the undergrowth made his horse shy, but Picard controlled the animal and nudged it forward with his knees. The wine was making him feel drowsy.
It was when he approached a beech tree that misfortune struck. A thick bough, festooned with leaves, was overhanging the road and swaying slowly to and fro. There was no suggestion of peril until he rode directly beneath the branch. A loud snarling noise took his gaze upward then, and he caught a glimpse of a wildcat, hurtling towards him with bared teeth and murderous claws. Landing on his face, the creature sank its angry fangs into his cheek and attempted to gouge out his eyes. The force and suddenness of the attack knocked him from the saddle. Nicholas Picard was soon squirming in the dust as he tried to fight for his life.
Seated at the table, she was working at her tapestry by the light of the candle when the servant burst in. She looked up in surprise, but her deft fingers continued to sew on. The servant was trembling under the weight of the tidings he bore.
‘Yes?’ she said with a note of disapproval. ‘Why do you dist
urb me so?’
‘The master's horse has just come back to the stables, my lady,’ he gabbled. ‘On its own. There is no sign of the lord Nicholas. We fear the worst.’
‘Why?’
‘Your husband is a fine horseman. He would not easily be thrown.’
‘Is that what happened?’
‘We do not know, my lady.’
‘Then do not jump to foolish conclusions,’ she said, putting her needle aside and rising from the chair. ‘There are many reasons why the horse might have returned without its rider and they do not all have sinister import.’
‘We are concerned for his safety, my lady.’
‘My husband is well able to look after himself,’ she said complacently. ‘I have more faith in him than you. Well, do not stand there gibbering, man,’ she added with a gesture. ‘Send out a search party. They will need torches at this time of night. Bring me word of what they find.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘And whatever it is,’ she emphasised, ‘knock on the door before you enter. If you charged in on the lord Nicholas like that, you would have your ears soundly boxed. Now, be off with you!’
The servant nodded and raced off to obey her order. The lady Catherine resumed her seat and took up the tapestry once more. While the rest of the manor house was in a state of turmoil, she was curiously uninvolved. Her needle was continuing its delicate work when the search party thundered from the stable yard and set off down the track.
It did not take them long to find him. The wood was a favoured spot for robbers and more than one traveller had been ambushed there. Picard had ridden through it a hundred times alone without incident, but it still remained the most likely place for any assault. There were six of them, knights in Picard's retinue, holding flaming torches and scouring the land on either side of the winding road. When they reached the wood itself, they spread out to widen their search. It was over in minutes.
‘Here!’ cried a voice. ‘Here! Ho! I have found him.’
The others quickly converged on the speaker and six torches illumined the sorry scene. Nicholas Picard lay on his back, his body twisted into an unnatural position, his hands covered in gore, his face lacerated beyond recognition and his eyes no more than two bleeding sockets. By the dancing light of the flames, they saw that his throat had been cut from ear to ear.
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