‘They have found it!’ he said.
Saewin the Reeve made sure that Asa left the shire hall before Loretta was summoned. He was anxious to avoid a confrontation between the two women and did not relish the idea of being caught in the middle of it. The delay gave the commissioners time to take refreshment and to reflect on the evidence they had so far taken that morning, and to compare it with the deposition from the abbot of Tavistock. Of the three witnesses, Canon Hubert leaned in favour of the prelate, airily dismissing the claims by the two Saxons as annoying irrelevancies. Hervey de Marigny was more impressed by Engelric than his colleague had been, suspecting that the old man might well have borne arms during the siege of Exeter and that he deserved the respect due to a worthy enemy. Ralph Delchard was at once amused and interested by Asa's contribution to the debate and it was she who occupied Gervase Bret's mind as well.
While the others were nibbling their food, he took Ralph aside. ‘Were you speaking in jest?’ he asked.
‘About whom?’
‘Asa. Is she really … what you said she was?’
‘Yes, Gervase,’ he said with a grin, ‘but she is not a prostitute of the common sort. My guess is that she has very few clients and selects them with great care. Nicholas Picard was one of them.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because of the terms in which his letter was couched. Some men pay her in money, some in other ways. The lord Nicholas chose to reward her with the gift of some land.’
‘But she only stood to get that in the event of his death.’
Ralph grew serious. ‘That point was not lost on me, Gervase. She is a charming creature, but I think it would benefit us to take a closer look at Asa. It would be intriguing to learn who else enjoys her favours – and at what cost. Asa was a delight,’ he said, recalling her performance before them. ‘The lord Nicholas was fortunate in his choice. Asa knows how to pleasure a man.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘I only have to look at her.’
‘Why did I not see what you saw?’
Ralph chuckled. ‘Wait until you have been married to Alys for a month,’ he said, digging an elbow into his ribs. ‘Your eyes will be opened to the wonders of the world, Gervase. You will be able to appraise a woman properly.’
Saewin entered to tell them that the next claimant had arrived. Resuming their seats, they signalled to the reeve and Loretta was soon brought in. The contrast with Asa could not have been more striking. As she sailed towards them, Loretta bore herself with great dignity and settled herself down on the bench before the commissioners with an almost regal air. Eldred followed her in, bearing a leather satchel. Though he sat beside her, he somehow seemed invisible. All attention was concentrated on Loretta.
When the preliminaries were dealt with, Ralph began his examination. ‘Why have you come before us, my lady?’
‘To attest my right to certain holdings in Upton Pyne.’
‘You could have done that when our predecessors visited Exeter,’ he reminded her. ‘Yet no claim was lodged on your behalf. Why did you not seek redress from the first commissioners?’
‘I was absent from the city during their visit.’
‘Were you not given notice of their arrival?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ she said, ‘but I was already in Normandy when it was sent. By the time I returned, your predecessors had completed their business here and moved on. I was too late.’
‘Could nobody have spoken up on your behalf?’
‘No one was authorised to do so,’ she said with a hint of arrogance. ‘I have learned to manage my own affairs.’
‘That does you credit,’ he said with a smile of admiration.
Loretta ignored it. ‘May I proceed with my claim?’
‘Of course.’
Taking his cue, Eldred extracted some documents from his satchel and handed them over to Ralph before taking his seat once more. Loretta delivered her speech as if it had been carefully rehearsed.
‘When you have had time to peruse the documents,’ she said levelly, ‘you will appreciate the strength of my claim. My husband was Roger de Marmoutier, a name that will not be unknown to you, my lord. He fought at Hastings, as you did yourself, and was rewarded with holdings in three counties, the bulk of his property being here in Devon, held under the honour of Bramford. He retained his estates in Normandy where he used his wealth to build two churches and to endow the abbey at Bec, where,’ she said, turning to Hubert, ‘I believe you were once sub-prior. My husband held the abbey in the highest esteem. But that is not germane to this discussion,’ she continued. ‘AH that I am concerned to establish are the credentials of my late husband who was granted the holdings in Upton Pyne for services rendered to the King. His writ lies before you and you will observe that one of the signatories is Bishop Osbern.’
Ralph glanced at the document before passing it to Gervase. ‘Nobody doubts the legitimacy of this grant,’ he said, ‘apart from the abbot of Tavistock, that is. What concerns us is not how your husband came to acquire that land but how your son came to lose it.’
‘By an act of treachery, my lord.’
‘Treachery?’
‘There is no other word for it,’ she said. ‘William, my late son, was tricked out of that part of his inheritance.’
‘By whom?’
‘Nicholas Picard.’
‘That is a serious allegation,’ warned Hubert.
‘It can be substantiated.’
‘Take care, my lady. It is easy to slander the dead. The lord Nicholas is not here to defend himself.’
‘Nor is my son,’ Loretta said bitterly. She paused briefly to gather her thoughts. ‘Forgive me,’ she continued. ‘The events which I must describe are still vivid in my mind and cause me much distress. It is difficult for me to speak of them before strangers.’
‘We understand, my lady,’ said de Marigny with sympathy. ‘Take your time. There is no hurry.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘We are sorry that you have to dwell on such sad events. The loss of a husband and a son in such a short time must have been a shattering blow to you. But the facts must be heard.’
‘They will be,’ she said, bracing herself. ‘Thus it stands. When my husband died of a fever, he bequeathed the holdings in question, along with other property, to our son, William. The land at Upton Pyne was very dear to my husband, but it had always been coveted by the lord Nicholas.’
‘Why, my lady?’ said Gervase.
‘Because it has rich soil and good grazing. It is also adjacent to the estates held by lord Nicholas. That proximity, alas, was fatal.’
‘In what way?’
Loretta gave a little sigh. ‘I loved my son,’ she said, ‘but I will not hide his defects from you. Where his father was conscientious, William was lazy. He was also impetuous at times, given to drink and to gambling. We tried to correct his faults but he was too wilful to be schooled. Do not get the impression that he was a complete wastrel,’ she added swiftly. ‘My son was kind and considerate at heart. He adored his parents and was always stricken with guilt when he upset us, but he was too easily led astray. The lord Nicholas was quick to see that.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Befriended my son and made much of him. Took him hunting, showed him favour, bestowed gifts upon him. You must remember that William was young and impressionable. He looked up to the lord Nicholas. When the wager was suggested, he took it without a second thought.’
‘Wager?’ said Ralph.
‘That is how the land was forfeited.’
‘What were the terms of the wager?’
‘They were to have a passage of arms. Sword and lance in single combat. When one was forced to submit, the other took the prize.’
‘And what was at stake?’
‘The holdings in Upton Pyne.’
Hubert was shocked. ‘William de Marmoutier risked all that land on a single engagement?’ he said.
‘Earl Ha
rold did the same at Hastings,’ noted de Marigny wryly.
‘I told you that my son could be headstrong,’ said Loretta. ‘And he stood to gain an equivalent number of acres from the lord Nicholas if he vanquished him, as he fully expected to do. But he reckoned without his opponent's greater experience and guile. Wine was served before the contest. I am told that William drank too much too fast. It was not a fair fight in any way. My son was duped.’
‘So the holdings were won by Nicholas Picard?’ said Ralph.
‘That is what he alleged, my lord, though no formal transfer took place. A couple of days after the contest, my son was out hunting when he was gored by a stag. He bled to death before they found him.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘You can imagine my grief. While I was in mourning, the lord Nicholas took possession of the land at Upton Pyne. There was nothing that I could do until now.’
‘You could have appealed to the sheriff.’
‘He upheld the lord Nicholas's right to the property.’
‘Could you not have pleaded with the lord Nicholas himself?’
Loretta lifted her chin. ‘That would have been demeaning, my lord. I will beg from no man. I wanted to secure those holdings by legal means and not by grovelling. William was cheated out of that land. I have come here to demand its return.’
‘We do not respond to demands,’ said Hubert fussily. ‘Our task is to consider the worth of each claim before arriving at a judgement. Besides, there are certain things I would like to know about this alleged act of treachery. Can independent witnesses be called who will support your version of events? Do you have any written proof of this wager? Why did the sheriff ratify the lord Nicholas's possession of those holdings?’
Loretta's replies were short and direct. When other questions were directed at her by each of the commissioners, she answered them with ringing confidence. She withstood their interrogation for over two hours without showing any sign of strain or discomfort. They were impressed but they were also slightly disconcerted. Loretta seemed to know a great deal about each one of them and slipped in remarks which sometimes brought them to a halt. It was almost as if she was examining them.
When her documents had been inspected, they were returned to Eldred who led the way out of the hall. As Loretta disappeared, Ralph sat back in his chair with a sigh of approval. ‘The most convincing claimant so far,’ he decided.
‘Too convincing in some ways,’ said Hubert. ‘She seemed to know exactly what we would ask her.’
‘She was a highly intelligent woman,’ said Gervase admiringly. ‘And a very beautiful one. It was difficult to believe that she could have a son of that age. She must have been very young when she married.’
‘Like you,’ said Ralph. ‘Young and innocent. Now, Gervase, which way do you incline? Do you still favour Asa's claim or has she been displaced in your affections by the lady Loretta?’
‘Affection does not come into it, Ralph.’
‘Which one of them would you choose?’
‘Neither,’ said Gervase. ‘I favour Engelric.’
Golde had been in Exeter for some days without ever leaving the confines of the castle. When she was invited by the lady Albreda to explore the city beyond its walls, she accepted the offer at once. Horses were ready for them at the stables and so was their guide. Golde was surprised to see that it was Berold the Jester. He wore loose-fitting Saxon apparel with cross-gartered trousers and a floppy cap.
‘Good day, ladies!’ he said, doffing the cap to bow low. ‘Let us mount up and dazzle the city with our beauty.’
‘Where will you take us?’ asked Golde.
‘There and back.’
‘Where and back?’
‘Hither and thither, my lady.’
‘You talk in riddles.’
‘Yes,’ he said cheerily. ‘We will go there as well.’
‘Where?’
‘From the end to the beginning.’
‘Lead on, Berold,’ said Albreda. ‘We will follow.’
When they were perched on their saddles, the jester mounted his own horse and turned it towards the main gate. Four armed soldiers acted as an escort to the ladies. The seven of them came out of the castle and headed first for the cathedral precincts. People quickly made way for them in the crowded streets. Berold acknowledged passers-by with an imperious wave of the hand, pulling faces at children to make them laugh and beating mischievously on any shutters that came within reach. He was a voluble guide, at once distracting and delighting them with his nonsensical comments. The four soldiers were soon chuckling aloud.
‘Take no notice of the names,’ advised Berold. ‘They are put there to deceive you. South Street runs north, Broad Street is narrow, Fore Street lies aft, Friernhay Street contains neither friars nor hay and High Street is the lowliest place in Christendom.’
‘What of Bartholomew Street?’ asked Albreda.
‘He fled from the city years ago.’
When they turned into the precinct, Berold made jesting reference to the two churches on their left and St Petroc's on their right, but Golde did not hear him. Her gaze had settled on the minster church itself, climbing into the sky on its way to heaven. Glimpsed from her apartment at the castle it was striking enough, but she now felt the full impact of its size and ambition. When she lived close to Hereford Cathedral, she had taken its magnificence for granted and rarely tossed it more than a glance. The novelty of Exeter made her stare and wonder. It was only when she had carried out a detailed inventory that she looked away from the edifice to find that Albreda and Berold were no longer with her.
They had ridden across to the cemetery. Berold was surveying the gravestones as if they were soldiers on parade but Albreda was staring sadly at one particular spot. Ravens were pecking at the mound of earth which marked the last resting place of Nicholas Picard. She tore herself away to rejoin Golde and offer an apology. Berold trotted up behind her.
‘What would you like to see now, my lady?’ he asked Golde.
‘Waterbeer Street,’ she said without hesitation.
‘A foul-smelling lane.’
‘Not to me, Berold.’
‘I would like to see it as well,’ said Albreda. ‘I scorned your interest in brewing because I knew nothing about it. You can educate me, Golde.’
‘With pleasure, my lady.’
‘What is the difference between ale and beer?’
Berold cackled. ‘The difference between poison and piss.’
‘Hold your foul tongue, Berold,’ scolded Albreda playfully. ‘I want Golde to answer. Well, is there a difference?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Golde. ‘All the difference in the world.’
It was a pleasant afternoon. They wandered in and out of the streets until they had seen almost the whole city. Golde's curiosity was unlimited and Berold's jests were ceaseless. Hours slipped happily by. When the party was ready to return to the castle, Golde remembered something.
‘There is one last place I wish to visit.’
Berold pretended to lift a skirt and the men sniggered at him.
‘Where is that?’ asked Albreda.
‘I would like to take a closer look at the tunnel that was built under the wall,’ said Golde. ‘The lord Hervey told us about it and we saw it on our approach. It was built during the siege but abandoned when the city finally surrendered. Could we go there, please?’
‘I would rather adjourn to the castle,’ said Albreda, ‘but there is nothing to stop you from finding this tunnel. Berold will escort you.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’
While the others trotted off towards the castle, Golde followed the jester on a twisting route. He did not seem happy with the assignment to act as her guide and fell unusually silent. When they left the city, he wheeled his horse to the right until they reached a cavernous opening in the earth. Berold stopped well short of it and pointed a finger.
‘There it lies, my lady. The entrance to Hell.’
‘Why do you say that?’
>
‘Men belong above ground, not tunnelling away like moles.’
‘How deep is it?’ she wondered.
‘I do not know, my lady. I think it has been filled up.’
‘Let us see,’ she said, nudging her horse forward to the very edge of the tunnel. ‘It looks like a cave. Does it go all the way under the wall?’
Before she could get a reply, her horse suddenly shied with fright, rearing up on its hind legs and dislodging her from the saddle. Golde hit the ground with a thud and rolled over. Berold was beside her in a flash.
‘Are you hurt, my lady?’ he said with concern.
It had been a long but productive day in the shire hall. Three witnesses were examined and the evidence of a fourth, the abbot of Tavistock, was set against their claims. Only one more person remained to be seen and they decided to postpone his appearance until the morrow. Word was sent to Tetbald the Steward, informing him that he must be at the shire hall before the Tierce bell sounded to represent the widow of Nicholas Picard. Relevant documents would be required. Canon Hubert excused himself and took Brother Simon off to the more curative ambience of the cathedral. Exposure to two potent women, Asa and Loretta, had taken its toll of the scribe. He needed solitude.
Ralph and his companions gathered up their satchels. ‘We have learned a lot today,’ he said with satisfaction.
‘But not the most important thing,’ remarked Gervase.
‘What is that?’
‘Whether or not the murder is directly connected to this dispute.’
‘It must be, Gervase.’
‘We have not established a clear link.’
‘Do not forget Walter Baderon,’ said de Marigny. ‘There is something odd about that fellow. He was on duty at the North Gate when the lord Nicholas left that night. Baderon could easily have pursued him.’
‘At whose behest?’ asked Gervase. ‘The abbot's?’
‘He might have had his own reasons for killing the lord Nicholas.’
‘They all have their own reasons,’ complained Ralph. ‘The abbot, that old Saxon, Engelric, the lovely Asa, the haughty Loretta and even the widow. Yes,’ he added with a smile, ‘the lady Catherine might have the best reason of all to kill her husband. She had to endure one betrayal after another. Five names to go on our list and there will be other suspects before we are done.’
The Wildcats of Exeter (Domesday Series Book 8) Page 14
