‘I will do more than that, my lord,’ said Reynard, covering his dismay with a show of helpfulness. ‘There is no need for you to trudge across the mud when my servant can do the office. Stay here in the warm and I will have Grimketel brought to you.’ He raised his voice. ‘Ho, there! Come quickly!’
A slovenly young man with unkempt hair came shuffling in.
Adam Reynard took him aside to give him instructions, then opened the front door to hurry him on his way. When he turned back to his guests he contrived a nervous smile of welcome.
‘May I offer you refreshment while you wait?’
‘No, thank you,’ said Ralph.
‘Not even mulled wine?’
‘This is not a social visit. We come in search of evidence.’
‘Of what?’
‘We do not know until we find it.’
‘Have you been sent by the lord Henry?’
‘No,’ admitted Ralph.
‘Does he know that you are here?’
‘He will do so in time.’
‘In other words,’ said Reynard, seeing the chance to assert himself, ‘you are acting in defiance of the lord Henry. He is in charge of the murder investigation yet you set yourselves up in opposition to him. What right have you to do that?’
‘The right of free men with a belief in justice.’
‘Boio will get his justice at the end of a rope.’
‘Only if he is guilty.’
‘That has been established beyond doubt.’
‘We doubt his guilt,’ said Gervase. ‘He himself denies it. But let me come back to something you said a moment ago, if I may.
You claimed that you were not here on the morning when Martin Reynard was killed.’
‘That is true. I was visiting some friends in Kenilworth.’
‘It is probably true that you went on this visit and I am sure that you have witnesses to confirm it.’
‘I do,’ said Reynard with righteous indignation. ‘Several of them.’
‘Where were you the day before?’
‘What has that got to do with it, Master Bret?’
‘Only that Martin Reynard was not killed on the morning when his body was discovered. The murder took place some time on the previous day. The dead body was examined by someone who can read its signs with great skill.’
Reynard’s cheeks coloured. ‘Are you accusing me?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then why try to catch me out?’
‘I was merely pointing out the danger of making assumptions,’
said Gervase. ‘You made two of them. The first was that the victim was killed on the morning when he was found. And the second, that the murder took place at that very spot. You said that Grimketel caught sight of the blacksmith near the place where Martin Reynard was killed.’
‘And he was not killed there?’
‘Not for certain.’
‘Boio must have carried the dead body there, then.’
‘That is possible. Our minds tend another way.’
‘You are only trying to confuse me,’ said Reynard, his jowls shaking and his flabby hands waving. ‘What does it matter where and when he met his death? The killer has been caught. That is the main thing.’
‘He is innocent until proven guilty.’
‘That is not what the lord Henry thinks.’
‘We beg to differ.’
‘He will be less than pleased to hear of this,’ warned Reynard, trying to drive a wedge between them and their host. ‘Be warned, sirs. The lord Henry is a mighty man in these parts. He and his brother, Robert, Count of Meulan, are the effective rulers of this county.’
‘Not while Thorkell of Warwick still lives,’ opined Gervase.
‘Thorkell is a mad old Saxon.’
‘With substantial holdings in the county.’
‘He has nothing like the influence of the lord Henry.’
‘The lord Henry’s influence depends on a show of force but Thorkell needs no soldiers to exert his control. He has influence over the hearts and minds of every Saxon in Warwickshire and they far outnumber the garrison at the castle.’
‘Do I spy a friend of Thorkell’s?’ said Reynard with a sneer.
‘You talk to someone who gives him due respect.’
‘But only respect,’ said Ralph firmly. ‘When you and Thorkell come to match your wits before us, Gervase will show no favour to the mad old Saxon, as you call him. He is a rock of impartiality.’
‘I begin to wonder, my lord.’
‘You raise an interesting point, however. The lord Henry’s writ does seem to run throughout Warwickshire. There must have been far more satisfaction for a Norman in serving him than in helping to manage Thorkell’s estate.’
‘There was, my lord.’
‘Then why did Martin Reynard leave?’
‘I do not know. It is said that he and his master fell out.’
‘Over what?’
‘Ask that question of the ladies in the castle.’
‘The ladies?’
‘My guess is that Martin was too popular among them.’
‘A chamberer, eh?’ said Ralph with interest. ‘A backstairs man with a weakness for the ladies. I can see that it would irk someone like Henry Beaumont. A stern soldier, perhaps, but I take him for a faithful husband and an upright Christian as well. Yet you say Martin was married?’
‘That would not have stopped him.’
‘We have a new motive for his murder, then?’
‘Do we, my lord?’
‘Revenge. A jealous husband may have done the deed.’
‘Or a discarded mistress,’ said Reynard with a smirk.
‘Let us come back to the evidence against Boio.’
‘It is overwhelming,’ argued the other, legs splayed to take the weight of his body. ‘Even if he had not been seen in the forest that morning, Boio would still stand accused.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of the nature of the injuries.’
‘Go on.’
‘Martin was crushed to death. Can we agree at least on that?’
‘Willingly,’ said Gervase. ‘We saw the corpse.’
‘Ribs broken, spine snapped.’
‘That is correct.’
‘Then the blacksmith is hanged.’
‘Is he?’
‘He has to be, Master Bret. The victim’s back was broken. Boio’s work. No other man would be strong enough to do that.’
When the sun broke through the low clouds it brought a slight cheer to Coventry and lured more of the citizens out from their homes. Extra stalls were set up in the marketplace and more people came to browse and haggle. It was no warmer but it somehow seemed so. A sizeable crowd was soon milling around.
The old man was able to gather a larger audience around him this time and sang the praises of his medicine with more effect than he had managed earlier. People began to finger their purses.
When one man actually purchased a bottle, believing that it would remove the warts on his nose, others were tempted to follow but the traveller’s success was short-lived.
Before he could part with more of his elixir, his audience was diverted by a yell of excitement from the other side of the marketplace. A new source of entertainment lumbered forward.
It was a huge brown bear, wearing a muzzle and being led on a chain by a dwarf clad from head to foot in black. The massive beast and its tiny keeper were a strange sight and everyone flocked to get a closer view of them. Losing his fickle audience in an instant, the old man heaved a resigned sigh and went to watch the performance too.
The dwarf waited until he was ringed with spectators, then he took a flute from his belt and played a simple ditty. To the delight of the crowd the bear responded at once, dancing in a circle and clapping its paws in tune to the music. The people were enthralled.
When the dance was over, the dwarf shouted a command and the bear turned somersaults for a full minute. It went through its whole array of trick
s — even scooping the bearward up into its arms at one point — until it was given applause by the spectators.
Doffing his cap, the dwarf held it out so that he could harvest something more meaningful than eager applause. Coins were tossed and one stallholder donated a small cake to the cap.
But another of the vendors was less entranced by the bear. It suddenly abandoned the tricks it had been taught and invented one of its own, ambling to the man’s stall and taking hold of the large barrel of salted herrings which stood beside it. Two sturdy men were needed to lift the barrel but the bear hoisted it up without any strain. While the stallholder protested wildly and the bearward tried to gain control over his animal by beating it with a stick, the crowd urged the creature on. It did not disappoint them.
Holding the barrel in both arms, it squeezed hard until the wood began first to creak, then to splinter, then to split. With a final hug the bear applied so much pressure that the barrel suddenly burst open with a loud crack and spilled the herrings all over the ground in a continuous and irresistible shoal. There was pandemonium. The stallholder howled, the spectators clapped, the bearward denied responsibility and children dived down to grab as many free fish as they could hold. Through it all, as if glorying in the chaos which it had produced, the bear gave a muffled roar and turned more somersaults.
The old man studied its face. It seemed to be laughing.
‘I have already given an account of what I saw,’ complained Grimketel.
‘Give it again,’ ordered Ralph.
‘Why, my lord?’
‘Because Gervase and I wish to hear it.’
‘Do you come with the authority of the lord Henry?’
‘No,’ said Ralph, holding up a fist. ‘I come with the authority of this and I will use it to box your ears if you do not speak up.’
‘Do not threaten him,’ intervened Adam Reynard.
‘Would you rather I threatened you?’
‘The lord Henry will learn of your behaviour.’
‘I will be the first to tell him about it.’ Ralph turned back to Grimketel. ‘We are still waiting to hear what you claim you saw.’
The four of them were in the parlour of Reynard’s house. The servant sent to fetch Grimketel had clearly given him a message of warning because the latter arrived in a defensive mood. Ralph quickly tired of his evasion and pressed him for an answer.
‘Tell us your tale, man!’ he snapped. ‘Now!’
Grimketel backed away slightly and glanced at his master before recounting his evidence. Ralph and Gervase listened intently.
‘That morning,’ said Grimketel, ‘not long after dawn, I was walking towards the forest when I saw Boio coming out of the trees. I waved to him but he did not seem to see me and hurried off before I could get close enough to talk to him. Later on that same morning, the lord Henry found the dead body of Martin Reynard. It was no more than a hundred yards from the place where I saw the blacksmith. That is it, sirs.’
‘Do you swear that it is the truth?’ said Ralph.
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Shortly after dawn,’ said Gervase, taking over the questioning.
‘Light must have been poor when you caught sight of Boio.’
‘It was,’ admitted the other. ‘The sky was overcast.’
‘How far away were you from him?’
‘Thirty or forty yards.’
‘On a gloomy morning.’
‘It was Boio,’ insisted the other, wagging a finger. ‘I know the way he holds himself, the way he moves. It had to be him.’
‘Why did he not see you?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Could it be that you were too far away to be picked out?’
‘I saw him clearly enough.’
‘So you tell us.’
‘It may be that Boio saw me but pretended not to.’ He shot another glance at Reynard. ‘If he had just killed a man he would not wish to meet up with anyone. I think he wanted to get away from the place as fast as he could.’
‘Was he carrying any weapon?’
‘A man that powerful does not need a weapon.’
‘Answer the question,’ said Ralph.
Grimketel shrugged. ‘I saw no weapon.’
‘Because you were too far away?’ probed Gervase.
‘Who knows?’
‘What sort of expression did he wear?’
‘Expression?’
‘On his face. Did he seem pleased, anxious, amused, frightened?’
‘I could not tell, Master Bret.’
‘In any case,’ said Reynard impatiently, ‘it is immaterial. The very fact that Boio was hurrying away from the murder scene is enough in itself to throw suspicion.’
‘Except that we are not sure that it was the murder scene.’
‘But the body was found there,’ argued Grimketel.
‘There is a possibility that the reeve was killed elsewhere.’
The third glance which Grimketel aimed at his master was far more eloquent than the others. He was momentarily bemused and seemed to be seeking guidance from Reynard. The latter replied with a reproving glare then turned his back on Grimketel.
‘You say that Boio was coming out of the trees,’ resumed Gervase.
‘Does that mean he was trespassing in the Forest of Arden?’
‘Yes,’ said Grimketel.
‘Are forest laws enforced here?’
‘Savagely.’
‘What is the penalty for trespass?’
‘A fine at the very least. Poachers are mutilated or hanged.’
‘But you do not think Boio had been poaching.’
‘No, Master Bret.’
‘What were you doing in the forest yourself?’ said Gervase. ‘If the blacksmith was trespassing then so were you.’
‘Grimketel has rights of warren,’ explained Reynard.
‘Let him speak for himself,’ said Ralph. ‘He has a tongue.’
‘It is as you have heard,’ said Grimketel. ‘I have a licence to kill vermin in the forest. Hares and wildcats, mostly.’
‘Did you catch any that morning?’
‘No. My snares were all empty.’
‘Have you ever seen Boio in the forest before?’
‘Never.’
‘Does he know the penalty for trespass?’
‘Everyone does.’
‘So he knew that he would be taking a risk?’
‘Yes,’ said Grimketel. ‘Perhaps he feared that I would report him to one of the foresters. That is why he kept well clear of me.’
‘He would sooner be arrested for trespass than for murder.’
‘He is guilty of both,’ said Reynard.
‘That remains to be proved.’
‘You will not sit in judgement on him. The lord Henry will.’
‘That is why we are making our own enquiries,’ said Ralph bluntly.
‘Your own irrelevant enquiries.’
‘We shall see.’
‘Thank you, Grimketel,’ said Gervase smoothly. ‘What you have told us is very interesting. One thing more before we leave.’
‘Yes?’
‘When you came to the funeral you spoke with Thorkell.’
‘Not by choice,’ said the other ruefully. ‘He turned on me.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That his blacksmith was innocent and that …’
‘Go on,’ said Reynard, as if giving him permission. ‘Be truthful.’
Grimketel curled his lip. ‘Thorkell of Warwick said that my master had had his reeve murdered then threw the blame on to Boio. He was very bitter and all but struck me.’
‘I saw the exchange.’
‘Time for us to go, Gervase,’ said Ralph. ‘Other duties call.’
‘We will not try to detain you,’ said Reynard with sarcasm. ‘Nor entreat you to come again. You have no right to involve yourselves here. You do not even know Boio.’
‘We are getting to know him extremely well,’ said Gervase.
They exchanged farewells, then Reynard showed the two visitors out of the door before closing it quickly and pointedly after them.
Ralph and Gervase began to walk slowly towards their horses but they were still close enough to the house to hear the yell of pain from Grimketel as his master started to beat him.
Hours of continual effort began to tax even Boio’s strength but he did not dare to stop. Changing its angle, he worked away rhythmically with the file and tried to ignore the ache in his arms, the occasional shooting pain in his neck and the chafing on his ankles and wrists. When the iron band which enclosed one ankle finally began to weaken, he rubbed harder until he opened a gap in the iron. It was big enough for him to insert the file into it in order to lever the fetter apart. When it popped open he was afraid that the noise would bring the guards and he swiftly hid the file and the now liberated ankle beneath the straw, but nobody came.
He was safe for the time being. Having earned a brief rest, he massaged the ankle which had shed its fetter, then stretched out his leg so that it could enjoy its freedom. There was a long way to go yet but it was an encouraging start. When both legs were unencumbered he would at least be able to run away from his dungeon even though he had no idea at that point how he would get out of it. That was a problem he would face later. For the moment he was driven along by the simple desire to get rid of his shackles. That was why she had dropped the file through his window and why she was now praying that it would help him to escape. When they had first arrested him and flung him into the cell, Boio had felt completely defenceless and utterly alone.
But he did have one friend. She believed in him and had even risked imprisonment herself in order to aid him. That thought wiped away the aching fatigue. Picking up the file once more, he began his attack on the iron band which enclosed his other ankle, working with such grim dedication that sweat started to form on his brow and trickle down his face. It was like being back in his forge again.
When the Bishop of Lichfield left the church he still had the pleasing aroma of incense in his nostrils. Having celebrated Mass in Holy Trinity Church, he was free to address his mind to more mundane matters. Reginald padded along beside him like a faithful hound as they made the short journey to the monastery, followed by a dignified procession of Benedictine monks. Robert de Limesey waved his blessing to some of the children who stopped to watch them pass then he turned to Reginald.
The Foxes of Warwick d-9 Page 13
