The Foxes of Warwick d-9

by Edward Marston

  ‘Your husband has not abandoned you,’ said Golde, ‘any more than mine has abandoned me. It is one of the perils of marrying men of importance, my lady. Work preoccupies them.’

  ‘I want a man who is preoccupied with me!’

  ‘That can be tiresome after a while,’ suggested Adela.

  ‘It is better than being left all on my own. Especially now Heloise has gone.’

  ‘You are not on your own, Marguerite.’

  ‘No,’ said Golde. ‘We are neglected wives as well.’

  Marguerite would not be appeased. They were in Adela’s chamber in the keep but its usual tranquillity was shattered by a shrieking voice and stamping feet as Marguerite circled the room to vent her spleen. Her companions gave up trying to calm her down and let her rant on for several minutes. It was only when, lacking Heloise’s moderating influence, she had worked herself up into a pitch of impotent rage that she seemed to realise what she was doing. She let out a cry of horror and rushed to shower her hostess with apologies.

  ‘I am so sorry, my lady. I did not mean to offend you.’

  ‘You did not, Marguerite.’

  ‘I just feel so ignored.’

  ‘You will have to learn to live with that, I fear.’

  ‘It is so ridiculous,’ said Marguerite. ‘Often when my husband is with me, I just wish that he would go away yet when he does, I miss him.’

  ‘It is called marriage,’ commented Golde softly.

  ‘I want more!’

  ‘More of what, my lady?’

  ‘More of everything,’ asserted Marguerite, eyes flashing. ‘More love, more wealth, more attention, more pleasure, more interest, more husband, more of a proper marriage.’

  Adela smiled. ‘What is a proper marriage? I am not sure that I would care to answer that question. Would you, Golde?’

  ‘We would all have different ideas on the subject.’

  ‘Both of you seem to have proper marriages,’ said Marguerite.

  ‘Do we?’ said Adela.

  ‘Yes, you both seem settled. You have grown into your situation.’

  ‘You will do that yourself in time, Marguerite.’

  ‘Never, my lady. I came along too late.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I am Philippe’s second wife,’ she said, pouting. ‘All the love and joy was lavished on the first. She was his real wife. She had all of him. I have to make do with what is left over. It is hideous being a second wife.’

  ‘I do not find it so, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘My second marriage is far happier than my first, not least because I chose my husband on my own this time. In Ralph I have the man I wanted. My father selected my first husband for me. It … led to problems.’

  ‘I have had nothing else,’ said Marguerite, resuming her seat.

  Her face was bathed in an almost childlike innocence. ‘When I was a girl I knew exactly what kind of a man I wanted to marry.

  Brave, handsome and devoted to pleasing me. I used to dream of him sometimes. He always had the same horse — a black stallion with prancing feet. Then one day …’ she had to gather her strength before continuing, ‘… one day my father came to me and told me I would marry someone called Philippe Trouville. I did not even know who he was.’

  ‘But you must have had so many suitors,’ said Adela.

  ‘Dozens of them but none acceptable to my father. He chose Philippe for me. I tried to pretend that he was what I wanted and imagined that he would be the handsome man on the black stallion. But he was not,’ she sighed. ‘When I finally met him he turned out to be a grey-haired old man on a bay mare. I was horrified. When he started to pay court to me I had no idea that he was already married.’

  ‘Did your father know?’ asked Golde.

  ‘Oh, yes. I think so.’

  ‘He must surely have objected?’

  ‘The first wife was sick with a wasting disease,’ remembered Marguerite sadly. ‘She was not expected to live long. His friends told me afterwards that she was very beautiful when she was young. Philippe adored her. He was desolate when she …’ She looked across at them. ‘I know that Heloise told you and I know what you must think but it was not like that. The first wife, Marguerite — she had the same name — could not face withering away in front of her husband. When he came home one day she had taken poison. The grief almost killed him. Then it turned to bitterness. I knew nothing of this until after we were married and it was too late. Philippe was rich and powerful enough to impress my father but he was an angry man inside, given to outbursts of violence. He did not love me. I was just a younger version of his first wife. He was simply trying to replace one Marguerite with another.’ A combative note sounded. ‘I have made him pay for it ever since.’

  ‘Yet you clearly love him,’ said Golde.

  ‘Yes,’ added Adela, ‘or you would not miss him so much.’

  Marguerite spoke with a maliciousness that was chilling.

  ‘I would not care if I never saw him again!’

  Philippe Trouville stood shoulder to shoulder with Henry Beaumont and gloried in the confrontation between Church and State. Bishop Robert positioned himself at the door of the abbey to rebut their demands, wearing full vestments to lend dignity and having Brother Reginald at his side to provide spiritual reinforcement.

  ‘Right of sanctuary has been granted, my lord,’ said the bishop.

  ‘Not by me,’ retorted Henry.

  ‘The power of the Church supersedes yours.’

  ‘You are harbouring a murderer.’

  ‘We are sheltering a fugitive in accord with tradition.’

  ‘Turn the skulking rogue out!’ shouted Trouville.

  ‘We will not be denied,’ warned Henry.

  ‘You have heard my pronouncement, my lord.’

  ‘Let me speak with the abbot.’

  ‘His view is in harmony with mine.’

  ‘The abbot will listen to reason.’

  ‘I will tell him that you came, my lord,’ said the bishop with a dismissive smile. ‘Like me, he knows the importance of upholding the right of sanctuary. While a fugitive is within these walls he is immune from arrest by the highest in the land. We will not hand this man over to you. He has sought the protection of Holy Church and that is what he is entitled to receive.’ He raised a hand. ‘Good day, my lords.’

  Robert de Limesey stepped back into the abbey, and its great oaken door swung to with a thud. Thick bolts were heard being slotted into place. Henry Beaumont was incensed and fumed in silence but it was Trouville who was the more enraged. He was shaking with fury.

  ‘We must not endure this, my lord!’ he yelled. ‘They cannot shield a felon who has killed two men in cold blood! Do not bother to parley with that fool of a bishop. Give the command and we will beat down this door.’ He motioned his men-at-arms forward.

  ‘Let us do it, my lord!’ he urged. ‘I promise you that I will drag Boio out with a dagger in his heart!’

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the way back to the castle, Warin the Forester became more talkative. Aware of the dire predicament he was in and unable to deceive Ralph Delchard with a mixture of half-truths and lies, he fell back on complete honesty as a last resort. Ralph was quick to exploit the man’s change of attitude. By the time they reached Warwick, he had gleaned some new and important facts.

  Any hopes which the forester had that his willing co-operation might help to extenuate his punishment were dashed as soon as they entered the castle. He was handed over to the guard and taken off to the dungeons to be kept in custody until the return of Henry Beaumont. Ralph had no sympathy for the man. In his view, Warin’s crime was unforgivable. When he found his wife, Ralph told her why.

  ‘The forester knew, Golde,’ he said.

  ‘Knew what?’

  ‘That Boio was not seen by Grimketel near the place where the dead body lay. Grimketel was nowhere near the spot himself at dawn. He and Warin were too busy poaching deer.’

  ‘Warin admitted
that?’

  ‘With a little persuasion from me.’

  ‘But will he swear as much under oath?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Then Boio is saved.’

  ‘Not yet, my love.’

  ‘But you have two witnesses who will speak in his favour now,’

  she argued. ‘The old man with the donkey and this forester.

  Grimketel lied to incriminate the blacksmith. Who put him up to that?’

  ‘Adam Reynard.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It was another way to get at Thorkell. They are rival claimants for a large tract of land. Adam Reynard would do anything to upset the old Saxon. Boio was Thorkell’s man. If he was hanged for murder, Thorkell would bear the taint. Nor would his mind likely be wholly on the legal dispute.’ Ralph heaved a sigh. ‘To lose his reeve at such a time was a big enough blow. This second one must have sent Thorkell reeling. No overlord wants to have a murderer in his camp. Much less a man he had placed so much faith in.’

  ‘But the blacksmith is innocent.’

  ‘Few would believe that if he is convicted and hanged.’

  ‘Your new evidence will rescue him.’

  ‘That will depend on the lord Henry,’ said Ralph. ‘I will wait to hear Gervase’s news first before I ride hard to Coventry to intercede on Boio’s behalf. We will just have to pray that he is still alive.’

  ‘He has been granted right of sanctuary.’

  ‘The lord Henry may not choose to respect that right.’

  Golde was disturbed. ‘Would he take the blacksmith by force?’

  ‘I think that he might stop short of that, Golde. But he is not alone, remember. The lord Philippe is at his elbow and hot blood runs in that man’s veins, as I have discovered. Our host might not violate sanctuary,’ said Ralph, ‘but our esteemed colleague certainly will.’

  ‘Storm an abbey? That would be sacrilege.’

  ‘When the lord Philippe wants something, he will let nothing stand in his way until he gets it. How do you imagine he got that wife?’

  ‘Too true!’ murmured Golde, recalling the earlier disclosures by Marguerite. ‘But to come back to Boio, his innocence means that someone else is guilty of the murder. Who is it?’

  ‘I am still not sure,’ said Ralph. ‘When I met Warin, I thought that he might be the culprit. He is big and powerful as I know to my cost.’ He rubbed his back where a painful bruise was surely flowering even now.

  ‘Your cost?’

  ‘I wrestled with the man to test his strength. He threw me with ease. If he had no resistance, the forester might have broken Martin Reynard’s back. That is what I thought at first, anyhow.’

  ‘But not now?’

  ‘No, Golde.’

  ‘What changed your mind?’

  ‘Warin’s confession,’ he said. ‘No priest has ever shrived a man so thoroughly. The words poured out of him in a torrent. He and Grimketel poached together for years at Adam Reynard’s behest and the forester admitted to a dozen smaller crimes as well.’

  ‘But not the murder?’

  ‘He did not commit it.’

  ‘Then who did?’

  ‘I still have my suspicions about Ursa.’

  ‘The performing bear you told me about?’

  ‘It could have been him,’ said Ralph thoughtfully. ‘If Benedict is wrong about the time of death then it could easily have been Ursa who crushed the reeve to death in the forest. There is only one problem.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘I cannot imagine what Martin Reynard was doing at such an isolated spot at that time of the morning. Unless a tryst is involved here.’ He shook his head. ‘No, the cold would have frozen even his ardour.’ Ralph gave a chuckle, then hugged her. ‘But enough of my news. What has been happening here while I have gone?’

  ‘I too have been hearing a full confession.’

  ‘From the lady Adela?’ he teased. ‘Was she the woman who arranged to meet the reeve in the forest that morning?’

  ‘No, Ralph. It was not she who spoke but the lady Marguerite.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  They were in their chamber and moved to sit on the bed together.

  When Golde told him what she had heard, he nodded with interest throughout. The revelations about Philippe Trouville only served to confirm his own judgement.

  ‘Is that what his wife actually said, Golde?’

  ‘Yes, Ralph. That he was given to outbursts of violence.’

  ‘The man has a blood lust. Look how eager he was to join in the hunt for Boio. Nothing would have pleased him more than to be able to spear the man to death like a wild boar.’

  ‘The lord Philippe is an ogre.’

  ‘Yet you say that his wife was pining for him?’

  ‘She was complaining about being neglected,’ said Golde, ‘but that is not the same thing. The lady Marguerite also told us that she missed her husband when he was not there yet found him very disagreeable when he was.’

  ‘And what about you, my love?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Did you feel neglected as well?’ he said, kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘I bore it with more patience.’

  ‘Patience brings its own reward.’

  ‘That is what I was hoping.’

  ‘I am here to prove it.’

  He grinned broadly and pulled her into a warm embrace but it was short-lived. There was a tap on the door. Ralph got up to admit Gervase to the room. Fresh from his visit to Roundshill, he had little to tell and was more eager to hear their news. Golde repeated what she had learned from the lady Marguerite and Ralph told his friend about his visit to the forest. It was time to make plans.

  ‘We must ride to Coventry at once with this new intelligence,’

  said Ralph. ‘And I have some pertinent questions to put to the lord Philippe.’

  ‘Put them alone,’ said Gervase. ‘I have other business.’

  ‘With whom?’

  ‘Thorkell of Warwick.’

  ‘Tell him what we suspect about his reeve.’

  ‘I will, Ralph, but he will also want to hear what has happened to Boio. The man may have sanctuary but I am sure that the lord Henry is beating at the abbey gate. Thorkell may well decide to go to Coventry himself to make certain that right of sanctuary is not violated.’

  ‘Will you come with him?’

  ‘No,’ said Gervase. ‘I must go back to Roundshill.’

  ‘But you told us that Asmoth would not say anything.’

  ‘She would not say anything to me but someone else might coax the truth out of her. Asmoth knows the blacksmith better than anyone. They talked at great length yesterday. What he told her may well help to save him if only she would realise it,’ said Gervase, ‘but she does not trust me enough. I frightened her.’

  ‘Is there any point in going back to her again?’ said Ralph.

  ‘That depends on you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I need to ask a favour of you.’

  ‘It is granted before it is asked,’ said Ralph expansively.

  ‘Whatever I have is yours, Gervase. You know that. Just name it.’Gervase smiled and turned to look at Golde.

  ‘How would you like to take a ride into the country?’ he said.

  Henry Beaumont always preferred action over restraint but even he found Philippe Trouville’s advice too wild to consider. It took him a long time to calm his guest down and to acquaint him with the dictates of reason. Trouville seemed to enjoy violence for its own sake. In his febrile mind, the gate of an abbey was no different from any of the castle gates in Normandy which he had stormed in younger days when enemies had been foolish enough to defy him. Henry had no doubt that his companion would set fire to the abbey sooner than let Boio escape his clutches.

  ‘This is my dispute and not yours,’ Henry said.

  ‘I am only trying to help, my lord.’

  ‘I know and I appreciate that help but it must be kept within the bou
nds of the law. Take the prisoner by force and the consequences would be horrendous.’

  ‘I care nothing for consequences,’ said Trouville.

  ‘Do you not fear excommunication?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘That is the least we would suffer,’ said Henry. ‘Bishop Robert and the abbot would run squealing to Canterbury and we would have the whole Church coming down on our necks. I have met Archbishop Lanfranc. He is not a man to offend.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ muttered Trouville.

  ‘You are too intemperate.’

  ‘I find that it gets results.’

  Henry was beginning to doubt the wisdom of allowing Trouville to become involved in the pursuit of the fugitive. When the latter had made the offer to ride to Coventry the previous night in order to maintain a watch on the abbey, his host had been very grateful but that gratitude was now tinged with regret. Philippe Trouville was too accustomed to being in command himself to accept orders easily. He did not so much offer counsel as thrust it forcibly at Henry. In seeking to uphold the law, the man did not seem to feel the need to act wholly within it.

  ‘Send to Brinklow Castle, my lord,’ said Trouville. ‘Your brother, the sheriff, may well have returned home by now. Send to him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Summon additional men from your brother.’

  ‘We have enough to put a ring of steel around the abbey.’

  ‘Faced with a whole army, the bishop might capitulate. Come, we are both well versed in the arts of siege warfare. The best way to bring an enemy to his knees is to frighten him with a display of strength. If they see that they have the Count of Meulan and the constable of Warwick Castle to deal with, the bishop and the abbot may come to their senses.’

  ‘My brother will not be called,’ said Henry firmly.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he and I are of the same mind.’

  ‘You would let this monkish rabble defy you?’

  ‘I will bide my time. My brother would do likewise.’

  ‘Do not let the abbey win this battle, my lord.’