The Lions of the North (Domesday Series Book 4)

by Edward Marston

“You were the one who offered the shire hall to our colleagues. It is too late to change your mind now.”

  “The place is covered in dust.”

  “According to the reeve, it has not been used for some time.”

  “Fifty years or more, by the look of it.”

  “We will manage somehow.”

  “I'd sooner sit in judgement in the fish market.”

  Two servants arrived and mumbled their apologies before cleaning the room as best and as quickly as they could. Ralph sneezed at the cloud of dust sent up by the broom but his howl of protest was cut short by the arrival of their scribe. Brother Francis was a big, solid man of middle years with a genial smile and a willing manner. Ralph could never bring himself to enjoy the company of a Benedictine monk but the newcomer at least promised to be rather more forthcoming than Brother Simon.

  Introductions were made and Francis beamed helpfully.

  “How may I best serve you?” he asked.

  “I want you to look, listen and set down anything that I tell you,” ordered Ralph. “Bear in mind that what you write will have the force of a legal document. It must be clear and exact.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  “You have brought all that you need?”

  “Yes,” said Francis, tapping the leather satchel that hung from his shoulder. “Everything is here. I am honoured to take part in matters of such weighty importance.”

  “That makes a change. Brother Simon is always terrified when he sits beside us.”

  “Brother Simon?”

  “Our accustomed scribe,” said Gervase. “A punctilious man. He sets high standards.”

  Francis smiled. “I will try my utmost to emulate him.”

  Ralph gave him more detailed instructions and the monk plied him with a number of questions. While they were still deep in discussion, Gervase took charge of the servants and made them move the table, chair, stools and benches into their appropriate positions. The place was markedly cleaner when the two of them left. Even Ralph was agreeably surprised.

  “It is now almost civilised,” he said, leading the way to the table. “At least I will not cough to death.”

  Lowering himself into the chair, he gestured for Gervase and Francis to sit on the stools on either side of him. Both began to empty the contents of their satchels. The absence of Canon Hubert was a bonus to Ralph, though he would have preferred Brother Simon's experienced hand to that of their new scribe. Brother Francis was eager and respectful but he was as yet unproven.

  Tanchelm's men-at-arms were on duty inside and outside the shire hall but Ralph had brought ten of his own escort to give his deliberations a show of strength. Since the room was so cramped, only four of them were on duty inside it. Their companions acted as sentries in the street, keeping prying eyes at bay and marshalling the witnesses as they arrived. Inured to the sight of Norman soldiers, most of the citizens of York shuffled past without comment.

  Gervase handed a document to Ralph, who glanced down at it to refresh his memory before issuing a curt command.

  “Bring in the first witness! Her name is Sunnifa.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said one of the soldiers.

  Ducking to avoid the lintel over the door, he went outside to discharge a duty that should have taken no more than thirty seconds. Instead, he was gone for a couple of minutes. Ralph grew impatient with the delay. When sounds of a violent argument reached his ears, his impatience spilled over into anger. Rising to his feet, he sent the three remaining men out after their colleague.

  “Fetch the woman in at once!”

  They obeyed instantly. Voices were raised in protest, then the witness was more or less hustled in by two of the soldiers. She was a tall, graceful woman in her forties, with a nobility in her bearing that even her unceremonious entrance could not entirely obscure. At her heels, arguing noisily and struggling with the other two soldiers, were a younger woman and a man in the garb of a parish priest. All three of them stood before the table and complained simultaneously.

  Ralph's voice smothered them into a hurt silence.

  “Enough of this caterwauling!” he yelled. “We are servants of the King and we demand full respect!”

  A flick of his hand sent his men back to their post at the rear of the room. The visitors studied him warily. Ralph lowered himself into his chair and deliberately made them wait before he was ready to speak.

  “Now,” he said sternly, “which of you is the person for whom I sent?”

  “I am,” said Sunnifa, taking a step forward.

  “Then who are these other people?”

  “They are here to support my claim.”

  “When I call for one witness, I do not need three.”

  “But they are witnesses in their own right, my lord.”

  “Let them wait outside.”

  As the soldiers moved in once more, protest resumed in earnest. Sunnifa took another step forward.

  “No, my lord,” she pleaded. “They must stay.”

  “Hear us out!” implored the priest.

  “We demand it!” asserted the third member of the group. “If Norman justice consists in laying rough hands upon a priest and a woman, then it is a despicable instrument and does not deserve our respect. I am Inga, daughter of Sunnifa, and I insist on remaining with my mother.” She indicated the man beside her. “This is Brunn the Priest, who will confirm our testimony. All three of us must be heard together. We have come to report a heinous crime and will not leave this place until we have done so.”

  Inga was fearless. There was such passion in her voice that the three men behind the table were stunned and the soldiers hesitated to take hold of her. Here was someone, nineteen years old at most, daring to challenge the authority of royal commissioners and doing so, not in the rudimentary Norman French employed by Sunnifa and by Brunn the Priest, but with a fluent control of the language of her masters. Inga was clearly an extraordinary young woman. Gervase was struck by the vehement loveliness of the face beneath the wimple and by the sharp intelligence in her eyes.

  Ralph consulted the document before him once more.

  “Seventeen witnesses have been called,” he said to Inga. “Your name and that of Brunn are among them. The pair of you will have to wait your turn with the other fourteen.”

  “The other fourteen are not here, my lord.”

  “They must be. I issued a summons for each one myself.”

  “It was ignored,” said Inga bluntly. “Send for any of those witnesses and you will find that they are not here. They are too frightened to present their evidence. We are not. That is why we have made the long journey here.” She took a firm hold of her mother's hand. “Now, my lord. May we stay to seek justice or will you have us thrown out?”

  Ralph turned first to Gervase, who gave a gentle nod, and then to Brother Francis, who offered a philosophical smile. Little could be gained by separating the three witnesses and much by keeping them together. Inga was patently their spokesperson and her control of Norman French would be an undoubted asset. Ralph did not like to have his decisions questioned but, in Inga's case, he was prepared to make allowances for the rashness of youth. It had brought a pleasing colour to her cheeks.

  Sunnifa did not have her daughter's throbbing energy and Brunn the Priest was an old man worn down by the cares of his ministry in a county that had suffered the most terrible afflictions. It was easy to see why they preferred to let Inga represent them. Ralph switched to a gruff courtesy.

  “If you have travelled far,” he said, “you will be weary. Please take a seat so that you may give your evidence in some degree of comfort.”

  “Be careful!” warned Aubrey Maminot. “Don't touch it!”

  “Why not?” said Golde.

  “It may be some sort of trap.”

  “No, my lord. It's the pack that contains my apparel.”

  “If it was left by Olaf Evil Child, it may well contain something else. I know him. He would not scruple to conceal a poison
ous snake or a wildcat inside there. Open it without due caution and you may regret it.”

  They were in the solar, where the three packs found outside the castle gates had now been taken. Thrilled to see that her clothes had been returned, Golde was being stopped from unpacking them by her host. He jabbed at the first bundle with his sword.

  “Stay, my lord,” she said with concern. “You may damage the fabric within.”

  “It may already have been damaged beyond repair. I do not believe that Olaf would return any of your possessions without first mutilating them in some way. There is no telling what outrage we may find within.”

  He prodded at the bundle with more conviction, moving around it in a circle to attack it from all angles. Putting the safety of her apparel first, Golde jumped in to stop him.

  “Let me open it, my lord.”

  “It is too dangerous.”

  “I'll take that risk.”

  Golde undid the leather straps and began to sort through the contents of the pack, examining each garment with care before laying it aside. None of them were damaged in any way. She looked up at Aubrey.

  “This Olaf has turned Good Samaritan.”

  “Never!”

  “He stole my attire, now he returns it unharmed.”

  “It is a ruse, I tell you,” said Aubrey. “One pack may be untouched but the others may still hold an ugly surprise. Olaf Evil Child does nothing without a purpose.”

  “Could this not be a gesture of friendship?”

  “Towards royal commissioners? Impossible! Besides, if he wishes to show amity, why has he not sent back the remainder of your cargo?”

  “That contained food. He and his men needed that.”

  “What about the horses that were stolen? There is no sign of them. With respect to you, they are worth far more than your wardrobe. Had Olaf restored the horses to you, even I would begin to think more favourably of him.”

  “I am just grateful to have my attire back,” she said as she undid the straps on the next pack. “My lord Ralph will be pleased to see that his is returned as well.”

  “Open it with caution!” he advised.

  “I sense no trap here.”

  “I do.”

  Aubrey stood over her with his sword still drawn but Golde was unworried. She emptied the second pack with brisk confidence and lay Ralph's attire beside her own. The third pack belonged to Gervase, and its contents, too, had been left unharmed. Three bundles of clothes and other possessions now lay on the floor of the solar. Aubrey walked around them with evident distrust.

  “There has to be a trick involved,” he said.

  “It does not lie here, my lord.”

  “Why did he send all this back?”

  “Because he has no use for it himself.”

  “He has stolen sumpter-horses from other travellers before now and they have had nothing handed back to them. Why make this gesture towards you?”

  “I do not know.”

  “More to the point,” said Aubrey, crossing to the window to glare down into the courtyard, “how was he able to do so? Olaf Evil Child or some of his men gained entry to the city and stood at the very gates of my castle without being seen or heard. Someone will pay heavily for this!” He turned back to Golde and his manner softened. “Forgive my anger. It is directed at the failings of my men. I am annoyed with them but glad for you. It is a relief to know that someone in this castle has gained from last night's escapade.”

  “Indeed we have.”

  “Good.” He pointed at the piles of clothing. “I will send servants to move all this to your apartments.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I just wish that I could make sense of it all.”

  “Sense?”

  “Yes, Golde,” he said. “A few days ago, someone climbed into my castle and met up with Romulus and Remus. I think the intruder was one of Olaf's men. Last night, packs from your sumpter-horses were left outside my gate.” He shook his head in bafflement. “It does not make sense. Why should Olaf Evil Child send an assassin to kill me one night and yet restore property to my guests shortly afterwards? I want to know what is going on here.”

  Still bemused, Aubrey went out of the solar. Golde checked through her belongings again, noting with pleasure that her trinkets had also been returned. Her attention then turned to Ralph's apparel and she reached out to pick up his tunic. After stroking it lovingly, she folded it neatly and gave it a gentle kiss. It was only when she raised her eyes that she realised she was being watched.

  Herleve stood in the doorway, her face impassive, her eyes cold. After a pause, she moved swiftly away.

  Sunnifa laid claim to being the injured party but it was her daughter who pleaded her case. Inga was a persuasive advocate with real skill in presenting an argument and with an excellent grasp of detail. Nor was she at all deflected by the frequent interruptions from Ralph Delchard. She showed an ability to think on her feet that was surprising in one so young and so untrained. A lawyer himself, Gervase Bret was especially impressed. Inge had a true legal brain.

  The dispute centred around the annexations made by Nigel Arbarbonel, one of the leading barons in the North Riding. Land that had been bequeathed to Sunnifa by her late husband, Thorbrand, had been systematically taken away. The amount involved was substantial, running to almost eight hundred acres, and although some of this land was waste, the bulk of it was fertile enough to yield a crop. Sunnifa had shrunk from being the wife of a relatively wealthy man to being a widow in straitened circumstances.

  Gervase took over the cross-examination of Inga. He admired her courage in calling so powerful an opponent as Nigel Arbarbonel to account but it was not his place to take sides. Convincing as she sounded in full flow, there were elements of her statement that needed to be probed.

  “You make serious charges against my lord Nigel,” he said, “but you offer little evidence to support them.”

  “I have offered a great deal,” she retorted. “I have explained how each part of my father's estate was seized from us over a period of time and why we have been unable to regain ownership. You have heard my mother's testimony and Brunn has also spoken under oath. Surely you do not doubt the word of a priest?”

  “That is not the point at issue.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Documentary proof,” said Gervase. “To justify your claim, there must be a will and title deeds to the property.”

  She bridled. “Do you think that we came here to lie?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And do you have any idea how many threats were made against us when we dared even to raise this matter?”

  “How could I?”

  “We mustered fourteen other witnesses to speak on our behalf,” she continued. “Each one of them was stopped from travelling to York. Some were bullied, some were beaten, one even had an eye put out when he tried to defy them.” She held up her palms. “No, I do not have any documentary proof of this either and if you ask of Hogni the Blacksmith, he will tell you that his eye was blinded when sparks flew up from his fire, but I know the truth. My mother and Brunn the Priest know it also.”

  Sunnifa and the old man nodded in agreement.

  “These are heavy accusations,” said Gervase.

  “I do not make them lightly.”

  “The King's writ runs in the north just as effectively as in any other part of England. If we choose, we can compel witnesses to appear before us.”

  “They would refuse to speak on our behalf.”

  “Even under oath?”

  “Hogni does not want to lose his other eye.”

  “We have only your word that the first was put out as an act of malice,” said Ralph. “I have heard good things of Nigel Arbarbonel. Men whose opinion I respect have praised him. He has also served his king by fighting bravely against the Scots. Do not make wild allegations about him unless you have the means to substantiate them.”

  “Am I to produce the title deeds to
Hogni's missing eye?” she said with sarcasm.

  Ralph tensed. “Show contempt and you will be ejected from here. That will not advantage your mother's position.”

  “No, my lord,” said Inga, flashing a steely smile. “And I apologize for my rudeness. I do not mean to offend you in any way. You are, after all, our only hope of retribution.”

  “You would do well to bear that in mind.”

  “Let us return to the question of documents,” said Gervase, taking over from Ralph once more. “In the last resort, everything turns on that.”

  Inga nodded. “I agree. May I please ask a question?”

  “If you wish.”

  “The first team of commissioners visited Yorkshire earlier in the year. They were larger in number and did their work with great thoroughness.”

  “So will we,” promised Ralph.

  “When my lord Nigel was called before them, did he produce charters to show that he owned the land that once formed my father's estate?”

  “No, he did not,” admitted Gervase.

  “How do you know that?”

  “The returns relating to this county were sent to the Exchequer in Winchester. I studied them with great care before we set out. I also had the good fortune to talk with one of the commissioners who visited York. No charters were offered by Nigel Arbarbonel as proof of ownership in this particular instance.”

  “Then how was that property deemed to be his?”

  “By word of mouth. He swore under oath that the carucates now under dispute belonged to him, and his subtenants swore likewise. The account book confirmed that they paid their rent to Nigel Arbarbonel. That was proof enough that he was the legitimate holder of the land in question. Nobody came forward to contest his claim.”

  “For one good reason.”

  “What was that?”

  “We were not given the opportunity to do so.”

  “You must have been,” said Gervase. “That was the main function of the commissioners' visit. To establish who owned what and for how long they had held it.”

  “We were deceived,” she said bitterly. “When the summons came, we thought we finally had a chance to get our rightful inheritance back again. But it was not to be.”

  “Why not?”