‘I’ll teach the rogue to mend his manners before I’m done,’
said Ralph, glowering at the door. ‘Those airs and graces will get short shrift from me. Who does he think he is?’
‘I found his comments enlightening,’ observed Hubert.
‘So did I,’ Brother Simon piped up.
‘He needs to be handled in the right way,’ said Gervase.
Ralph gave a grim chuckle. ‘Around the throat.’
He called the others to order and they took their seats behind the table, spreading out the documents that related to the first case they were due to investigate and discussing the questions they would need to put to the disputants. Only a minor case was coming before them on their first day and they saw no reason why it could not be dispatched quickly. When they had reviewed some of the other disputes on which they would adjudicate, there was a little time left before their official duties began. Ralph turned to the subject which he had put aside until now.
‘How did you find the abbey, Canon Hubert?’
‘Sorely troubled, my lord,’ said the other. ‘It is a sad place.’
‘I did not sleep a wink there,’ confided Simon.
‘The fear is tangible. Abbot Serlo does not believe it will leave the abbey until the murderer has been caught and executed. We talked at length about the crime,’ said Hubert solemnly. ‘About its nature, its impact and its consequences in the longer term.’
‘What are the details?’ asked Ralph.
‘The story is more complicated than the sheriff made it sound when he first broached the topic to us. Brother Nicholas, it turns out, occupied a somewhat strange position at the abbey.’
Ralph and Gervase listened intently while Hubert explained what he meant. Beside the overwhelming vanity of the reeve, Hubert’s flights of pomposity seemed negligible, and his constant reference to his friendship with Abbot Serlo was forgiven because it had yielded so much of interest to his listeners. His account of the murder was indeed far more detailed than the one given by Durand and he was happy to amplify it.
‘Let us go back to the spot where the body was found,’ decided Ralph. ‘On a wooden platform in the bell tower, you say?’
‘That is correct, my lord.’
‘What reason would Brother Nicholas have to go there?’
‘None whatsoever.’
‘Did he have duties regarding the bell?’
‘No, my lord. They fall to the Sub-Sacristan.’
‘Is it not likely, then, that the victim was killed elsewhere and carried into the church so that his corpse could be hidden there?’
‘That occurred to me,’ said Hubert, ‘but the abbot discounted that proposition, arguing that it would be very difficult to carry a dead body up the ladder to the loft.’
‘Perhaps he was not carried,’ suggested Gervase. ‘The killer might have hauled him up with a rope.’
‘That, too, occurred to me but the abbot was sceptical. Where was the blood that must surely have dripped from his wound?
His throat was slit from ear to ear, his cowl was sodden. Had he been hauled aloft, his blood would have been all over the floor yet there was no sign of it. Nor,’ said Hubert, anticipating Gervase’s next guess, ‘was there any indication of the floor being recently washed to remove stains. The whole abbey has been searched and the only place bloodstains were found was on the timber where he lay.’
‘So that is where he was killed,’ concluded Ralph.
‘Apparently, my lord.’
‘What on earth was he doing up there?’
‘Abbot Serlo is at a loss to understand that.’
‘How long had he been missing?’
‘A couple of days.’
‘Who saw him last?’
‘One of the tenants from whom he collected rent.’
‘Close by the abbey?’
‘Some miles away, my lord,’ said Hubert, with an expansive gesture of his hands. ‘The abbey’s land is scattered far and wide.’
‘I know.’
‘It owns seventeen manors in the county,’ noted Gervase.
‘Far too many,’ decided Ralph, fingering his chin as he pondered.
‘Could that provide the motive?’ he said at length. ‘The fact that Brother Nicholas collected rents? Did he upset one of the tenants? Or was his scrip so full of money that it incited someone to theft and murder? No,’ he added, thinking it through, ‘why would any monk be foolhardy enough to climb up a ladder with a vengeful tenant? What would such a person be doing in the abbey church with Nicholas in the first place? I begin to wonder if Durand’s accusation may be just. Perhaps the victim was slain by one of his fellow monks.’
‘No!’ protested Simon.
‘It is unthinkable!’ wailed Hubert.
‘Not to the sheriff,’ said Ralph.
‘He does not know the monks, my lord. Abbot Serlo does. And there is not one among them on whom the slightest suspicion can fall. Take the abbot’s word for it. Brother Nicholas was killed by an outsider.’
‘Or by a guest at the abbey,’ said Gervase.
‘Or by an act of God,’ said Ralph with mild sarcasm. ‘On the face of it it’s a baffling crime, but that only makes me want to get to grips with it. If time serves, I would value a talk with Abbot Serlo myself. Would that be at all possible, Hubert?’
‘If the approach were first made through me, my lord.’
‘Of course.’
‘There’s a couple of individuals we’re forgetting,’ remarked Gervase. ‘The novices who stumbled on the body that night. What about them?’
Hubert gave his first smile of the day. ‘I’m glad that you mention them. They are young boys, Kenelm and Elaf by name. The abbot has given me permission to question them myself but I need an interpreter to reach them in their own tongue. Brother Frewine, the Precentor, could serve in that office but he is a stranger to me and, from what I can gather, too well disposed towards the boys to be entirely independent in his judgements. I prefer someone of proven skill in translation, someone I know well, someone I can trust.’
‘Gervase is the obvious person,’ said Ralph.
‘That is what I felt, my lord.’ Hubert looked at Gervase. ‘Will you please help me in the interrogation?’
‘Do I have any choice in the matter?’ asked Gervase.
‘No!’ said Ralph cheerfully.
‘Then it is settled. I am at your command, Canon Hubert, and glad to be of assistance. Their names are Kenelm and Elaf, you say. What sort of boys are they?’
‘Frightened ones.’
It was ironic. Kenelm was the older, bigger and more boisterous of the two novices, and yet he was the one who suffered most.
Elaf, who had unwittingly fallen against the dead body of Brother Nicholas, was still haunted by the memory but he was learning to master his emotions in a way that eluded his friend, making it necessary for Elaf to provide the reassurance which had hitherto come from Kenelm. As they sat with the other novices and took instruction from Brother Paul, it was Kenelm who kept nervously glancing across to Elaf for moral support.
‘ Cantate Domino canticum novum: quia mirabilia fecit.’
Afraid to be caught at fault, they joined the others in their recitation of the psalm, knowing that Brother Paul was keeping a close eye on both of them. The Master of the Novices was a brawny man of medium height, with muscular forearms covered with thick black hair and bushy eyebrows which all but hid his dark, gleaming eyes. Brother Paul believed in summary justice. A sound beating soon after an offence had been committed was, in his opinion, the best way to enforce discipline. Kenelm and Elaf had committed a whole series of offences, ranging from youthful mischief to outright theft, and it pained Brother Paul that he was not allowed to inflict the savage punishment he felt was their due. Instead of howling in agony, they were praising the Lord.
‘ Salvabit sibi dextera eus; et brachium sanctum eius. Notum fecit Dominus sautare suum; in conspectu, Gentium revelavit iustitiam suam.’
‘ Iudicabit orbem terrarum in iustitia; et populos in aequitate.’
It was a long while before the novices were released from their lesson. Elaf used their brief freedom to visit the abbey garden.
Kenelm trotted after him, desperate for a moment alone with his friend. Together they reached the cover of some shrubs.
‘How can you keep so calm, Elaf?’ asked Kenelm.
‘I am not calm underneath.’
‘My mind gives me no rest. I cannot stop thinking of what we found in the bell tower. Nor can I get rid of that awful smell of death.’
‘I still catch a whiff of that,’ confessed Elaf. ‘And at night, lying in the dark, I still remember that I touched poor Brother Nicholas.’
‘That is something else which plagues me.’
‘What is?’
‘He is poor Brother Nicholas now but he was loathsome Brother Nicholas while he was alive. I despised him as much as anyone.
I writhe with guilt about it. He was not the hateful man I took him for, Elaf. His murder has made me see him afresh.’
‘It is so with me, Kenelm. I feel nothing but sympathy.’
‘Sympathy and fear.’
‘Yes, terrible fear. It makes my stomach turn.’
‘I have not been able to eat a morsel since that night.’
‘Find solace in prayer.’
‘I have tried,’ said Kenelm. ‘I have even sought Brother Owl’s advice but he has not been able to help me shake these terrible thoughts from my head. How have you done so, Elaf?’
‘By prayer and meditation.’
‘All that I can meditate on is that dead body.’
‘Our pain will ease in time.’
‘Not while we stay here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There are too many reminders,’ said Kenelm morosely. ‘Every time I see the church, I think of what we found there. Every time one of the brothers walks across the cloister garth, I think it is Brother Nicholas. We will never escape those memories as long as we stay here.’
‘We have to stay, Kenelm.’
‘Do we?’
A dangerous notion began to form but Kenelm had no chance to discuss it with Elaf. A sudden rustling sound alerted them to the presence of an eavesdropper. Frightened that it was Brother Paul, they were rooted to the spot, but it was not the Master of the Novices who stepped from behind a bush. It was the diminutive figure of Owen, the youngest of the novices, teased by the others for his innocence and persecuted for his rosy-cheeked prettiness.
Owen seemed to be on the point of speaking to them but he lost his nerve and turned tail, scurrying off as fast as his little legs would take him.
‘Was he listening?’ said Elaf in alarm.
‘I hope not.’
‘Do you think Owen will tell on us?’
‘Not if he has any sense,’ warned Kenelm, bunching a fist and recovering some of his former bravado. ‘Or he’ll answer to me.’
The first case which animated the shire hall concerned misappropriation of land in the Bisley Hundred. A Saxon thegn, formerly the owner of the property, alleged that it had been steadily encroached upon by his Norman neighbour until it was all but swallowed up in the latter’s estate. The dispute soon moved from reasoned argument to bellowed assertion and Ralph Delchard had to step in to subdue the two men and caution them against any further descent into a verbal brawl. What made the issue slightly more complicated was the fact that a third person, Alfwold, presented himself to the commissioners and claimed that he had the right to the land in question on account of a bequest made over fifty years earlier when a Danish king ruled the country.
It was left to Gervase Bret to study the last will and testament of a certain Leofhelm the Anchorite before translating the Anglo-Saxon aloud.
‘Leofhelm the Anchorite, God’s exile, greets King Cnut and Queen Emma very joyfully with God’s joy. And I make it known to you that I have entrusted our charitable gift to Christ and all his saints where it shall remain for the comfort and happiness of our soul. First, the estate near Frampton Mansell to the Abbey of St Peter in Gloucester, where our bones shall lie; the remainder of our property, the manors of Sapperton and Westwood, to our heirs in perpetuity …’
Cries of outrage from the other two disputants greeted this new claim and Ralph had to impose himself even more strongly.
He had grave doubts about the validity of the document and was supported by Canon Hubert, who, knowing that Sapperton was firmly in the possession of the powerful Robert de Tosny, did not wish to draw in a fourth person to further enliven the debate. It was Gervase who eventually ruled out the will of Leofhelm, finding inaccuracies in the wording and the calligraphy which confirmed his suspicion that the document was a blatant forgery. The bold Alfwold tried first to bluster then to bluff his way out of the situation but Ralph was merciless. Summoning his men, he had the supposed descendant of Leofhelm the Anchorite placed under arrest and hauled off to cool his heels in a dungeon at the castle.
With one claimant out of the way, the commissioners swiftly disposed of another, restoring it to the thegn from whom it had been illegally taken and chastising his rapacious neighbour in round terms. When the shire hall was cleared of witnesses, the four men were able to relax in the knowledge that it was only mid-afternoon yet their work was done for the day. Ralph wanted to make good use of their leisure time.
‘We must go to the abbey, Gervase,’ he announced, gathering up his documents, ‘and inspect the scene of the crime in the hope of picking up clues which others may have missed.’
‘I was about to urge that idea on you,’ said Gervase.
‘It may not be altogether welcome,’ warned Hubert.
‘Why not?’ said Ralph.
‘Because the abbot is already unhappy about the way that the sheriff and his men are trampling all over the abbey. It is very unsettling. The last thing he wants is more lay people intruding.’
‘Intruding? Did I hear you aright, Hubert? You call us intruders?
Doesn’t the abbot want this dreadful crime to be solved?’
‘It is his dearest wish, my lord.’
‘Then he must endure the curiosity of those who wish to help.’
‘You would need to secure his permission first.’
‘Perhaps you could be our ambassador there, Canon Hubert,’
said Gervase politely. ‘Since you have privileged access to Abbot Serlo, you would be the ideal person to put our request before him. And while we are in the abbey, of course, I could find a moment to question the two novices with you. Could that be arranged as well?’
Hubert was persuaded. ‘It will be, Gervase.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ said Ralph impatiently. ‘Lead the way, Hubert. I long to see this bell tower and, if possible, to view the body of the deceased.’
‘That is something I am not able to guarantee, my lord.’
‘At least, get us inside the church.’
Canon Hubert nodded confidently and left the hall, picking his way through the crowd with surprising nimbleness and towing Brother Simon behind him. Ralph went out to the sentries and sent them back to the castle with the satchels which he and Gervase had brought. The two of them then mounted their horses and ambled off in pursuit of their colleagues, noting that the streets were busier than ever and that the city smells had taken on a greater pungency. When they reached the abbey, they did not have long to wait. Hubert appeared to confirm that the abbot’s permission had been granted, and he conducted them to the church as if he were a long-standing member of the community and not merely a
recent visitor. Ralph and Gervase easily tolerated his customary self-importance. Compared to Nigel the Reeve, the canon was modest and unassuming.
Shafts of sunlight shone through the windows to pierce the gloomy interior of the church and illumine the way to the bell tower. Hubert was hovering at Ralph’s elbow. Gervase could see that his friend was becoming increasingly annoyed by their colleague’s presence and he moved in tactfully before Ralph resorted to language unfit to be heard on consecrated ground.
‘Since you know the abbey so well,’ said Gervase, taking Hubert gently by the arm, ‘perhaps you could track down those two novices, Kenelm and Elaf. We will talk with them anon.’
‘Am I not needed here?’ said Hubert.
‘No!’ Ralph was blunt.
‘But I could be of assistance.’
‘Do as Gervase bids and you will be.’
Hubert’s pride was hurt. Gathering his paunch in both hands, he plodded off on his errand without a backward glance.
Ralph looked around the church to see what other exits it possessed, then he turned his attention to the ladder which led up to the loft, testing it for strength and reliability. Satisfied that it was robust enough, he turned to Gervase and took a firm grip on him.
‘What are you doing, Ralph?’ protested the other.
‘Proving something to myself.’
‘Does it involve assaulting me?’
‘Relax and have faith in your friend.’
Having secured a hold, Ralph suddenly hoisted Gervase over his shoulder and held him there with one hand as he began to climb the ladder. It was a slow and perilous ascent, leaving Gervase to stare down at a slowly receding stone floor while having no control over his limbs. The rungs of the ladder creaked ominously under the combined weight and it bent and swayed from time to time, but Ralph went purposefully on, making light of the problems. When he reached the top, he eased Gervase carefully on to his back on the wooden platform then clambered up to join him.
‘There!’ he said triumphantly. ‘I knew it. It was possible for the killer to carry his victim up here.’
‘Only if he was as strong and wilful as you, Ralph,’ said Gervase, head still pounding from the ordeal. ‘I’ll tell you this. You are certainly not going to carry me down again.’
The Owls of Gloucester d-10 Page 5
