The Elephants of Norwich

by Edward Marston

  ‘I think it was deliberate, Gervase,’ he said.

  ‘What was?’

  ‘Inviting us into her house like that so that her grandson could eavesdrop outside.’

  ‘There was nothing sinister about that,’ said Gervase. ‘Skalp was simply making sure that no harm came to Olova. Besides, what did he hear? We were hardly giving away any great secrets inside that hut.’

  ‘I distrusted him.’

  ‘Not as much as Skalp distrusted us, my lord.’

  ‘He was a truculent character. Just like his grandmother.’

  ‘I dare say that Olova wasn’t quite so truculent when she was the wife of a thegn with appreciable holdings in the county. She was a dignified lady then,’ he said, recalling the proud way she bore herself. ‘The Conquest changed her life completely.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Coureton. ‘It brought Richard de Fontenel into her life.’

  ‘And Hermer the Steward. She had nothing but scorn for him.’

  ‘I couldn’t understand why, Gervase.’

  ‘Nor me,’ confessed the other, ‘but it seemed to have something to do with Hermer’s fondness for women. I didn’t see any there apart from Olova. Did you?’

  ‘No, but they probably went into hiding when they saw us coming.’

  ‘Why should they do that?’ wondered Gervase.

  When their horses had been stabled, they made their way to the keep and went off to their separate apartments. Alys was dozing on the bed when her husband entered but awoke at once, sweeping aside his apologies for disturbing her and insisting that she was just taking a short nap. As she talked about how she and Golde had spent the afternoon, she was bright-eyed and animated. It was Gervase who had to suppress an occasional yawn, feeling a slow fatigue settling in. He gave her only the briefest outline of his visit to Olova.

  ‘She wasn’t exactly pleased to see us,’ he admitted.

  ‘It was like that in the market this morning. Pure resentment.’

  ‘I didn’t blame her, Alys. In her position, I’d have harboured a grudge.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. It’s simply not in your nature.’

  ‘Oh, I bear a grudge from time to time.’

  She was hurt. ‘Not about me, I hope?’

  ‘Of course not. You’d never give me the slightest cause.’

  ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘You know it is,’ he assured her. ‘Why do you think I agreed that you should come with me to Norfolk? I wanted you there at the end of the day, Alys. And first thing in the morning as well.’

  ‘What about the time in between?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘Any time spent with you is pure joy.’

  She gave him a kiss on the lips. ‘Thank you.’

  Though he embraced her warmly, his mind was not entirely on his wife. Gervase was still remembering his talk with Olova, wondering if he might have got more out of the awkward old woman if he had taken Brother Daniel with him instead of Eustace Coureton. It was the sight of Norman soldiers in helm and hauberk that rankled with her. Gervase had the feeling that Hermer the Steward might have visited her in the past with an armed escort. Intimidation was patently a weapon he had often used. Cowed by his master, it was he who became the bully when dealing with others.

  ‘We’re bidden to the hall whenever we’re ready,’ said Alys, giving him a playful push when he failed to reply. ‘You’re not listening to me, Gervase!’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘What did I say?’

  ‘Something about the hall.’

  ‘You didn’t hear me, did you?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘You were miles away.’ Pretending to be upset, she stalked across to the window and stared out. Gervase went up to put his arms around her waist, nestling his head into her wimple.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alys.’

  ‘Are you?’ she asked, pouting.

  ‘I’m back with my wife now, I promise.’

  ‘You’re not the only one.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look down there,’ she said, pointing to the bailey. ‘Ralph has just ridden in through the gate with Brother Daniel. Golde is there to welcome them.’

  Gervase gazed over her shoulder to watch the reunion down below. Ralph dismounted to collect a kiss from his wife then walked towards the keep with an arm around her. There was a decided jauntiness in his step.

  Alys smiled approvingly. ‘He’s pleased to see Golde again.’

  ‘That’s not the only reason he’s in such good spirits,’ said Gervase, reading his colleague’s manner and movement. ‘His visit was more profitable than ours. He found out something important at the abbey of St Benet. I wonder what it was.’

  Mauger Livarot, dining alone at his manor house, sat back in his chair and drank the remains of the wine. When he set the cup down on the table, he was still grinning broadly. The steward stood a few yards away, smiling obsequiously and rubbing his palms together. Livarot went off into a sudden peal of laughter.

  ‘The look on his face was a joy to behold, Drogo,’ he recalled.

  ‘I’m sure it was, my lord.’

  ‘Richard de Fontenel thought that he’d take me by surprise and instead he found us ready and waiting. We’d even alerted the lord sheriff to the prospect of trouble.’

  ‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ said his steward.

  ‘Yes, your man did well.’

  ‘That’s what I told him.’

  ‘Give him a just reward.’

  ‘I already have, my lord. He earned it.’

  ‘It’s just as well the lord Richard is too stupid to realise that we have a spy in his house. You picked exactly the right man for the job, Drogo.’

  ‘He misses nothing.’

  ‘The fellow has been worth his weight in gold.’

  ‘Just like those two elephants.’

  They shared a throaty laugh, then Livarot became serious. He beckoned his companion closer. After biting hungrily at a leg of chicken, he tossed it aside, chewed noisily and spoke through a full mouth. ‘I want those miniature elephants.’

  ‘Why, my lord?’

  ‘Never you mind. Just get them for me.’

  ‘But how?’ said Drogo, alarmed. ‘I’ve no idea where they are.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to conduct a search, won’t you? It’s crucial that I get my hands on them before the lord Richard does. Then I can put them to the purpose for which he acquired them,’ said Livarot, swallowing the last of the chicken. ‘That will give me the utmost satisfaction. To use his own bait in the trap.’

  ‘Trap, my lord?’

  ‘A personal matter between the lord Richard and me.’ He poured more wine from the jug and sipped it. ‘Find out where those gold elephants are, Drogo.’

  ‘That won’t be easy.’

  ‘I didn’t say that it would be.’

  ‘The lord sheriff has failed to track them down so far.’

  ‘That’s all to the good,’ said Livarot. ‘If he recovers them, he’ll only give them back to the one man who must never set eyes on them again. They must belong to me.’

  Drogo was anxious. ‘Have you ever seen them, my lord?’

  ‘No, but I’ve seen the effect they have.’

  ‘How big are they?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Could you give me a detailed description?’ asked the steward.

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘That complicates matters. It will be even more difficult searching for something when I have no idea what it looks like.’

  ‘They’re elephants, man. Two small, smooth, shiny gold elephants.’

  ‘That doesn’t help me. I’ve never seen such an animal.’

  ‘Well, you’d better make sure that you see one now,’ said Livarot, shooting him a warning glance. ‘Two of them, to be exact. This is not an idle request, Drogo. It’s an order. And it takes precedence over everything else.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Use the man you have at the cas
tle. That’s the best place to start.’

  ‘I’ll get word to him this evening.’

  ‘Roger Bigot may not be able to track down the missing elephants but Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret might. They’ve sharper noses to sniff a trail,’ he said with grudging admiration. ‘Follow them, Drogo. They’ll lead you to the elephants.’

  ‘Will they?’

  ‘If anyone can find those beasts, they can.’

  ‘I hope so, my lord.’

  ‘All you have to do is to make sure that you grab them first.’

  The steward looked doubtful. Livarot took another swig of his wine. ‘Take care,’ he said, raising a finger. ‘This means a lot to me. Get me those two gold elephants and you’ll be richly rewarded. Fail me,’ he added, menacingly, ‘and I may be looking for a new steward. Now, off with you!’

  The feast was not as lavish as the banquet on the previous evening but it was still much larger and more appetising than any meal the commissioners would normally have enjoyed. The cooks who toiled in the castle kitchen had mastered all the arts of choosing and preparing food. Venison was the main dish, garnished with a delicious sauce and served with a selection of vegetables. Wine and ale flowed freely. Roger Bigot and his wife entertained their guests in the hall, controlling the arrival of each course with a series of unobtrusive signals. Minstrels played at the far end of the room. Dozens of candles burned brightly. Famished after his long ride, Brother Daniel accepted the invitation to join his colleagues and he ate as heartily as any of them. Eustace Coureton was delighted to be seated next to the monk, enabling him to talk in Latin and to quote his favourite Roman authors. Daniel was responding with whole paragraphs from St Augustine’s De Civitate Dei.

  Disappointed that the lady Adelaide was not present, Ralph Delchard enjoyed the occasion immensely, moving easily from inconsequential chatter to a discussion of more serious topics. He was fascinated to hear of the sheriff’s intervention in the threatened outbreak of violence between Richard de Fontenel and Mauger Livarot, but the real value of the evening lay in the fact that he was seated beside Gervase Bret and thus able to exchange information about their respective visits that day. At the mention of a certain name, Gervase sat up with interest.

  ‘Jocelyn Vavasour?’ he repeated.

  ‘He was the man who presented the gold elephants to the abbey in the first place and started all this trouble. Apparently, he’s become an anchorite.’

  ‘I wondered what happened to him.’

  ‘You know the man?’

  ‘Only through my study of the returns from this county,’ said Gervase, making an effort to recall the salient details. ‘His name appeared time and time again. At one point, Jocelyn Vavasour had a number of holdings in the county, then seemed to lose them all.’

  ‘He gave them away, Gervase.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Madness.’

  ‘That’s your way of saying that he wanted to live a more spiritual life.’

  ‘What’s to prevent a man from owning property and having religious impulses?’

  ‘Try reading the Bible,’ advised his friend.

  ‘The lord Jocelyn gave everything away.’

  ‘Not quite everything,’ said Gervase, brow furrowed with thought. ‘If memory serves me, he retained one of his outliers. A small acreage in the hundred of Holt, to the north of here.’

  ‘Then that’s where we might find him.’

  ‘Possibly. I can’t think why else he should keep that patch of land.’

  ‘I’ll search for him tomorrow.’

  ‘Take a boat with you, Ralph.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s a coastal property,’ explained Gervase. ‘My guess is that it’s more water than land. In short, an ideal place for a hermit to live and to commune with God.’

  Ralph frowned. ‘I saw enough water on the way to the abbey.’

  ‘Would you rather I went in search of the lord Jocelyn?’

  ‘No, Gervase. He’s mine. We have the same background. I want to know why a man who fought hard for everything he has tosses it foolishly away instead of settling down on his estate with a beautiful wife.’ He looked fondly at Golde. ‘As I’ve done.’

  ‘There’s a simple answer to that.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘You were lucky enough to meet Golde before he did,’ Gervase pointed out, mischievously. Ralph laughed appreciatively. ‘By the way,’ Gervase went on, ‘did you tell Abbot Alfwold that the missing elephants turned up in the lord Richard’s hands?’

  ‘No, I thought it better to say nothing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I had no proof that the lord Richard was behind the theft. If I’d mentioned him as a potential suspect, the abbot would probably have sent word to the bishop, inciting him to take action. That would have confused matters even more.’

  ‘Yes,’ sighed Gervase. ‘The last thing we want is for Bishop William de Bello Fargo to come charging up here from Thetford to join in the hunt. He’d only get in our way and put the lord Richard on the defensive.’

  ‘That was my reasoning,’ said Ralph. ‘We also kept Brother Joseph, the sacristan, ignorant of what we knew though I floated the name of the lord Richard past his anxious eyes. It’s curious, Gervase. I never thought I’d feel sorry for anyone inside an abbey but I was overwhelmed with sympathy for poor Brother Joseph. He’s positively writhing with guilt.’

  ‘The kindest thing we can do is to return the elephants to him.’

  ‘As soon as possible.’

  ‘But you want to speak to Jocelyn Vavasour first.’

  ‘I’ll go in search of him at first light.’

  Ralph turned to look up the table at his host. Roger Bigot was just breaking off a conversation with Alys in order to wave to the minstrels. They struck up a more lively tune and the sheriff nodded his approval. Ralph caught his eye.

  ‘Perhaps you could help us, my lord sheriff,’ he said.

  ‘Gladly.’

  ‘You must have heard of one Jocelyn Vavasour?’

  ‘Heard of him and known him, my lord,’ said Bigot with admiration. ‘I fought alongside him more than once. He was a doughty soldier, brave and loyal. But if you wish to know about Jocelyn Vavasour, the man to ask is the lord Ivo.’

  ‘Ivo Tallboys?’

  ‘The same. It was he who commanded the siege of Hereward the Wake in the fen county. Jocelyn Vavasour was one of his ablest lieutenants. I remember the lord Ivo telling me how valuable an asset he was. Jocelyn Vavasour knew the fens almost as well as Hereward. He was completely at home there.’

  ‘That settles it!’

  ‘Settles what?’

  ‘The location of his refuge. He’s probably hiding in the marshes.’

  ‘That’s very likely,’ agreed Bigot. ‘A second Hereward.’

  ‘I hope I don’t have to lay siege to the lord Jocelyn.’

  ‘He’s known by another name now.’

  ‘Vavasour the Madman?’

  ‘No,’ said Bigot, solemnly. ‘Jocelyn the Anchorite.’

  Made out of rough timber and roofed with thatch, the hut amid the marshes was small, bare and primitive. From a distance, it looked less like a human dwelling than a random collection of logs washed up by the sea. Birds perched familiarly on it. Wind plucked at the thatch and carried salt spray in its wake. It was remote and unwelcoming terrain. The man who emerged from the hut had chosen its location with care, yearning for a solitary existence where he could atone for what he saw as the sins of his past life. No comforts were needed, no company sought. Jocelyn Vavasour was a true anchorite, spending his days in prayer and meditation before sleeping at night on the cold ground. When he came out of his simple abode, the birds on his roof were not disturbed. They were used to him by now, accepting him as one of their own, a creature of the marshland.

  Vavasour was a big, powerful man in his forties, muscles hardened by long years as a soldier, face craggy and weather-beaten. A hot summer had darkened his com
plexion and his bare arms. Dressed like a Saxon peasant in ragged tunic and gartered trousers, he had almost nothing of a Norman lord about him now. His earlier swagger had been replaced by a gentle gait, his boldness by complete selfabnegation. He had shed the personality of Jocelyn Vavasour like an outer skin that had died and become useless. The world of the anchorite brought him deep satisfaction. Only one book shared the hut with him and he read from his Bible at regular intervals throughout each day, educating himself and searching for guidance in its wonderful Latin cadences. Psalms had been learned by heart, favourite passages studied again and again. Nobody ever disturbed him. A life once committed to violence was now dedicated wholly to God.

  The sky was almost dark now and a breeze had grown up to ruffle his hair and his long, curly beard. It was the time of day that he liked most. Alone with the elements and unable to see anything apart from the crescent moon and a scattering of stars, he felt closer to his Creator and more keenly aware of his own purpose on earth than at any other hour. Inhaling deeply, he smiled up at the heavens. Then he fell to his knees to begin his prayers.

  The first lash of the whip produced a howl of anguish. A plea for mercy soon followed. Richard de Fontenel ignored it and wielded the whip even harder the second time, slicing open the man’s naked back and sending a rivulet of blood curling its way down his body. Clamahoc jerked and struggled but there was no escape. His wrists and ankles were tied to a wooden hurdle. By the light of a flaming torch, his master administered some more punishment, turning the white flesh into a raw expanse of agony. The tall figure of Clamahoc sagged under the onslaught, his cries of pain dwindling to mere whimpers.

  Grabbing him by his bushy hair, de Fontenel glared into his face. ‘Now will you tell me?’ he demanded.

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ gasped the other.

  ‘No lies, mark you.’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything, my lord.’