Social niceties were brushed crudely aside. ‘Give them to me, Jocelyn,’ demanded Livarot, holding out his hand.
‘What?’
‘The gold elephants.’
‘They’re holy treasures, my lord,’ said the other with righteous indignation.
‘I want them nevertheless.’
‘They belong to the abbey of St Benet.’
‘Not any more.’
‘Would you dare to steal them?’
‘I’d dare to do much more than that,’ boasted Livarot, drawing his sword. ‘Hand them over now or I’ll cut them out of that ragged tunic of yours.’
Vavasour thought quickly. His fate was sealed. He was certain that, when he surrendered the two elephants, he would be killed on the spot. If Livarot wanted to keep the stolen property, he could not possibly leave the anchorite alive to accuse him of theft. The marshes offered countless places where a dead body could be hidden, but they also gave him an idea. As his appointed executioner moved closer, Vavasour reached inside his tunic to take out two small objects that he held up in the air. Burnished by the sun, they glowed proudly in his hands.
‘Is this what you’re after, my lord?’ he asked.
‘Those are the elephants!’ exclaimed Drogo. ‘Those are the ones I saw!’
‘Give them to me!’ yelled Livarot.
‘How much do you want them?’
‘Enough to kill.’
‘You still won’t get them,’ taunted Vavasour.
Putting both animals into the palm of one hand, he flung them as far into the marshes as he could. Mauger Livarot went berserk. What he saw disappearing into the water was his one chance of marrying the lady Adelaide. Emitting a howl of rage, he dropped from the saddle and went lumbering after the elephants, splashing through water and kicking his way through beds of reeds. Single-mindedness was his downfall. He lurched towards the spot where he had seen the objects fall, oblivious of the dangers, and water suddenly gave way to quicksand. Instead of moving forward at speed, he was sucked inexorably downwards, the weight of his hauberk working against him. His men looked on in horror as their master was suddenly waist deep and sinking.
‘Help!’ shouted Livarot, threshing impotently. ‘Get me out!’
Jocelyn Vavasour was the first to go to his rescue. Spurning his own safety, he ran to the edge of the pool and stretched out a hand. But the stricken man was tantalisingly out of reach. When one of the soldiers tried to grab Livarot’s hand, he fell into the quicksand himself and had to be dragged out by the others.
‘Do something!’ begged Livarot. ‘Quickly!’
There was no salvation. The more he struggled, the firmer hold the quicksand took on him, pulling him slowly and relentlessly down until only his head and hands were visible. After one last deafening cry, Livarot vanished from sight for ever beneath the loose, wet, treacherous pool of sand. His men were stunned. They stood there in grim silence until Drogo looked for revenge. Swinging round, he pointed accusingly at Vavasour.
‘There’s the man responsible!’ he said. ‘Throw him in there as well.’
Before the order could be obeyed, however, eight riders could be seen coming towards them. Livarot’s men hesitated. They did not want witnesses to an act of cold-blooded murder. Vavasour was relieved and grateful to see Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret coming to his rescue. Detaching himself from the others, he waved an arm in welcome. The newcomers brought their horses to a halt. Ralph sensed the tense atmosphere. He recognised Drogo.
‘Where’s the lord Mauger?’ he asked.
The steward looked despondently across at the quicksand.
‘He’s still searching for two gold elephants,’ said Vavasour.
Brother Joseph was in the abbey church when he was summoned. Fearing a reprimand and still writhing with self-reproach, the sacristan hurried off across the cloister garth. When he was admitted to Abbot Alfwold’s lodging, he was surprised to find three visitors there. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had escorted Jocelyn Vavasour to make sure that he arrived without further mishap. The anchorite exchanged warm greetings with Joseph then raised his eyebrows hopefully.
‘I’ve just heard the most remarkable story,’ said the abbot, soulfully. ‘It seems that our holy treasures were taken by a man called Hermer, steward to Richard de Fontenel. When he stayed at the abbey, Hermer gave us the false name of Starculf. This same Hermer was murdered and the treasures stolen by someone else. Earlier today, they were reclaimed from the thief by our courageous visitors.
The sacristan gurgled with joy. ‘We have them back, Father Abbot?’
‘Not exactly, Brother Joseph.’
‘But you said that they’d been recovered.’
‘Recovered then lost again, I fear.’
‘Employed to save a life,’ explained Ralph. ‘When someone tried to take them from Jocelyn by force, he flung them into the marshes. Two gold elephants are at the bottom of some quicksand with Mauger Livarot.’
Joseph paled. ‘The lord Mauger?’
‘You’ll hear a full account later,’ promised the abbot. ‘Suffice it to say that the Lord has saved a good man and punished an evil one.’
‘Yet we’ve lost our treasures, Father Abbot.’
‘Not exactly,’ said Vavasour, stepping forward. ‘There’s something that I haven’t mentioned so far because I wanted you to be here when I did, Brother Joseph. You know what significance those gold elephants held for me and I was touched by the way in which you and the holy brothers revered them.’
‘We did, Jocelyn. We mourn their disappearance.’
‘Mourn them no more,’ said the other, reaching inside his tunic.
To the astonishment of them all, he brought out the two miniature gold elephants and handed them to the sacristan. Joseph danced on his toes with pleasure. Abbot Alfwold had to hold back tears. Ralph shook his head in wonderment.
‘You told us that you threw them into the marshes?’
‘It’s true,’ admitted Vavasour with a smile. ‘Two elephants did get hurled there but they weren’t made of gold, as these are. They were carved out of wood. I brought them with me when we left my little home. That’s the irony of it,’ he added with a sigh. ‘The lord Mauger didn’t die in pursuit of holy treasures blessed by the Pope. He went into that quicksand after two pieces of driftwood that had dried yellow in the sun.’
Ralph grinned. ‘I’ll wonder what he’ll say when he finds them.’
Epilogue
Richard de Fontenel was in a state of elation. Word had reached him that Mauger Livarot, his loathsome rival, had been sucked down into a quicksand on the previous day, a fate that de Fontenel found singularly appropriate. It was the best news he had heard all week and it made him shake with laughter. At a stroke, he had lost an enemy and gained an unexpected opportunity to renew his pursuit of the lady Adelaide. With one suitor dead, she might come to see the other in a more favourable light. He decided to give her time to reflect and a chance to mellow. When he next tried to engage her affections, he promised himself that he would have two miniature gold elephants to offer, as irresistible as the pair that had first excited her. Judicael the Goldsmith would have a commission from him after all. Hopes rising swiftly, de Fontenel began to speculate on the pleasures of marriage to a beautiful new wife.
It was a dull morning and the sky was hung with grey clouds. When he came out of his manor house, however, he felt as if the sun were blazing down on him. That illusion was soon shattered. There was a drumming of many hooves before Roger Bigot appeared with a dozen men at his back. Ralph Delchard was among them, riding beside a Benedictine monk of middle years on a spindly donkey. When the visitors drew up in front of him, de Fontenel gave them a guarded welcome. The sheriff was brusque.
‘We need to inspect your stables, my lord,’ he announced.
‘My stables?’ said the other.
‘Yes,’ explained Ralph, indicating his companion. ‘This is Brother Osbern from the abbey of St Benet at Holme. He’s the
hospitaller there and welcomes every visitor. One particular visitor turned out to be a thief. Osbern has come in search of his horse.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s the only way to prove that Hermer, your late steward, was the man who stole some holy objects from the abbey.’
‘But that’s absurd!’ blustered de Fontenel.
‘Is it? How else could the little elephants have come into your hands?’
‘I told your colleague, my lord. I bought them in France.’
‘Then the merchant who sold them to you must also have been a magician who conjured them out of the air, because the stolen property from the abbey could never have made the journey to France in the time you allege.’
‘Take us to the stables,’ ordered Bigot.
‘There’s no point, my lord sheriff,’ replied de Fontenel, evasively. ‘Hermer’s horse is no longer here. The animal had to be sold.’
‘I think that very unlikely,’ said Brother Osbern, speaking for the first time. ‘The traveller, who we believe stole our treasures, was riding a fine bay mare in her prime. He gave his name as Starculf the Falconer and I remember wondering how a mere falconer could own such a magnificent animal. I’d recognise that horse anywhere.’
‘Once we match the horse to its rider,’ said Ralph with a grin, ‘we have our thief. All we have to do then is to match the thief to the master who ordered him to steal.’
‘I did nothing of the kind!’ protested de Fontenel.
‘Conspiracy to steal from consecrated ground is both a crime and sacrilege.’
‘You can’t prove anything.’
‘We’ll start with that bay mare. Let’s see if Brother Osbern can pick her out.’
‘Oh, I will, my lord. I’d spot her among a thousand.’
‘Step over to the stables, Brother Osbern,’ said the sheriff.
‘No!’ countered de Fontenel. ‘The horse is not there.’
‘Then you won’t mind if we look, my lord, will you?’
Bigot gave a signal and two of his men conducted the monk around the side of the house to the stables at the rear. Richard de Fontenel was concerned. He knew only too well that his steward’s horse was still there and that it would provide incontrovertible evidence against him. Unable to lie, bully or fight his way out of the situation, he flew into a panic and acted on impulse. He swung round, darted back into the house and slammed the door shut before bolting it from inside. Roger Bigot ordered his men to surround the building in order to cut off any possibility of escape, but Ralph acted of his own volition. Seeing the open shutters, he rode across to the window, dismounted on to the sill and jumped into the parlour. With his sword in his hand, he went in pursuit of de Fontenel and found him at the back of the house, fumbling with a key as he tried to open the strong room. Ralph was merciless. As his adversary pulled out a dagger and turned to confront him, he struck at the man’s wrist, opening up a deep gash and making him drop his weapon to the floor.
Richard de Fontenel cursed and roared. Holding his wounded wrist, he tried to kick out at Ralph but the latter tripped him up with a deft movement of his foot and stood over him, his sword an inch above the man’s face. Thunderous banging was heard behind them, then the front door burst open under the concerted weight of two burly officers. Sword out, Roger Bigot followed his men into the house. Ralph stood aside to hand the squirming prisoner over to them.
‘He saved you the trouble of wringing a confession out of him,’ said Ralph.
‘Yes,’ said Bigot, grimly. ‘By his own actions shall he be judged.’
‘You have no evidence!’ howled de Fontenel, wincing with pain as he tried to stem the flow of blood from his wrist. ‘I was away in Normandy. I have no idea what my steward did while I was away.’
‘Hermer did nothing without your command.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Starculf has told us how you treated those who served you.’
‘I’d never send anyone to steal from an abbey.’
A loud whinny made them all turn round. Framed in the open door was Brother Osbern, leading a bay mare by a rope. The animal gave another whicker and flicked her tail playfully. The monk was beaming in triumph.
‘This is the horse,’ he said, confidently. ‘I’d swear to it.’
After the delays and distractions of the past few days, the commissioners finally began their work that afternoon. Their first session in the shire hall was long but productive. A number of minor disputes were settled with brisk efficiency. Eustace Coureton proved to be a sagacious judge and Brother Daniel an able scribe. All four men worked so well together that they seemed to have been in harness for years rather than for one afternoon. Seated in line behind a table, they proved a formidable quartet. When the session finally ended, Coureton wanted more elucidation about recent events.
‘What I can’t understand is how Skalp actually did it,’ he said.
‘Neither can I,’ groaned Ralph. ‘Before we could get the details out of him, he thrust that dagger into his heart.’
‘I think that we can work it out,’ said Gervase, thoughtfully. ‘With the lord sheriff’s permission, I talked to Starculf this morning. A night in chains has loosened his tongue a little. He told me what his original plan had been.’
‘To kill Hermer and leave him under the lord Richard’s nose.’
‘Yes, Ralph, but it was rather more complicated than that. Using Skalp as his lookout, Starculf planned to get into the house under cover of darkness with one of the duplicate keys. The second key would have got him into the strong room where he could spend the night without fear of discovery. Hermer, it seems, was the only person who would go into the strong room and did so at the start of each day. Starculf was going to be lying in wait for him.’
‘Is that what Skalp did?’ asked Coureton.
‘He certainly spent the night in there, my lord, because he admitted as much to his accomplice. He chose his moment to pounce. My guess is that it was when Hermer paid his second visit to the strong room to return the gold elephants to their box after they’d been shown to the lady Adelaide.’
‘He couldn’t have killed the steward then,’ argued Ralph. ‘There’d have been too much blood. According to the lord sheriff, there were no signs of a struggle in that strong room.’
‘That’s because the murder didn’t take place there,’ said Gervase, piecing it together in his mind. ‘Skalp must have knocked him unconscious at first. We saw how strong he was. It wouldn’t have been difficult to take Hermer unawares. The strong room was at the back of the house. Skalp could have carried the body out into the garden. He used the trees as cover to get far enough away to kill the steward and conceal the body.’
‘Then he came back at night to retrieve it.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Tying a rope around Hermer’s ankles and dragging him off the estate.’
‘We all know what happened next, Ralph.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t mention any details,’ said Brother Daniel, putting a hand to his stomach. ‘I feel sick at the very thought.’
‘It was only the man’s hands that were cut off,’ said Ralph breezily.
‘My lord!’ Clapping a hand over his mouth, the monk rose up from the table and hurried out with his satchel over his shoulder. Coureton shot a look of reproof at his colleague.
‘That was unkind.’
‘It was not meant to be, Eustace.’
‘Brother Daniel is a sensitive soul.’
‘I’ll apologise to him this evening,’ said Ralph, penitently. ‘But let’s go back to Gervase’s theory of what happened. There’s one thing he missed out.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Gervase. ‘The two gold elephants.’
‘Skalp couldn’t possibly have known that they even existed, still less that they’d be in the house on the very day that he chose to get his revenge on Hermer.’
‘The murder was premeditated, Ralph. The theft arose out of opportunity.’
&n
bsp; ‘You mean that he just saw them and took them?’
‘He must have done. The steward went into that room to put those elephants back into their strong box. Skalp saw them, two pieces of solid gold worth more than he would earn in a lifetime. The temptation was too much.’ Gervase paused. ‘It was also one more way to inflict pain on Richard de Fontenel. Stealing something of great value from him. When he knocked Hermer senseless, I believe that Skalp grabbed the elephants and took them with him.’
‘Starting off a search that’s taken us all over the county.’
‘With compensations,’ said Coureton.
Ralph was dubious. ‘Compensations?’
‘How else would we have got to meet Jocelyn the Anchorite?’
‘That was a pleasure I’d happily have forgone.’
‘But he was such an interesting man, Ralph. I can’t help admiring what he’s doing. And it was he, after all, who helped us to track down Starculf.’
‘He also duped the lord Mauger,’ observed Gervase. ‘That showed bravery and guile. He sacrificed his own wooden elephants to save the real ones.’
‘He’ll have plenty of time to carve himself another pair now,’ said Ralph.
They got up from the table and gathered up their documents. Coureton sighed. ‘I suppose the person we should feel sorry for is the lady Adelaide,’ he said.
‘Never!’ exclaimed Ralph.
‘But one of her suitors died and the other is now in the castle dungeon.’
‘Both got their just deserts. The lord Mauger was going to kill Jocelyn and the lord Richard is as brazen a rogue as any in the whole county. As for the lady Adelaide,’ Ralph said, tartly, ‘spare no tears for her. She was the person who told Starculf when the lord Richard would be in France and when his steward would also be absent from the house.’
‘Be fair to her, Ralph,’ counselled Gervase. ‘The lady Adelaide didn’t know that Starculf intended to steal those keys as part of his plan. She knew and liked Starculf. That’s why he turned to her for help. All that she gave him was information. She’d never have countenanced murder.’
The Elephants of Norwich Page 28
