The commissioners had complementary skills. Ralph was a stern but just leader, controlling events with a sure hand and giving every person the right to plead his case in full. As befitted a lawyer, Gervase worried away at the fine detail of a claim, haggling over the wording of charters and questioning the legal basis of many assertions. But it was Canon Hubert who most impressed their new colleague. Having found him a learned but vain man, too puffed up with his own importance, de Marigny watched with fascination as Hubert’s true mettle emerged. Fair but fearless, he asked the most searching questions and pursued any hint of deceit quite relentlessly. Three of the witnesses were exposed as arrant liars and a fourth was reduced to tears by his persistence.
By the time the cathedral bell gave sonorous warning of Nones, de Marigny felt able to take a more active role in the process, asking for elucidation, questioning witnesses directly and studying their faces for telltale signs of their true character. Under the pressure of examination, few of them maintained their composure throughout. Hervey de Marigny soon learned how to sow discomfort with an artless query and he was eventually repaid with a moment of triumph. At the end of the day’s proceedings, Ralph was the first to congratulate him.
‘Who are the teachers and who the pupil here?’ he said. ‘That was masterly. You had that fellow squirming like a fish on a hook.’
‘He was obviously lying,’ explained de Marigny.
‘But how did you know?’
‘He all but took me in,’ admitted Gervase.
‘And me,’ said Hubert. ‘I have never met so plausible a rogue.’
‘It was his very plausibility which alerted me,’ said de Marigny.
‘If his argument was as strong and irrefutable as he alleged, why did it not convince our predecessors? They smelt an irregularity.
So did I.’
‘And unmasked the man for the perjurer he was.’ Ralph gave him a pat on the back. ‘Excellently done, Hervey! You are indeed a worthy commissioner and need no more instruction from us.’
‘Tomorrow, you may think otherwise,’ said de Marigny modestly.
‘Why?’
‘Because we only dealt with the most paltry cases today, Ralph.
Small disputes which could easily be settled. Tomorrow, I believe, we are due to tackle something far more substantial and complicated.’
‘The case involving the late Nicholas Picard.’
‘Yes.’
‘I have a suggestion to make,’ said Hubert in a tone of voice which made it sound more like a decree than a proposal. ‘Let us postpone that dispute until a fitter time and deal instead with the many others which await our judgement.’
‘That is eminently sensible advice,’ said de Marigny.
Hubert was pleased. ‘Then it is settled.’
‘No,’ said Ralph, ‘it most certainly is not, Hubert. Our schedule has been worked out and we will keep to it as planned.’
‘But the lord Nicholas’s death alters everything,’ returned Hubert.
‘The only thing that it alters is his chance of appearing before us.’
‘The case must be postponed out of respect.’
‘To whom?’
‘His family.’
‘That will not be necessary.’
‘His widow will be prostrate with grief.’
‘Then why did she send word to me through Saewin that she wished the dispute over her husband’s property to be settled as soon as possible? The town reeve gave me this message as we arrived here.’
‘He delivered another message for you,’ suddenly recalled Brother Simon.
‘Indeed?’
‘It seems that there is a further claimant in that dispute.’
‘One more reason to tackle it at once,’ decided Ralph. ‘The longer we delay, the more time we give for new people to contest those holdings. We already have three in addition to the widow of the lord Nicholas, who would normally be expected to inherit his estates. Postpone this case indefinitely and we will find that half the county wish to lodge a claim.’ He rose from the table.
‘Who is the latest to be added to the list?’
‘The lady Loretta,’ said Hubert. ‘Widow of Roger de Marmoutier.’
‘That is a name of importance in Devon,’ noted Gervase. ‘The lord Roger held property scattered throughout the county and did at one time hold the land at the centre of this dispute.’
‘So did the abbot of Tavistock,’ Hubert reminded him.
‘And so did everyone else south of Bristol!’ said Ralph with sarcasm. ‘The next person who will assert his right to those holdings will be Berold the Jester! This dispute trembles on the edge of absurdity.’
‘It is a major case,’ said Gervase calmly, ‘and should be heard sooner rather than later. Many different interests are involved here. If we settle this dispute with firm authority at the start of our sojourn here, it will act as a salutary warning to those involved in later cases. It will set the standard for all else that follows.’
‘I could not agree more, Gervase,’ said Ralph.
‘Nor I support you less,’ added Hubert. ‘There are questions of taste and delicacy here. We must not be seen to incite an argument over the bones of a man who has not yet been buried.’
‘I side with Canon Hubert,’ said Simon loyally.
‘And I incline to his view as well,’ confessed de Marigny. ‘Can the widow of the lord Nicholas really wish us to proceed so soon?’
‘According to Saewin,’ said Ralph. ‘He received a personal visit from her steward, urging that there be no delay. This same steward, Tetbald, is to represent the widow before us. He has full authority to act in her stead so the case will proceed.’
‘Against my better judgement,’ noted Hubert.
Ralph beamed. ‘As usual.’
‘I find this very perplexing,’ said de Marigny, scratching his head. ‘If I was brutally murdered, I am certain that my wife would not wish to continue any litigation in which I was involved until a decent interval had elapsed for mourning. Can this lady be so heartless that she does not need to weep over her husband’s tomb? Or is there another reason why she wishes to hurry this matter through?’
‘The explanation has already been given, my lord,’ said Gervase.
‘This dispute hangs over his widow like a black cloud. Until it is dispelled, she is not able properly to mourn the deceased. And is it so surprising that a wife should fight for something which she believes is part of her rightful inheritance?’
‘Golde would do so in the same position,’ said Ralph.
‘I doubt that,’ returned de Marigny.
‘So do I,’ supported Hubert.
‘You forget that the lord Nicholas’s widow will not be here in person,’ said Gervase, keen to terminate the debate. ‘While she grieves in private, her steward can speak for her in public. If he can report to her that we find in her favour, I am sure that it will be a balm to her troubled mind.’
‘No more argument,’ announced Ralph. ‘It is agreed.’
Canon Hubert grumbled, Brother Simon rolled his eyes in despair and Hervey de Marigny still had reservations, but all three accepted his decision. As they left the shire hall, Ralph fell in beside Gervase.
‘Thank you for backing me, Gervase.’
‘I thought it important to settle this dispute while it is still within our power to do so,’ said the other. ‘It was tangled enough before we arrived but it has grown infinitely more complicated since we have been here. If we delay a judgement, we may find that its intricacies only multiply and that it takes an eternity to resolve.’
‘With you stuck in Devon while Alys pines in Winchester.’
‘That thought was at the back of my mind.’
‘So it should be, Gervase,’ said Ralph jovially. ‘Our work is of the highest importance but we must not let it keep you away from the altar. I share your fears that this case could increase in size and complexity until it dominates all the rest and ensnares us for weeks. On the othe
r hand, it may soon be simplified for us.’
‘Simplified?’
‘Yes. Remember what Baldwin told us. Arrests are imminent.
When we know why Nicholas Picard was killed, we will have a much clearer idea of what this dispute is all about.’
‘The lord sheriff said that he was murdered by robbers.’
‘I know,’ said Ralph. ‘But who hired them?’
It was the smoke which gave them away. Breaking their journey for refreshment, they lit a fire to roast one of the chickens they had stolen from a farm. It made a tasty meal and they ate it between long gulps of ale. Their fortunes were improving. As they counted out their takings once more, they realised that they could afford to buy what had hitherto only been within reach by theft. The two of them sniggered complacently.
The posse comprised a dozen men, veteran soldiers who knew how to work together. They trailed the robbers all the way from Crediton until they reached the copse where the couple were hiding. A slow curl of smoke rose above the trees. It was all the encouragement they needed. Under the guidance of their captain, the soldiers separated to surround the copse. When the signal was given, they moved slowly in.
The robbers were dozing beside the fire when they heard the crack of a twig beneath a hoof. It brought them awake at once and both reached for their daggers. They were far too late. The clearing was suddenly boiling with the sheriff’s officers. The robbers were knocked to the ground by lances, disarmed and pinioned. Dismounting from his horse, the captain searched their purses and found them bulging with money. He also found some gold rings which had once adorned the fingers of Nicholas Picard.
When the men tried to protest, he beat each of them into silence with a mailed first.
‘Tie them to their horses!’ he ordered. ‘The lord sheriff wants them taken back to Exeter to face his wrath.’
Asa sat beside the window in her bedchamber and stared sadly out through the shutters. Perched on a low hill, the house gave her a clear view over the thatched roofs of the city to the twin peaks of castle and cathedral, but she was impervious to both.
Though her eyes looked out, her gaze was turned inward.
Memories surged through her mind in a confusing mix of nostalgia and remorse. She was a short, slender young woman in fine apparel more suited to a Norman lady than to a Saxon. Her chemise and gown were of white linen, her girdle a long silken rope with tasselled ends. Coiled at the back, her long black hair fell in curls at the front. Her face had a quiet loveliness in repose and a vivacity that was captivating when she was animated, but there was no sign of it now. As her mind dwelt on the past, a deep frown bit its way into her brow.
The knock on her door brought her out of her daze.
‘Yes?’ she called. Her servant entered. ‘What is it, girl?’
‘The town reeve has sent word.’
‘What is the message?’
‘You are to appear at the shire hall tomorrow.’
‘So soon?’
‘That is what I have been told.’
‘But the funeral is tomorrow. I must attend that.’
‘I am only passing on the message I was given.’
‘Why did you not call me to hear it in person?’
‘You warned me not to disturb you.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes,’ said the servant softly. ‘You told me to turn away any visitors.’
‘Why, so I did,’ remembered Asa, trying to gather her thoughts.
‘You were right, Goda. Had you tried to call me downstairs, you would have been given a flea in you ear for your pains. I am sorry to be so vague. My mind is elsewhere today.’
‘I understand.’
Goda was a plump woman in her thirties with bright green eyes and a large nose which turned a pleasant face into an unattractive one. As she studied her mistress, her expression bordered on maternal concern.
‘Is there anything that I can fetch you?’ she offered.
‘No, Goda.’
‘Some food perhaps? You must eat.’
‘I am not hungry.’
‘You have touched almost nothing for days.’
‘I will eat when I wish to and not before.’
‘Yes,’ said the other deferentially.
‘But I thank you for worrying about me.’
Goda gave a wan smile and turned to leave the room. Asa fell back into her reverie. Stirring herself out of it once more, she walked to the stairs and descended to the kitchen. Goda was about to fill a cooking pot with water from a wooden pail. She looked up inquisitively.
‘You are ready to eat something?
‘Not yet, Goda. I have an errand for you.’
‘I will do it at once.’
‘Run to Saewin’s house,’ ordered Asa. ‘Explain my situation.
Tell him that, whatever happens, I must not miss the funeral tomorrow. That takes priority over all else. I will gladly appear before the commissioners after the funeral.’
‘What if they call you for the morning?’
‘I will not go.’
‘That will not help your cause,’ warned Goda.
‘I shall put myself in Saewin’s hands,’ said Asa. ‘He must contrive it so that I can attend both the funeral and the shire hall. A town reeve has some influence in these matters. Ask him to use it on my behalf.’
‘I will.’
‘And Goda …’
‘Yes?’
Asa gave a distant smile which brightened the whole of her face. ‘Tell him that I will be most grateful.’
‘What makes this case so unusual, Ralph?’ she asked. ‘You have talked of nothing else since you returned.’
‘I am sorry, my love,’ he said, giving her an apologetic kiss. ‘I did not mean to bore you with my problems.’
‘They do not bore me at all.’
‘Tell me about your day.’
‘When you have satisfied my curiosity,’ said Golde. ‘I know that the lord Nicholas’s death has given this dispute more intensity, but I do not understand why it rates above all the others.’
‘Two reasons.’
‘What is the first?’
‘Money,’ said Ralph. ‘The holdings in question run to several hides and contain some of the richest farmland in the county.
Whoever inherits that property from Nicholas Picard will become quite wealthy.’
‘And the second reason?’
‘Women, my love.’
‘I do not follow.’
‘Five claimants are involved here,’ he explained, ‘and three of them are ladies. That is not only unusual, Golde, it is unprecedented in my experience. You can expect a wife or a daughter to lay claim to an inheritance, as the lord Nicholas’s widow will do in this instance, but it is rare to have two other women hurling themselves into the fight.’
‘Do they have legitimate claims?’
‘So they believe.’
‘Who are they?’
‘One is a Saxon woman, Asa, who lives here in the city. What her relationship with the lord Nicholas is I can only guess, but she purports to have a letter from him which bequeaths those holdings to her. In other words,’ he observed drily, ‘she only has a claim on the property now that he is dead. While he was alive, this Asa could only sit and wait.’
‘Is that what you think she did?’
‘I do not know, Golde. I have not met her and may be maligning her unfairly. But let me put it no higher than this,’ he said. ‘The death of Nicholas Picard is highly convenient. If we find in favour of Asa, she will be a woman of property.’
‘Who is the other claimant?’
‘One lady Loretta, widow of Roger de Marmoutier. She came out of the blue this morning to attest her right to that property.
I can only surmise how powerful an advocate she will be, but it means that we will be hard put to it to sift out the truth. Three women and two men.’ He gave a wry chuckle. ‘There will be a fierce battle in that shire hall.’
‘Who are the men?’
>
Ralph pulled a face. ‘The abbot of Tavistock is one of them. You can always rely on the Benedictine Order to make a grab for any property that comes into dispute. Abbots have greedy fingers.’
‘Do not be so irreverent.’
‘Nor so prejudiced,’ he said, chiding himself. ‘I am sorry, my love. I condemn this prelate before I have even set eyes on him.
He may yet turn out to have the strongest claim of all.’
‘You said that there was a fifth contender.’
‘Ignore him, Golde. He is of no account.’
‘Then why does he register a claim?’
‘Out of sheer folly. He will not detain us long.’
‘What is his name?’
‘Engelric’
‘A Saxon, then?’
‘Yes,’ said Ralph dismissively. ‘We only hear him out of courtesy.
He has a claim of sorts, but it has no real worth. The struggle will be between the abbot and the three ladies. Engelric will not figure very much.’
Golde understood why. She also realised why her husband was so reluctant to talk about the man’s claim. Evidently, he was the Saxon thegn who owned the property before the Conquest and had it taken forcibly from him. Engelric’s fate mirrored that of her own father. Out of concern for her feelings, Ralph did not wish to remind her of her lost status. Born into a noble family, Golde was practising her trade as a brewer when he met her in Hereford. It had been a long and painful fall from the position she once occupied. Ralph was glad that marriage to him had elevated her once more to the rank he felt she deserved.
Recollections of her past brought a more immediate memory to mind.
‘I spoke with the lady Albreda today,’ she said.
‘Was she meek and mild or cold and supercilious?’
The Wildcats of Exeter d-8 Page 7
