The Foxes of Warwick

Chapter Twelve

As the afternoon shaded into evening, Henry Beaumont became more wrathful than ever. He looked up at the sky. Light was starting to fade and it would not be long before the search would have to be abandoned. He was tormented by the thought that they had been in the saddle since dawn but had nothing whatsoever to show for their efforts. When they came to a wide track which ran away through woodland he called his men to a halt and turned to Philippe Trouville, who rode next to him.

‘Why have we found no trace of him?’ said Henry.

‘I am as baffled as you, my lord.’

‘He must have left Grimketel’s house shortly before you got there. Boio could not have travelled far by the time we set out after him. We should have run him down long before now.’

‘If he was on foot,’ said Trouville.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He may have had a horse.’

‘Then it must have been stolen.’

‘Not necessarily. Someone may have loaned it to him.’

‘They would not dare!’

‘The blacksmith escaped from the castle,’ Trouville reminded him. ‘You said yourself that he must have had help to do that.’

‘Yes, from that scheming monk Brother Benedict.’

‘He may not be implicated at all.’

‘But he took that file into Boio’s cell.’

‘Did he, my lord? I think it unlikely. I have got to know the man well in the past couple of days and his eternal benevolence sickens me but he would not help a prisoner to escape. And since he is now held in your dungeon, he could hardly have provided the blacksmith with a horse. No,’ concluded Trouville, ‘someone else is working on Boio’s behalf. This is the work of a particular friend.’

‘Who could that be?’

‘Does he have no family?’

‘He lives alone.’

‘Kinsmen? Neighbours?’

‘None that I know of, my lord. Boio is a lonely creature.’

‘Is he?’

Henry pondered. It irked him that he might have been too reckless in attaching blame to Brother Benedict and he did not relish the notion of having to release him and, what would be worse, apologise to the man. The monk had proclaimed Boio’s innocence but that did not mean he procured a file for him. If someone else was helping the blacksmith, then the quickest way to find the fugitive might be to confront the friend who was aiding him. One name suggested itself.

‘You must have some notion who it might be,’ said Trouville.

‘I do. Let us ride on.’

They did not have to go far. After following the track for half a mile through the trees, they came out into open country and found themselves face to face with the very man they sought. Thorkell of Warwick was seated proudly on his horse, flanked by two dozen of his men, all armed to give a show of resistance. The old man held up an imperious palm and the search party came to a sudden halt.

‘You are trespassing, my lord,’ warned Thorkell.

‘I will ride anywhere I wish in pursuit of a fugitive.’

‘There is no fugitive here.’

‘How do I know that?’

‘Because I give you my word.’

‘Boio is your man,’ accused Henry. ‘You would protect him.’

‘Not if he is the murderer you claim. I would have questioned him closely first and — if his guilt were established — I would have brought him back to the castle in person.’

‘I do not believe you.’

‘Believe what you like, my lord. I speak the truth.’

‘Where is Boio?’

‘How would I know?’

‘Because you helped him to escape.’

‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Thorkell vehemently, ‘and I can prove it. Just because I protested at his arrest, it does not mean that I sought to get him out of your dungeon. That is a monstrous charge. What would I hope to gain? And where would Boio go? I could hardly conceal a fugitive on my land in perpetuity. Look elsewhere, my lord.’

‘I will look here first.’

‘No, you will not.’

‘Would you obstruct me?’

‘I would simply remind you where you are,’ said Thorkell with dignity. ‘I do not trespass on your estates and I will not permit trespass on mine. I have been a thegn here for many years, long before you came from Normandy to build your castle and to bully my people. But you will not bully me. I have right and title to this land, confirmed by King William himself, as you well know. I want no intruders here.’

‘Damnation!’ howled Trouville. ‘We are not intruders, old man!

We are chasing a dangerous felon. He has already killed twice and may do so again if he is not caught.’

Thorkell started. ‘He has killed twice?’

‘Grimketel was his second victim.’

‘When?’

‘This afternoon. I found the fellow dead myself.’

‘How can you be sure that Boio is the culprit?’

‘There is no doubt about it,’ said Henry.

‘What proof do you have?’

‘What I saw with my own eyes, Thorkell. The man was felled by a savage blow. His head was smashed open. Grimketel feared for his life when he heard of the escape. Rightly so.’

‘Why?’

‘His evidence put Boio in jeopardy. Grimketel was the vital witness. The blacksmith was clearly moved by vengeance.’

‘But he is not a vengeful man, my lord.’

‘You tell me that he is not a violent man,’ said Henry, ‘yet he has killed two victims with his bare hands. Does that not convince you of the need to catch this fiend?’

Thorkell was nonplussed. The news had rocked him. He tried to match it against the character of the blacksmith whom he believed he knew so well and to separate clear proof from hasty assumption.

‘Now will you stand aside to let us search?’ demanded Trouville.

‘No,’ said Thorkell.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I say so.’

‘You must have a stronger reason than that.’

‘There is no need for any search. As soon as I heard of the escape, I sent out patrols of my own. I know the law against harbouring a fugitive. No sighting of Boio has been made. Nor did I expect one. Listen, my lords,’ he counselled, ‘you have wasted your time coming here. When Boio fled, his sole aim was to get free. There are two obvious places where he would run for cover.’

‘Where are they?’

‘To his forge,’ said Thorkell, ‘or to his overlord.’

‘My men have searched the forge,’ grunted Henry.

‘I am sure it was the first place you looked, my lord. I am surprised that it has taken you so long to come here. Do you really imagine that Boio would go to one of the two places where you would be bound to find him? That would be tantamount to giving himself up.’

‘There is something in what he says,’ admitted Trouville.

‘Boio would not come near me,’ said Thorkell.

‘Maybe not,’ said Henry, caught in two minds. ‘But we will take the precaution of searching just to make sure.’

‘You will not, my lord.’

‘Who can stop us?’

‘We can,’ said Thorkell quietly. ‘I have fifty more men within hailing distance. Even you would not be foolish enough to make me call them.’

Trouville tried to draw his sword but Henry reached across to hold his wrist. They were outnumbered. A skirmish would be a mistake.

‘I will return tomorrow with more men,’ said the constable.

Thorkell met his gaze. ‘So will I. Now please ride off.’

‘Do not give orders to me!’

‘This is my land.’

Henry’s anger slowly disappeared behind a gloating smile.

‘Yes, Thorkell,’ he said. ‘It is your land. At the moment.’

Darkness was falling fast by the time that Ralph Delchard and his men reached Warwick. Gervase Bret was waiting anxiously for him at the gate of the castle. The two friends adjourned swiftly to the keep. Golde joined them in Gervase’s chamber and the three of them shared what they had each discovered. Ralph was bubbling to pass on his news but he held it back so that Golde could speak first. When she related the details of her conversation with the lady Adela, both men were intrigued.

‘Let me hear that again,’ said Ralph. ‘Martin Reynard left the household in disgrace yet came back here time after time?’

‘Yes,’ said Golde.

‘Why?’

‘The lady Adela did not know.’

‘Her husband would hardly want to see him. Henry Beaumont is the sort of man who bears grudges. Once someone crosses him, Henry will never forgive him.’

‘Yet he seems to have forgiven the reeve.’

‘Does he, my love?’

‘Yes, Ralph. According to the lady Adela, the man who replaced him here has nothing like Martin Reynard’s skill. Her husband moaned to her about it. He expressed regret that he had let the fellow go.’

‘Then why did he?’

‘Apparently the man exceeded his authority.’

‘How?’

‘The lady Adela could not say.’

Ralph was puzzled. ‘Martin Reynard exceeded his authority and the constable merely dismissed him? The lord Henry keeps the strictest discipline here. I am surprised that he did not have the man whipped and turned out of the castle naked.’

‘Something else is odd,’ observed Gervase. ‘The lord Henry not only dispensed with a valuable man, he saw him go into Thorkell’s service. That must have galled him. He has no love for Thorkell and must have hated to see his reeve lending his skills to the old Saxon. Unless,’ he added as a thought nudged him, ‘we are missing something here.’

‘We are, Gervase,’ said Ralph, ‘and I think I know what it may be. But let me give you my tidings now. What Golde has learned has been of great interest but I will burst if I hold back my own tale any longer.’

‘Speak out,’ said his wife.

‘The first thing you must know is that Grimketel is dead.’

‘How?’ asked Gervase.

‘Murdered in his own house.’

‘By whom?’

‘Judge for yourself.’

Ralph told them about his visit to Grimketel’s house and about his abrasive encounter with Adam Reynard, explaining that it had been too late for him to go in search of Warin the Forester but that he intended to do so on the following day. The revelations about poaching did not surprise Gervase in the least. What he was most interested in, however, was the murder of Grimketel.

‘Did you believe the lord Philippe’s story?’ he asked.

‘At first, Gervase.’

‘But not now?’

‘No, I doubt if Boio went near the place.’

‘Why do you think that?’ said Golde.

‘Because of what I knew of Grimketel and because of what Adam Reynard told me about him. Grimketel was a short, skinny man with no more muscle on him than on a broomstick. We met him, my love. He was a sly devil, by the look of him, and liable to shake in his shoes at the first hint of danger. Fearing that Boio was on the rampage, he would have barricaded himself into his house. Indeed,’ said Ralph, ‘that is exactly what his master urged him to do — after he’d made sure their poached deer were well hidden, of course. If the blacksmith did kill Grimketel, how did he get into the house?’

‘By battering down the door.’

‘It was untouched, Golde. I checked. You see my point? The lord Philippe would have us believe that Grimketel left his door unlocked even though he felt he was in peril. No, I think that what we have here is another crime being laid unfairly at Boio’s feet. I do not believe that he had anything to do with Grimketel’s death.’

‘I know it for certain,’ affirmed Gervase.

‘How?’

‘Hear my tale first.’

Gervase described his visit to Roundshill and his brief talk with Asmoth’s father. When they heard about the borrowed horse and cart, both his listeners reached the same conclusion that he had done and both were struck by the woman’s daring.

‘Boio could not possibly have done it,’ said Gervase confidently.

‘He was miles away at the time. When Grimketel was killed in his house, the blacksmith was climbing into the cart which Asmoth borrowed for him. Now, that being the case, it raises two very important questions. First, who did murder Grimketel?’

‘I have one suspect already in mind,’ said Ralph.

‘So have I.’

‘Does he know that you have guessed his secret?’

‘Not yet.’

‘What is the second question, Gervase?’ asked Golde.

‘Asmoth procured the horse and cart to drive Boio to safety.’

‘Well?’

‘Where did she take him?’

He was in a sorry state when he reached Coventry. A night without sleep and a headlong charge through field and forest had left their marks on Boio. His clothing was torn, his face and arms were crisscrossed with scratches and he was covered in filth from head to toe. His hair was matted with grime. Fear added its own vivid signature. Even when the monks washed most of the dirt off him, his odour was still pungent. Robert de Limesey kept a protective palm around his nose while he questioned the blacksmith, irritated that he had to use Brother Reginald as an interpreter and further peeved by the grinding slowness of Boio’s responses. Swaying with exhaustion, the fugitive was having difficulty understanding the simplest of questions.

‘Why do you seek sanctuary?’ Reginald asked.

‘It is my only hope.’

‘What was your crime?’

‘They say that I murdered a man.’

‘Did you?’

‘No.’

‘Is that the truth? You stand before a bishop on consecrated ground. Tell lies and you will roast in hell. We want the truth.

Take care how you answer now. Did you commit this crime?’

‘No.’

‘Then why were you arrested?’

‘False evidence.’

‘Where were you held?’

‘Warwick Castle.’

When the reply was translated, the bishop was thunderstruck.

‘He escaped from custody?’ he said in wonderment. ‘When he was held by Henry Beaumont? A mouse could not get safely out of that castle. Ask him how he did it.’

Boio told them about the file but refused to say how it came into his possession. Nor would he explain the route by which he came to Coventry, admitting only to a blundering dash north from Warwick. At no point did Asmoth’s name come into the conversation. He was keen to ensure that she would be in no way held accountable for what happened. Escape, flight and search for sanctuary were all his own doing.

The three of them were in Robert de Limesey’s chamber. With the bishop in residence, the abbot was very grateful to shift the burden of examination on to him and his guest was glad to bear it. It was a tacit acknowledgement of his superior status and an opportunity to flex his legal and spiritual muscles in the battle with Henry Beaumont over the fugitive which he foresaw.

Prejudiced against Boio because of his stink, the bishop was not convinced by his plea of innocence. On their visit to the abbey Ralph and Gervase had already given their account of the murder investigation. Robert wished to see if it accorded in every detail with the one from the man who was at the very heart of it.

‘Tell us about Huna,’ prodded Reginald.

‘Who?’

‘The traveller with the donkey.’

‘He gave me no name,’ said Boio.

‘But he is the man you think could save your life?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know what he is?’

‘He cures people.’

‘By what means, though?’ said the monk. ‘That is the question.’

‘He makes potions. He gave me one.’

‘Do you still have it?’

‘Not any more.’

‘What did you do with it?’

‘I drank it while held in the dungeons. It helped me sleep.’

‘Did Huna talk to you about miracles?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he say how he performed them?’

‘With faith in God.’

‘The man is shameless!’

‘You know where he is?’

‘Huna is here in Coventry.’ Boio’s face lit up. ‘He performed one of his so-called miracles in the street. Bishop Robert had him apprehended on a charge of sorcery and thrown into the town gaol.

You will get no alibi from him. He is in need of one himself.’

‘Let me see him,’ begged Boio.

‘That will not be possible.’

‘What harm can it do?’

‘We have already heard enough from Huna.’

‘He is a friend.’

‘Look elsewhere for friendship.’

‘But I need him,’ said Boio. ‘Let him tell you if I am lying. He was there at my forge that morning. He knows that I could not have been in the Forest of Arden. Huna is a poor man but his mind is clear. I am sure he will remember. Please!’ he implored.

‘Do you not see? This is God’s wish. He has brought me and Huna together in the town. We must meet.’

Bishop and monk were completely taken aback. Boio spoke with such passion and coherence that they found their sympathy for him increasing. His situation was indeed desperate. Right of sanctuary was granted but he would not be immune from the law indefinitely. When the time came to release him an arrest would immediately follow. Only proof of innocence would effect his acquittal. Otherwise, all that the abbey was doing was to delay the day of execution.

‘There may be matter in this for us,’ suggested a pensive Robert.

‘Matter, my lord bishop?’

‘Yes, Reginald. I must confess that I am not looking forward to another theological encounter with Huna but this blacksmith here might save me the trouble. If I sanctioned a meeting, you could be present and overhear every word which passes between them.’

‘I understand.’

‘Not only will we know if Boio is telling the truth,’ said the bishop, ‘we will learn more about the old man. When he talks to a friend he may not be as glib and well defended as when he faces us. Yes,’ he decided, ‘that is what we will do. Arrange a meeting, Reginald. And soon.’

‘May I tell Boio your decision, my lord bishop?’

They looked across to see the tears running down his face.

‘I think that he already knows it,’ said Robert.

It was almost completely dark when Henry Beaumont led his dejected troop back to Warwick Castle. The search parties which had ventured off in other directions had already returned but none of them had picked up the fugitive’s trail. As far as they knew, he was still at liberty. Henry’s ill temper was not improved by a concerted appeal from Ralph, Gervase and Theobald for the release of Brother Benedict. When the appeal was supported by Trouville, the constable eventually relented, insisting that the monk be confined to the castle until he had time properly to interrogate him. The commissioners were delighted and thanked their host. They went off for a reunion with their incarcerated scribe.

Henry and Trouville were still in the bailey when the messenger arrived, breathless from a hard ride. His horse was lathered with sweat. The man leaped from the saddle and ran across to Henry.

‘He is found, my lord!’ he announced.

‘Where?’ said Henry with a cry of pleasure.

‘In Coventry.’

‘Coventry! How did he get that far?’

‘I do not know, my lord.’

‘Is he taken? Held in chains? Who captured him? They will be richly rewarded for this service. Speak, man. Tell me all.’

‘Boio has not been captured, I fear.’

‘Then where is he?’

‘At the abbey. They have granted him sanctuary.’

‘What!’ roared Henry. ‘To a murderer!’

The news spread around the castle like wildfire. Jaded by their futile search, the soldiers were revived by the information that the blacksmith had finally been located but they were irked that he was, at least temporarily, beyond their reach. Gervase and Ralph were relieved to hear that the fugitive was safe, and Brother Benedict, now freed from the very cell which had once held Boio, was thrilled and fell into a long discussion with Theobald about the moral essence of sanctuary. Henry Beaumont recognised no moral essence. His first instinct was to ride through the night to Coventry and demand that the fugitive be yielded up to him but common sense and fatigue combined to dissuade him. It was Trouville who suggested a compromise.

‘Let me go to Coventry, my lord,’ he offered.

‘Now?’

‘When I have spoken with my wife and taken refreshment.

Fresh horses will carry us there. I will not usurp your authority,’

he vowed. ‘I will simply establish that Boio is still within the precincts of the abbey before I mount a guard on it. That way, he will not escape. When you arrive in the town tomorrow, you can tell the abbot his duty.’

‘The bishop,’ said Henry. ‘Robert de Limesey.’

‘I had forgotten that he was there as well.’

‘More’s the pity! He is an obstinate old goat. The abbot might have given way to my threats but the bishop will dig in his heels.

No matter. I’ll prise Boio out of their grasp somehow. Thank you, my lord,’ he said, appraising Trouville. ‘I embrace your offer willingly. Unlike your fellows, you have been a source of help to me. It will not go unmentioned when I next meet the King in council.’

‘Thank you, my lord!’ said Trouville. ‘One question.’

‘Well?’

‘What if we catch the fugitive trying to slip away in the night?’

‘Kill him!’

Huna was overjoyed to meet his benefactor again. When he was taken to the abbey and shown into the chamber where Boio was waiting, he flung out his arms in greeting and embraced him.

Brother Reginald and an armed guard were also present but that did not inhibit the old man at all. The life of an itinerant had made him used to an audience.

‘What are you doing here, my friend?’ he said.

‘They have granted me sanctuary.’

‘That is more than they offered me.’

‘I need your help, Huna.’

‘It is yours for the asking.’

‘Tell them the truth about that morning when I shoed the donkey.’

‘But I have already done so, Boio.’

‘You have?’

‘They came to the gaol to talk to me.’

‘Who did?’

‘The two men. Royal commissioners, no less. You have friends in high places, Boio. They were keen to help you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they believe you are wrongly accused. So do I.’

‘But who were these two men?’ asked Boio.

‘One was called Gervase Bret and the other, Ralph Delchard.

They came to Warwick on the King’s business but got involved in yours.’

‘How? They do not even know me.’

‘One of their number does. Brother Benedict.’

The blacksmith nodded. ‘He was very kind to me.’

‘He paid for his kindness,’ said Huna ruefully. ‘The constable of the castle believed that he helped you to escape so he has flung him into the cell which you left.’ Boio was wounded by the news. ‘You will have to go back and show him how to escape from it.’‘I got away on my own. It was not Brother Benedict’s doing.’

‘God will release him soon.’

Reginald sniffed loudly and shuffled his feet in disapproval.

The two friends talked on. Boio was astonished to hear that complete strangers had taken up his cause and ridden to Coventry on his behalf. He was deeply moved by their belief in him. At the same time, he knew that they could not save him from Henry Beaumont. Only the testimony of Huna could do that and the old man could hardly give it if he was locked up in a gaol. Both men were heartened simply by being together again. They had suffered a great deal since their last meeting. Boio bore the physical scars of his experience but Huna carried his suffering lightly.

‘I have had a good time here in Coventry,’ he said blithely.

‘But they arrested you.’

‘Even bad things have a good side to them. I had the pleasure of meeting the bishop himself and discussing the Word of God with him. And,’ he continued, indicating Reginald, ‘I was also able to meet his holy brother here. It has been a privilege. But they are not the only friends I have met. We spent the night with Ursa and his master.’

‘Ursa?’

‘A performing bear.’

‘How did you meet him?’

When the old man recalled the bear’s antics in the marketplace, he actually managed to make the blacksmith laugh. Bound up in his own problems for the last few days, Boio found the tale diverting enough to forget them. Laughter was a blessed relief.

Brother Reginald took another view. The men had not been brought together to enjoy each other’s company but to furnish information. Since they were no longer doing that the conversation was abruptly terminated.

The guard took Huna by the arm and led him to the door. Boio was deeply distressed to see him go. He reached out a hand in supplication.

‘Huna!’

‘Yes, my friend.’

‘What is going to happen to me?’

‘You will be saved,’ said the old man with a grin.

‘Saved? But how?’

‘I will perform another miracle.’

Warwick Castle was bustling with activity long before dawn. Its constable was ready to depart for Coventry at first light with twenty armed men at his back, a sufficient display of force, he felt, to incline both abbot and bishop to accede to his demands.

Ralph Delchard was not far behind him, riding out of the gate with six of his men and veering off on the road towards the Forest of Arden. It was a brisk morning but the sun soon appeared to gild the countryside and to lift their spirits. In a place as large and sprawling as the forest, it was not easy to track down the man they were after but they eventually found him on patrol around the fringes. Ralph and his men surrounded him.

‘Warin the Forester?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said the man politely.

‘My name is Ralph Delchard. I am in Warwick with others on the King’s business and, in a sense, that is what has brought me here. The protection of his forests is very much the King’s business.’

‘He will hear no complaints about us.’

‘No, the lord Henry tells me that you all know your occupation.’

‘I was born to it, my lord.’

Warin had an easy assurance. He was a sturdy man, almost six feet in height, and his weathered face had a craggy handsomeness. He was not afraid that seven men in helm and hauberk had accosted him.

‘Is the hunting good?’ asked Ralph.

‘Very good, my lord. You must ride here with the lord Henry.’

‘He is engaged in another hunt at the moment.’

‘We have roe deer and fallow deer in abundance.’

‘So I hear.’

‘Everyone who hunts here is pleased.’

‘Does that include Grimketel?’

‘Grimketel?’ said Warin, his manner becoming more circumspect. ‘I do not know the man.’

‘Then you will not have heard that he has been murdered.’

‘Murdered? When?’ A shadow of fear passed across his face.

‘You show surprising concern for the death of a man you do not even know,’ said Ralph. ‘And I suppose you know nothing about the carcasses of three fallow deer I found hanging in his outhouse?’

‘No, my lord. Was this man a poacher?’

‘In the pay of Adam Reynard — but you have probably never heard of him either, have you?’ Ralph dismounted. ‘It is too cold to bandy words out here. Reynard has confessed to me. He names you as the accomplice who helped Grimketel to poach those deer.’

‘Then he is lying!’

‘Is he?’

Warin saw the glint in the other’s eye and knew that he was trapped. Denial was pointless. His only hope lay in trying to ingratiate himself. He flashed a deathly grin at Ralph.

‘I am no poacher, my lord,’ he said. ‘To take deer I am paid to protect would be a terrible crime. Grimketel had rights of warren, that is how I came to meet him. He asked me to look the other way from time to time, that is the height of my offence.’

‘That would be bad enough in itself but there is far more, Warin.

You know the habits of deer, Grimketel did not. The only way for him to fill Adam Reynard’s larder was to have your assistance.

When did you catch them? The deer I saw looked as if they were killed earlier this week.’ He gave an enquiring smile. ‘It wouldn’t happen to be on the same morning that a dead body was found in the forest, would it?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I think you do, my friend.’ Ralph looked him up and down, trying to assess his strength. ‘What I am wondering is whether you should face a more serious charge than poaching.’

‘More serious?’

‘Wrestle with me.’

‘What?’

‘Wrestle with me,’ said Ralph. ‘Try a fall.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it, man!’

Ralph jumped at him and they grappled hard. Though Warin had no wish for combat, he defended himself well. Catching Ralph off balance, he suddenly hurled him to the ground, then went into a gabbled apology. Ralph climbed to his feet with a grin and dusted himself off.

‘You are a strong man, Warin,’ he said approvingly. ‘Strong enough to throw me and strong enough — perhaps — to get the better of Martin Reynard.’ He snapped an order. ‘Seize him!’

Asmoth did not sleep at all throughout the night. It was not only because of her father’s wheezing and coughing, nor because she had to get up from time to time to give him water, comfort him, tuck him into bed then mend the fire. Those duties were such second nature to her now that she could perform them when only half awake. What kept her fretting on her mattress was her fear for Boio’s safety. When she dropped him off near Coventry on the previous day, she did not even know if he would reach the abbey, let alone be given sanctuary there, and she wished he had let her go with him. But he insisted that she had taken enough risks for him already and urged her to return the horse and cart before going back to her sick father. Even in his extremity, Boio had concern for her.

Dawn found her still caught up in her recriminations. Her father’s needs then took over. She made and served him some breakfast, soothed him until he dropped off to sleep once more, then put the last of the logs on the fire. As she gazed into the flames, she thought of the crackling blaze at the forge and of the many happy hours she had sat beside it as she talked with her friend. Whatever happened now, she might never see Boio again.

The only way she would know his fate was by waiting to pick up gossip from her neighbours. The thought made her head spin.

She made herself a meal but found she had no appetite to eat it.

When she left the house, someone was waiting outside for her.

‘Hello, Asmoth,’ said Gervase gently.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said, instantly alarmed.

‘There is no need to worry. I will not harm you. I brought an escort but I made them wait a distance away so that they would not frighten you. I just wanted to talk to you, that is all.’

‘Have you brought news of Boio?’

‘He claimed right of sanctuary at the abbey in Coventry.’

‘They have taken him in?’

‘Yes.’

She heaved a sigh of relief. Her efforts had all been worthwhile.

‘I came to see you yesterday,’ he said.

‘Here?’

‘Yes. A man down the road told me that you would not be here.

You had borrowed his horse and cart to take your father to Warwick.’

‘That was right.’

‘But your father was still here. I talked with him.’

‘Oh!’

‘Then I took the road to Warwick myself,’ he said quietly. ‘We would surely have overtaken you if you had been heading that way.’ Asmoth blushed guiltily. ‘Have no fear. I will not betray your secret. I know that you drove Boio to Coventry in that cart and I know that you gave him the file which helped him to escape.

We, too, have tried to help him. We went to Coventry and talked to the stranger who called at the forge with his donkey.’

‘Will he speak for Boio?’ she asked eagerly.

‘He will be pleased to if they let him out of gaol,’ said Gervase,

‘but I fear that it may have gone beyond the point where Huna’s testimony alone will exonerate your friend. The lord Henry is very angry. He needs to hang someone for the murder of Martin Reynard. And for the second crime as well.’

‘The second one?’

‘Someone killed Grimketel yesterday.’

‘Grimketel?’ She was shocked. ‘Murdered?’

‘They are trying to blame that crime on Boio as well.’

‘But he did not do it,’ she said with sudden passion. ‘I know he didn’t. He would have told me. We were friends. Boio was honest with me. When we talked yesterday, he told me everything.’ Her head lowered to her chest. ‘It showed me how much I meant to him,’ she whispered.

‘Did he mention Grimketel at all?’

‘No.’

‘Did he say where he had been?’

‘Running throughout the night, then dodging the men who were out looking for him. He went nowhere near Grimketel’s house.’

‘That is what I decided.’

‘All he thought about was reaching me,’ she said proudly. ‘He waded four miles upstream to get here. He was soaked through when I found him.’

Gervase smiled. ‘He knew where to come.’

Asmoth fell silent, still not entirely sure that she should trust him and half expecting the soldiers to come out of hiding any moment to arrest her.

Gervase saw her anguish and tried to ease it. ‘You are quite safe,’ he assured her. ‘I only came to tell you that Boio was at the abbey because I knew that you helped to get him there.’

‘That was kind. Thank you.’

‘Will you do a kindness for me, Asmoth?’

She tensed slightly. ‘What?’

‘You said a moment ago that Boio told you everything. So he should, for you are the best friend he has. We are keen to prove his innocence but we may need a little more help. Now,’ he said, moving in closer, ‘when you talked with him yesterday did Boio say anything else about Martin Reynard or about that morning when he was supposed to have been seen in the forest near the place where the reeve lay dead? Even the smallest detail may make a difference.’ She remained mute. ‘You spoke with Boio.

We have not. You may be in a position to help your friend, Asmoth.

Think hard. What did you talk about yesterday?’ He saw the flicker of apprehension in her eyes. ‘Tell me, please. For his sake. What was it that Boio said to you?’

A look of blank refusal came over her face and she backed away.

‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘Will you go now?’

For the second day in succession the castle seemed largely deserted. Most of those left behind accepted the situation without complaint but one of them was not attuned to the notion of resignation. The lady Marguerite felt obliged to have a tantrum.

‘Where is everybody?’ she wailed, pacing restlessly.

‘They are called away on business,’ said Adela quietly.

‘The lord Henry is, I can see that. He is the constable of the castle and has responsibilities. But why,’ she demanded, ‘does my husband go riding off to Coventry in the dark? What is the point of bringing me here if he is not willing to spend any time with me? It is so inconsiderate. I have lost Heloise, I am in a strange place and Philippe abandons me. It is too much to bear!’

‘Your husband has not abandoned you,’ said Golde, ‘any more than mine has abandoned me. It is one of the perils of marrying men of importance, my lady. Work preoccupies them.’

‘I want a man who is preoccupied with me!’

‘That can be tiresome after a while,’ suggested Adela.

‘It is better than being left all on my own. Especially now Heloise has gone.’

‘You are not on your own, Marguerite.’

‘No,’ said Golde. ‘We are neglected wives as well.’

Marguerite would not be appeased. They were in Adela’s chamber in the keep but its usual tranquillity was shattered by a shrieking voice and stamping feet as Marguerite circled the room to vent her spleen. Her companions gave up trying to calm her down and let her rant on for several minutes. It was only when, lacking Heloise’s moderating influence, she had worked herself up into a pitch of impotent rage that she seemed to realise what she was doing. She let out a cry of horror and rushed to shower her hostess with apologies.

‘I am so sorry, my lady. I did not mean to offend you.’

‘You did not, Marguerite.’

‘I just feel so ignored.’

‘You will have to learn to live with that, I fear.’

‘It is so ridiculous,’ said Marguerite. ‘Often when my husband is with me, I just wish that he would go away yet when he does, I miss him.’

‘It is called marriage,’ commented Golde softly.

‘I want more!’

‘More of what, my lady?’

‘More of everything,’ asserted Marguerite, eyes flashing. ‘More love, more wealth, more attention, more pleasure, more interest, more husband, more of a proper marriage.’

Adela smiled. ‘What is a proper marriage? I am not sure that I would care to answer that question. Would you, Golde?’

‘We would all have different ideas on the subject.’

‘Both of you seem to have proper marriages,’ said Marguerite.

‘Do we?’ said Adela.

‘Yes, you both seem settled. You have grown into your situation.’

‘You will do that yourself in time, Marguerite.’

‘Never, my lady. I came along too late.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I am Philippe’s second wife,’ she said, pouting. ‘All the love and joy was lavished on the first. She was his real wife. She had all of him. I have to make do with what is left over. It is hideous being a second wife.’

‘I do not find it so, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘My second marriage is far happier than my first, not least because I chose my husband on my own this time. In Ralph I have the man I wanted. My father selected my first husband for me. It … led to problems.’

‘I have had nothing else,’ said Marguerite, resuming her seat.

Her face was bathed in an almost childlike innocence. ‘When I was a girl I knew exactly what kind of a man I wanted to marry.

Brave, handsome and devoted to pleasing me. I used to dream of him sometimes. He always had the same horse — a black stallion with prancing feet. Then one day …’ she had to gather her strength before continuing, ‘… one day my father came to me and told me I would marry someone called Philippe Trouville. I did not even know who he was.’

‘But you must have had so many suitors,’ said Adela.

‘Dozens of them but none acceptable to my father. He chose Philippe for me. I tried to pretend that he was what I wanted and imagined that he would be the handsome man on the black stallion. But he was not,’ she sighed. ‘When I finally met him he turned out to be a grey-haired old man on a bay mare. I was horrified. When he started to pay court to me I had no idea that he was already married.’

‘Did your father know?’ asked Golde.

‘Oh, yes. I think so.’

‘He must surely have objected?’

‘The first wife was sick with a wasting disease,’ remembered Marguerite sadly. ‘She was not expected to live long. His friends told me afterwards that she was very beautiful when she was young. Philippe adored her. He was desolate when she …’ She looked across at them. ‘I know that Heloise told you and I know what you must think but it was not like that. The first wife, Marguerite — she had the same name — could not face withering away in front of her husband. When he came home one day she had taken poison. The grief almost killed him. Then it turned to bitterness. I knew nothing of this until after we were married and it was too late. Philippe was rich and powerful enough to impress my father but he was an angry man inside, given to outbursts of violence. He did not love me. I was just a younger version of his first wife. He was simply trying to replace one Marguerite with another.’ A combative note sounded. ‘I have made him pay for it ever since.’

‘Yet you clearly love him,’ said Golde.

‘Yes,’ added Adela, ‘or you would not miss him so much.’

Marguerite spoke with a maliciousness that was chilling.

‘I would not care if I never saw him again!’

Philippe Trouville stood shoulder to shoulder with Henry Beaumont and gloried in the confrontation between Church and State. Bishop Robert positioned himself at the door of the abbey to rebut their demands, wearing full vestments to lend dignity and having Brother Reginald at his side to provide spiritual reinforcement.

‘Right of sanctuary has been granted, my lord,’ said the bishop.

‘Not by me,’ retorted Henry.

‘The power of the Church supersedes yours.’

‘You are harbouring a murderer.’

‘We are sheltering a fugitive in accord with tradition.’

‘Turn the skulking rogue out!’ shouted Trouville.

‘We will not be denied,’ warned Henry.

‘You have heard my pronouncement, my lord.’

‘Let me speak with the abbot.’

‘His view is in harmony with mine.’

‘The abbot will listen to reason.’

‘I will tell him that you came, my lord,’ said the bishop with a dismissive smile. ‘Like me, he knows the importance of upholding the right of sanctuary. While a fugitive is within these walls he is immune from arrest by the highest in the land. We will not hand this man over to you. He has sought the protection of Holy Church and that is what he is entitled to receive.’ He raised a hand. ‘Good day, my lords.’

Robert de Limesey stepped back into the abbey, and its great oaken door swung to with a thud. Thick bolts were heard being slotted into place. Henry Beaumont was incensed and fumed in silence but it was Trouville who was the more enraged. He was shaking with fury.

‘We must not endure this, my lord!’ he yelled. ‘They cannot shield a felon who has killed two men in cold blood! Do not bother to parley with that fool of a bishop. Give the command and we will beat down this door.’ He motioned his men-at-arms forward.

‘Let us do it, my lord!’ he urged. ‘I promise you that I will drag Boio out with a dagger in his heart!’