The Lions of the North

CHAPTER FOUR

In order to get through the volume of work that confronted them, the two sets of commissioners made an early start that morning. The bell for Prime seemed scarcely to have died away before they were leaving their respective lodgings to make their way to their places of business. Canon Hubert led the delegation at the shire hall and occupied the central position at the table. Tanchelm of Ghent and Brother Simon were happy to sit in silence with him, the former so that he could learn through close observation, the latter so that he could record the proceedings on the sheets of parchment that lay before him.

The adjoining building was smaller, darker and decidedly less suit-able. It was occasionally used as a meeting place for the city’s four judges, who enjoyed custom beyond the normal privileges of a burgess, but its musty atmosphere suggested that it might also have done duty as a grain store. Ralph Delchard was plainly disgusted with its interior.

“I will not preside in a stable!”

“It will suffice,” said Gervase Bret.

“For horses, yes. For royal commissioners-no!”

“You were the one who offered the shire hall to our colleagues. It is too late to change your mind now.”

“The place is covered in dust.”

“According to the reeve, it has not been used for some time.”

“Fifty years or more, by the look of it.”

“We will manage somehow.”

“I’d sooner sit in judgement in the fish market.”

Two servants arrived and mumbled their apologies before cleaning the room as best and as quickly as they could. Ralph sneezed at the cloud of dust sent up by the broom but his howl of protest was cut short by the arrival of their scribe. Brother Francis was a big, solid man of middle years with a genial smile and a willing manner. Ralph could never bring himself to enjoy the company of a Benedictine monk but the newcomer at least promised to be rather more forthcoming than Brother Simon.

Introductions were made and Francis beamed helpfully.

“How may I best serve you?” he asked.

“I want you to look, listen and set down anything that I tell you,”

ordered Ralph. “Bear in mind that what you write will have the force of a legal document. It must be clear and exact.”

“I understand, my lord.”

“You have brought all that you need?”

“Yes,” said Francis, tapping the leather satchel that hung from his shoulder. “Everything is here. I am honoured to take part in matters of such weighty importance.”

“That makes a change. Brother Simon is always terrified when he sits beside us.”

“Brother Simon?”

“Our accustomed scribe,” said Gervase. “A punctilious man. He sets high standards.”

Francis smiled. “I will try my utmost to emulate him.”

Ralph gave him more detailed instructions and the monk plied him with a number of questions. While they were still deep in discussion, Gervase took charge of the servants and made them move the table, chair, stools and benches into their appropriate positions. The place was markedly cleaner when the two of them left. Even Ralph was agreeably surprised.

“It is now almost civilised,” he said, leading the way to the table. “At least I will not cough to death.”

Lowering himself into the chair, he gestured for Gervase and Francis to sit on the stools on either side of him. Both began to empty the contents of their satchels. The absence of Canon Hubert was a bonus to Ralph, though he would have preferred Brother Simon’s experienced hand to that of their new scribe. Brother Francis was eager and respectful but he was as yet unproven.

Tanchelm’s men-at-arms were on duty inside and outside the shire hall but Ralph had brought ten of his own escort to give his deliberations a show of strength. Since the room was so cramped, only four of them were on duty inside it. Their companions acted as sentries in the street, keeping prying eyes at bay and marshalling the witnesses as they arrived. Inured to the sight of Norman soldiers, most of the citizens of York shuffled past without comment.

Gervase handed a document to Ralph, who glanced down at it to refresh his memory before issuing a curt command.

“Bring in the first witness! Her name is Sunnifa.”

“Yes, my lord,” said one of the soldiers.

Ducking to avoid the lintel over the door, he went outside to discharge a duty that should have taken no more than thirty seconds.

Instead, he was gone for a couple of minutes. Ralph grew impatient with the delay. When sounds of a violent argument reached his ears, his impatience spilled over into anger. Rising to his feet, he sent the three remaining men out after their colleague.

“Fetch the woman in at once!”

They obeyed instantly. Voices were raised in protest, then the witness was more or less hustled in by two of the soldiers. She was a tall, graceful woman in her forties, with a nobility in her bearing that even her unceremonious entrance could not entirely obscure. At her heels, arguing noisily and struggling with the other two soldiers, were a younger woman and a man in the garb of a parish priest. All three of them stood before the table and complained simultaneously.

Ralph’s voice smothered them into a hurt silence.

“Enough of this caterwauling!” he yelled. “We are servants of the King and we demand full respect!”

A flick of his hand sent his men back to their post at the rear of the room. The visitors studied him warily. Ralph lowered himself into his chair and deliberately made them wait before he was ready to speak.

“Now,” he said sternly, “which of you is the person for whom I sent?”

“I am,” said Sunnifa, taking a step forward.

“Then who are these other people?”

“They are here to support my claim.”

“When I call for one witness, I do not need three.”

“But they are witnesses in their own right, my lord.”

“Let them wait outside.”

As the soldiers moved in once more, protest resumed in earnest.

Sunnifa took another step forward.

“No, my lord,” she pleaded. “They must stay.”

“Hear us out!” implored the priest.

“We demand it!” asserted the third member of the group. “If Norman justice consists in laying rough hands upon a priest and a woman, then it is a despicable instrument and does not deserve our respect. I am Inga, daughter of Sunnifa, and I insist on remaining with my mother.” She indicated the man beside her. “This is Brunn the Priest, who will confirm our testimony. All three of us must be heard together. We have come to report a heinous crime and will not leave this place until we have done so.”

Inga was fearless. There was such passion in her voice that the three men behind the table were stunned and the soldiers hesitated to take hold of her. Here was someone, nineteen years old at most, daring to challenge the authority of royal commissioners and doing so, not in the rudimentary Norman French employed by Sunnifa and by Brunn the Priest, but with a fluent control of the language of her masters. Inga was clearly an extraordinary young woman. Gervase was struck by the vehement loveliness of the face beneath the wimple and by the sharp intelligence in her eyes.

Ralph consulted the document before him once more.

“Seventeen witnesses have been called,” he said to Inga. “Your name and that of Brunn are among them. The pair of you will have to wait your turn with the other fourteen.”

“The other fourteen are not here, my lord.”

“They must be. I issued a summons for each one myself.”

“It was ignored,” said Inga bluntly. “Send for any of those witnesses and you will find that they are not here. They are too frightened to present their evidence. We are not. That is why we have made the long journey here.” She took a firm hold of her mother’s hand. “Now, my lord. May we stay to seek justice or will you have us thrown out?”

Ralph turned first to Gervase, who gave a gentle nod, and then to Brother Francis, who offered a philosophical smile. Little could be gained by separating the three witnesses and much by keeping them together. Inga was patently their spokesperson and her control of Norman French would be an undoubted asset. Ralph did not like to have his decisions questioned but, in Inga’s case, he was prepared to make allowances for the rashness of youth. It had brought a pleasing colour to her cheeks.

Sunnifa did not have her daughter’s throbbing energy and Brunn the Priest was an old man worn down by the cares of his ministry in a county that had suffered the most terrible afflictions. It was easy to see why they preferred to let Inga represent them. Ralph switched to a gruff courtesy.

“If you have travelled far,” he said, “you will be weary. Please take a seat so that you may give your evidence in some degree of comfort.”

“Be careful!” warned Aubrey Maminot. “Don’t touch it!”

“Why not?” said Golde.

“It may be some sort of trap.”

“No, my lord. It’s the pack that contains my apparel.”

“If it was left by Olaf Evil Child, it may well contain something else.

I know him. He would not scruple to conceal a poisonous snake or a wildcat inside there. Open it without due caution and you may regret it.”

They were in the solar, where the three packs found outside the castle gates had now been taken. Thrilled to see that her clothes had been returned, Golde was being stopped from unpacking them by her host. He jabbed at the first bundle with his sword.

“Stay, my lord,” she said with concern. “You may damage the fabric within.”

“It may already have been damaged beyond repair. I do not believe that Olaf would return any of your possessions without first mutilating them in some way. There is no telling what outrage we may find within.”

He prodded at the bundle with more conviction, moving around it in a circle to attack it from all angles. Putting the safety of her apparel first, Golde jumped in to stop him.

“Let me open it, my lord.”

“It is too dangerous.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

Golde undid the leather straps and began to sort through the contents of the pack, examining each garment with care before laying it aside. None of them were damaged in any way. She looked up at Aubrey.

“This Olaf has turned Good Samaritan.”

“Never!”

“He stole my attire, now he returns it unharmed.”

“It is a ruse, I tell you,” said Aubrey. “One pack may be untouched but the others may still hold an ugly surprise. Olaf Evil Child does nothing without a purpose.”

“Could this not be a gesture of friendship?”

“Towards royal commissioners? Impossible! Besides, if he wishes to show amity, why has he not sent back the remainder of your cargo?”

“That contained food. He and his men needed that.”

“What about the horses that were stolen? There is no sign of them.

With respect to you, they are worth far more than your wardrobe. Had Olaf restored the horses to you, even I would begin to think more favourably of him.”

“I am just grateful to have my attire back,” she said as she undid the straps on the next pack. “My lord Ralph will be pleased to see that his is returned as well.”

“Open it with caution!” he advised.

“I sense no trap here.”

“I do.”

Aubrey stood over her with his sword still drawn but Golde was unworried. She emptied the second pack with brisk confidence and lay Ralph’s attire beside her own. The third pack belonged to Gervase, and its contents, too, had been left unharmed. Three bundles of clothes and other possessions now lay on the floor of the solar. Aubrey walked around them with evident distrust.

“There has to be a trick involved,” he said.

“It does not lie here, my lord.”

“Why did he send all this back?”

“Because he has no use for it himself.”

“He has stolen sumpter-horses from other travellers before now and they have had nothing handed back to them. Why make this gesture towards you?”

“I do not know.”

“More to the point,” said Aubrey, crossing to the window to glare down into the courtyard, “how was he able to do so? Olaf Evil Child or some of his men gained entry to the city and stood at the very gates of my castle without being seen or heard. Someone will pay heavily for this!” He turned back to Golde and his manner softened. “Forgive my anger. It is directed at the failings of my men. I am annoyed with them but glad for you. It is a relief to know that someone in this castle has gained from last night’s escapade.”

“Indeed we have.”

“Good.” He pointed at the piles of clothing. “I will send servants to move all this to your apartments.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“I just wish that I could make sense of it all.”

“Sense?”

“Yes, Golde,” he said. “A few days ago, someone climbed into my castle and met up with Romulus and Remus. I think the intruder was one of Olaf’s men. Last night, packs from your sumpter-horses were left outside my gate.” He shook his head in bafflement. “It does not make sense. Why should Olaf Evil Child send an assassin to kill me one night and yet restore property to my guests shortly afterwards?

I want to know what is going on here.”

Still bemused, Aubrey went out of the solar. Golde checked through her belongings again, noting with pleasure that her trinkets had also been returned. Her attention then turned to Ralph’s apparel and she reached out to pick up his tunic. After stroking it lovingly, she folded it neatly and gave it a gentle kiss. It was only when she raised her eyes that she realised she was being watched.

Herleve stood in the doorway, her face impassive, her eyes cold.

After a pause, she moved swiftly away.

Sunnifa laid claim to being the injured party but it was her daughter who pleaded her case. Inga was a persuasive advocate with real skill in presenting an argument and with an excellent grasp of detail. Nor was she at all deflected by the frequent interruptions from Ralph Delchard. She showed an ability to think on her feet that was surprising in one so young and so untrained. A lawyer himself, Gervase Bret was especially impressed. Inge had a true legal brain.

The dispute centred around the annexations made by Nigel Arbarbonel, one of the leading barons in the North Riding. Land that had been bequeathed to Sunnifa by her late husband, Thorbrand, had been systematically taken away. The amount involved was substantial, running to almost eight hundred acres, and although some of this land was waste, the bulk of it was fertile enough to yield a crop.

Sunnifa had shrunk from being the wife of a relatively wealthy man to being a widow in straitened circumstances.

Gervase took over the cross-examination of Inga. He admired her courage in calling so powerful an opponent as Nigel Arbarbonel to account but it was not his place to take sides. Convincing as she sounded in full flow, there were elements of her statement that needed to be probed.

“You make serious charges against my lord Nigel,” he said, “but you offer little evidence to support them.”

“I have offered a great deal,” she retorted. “I have explained how each part of my father’s estate was seized from us over a period of time and why we have been unable to regain ownership. You have heard my mother’s testimony and Brunn has also spoken under oath. Surely you do not doubt the word of a priest?”

“That is not the point at issue.”

“Then what is?”

“Documentary proof,” said Gervase. “To justify your claim, there must be a will and title deeds to the property.”

She bridled. “Do you think that we came here to lie?”

“Of course not.”

“And do you have any idea how many threats were made against us when we dared even to raise this matter?”

“How could I?”

“We mustered fourteen other witnesses to speak on our behalf,” she continued. “Each one of them was stopped from travelling to York.

Some were bullied, some were beaten, one even had an eye put out when he tried to defy them.” She held up her palms. “No, I do not have any documentary proof of this either and if you ask of Hogni the Blacksmith, he will tell you that his eye was blinded when sparks flew up from his fire, but I know the truth. My mother and Brunn the Priest know it also.”

Sunnifa and the old man nodded in agreement.

“These are heavy accusations,” said Gervase.

“I do not make them lightly.”

“The King’s writ runs in the north just as effectively as in any other part of England. If we choose, we can compel witnesses to appear before us.”

“They would refuse to speak on our behalf.”

“Even under oath?”

“Hogni does not want to lose his other eye.”

“We have only your word that the first was put out as an act of malice,” said Ralph. “I have heard good things of Nigel Arbarbonel.

Men whose opinion I respect have praised him. He has also served his king by fighting bravely against the Scots. Do not make wild allega-tions about him unless you have the means to substantiate them.”

“Am I to produce the title deeds to Hogni’s missing eye?” she said with sarcasm.

Ralph tensed. “Show contempt and you will be ejected from here.

That will not advantage your mother’s position.”

“No, my lord,” said Inga, flashing a steely smile. “And I apologize for my rudeness. I do not mean to offend you in any way. You are, after all, our only hope of retribution.”

“You would do well to bear that in mind.”

“Let us return to the question of documents,” said Gervase, taking over from Ralph once more. “In the last resort, everything turns on that.”

Inga nodded. “I agree. May I please ask a question?”

“If you wish.”

“The first team of commissioners visited Yorkshire earlier in the year. They were larger in number and did their work with great thoroughness.”

“So will we,” promised Ralph.

“When my lord Nigel was called before them, did he produce charters to show that he owned the land that once formed my father’s estate?”

“No, he did not,” admitted Gervase.

“How do you know that?”

“The returns relating to this county were sent to the Exchequer in Winchester. I studied them with great care before we set out. I also had the good fortune to talk with one of the commissioners who visited York. No charters were offered by Nigel Arbarbonel as proof of ownership in this particular instance.”

“Then how was that property deemed to be his?”

“By word of mouth. He swore under oath that the carucates now under dispute belonged to him, and his subtenants swore likewise.

The account book confirmed that they paid their rent to Nigel Arbarbonel.

That was proof enough that he was the legitimate holder of the land in question. Nobody came forward to contest his claim.”

“For one good reason.”

“What was that?”

“We were not given the opportunity to do so.”

“You must have been,” said Gervase. “That was the main function of the commissioners’ visit. To establish who owned what and for how long they had held it.”

“We were deceived,” she said bitterly. “When the summons came, we thought we finally had a chance to get our rightful inheritance back again. But it was not to be.”

“Why not?”

“We were deliberately misled. By the time we got to York, the commissioners had completed their work here and moved on to Beverley.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“It happened, I assure you.”

“The commissioners would never request you to appear at a place from which they were about to depart. That would be perverse. Who brought the summons?”

“He claimed to be the reeve’s man.”

“Claimed?”

“We think he was an impostor.”

“On what grounds?”

“He gave us false information,” argued Inga. “We were prevented from contesting my lord Nigel’s claim.”

“Did you not take this up with the town reeve himself?”

“Naturally.”

“When had he sent his messenger?”

“Two days earlier.”

“And the man who came to you?”

“The reeve did not recognise him from our description.”

Gervase sat back pensively. He was at least ready to consider the possibility that her version of events might be true. Ralph was not. He struck a note of jocular derision.

“One-eyed blacksmiths. Phantom messengers. Deep-laid plots to cheat you out of a mythical inheritance. How much more of this nonsense is there?”

“It is the truth,” she said indignantly.

“You tell a good story, I grant you that.”

“I am explaining what actually happened.”

“What you want us to believe actually happened,” he corrected. “But it will not hold water, I fear. Three of you are trying to discredit the testimony of Nigel Arbarbonel and several reliable witnesses. Against them, you carry little weight in the scales of justice.”

“We would carry much more if fourteen other voices had not been silenced. We are the victims of a conspiracy.”

“They all say that.”

Inga struggled to control herself, all too conscious of the fact that hot words might relieve her anger but they would certainly prejudice her case. Gervase could see her predicament. He adopted a more polite line of questioning.

“Let us return to your summons,” he said. “You were given misleading information about the time when you could appear before the first commissioners. Is that what you claim?”

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.

“And the reeve did not send the man who came to you?”

“That is what he told us.”

“Then what of the messenger he did send?”

“Good question, Gervase,” said Ralph. “I never thought of that.” He smiled at Inga. “Well?”

“I do not know,” she confessed.

“Another crack opens up in your argument!”

“No, my lord!” she denied. “I do not know because we did not stay in York while the reeve tried to ascertain how his summons went astray.

My mother and I set off to Beverley in pursuit of the commissioners.”

“Did you catch up with them?” asked Gervase.

“We did but it was too late. Their business in York was concluded and they were only dealing with claims relating to property in the East Riding. It was a crushing blow for us.” She winced at the memory, then rallied slightly. “But they did have the grace to let us state our complaint even if they could not look into it. We were told that a note of our protest would be included in the returns that were sent to Winchester.”

“That is how it came to our notice.”

“We are very thankful. It shows that our journey to Beverley was not in vain.”

“Did you not then return to York?”

“It would have taken us out of our way,” she said. “We took ourselves home by another route and still have no idea why the reeve’s summons did not reach us when it should have.” She turned to Ralph. “I urge you to look into it.”

“Do not try to tell us our job.”

“It is a request and not a demand.”

“We will handle this case in our own way.”

“Then I have nothing more to add.”

“That still leaves the vexed question of documents,” said Gervase.

“Your father must have been able to prove his right and title to that land.”

“He was,” she affirmed.

“Then where are those charters now?”

Inga turned to her mother. The speed of the argument had left the older woman confused and her daughter had to explain the situation in her own tongue. Sunnifa and Brunn grew increasingly anxious.

Inga attempted to reassure them.

Gervase prompted her. “Well?”

“The charters are in existence,” she said, “but we do not have them in our possession at the moment.”

“Where are they?”

“We will bring them to you.”

“When?”

Sunnifa and Brunn looked forlorn but Inga drew herself up to her full height. Her voice had a confident ring.

“Soon.”

Canon Hubert was quick to realise his error of judgement. Tanchelm of Ghent was by no means the silent observer he had anticipated. The Fleming became too interested in the cases before them to stand completely apart from the proceedings in the shire hall and began to make comments of his own. Hubert clicked his tongue in disapproval at first but he came to see how pertinent Tanchelm’s questions were, putting more than one witness in difficulty and eliciting valuable information that might otherwise have remained hidden. Since the canon’s authority was in no way jeopardised by his colleague’s interventions, he began to encourage them.

As another case was dispatched, he turned to Tanchelm.

“Thank you for your assistance, my lord.”

“It was your interrogation that was decisive.”

“I sensed that the fellow was lying.”

“And I took my lead from you, Canon Hubert,” said Tanchelm. “That is why I pressed him so hard. Between us, we finally broke him.”

“Indeed we did. Though I do have a reservation.”

“Reservation?”

“Yes, my lord. At one point, you spoke to him in Danish.”

“That is the language he best understood.”

“But I did not understand it,” said Canon Hubert.

“No more did I,” added Brother Simon. “I could record nothing of what was said between the two of you because I have no command of that tongue.”

“I learned it from my wife. Marry a Danish woman and she will do the same for you, Brother Simon.”

“Never!” gasped the monk, blanching at the notion. “I prefer to remain ignorant of the language and isolated from females of every description. I embrace chastity.”

“It does you credit,” said Tanchelm without irony.

“Be more sparing in your use of Danish,” said Hubert pleasantly.

“That is all we ask, my lord.”

“I obey your instruction.”

“Thank you.”

Canon Hubert was content. He shuffled through the papers in front of him to see what their next case was. Dispensing summary justice was a source of great pleasure to him. He had the satisfaction of sitting in judgement on lesser mortals without having to get too embroiled in complex legal debate. Ralph Delchard’s absence was a double blessing.

It saved Hubert from the usual bickering with his fellow commissioner and enabled him to have the final word in each case. Piety and practicality informed his approach. A high moral framework and an almost saintly fair-mindedness were tempered by the need to move the business of the day along. Brother Simon was duly impressed.

“You have shown the wisdom of Solomon,” he said.

“I simply wield the sword of justice, Brother Simon.”

“With consummate skill.”

“The Lord guides my hand.”

“You are too modest, Canon Hubert,” said Tanchelm. “Take pride in your own abilities. Without your knowledge of law and understanding of human nature, we would still be toiling through the first case that came before us. Thanks to your adroit handling of affairs, we have already settled half a dozen disputes. I will sing your praises to Ralph Delchard.”

“That will be most gratifying, my lord.”

“My own contribution has been small, I know, but it is good to feel that church and state can work so effectively side by side.”

“Unhappily, that is not always so,” said Hubert with a sidelong glance at the adjacent building. “Some colleagues are not as amenable as yourself. However, we delay. Let us turn our attention to the next case. It concerns a dispute in the wapentake of Skyrack.”

Six of Tanchelm’s soldiers stood on duty at the rear of the shire hall.

Two of them were dispatched to bring in the people involved in the next case. Waiting for a fresh batch of witnesses, Hubert recalled the last who had stood before them. He turned to Tanchelm.

“What did you say to him, my lord?”

“To whom?”

“The man from Barkston Ash whom we examined even now. When you spoke in Danish, what did you ask him?”

Tanchelm of Ghent gave an enigmatic smile.

“Nothing of importance,” he said.

Intense discussion followed the departure of Inga, Sunnifa and Brunn the Priest. Their evidence had intrigued Gervase Bret but struck a different chord in Ralph Delchard. While the former believed that they had told the truth, the latter suspected that their stories were largely confected, especially as they could produce no written proof of their claims.

Nigel Arbarbonel himself had still to be questioned, and they would reserve their judgement until that examination had been completed, but their respective sympathies were already tipping in opposite directions.

Brother Francis preserved a tactful silence. Completely detached, his sole aim was to fulfill his duties as a scribe in a satisfactory way.

Ralph and Gervase were more than pleased with him. When they read through his record of what had so far transpired, they could see a penetrating mind behind the neat calligraphy. Brother Francis had missed nothing of significance in Inga’s impassioned testimony.

Before continuing, the commissioners elected to take a break for refreshment. Ralph went out with Brother Francis, and the men-at-arms also vacated the room. Gervase remained behind to clear up his papers and put them back into the satchel. When he was ready to leave, he was astonished to see Inga standing just inside the door.

There was a long pause. Some of her earlier confidence seemed to have drained away and there was a hint of apprehension in her eyes.

For the first time, Gervase saw how vulnerable she really was. His sympathy welled up.

“May I please speak with you?” she asked softly.

“Not if it concerns the dispute under consideration.”

“But there is something you must know.”

“You should have divulged it under oath when you had the opportunity.”

“And risk the scorn of your colleague?” she said with asperity. “You listened to what we said. He simply attacked our evidence.”

“My lord Ralph is a just man,” said Gervase firmly. “You will not find a more honest and impartial judge. It is his job to sift every allegation with care just as it is mine to support him. We may have a different approach but we seek the same end: to establish the true facts of every claim and to rectify any illegalities.”

“What are you telling me?”

“Do not try to advance your cause by seeking me out alone so that you may in some way influence me.”

Inga was hurt. “Is that what you think I am doing?”

“Why else have you come?”

“To explain.”

“This is not the time and place for explanation.”

“A few moments is all that I crave.”

He shrugged his reluctance. “I must decline.”

“Was I so wrong about you?” she said, coming across to him. “All I seek is a fair hearing but you believe I am here to exert influence.

How? Am I supposed to give you money? Or did you expect me to offer myself?”

Gervase was jolted. Without meaning to, he had clearly insulted her. His cheeks burned with embarrassment and his guilt deepened when he saw the first tear in her eye. He stepped around the table to stand next to her. Striking a note of appeasement, he spoke to her in Saxon.

“I am deeply sorry if I have offended you,” he said. “It was not inten-tional.”

Inga blinked at him. Surprised by the apology, she was even more surprised to hear it offered in the language of the common people. She scrutinised him with new interest.

“I had a Saxon mother,” he explained. “When you talked to your own mother and to your priest, I understood what you were saying. I feel that you should know that.”

“Thank you.”

“Not that you said anything that compromised you in this dispute.

And I was certainly not eavesdropping in the hope of catching you out.”

They were only a couple of feet apart now and Gervase became more fully aware of her charms. When they had faced each other earlier across the table, she had been a bold advocate in search of justice. Inga was now a handsome woman with the bloom of youth on her. Gervase felt strangely drawn to her and had to school himself to remember his judicial role. She, too, sensed an affinity. As they gazed at each other, they shared a momentary tenderness that neither of them dared to acknowledge.

Inga lowered her head while she gathered her thoughts.

“Toki,” she said at length. “His name is Toki.”

“Whose name?”

“He has the evidence that you demand.”

“He is not listed among the witnesses,” said Gervase.

“No,” she said. “He works through us. Toki has been gathering proof on our behalf. His job was to provide the documents that would enable us to enforce our claim.”

“Then where are they?”

“We have no idea.”

“Why not?”

“Toki has vanished. There has been no trace of him for days. Something dreadful must have happened to him. He knew how important it was for us to appear before you while you are in York. It is our only hope of justice. Toki would never deliberately let us down.” She shrugged. “He gave me his word.”

Gervase did not need to ask what relationship she had with Toki.

The softness in her voice and the wistfulness in her eyes told the same story. Toki was her beloved and she was patently shattered by his disappearance. Gervase was overtaken by a sense of uneasiness.

“What was Toki like?” he asked.

“The most caring man in the world.”

“Describe him to me.”

“Tall, fair and lean with a kind face.”

“And a beard?”

“Yes, Toki had a fine beard.”

Gervase felt a stab of recognition. It was him.

“Misereatur vestri omnipotens Deus et dismissis peccatis vestris, peducat vos at vitem aeternam …”

Philip the Chaplain conducted the burial service with brusque solemnity. Nobody was there to mourn the deceased. The mangled remains of an unknown man were lowered into the ground and the chaplain tossed a handful of earth onto the coffin as his chant continued. When the signal came, the gravedigger stepped in quickly with his spade to suffocate the foul smell that rose up from inside the rough wooden box. It was a hasty funeral.

The chaplain forced himself to stare down at the grave until it was almost filled with earth. As he turned away, he heaved a sigh of relief.

A burdensome responsibility had been lifted from his shoulders, and an excrescence had been removed from his mortuary. He found it difficult to view the corpse as a human being. Romulus and Remus had left so little of the body that he had virtually consigned no more than a pile of bones and some rotting flesh to the grave.

His relief was overtaken by a sudden remorse and he turned to look back. The gravedigger was now stamping on the soft earth to press it down, executing a slow dance that seemed like a final act of contempt on a carcass that had already suffered the ultimate humiliation.

Philip the Chaplain thought of the dismembered corpse that had lain on his slab in an attitude of torment. It was difficult to imagine a more cruel and agonising way to quit life than to be mauled by two lions. He found himself hoping that the man’s family and friends never discovered how he was killed. It would be a kindness to protect them from such disturbing knowledge.

As he continued on his way, his pity surged. He was vexed once again by the cold anonymity of the burial.

“Who are you?” he asked.

It never occurred to him that Toki might soon answer that question from beyond the grave.