The Foxes of Warwick

Chapter Nine

Gervase Bret was in the chapel when he heard the commotion.

During his time as a novice at Eltham Abbey, the habit of prayer had been firmly inculcated in him and, though he had chosen not to take the cowl, preferring instead a secular existence which permitted such delights as marriage and freedom of movement, he remained regular in his devotions. He was not alone as he kneeled before the altar. Brother Benedict, who seemed almost to have taken up residence in the chapel since their arrival at the castle, was also there, lying prostrate on the cold paving stones in an attitude of complete abnegation. When the noise filtered in from the bailey, Gervase heard it at once but the monk seemed beyond reach, lost in communion with his Maker and impervious to any sound but that which would signal the end of the world.

When Gervase went out of the door the full clamour hit him.

The whole bailey seemed to be alive. Voices yelled, soldiers ran to and fro, horses were brought from the stables, hounds were loosed from the kennels and the castle gates were being flung wide open to allow a mass exodus. Standing in the middle of it all, imposing order on the chaos, was the tall figure of Henry Beaumont, wearing helm and hauberk and directing operations with a brandished sword. He barked commands at Richard the Hunter, who nodded obediently and ran to his horse. Gervase was baffled. Something more than a day’s hunting was afoot.

Dodging a troop of riders, he hurried across to the constable.

‘What has happened, my lord?’ he said.

‘The prisoner has escaped!’ hissed the other.

‘Boio?’

‘He got out of the dungeons in the night and made off.’

‘But how?’ said Gervase. ‘Was he not closely guarded?’

‘He should have been!’

‘And securely locked in his cell?’

‘One of the guards on duty last night saw fit to leave his post,’

growled Henry, puce with rage. ‘He will not do that again! While one guard was away the other was tricked into opening the cell door.’

‘What did Boio do?’

‘Overpowered him then left him bound and gagged.’

‘But how can that be, my lord? The prisoner was shackled.

Brother Benedict was shocked when he saw the way you had him chained up.’

‘And rightly so! He is a dangerous felon.’

‘Hobbled by those fetters, he would hardly be able to move.’

‘He had got free of them.’

‘Free?’

‘And from his manacles.’

‘Was the man’s strength so great?’

‘He did not tear his bonds asunder. A file was used.’

‘But how could he get hold of such a thing?’

‘That is what I wish to know,’ said Henry vengefully, ‘and the first person I will question is Brother Benedict.’

Gervase blenched. ‘You cannot suspect him, surely?’

‘I can and do, Master Bret.’

‘Benedict is a holy man.’

‘With foolish notions about the prisoner’s innocence. Apart from the guards he is the only person who went into that cell with Boio. The sleeves of his cowl would easily hold a file.’

‘You malign him, my lord.’

‘Who else could have helped the prisoner?’

‘I do not know.’

But even as he spoke, Gervase realised that there was another possibility. The image of Asmoth came into his mind, so anxious to do what she could for Boio that she had scoured the area to find someone to verify the existence of the stranger with the donkey who had called at the forge. Gervase recalled his own visit to the place. It was filled with tools and implements of all kinds and would certainly contain a file. The woman had walked through snow and sleet to bring her information to him. Gervase wondered if she also brought something else. His eye travelled across to the windows of the dungeons.

A howl of outrage took his attention back to the chapel. Two guards were holding Benedict and hurrying him across the bailey.

The monk was struggling to shake them off and invoking divine assistance. When they reached Henry, the men released the quivering monk.

‘We found him in the chapel, my lord,’ said one of the guards.

‘Yes!’ cried Benedict. ‘I was plucked rudely from my prayers. It is an act of sacrilege to lay rough hands upon a holy brother.

Why did you send these ruffians in search of me, my lord?’

‘Because you are under suspicion.’

‘Of what?’

‘Aiding the escape of the blacksmith.’

Benedict gaped. ‘Boio has escaped?’

‘Do not pretend to be so surprised.’

‘I am utterly astonished. No man could get out of that dungeon.’

‘Boio did — thanks to your help.’

‘All that I offered him was spiritual solace.’

‘You gave him the file which he used to get rid of his shackles,’

said Henry. ‘You helped to set a murderer at liberty.’

‘I did not. I swear it, my lord.’

‘Take him away!’

‘Wait!’ said Gervase. ‘Brother Benedict is innocent.’

‘That remains to be seen.’

Henry’s nod set the guards in motion. Ignoring the monk’s wild protests and taking a firm grip on his flailing arms, they marched him unceremoniously off in the direction of the dungeons.

‘He can enjoy the comforts of a cell himself,’ said Henry with a callous unconcern. ‘It will make him more penitent.’

‘You are making a grievous mistake, my lord,’ said Gervase.

‘My mistake was to let him visit the prisoner on his own.’

‘Benedict is a monk, devout and honest.’

‘I do not care if he is the Abbot of Westminster,’ snarled Henry.

‘No man works against me and escapes my ire. Benedict is lucky that I do not have him put in chains.’

‘But he is our scribe, my lord. We need him at the shire hall.’

‘He will remain in custody.’

‘Without him we cannot continue our work.’

‘Then we will furnish you with another scribe,’ said Henry with irritation. ‘The escape of a dangerous prisoner is more important than who scribbles what on a piece of paper at the shire hall.

Boio is on the loose — a savage killer. Who knows how many other people he will murder before we catch him?’

‘He is not a violent man, my lord.’

‘Tell that to the guard whom he attacked.’

‘And he is not guilty of killing Martin Reynard.’

‘Then why has he fled?’ demanded Henry with unanswerable assurance. ‘Innocent men have nothing to fear. Only the guilty flee the rope. Even you must see that, Master Bret. When he got out of this castle last night, Boio the Blacksmith was signing a confession of guilt.’

Gervase was speechless. He watched in despair as the constable mounted his destrier then moved to address the waiting soldiers, who had been divided into groups. His voice boomed across the bailey.

‘We do not know which way the prisoner went,’ he said, ‘so we must search east, west, north and south until we find him.

Whoever first descries him will be richly rewarded. But mark this, all of you. I want Boio the Blacksmith back in this castle by nightfall. Dead or alive!’

By the time that Ralph Delchard had pulled on his tunic, the horses and hounds were streaming out of the castle. He watched them through the window with a mingled curiosity and foreboding.

‘What is going on?’ asked Golde, still half asleep.

‘The whole garrison seems to have been roused, my love.’

‘Why?’

‘I can think of only one reason.’

‘What is that?’

‘I will tell you when I get back.’

Ralph gave her a perfunctory kiss, then left. After pounding down the staircase he came out of the keep and headed for the bailey. Gervase was still standing there in a quandary. Certain that it must have been Asmoth who brought the file into the castle, he had withheld the information from Henry Beaumont and thereby effected the arrest of the innocent Brother Benedict.

He did not know whether to save the monk from the indignity of imprisonment or to protect the woman from being hunted down.

Instinct had made him shield Asmoth. If he suspected that she provided Boio with the means of escape, the constable of Warwick Castle would not let her gender restrain him from a merciless interrogation. Gervase was still agonising over the situation when Ralph rushed up.

‘Has the whole place gone mad?’ he demanded.

‘Boio has escaped, Ralph.’

‘I guessed that.’

‘There is bad news you will not have guessed.’

‘Oh?’

‘Brother Benedict has been placed under arrest.’

‘What!’

Ralph exploded with anger and it was not assuaged by Gervase’s account of what had happened. The only thing which prevented Ralph from charging off to the dungeons to demand the release of his scribe was the disclosure that the monk was in custody for a crime which Asmoth had probably committed during her visit to the castle.

‘Except that I do not see it as a crime,’ added Gervase.

‘She aided the escape of a prisoner.’

‘No, Ralph. She saved an innocent man from his death.’

‘If, indeed, he was innocent,’ said the other, stroking his chin as he reflected on the turn of events. ‘I begin to wonder, Gervase.

Attacking the guard and fleeing the castle. Are these the actions of an innocent man?’

‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘An innocent man pressed to the limit.’

‘Limit?’

‘Had he stayed in that dungeon, he would have been hanged later on today for a murder which he did not commit. Boio had no choice but to flee. It was his only option. As for the guard, why did Boio not kill him when he had the chance? A man with nothing to lose would not have stayed his hand. Yet the guard was only overpowered and tied up. That tells us much about the blacksmith.’

‘I prefer to keep an open mind on the subject.’

‘Would you rather he stood trial and was hanged?’

‘No, Gervase,’ said Ralph. ‘Not if he is innocent. But the prospect of a death sentence is stronger than ever now. When the lord Henry runs him to ground he may not even bother with the niceties of the law. The trial may take place on the spot and the nearest tree will act as a gallows.’

‘At least he now has a chance.’

‘Of what? Freedom?’

‘Of clearing his name.’

‘How can he do that?’

‘In the first instance, by finding the man with the donkey.’

‘Boio would not even know where to start looking for him. He told Benedict that he had no idea where the fellow was.’

‘Boio may not know — but Asmoth does.’

Ralph was about to reply when he saw Philippe Trouville bearing down on them. Their colleague brought additional details of the escape.

‘You have heard the news?’ he said. ‘I have just been talking to one of the guards. It seems that Boio was not as stupid as they all thought.’

‘How did he get out of the dungeon?’ asked Ralph.

‘By setting the straw alight. When the guard opened the door to put out the fire he was knocked senseless. Two men should have been on duty but one deserted his post to lie in the arms of his mistress. Ha!’ said Trouville with disgust. ‘The fellow will be lucky if the lord Henry does not castrate him.’

‘When was the escape discovered?’

‘Not long before dawn. When the second guard returned to his post. Unable to find his colleague, he sensed trouble and raised the alarm. They could not find the key to Boio’s cell so they had to batter down the door to get in. Once he was released from his bonds, the man left alone on duty was able to explain how the prisoner got away.’

‘Did he say at what time the escape took place?’ asked Ralph.

Trouville nodded grimly. ‘Boio was gone for several hours before they realised he was no longer in the dungeon. The lord Henry was livid.’

‘I know,’ said Gervase. ‘I spoke with him.’

‘But how did the prisoner get out of the castle itself?’ said Ralph.

‘They would hardly unlock the gate for him and let him walk out.’

‘That is precisely what they did do, my lord.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘The blacksmith outwitted the sentries,’ said Trouville. ‘When they heard a splash in the river, they thought someone had dived over the wall and into the water. So they opened the gate and went to investigate. While their backs were turned, Boio must have sneaked out.’

‘What caused the splash in the water?’

‘Some heavy rocks. When the castle was first built, they kept a supply of them on the ramparts to hurl down on any attackers.

Boio used some to cause a diversion. The sentries checked the pile of rocks and found some missing.’

Ralph had to suppress a smile of admiration but Gervase was more heartened by the news that the fugitive had a good start on his pursuers. Even on foot, he would have been miles away before his absence was discovered. Trouville took a different attitude to the escape.

‘They should hunt him down like a wild boar and kill him!’

‘Every man deserves a fair trial, my lord,’ said Gervase.

‘Not this one,’ said Trouville. ‘He has surrendered that right.’

‘Boio the Blacksmith is not the only prisoner whose fate concerns us,’ noted Ralph. ‘Brother Benedict now stands accused as well.’

‘This is the first I have heard of it.’

‘The lord Henry suspects him of taking the file into the dungeon to give to the prisoner,’ explained Gervase. ‘It is an absurd charge but our host was too choleric to listen to reason. Benedict must wait until his rage has cooled.’

‘He would never even think of doing such a thing,’ said Trouville with sudden loyalty. ‘Benedict has a Christian purity. It is one of the things about him which irritates me the most,’ he added with a lift of his eyebrow. ‘He should not be locked up. I will plead for his immediate release when the lord Henry returns.’

‘So will I,’ said Ralph. ‘I will insist on it.’

‘We may have a long wait,’ said Gervase. ‘In the meantime, we have to sit in session at the shire hall without our scribe. The lord Henry talked of finding a substitute for us but he will not do that while he is charging around the countryside at the head of his pack.’

‘We must have a scribe,’ said Trouville. ‘It is vital.’

‘We already have one,’ announced Ralph, pointing towards the dungeons. ‘Brother Benedict. He would feel hurt to have his role usurped by another. Besides, there is too much of interest going on here for us to miss it all. We will suspend our work at the shire hall forthwith,’ he decided. ‘Ednoth the Reeve can inform all concerned.’

‘It is the wisest course of action,’ said Gervase.

‘Yes,’ agreed Trouville with a glint in his eye. ‘It means that I am free to join in the hunt. I just hope that the lord Henry does not catch his prey before I get there!’

Trouville bounded off towards the stables, yelling for his own men to saddle their horses. Ralph and Gervase watched him go.

Suspending their work meant they were now able to take part in the search for Boio as well, though they wanted to find the fugitive in order to help him establish his innocence. They walked towards the keep to discuss their plans and to tell Archdeacon Theobald that he was being spared a tedious morning session with an intractable dispute.

‘What about Brother Benedict?’ said Gervase with concern.

‘He will not be going anywhere.’

‘Must he remain in that stinking dungeon?’

‘Benedict is an ascetic,’ observed Ralph with a smile. ‘He believes that suffering ennobles. He may not deserve to be locked up in that hole but there is one compensation.’

‘What is that?’

‘I have a feeling that he will enjoy it.’

The threat of imminent danger brought Asmoth abruptly awake.

She jumped up from the chair in which she had spent the night and ran to open the door. There was no sign of anyone but she could hear a distant noise borne on the wind, faint at first but growing in volume and gathering definition. The sound of so many hoofbeats carried a warning of hostility. Asmoth fled at once, making for the trees, then lunging breathlessly on into the undergrowth until she felt safe enough to pause. She crouched in the shade of a sagging yew and listened. Shouts and banging sounds told her that the forge was being searched. Men were roaming eagerly all over the buildings, causing untold damage as they hacked away with their swords in pursuit of their quarry. It seemed an age before the tumult finally subsided. An order was given and the riders moved off. Asmoth heard them leaving the forge and continuing on the road.

She waited a long time before she dared to emerge from her hiding place. It would be folly to return to the forge because they might have left someone there. Her best plan was to return home, keeping well clear of the roads as she did so. It was only as she was trotting along in the shadow of a hedge that the full significance of the incident dawned on her. Soldiers from the castle garrison had come in search of Boio.

He was free. Asmoth let out a cry of joy.

When the lady Marguerite joined them she was strangely subdued. Surprised to see her again, Golde and Adela gave her a warm welcome and tried to draw her into the conversation but, for once, she had little to contribute. They were in Adela’s private apartment and she worked quietly away at her tapestry as she spoke.

‘I hope that the commotion did not disturb you,’ she said. ‘I have never seen my husband so angry. He roused the entire castle.’

‘I know, my lady,’ said Marguerite.

‘You would have thought we were being attacked.’

‘No chance of that, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘The garrison was called to horse in order to chase a fugitive. I am not sure that they need a whole army to catch one man.’

‘Henry is taking no chances,’ said Adela. ‘The prisoner must have been very resourceful to escape from the dungeon. I still do not know how he did it. No matter. They will catch him and bring him back to be called to account for the murder of Martin Reynard.’

‘What sort of a man was he, my lady?’ asked Golde artlessly.

‘Martin? He gave good service here.’

‘Were you sorry to see him leave?’

‘Very sorry, Golde.’

‘Why?’

‘I liked him,’ said Adela with a soft smile. ‘We all did. Martin was very popular in the castle. He was not as well liked by the subtenants, I suspect, because he took his duties seriously and would stand no evasion when it was time to collect the rents. My husband always said that Martin Reynard had a ruthless streak and he meant it as a compliment.’

‘Yet he let him quit your service.’

Adela sighed. ‘That was a cause for much regret.’

‘Did he ever come back to the castle?’

‘From time to time. I could not quite understand why. He was reeve to Thorkell of Warwick and had no reason to be here.’

Another smile. ‘One or two of the ladies boasted that he returned to see them and that may have been the case. He was a handsome man who knew how to court a woman. Many tears were shed when Martin left.’

‘Why did he go?’ asked Marguerite, taking an interest.

‘My husband dismissed him.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘He said that Martin exceeded his authority.’

‘In what way?’

‘I am not sure. Henry never talked about it.’

‘He dismissed a man yet allowed him back in the castle?’

‘I think that my husband had second thoughts,’ said Adela as her needle dipped and pierced. ‘Men’s anger is sometimes roused too easily. They act on impulse and live to regret it. What I do know is this: the man who followed Martin here in the office of the reeve is nowhere near as efficient.’

‘Is he as popular with the ladies?’ asked Golde.

‘Oh, no. That could never be.’

‘A sudden impulse should never be trusted,’ said Marguerite.

‘The worst time to make a decision of any importance is when you are incensed about something. I know this to my cost.’

‘Do you, my lady?’ said Golde.

‘Yes. In a moment of exasperation I dismissed Heloise. I sent her on her way with her ears ringing. She served me faithfully for years and my mother before me. Heloise has been a godsend.

Yet I foolishly let her go.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘I miss her.

She was more than just a companion. She was part of my family.

Heloise was my one true friend.’

‘Apart from your husband, that is,’ commented Adela.

‘My lady?’

‘A wife’s best friend is always her husband. Golde?’

‘Oh, I agree. It is so with Ralph.’

‘But not so with Philippe,’ said Marguerite wistfully. ‘That is why Heloise was so invaluable. She understood. When she was with us, my husband and I were happy together. We needed Heloise.’ Her hands came up in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘Yet I dismissed her.’

‘She can as easily be recalled, my lady,’ said Golde.

‘In time, perhaps, but not immediately. Heloise has her pride.

She will need to be wooed. But enough of my troubles,’ she said, brightening. ‘All I wished to say was that I can sympathise with the lord Henry. Dispensing rashly with someone’s services then wanting them back.’

‘I wish that we did have Martin back,’ murmured Adela. ‘Had he returned to our household, he would not have been murdered.

I am sure that is one reason why my husband is so keen to bring his killer to justice. Henry was very fond of Martin. Catching the fugitive is a personal mission for him.’

‘They will soon run him down,’ said Marguerite. ‘Philippe has gone to join in the hunt for the villain.’

‘Yet I do feel slightly sorry for the man,’ admitted Golde.

‘Sorry!’ snorted the other.

‘Being pursued by such a huge posse.’

‘He is a murderer.’

‘He is also a frightened man with a troop of armed soldiers on his tail. The odds against him are overwhelming. What chance does he have?’

‘What chance should he have?’ asked Adela.

‘None whatsoever,’ said Marguerite harshly. ‘The man is evil and deserves all he gets. I hope that they slaughter him on the spot when they find him.’

While his captains led search parties in other directions, Henry Beaumont chose to take his troop to the Forest of Arden, a vast expanse of woodland which, even in winter, could offer an abundance of hiding places to a man who knew his way around it as Boio did. On a command from their lord, the men spread out in a long line and made their way through the forest with their swords and lances drawn, using them to strike at anything which impeded them or which could offer cover to a fugitive. Other game was disturbed by their approach and fled noisily. Dogs were being used, sniffing their way through the undergrowth and trying to pick up the scent of the quarry. When one of them let out a yelp, Richard the Hunter held up a hand for everyone to stop.

He dismounted and walked slowly forward with a lance at the ready. Henry followed in his wake on horseback. When they reached the bush where the dog was standing, the huntsman used his weapon to part the leaves but no quaking blacksmith was lying there. All that they saw was a mound of dung.

‘It is Boio’s,’ said Henry in jest. ‘He knows we are after him.’

His men laughed. Richard, meanwhile, bent to examine the dung.

‘This is not from any human, my lord,’ he said. ‘And it was not left here today. My guess is that it is a few days old at least.’

‘What left it? A deer? A fox?’

‘Oh, no.’

‘A wolf, then?’

‘No, my lord. A much larger animal than that.’

‘What was it?’

‘A bear.’

Ursa was on his best behaviour. Having drawn a sizeable crowd in the marketplace in Coventry, he went through the whole range of his tricks with gusto and earned generous applause. Donations to the dwarf’s cap were less generous but enough was collected to feed the pair of them well for a few meals. The dwarf decided to curtail performances for the day. Nobody would pay twice to see the same tricks. A fresh audience would be in the marketplace the next day as other citizens came to buy provender and as new people poured in from the surrounding area. Ursa and his master began to lope away in search of a quiet place in which to rest and take refreshment.

When they came round a corner, however, they were confronted by another audience, smaller than their own but no less entranced by what they were seeing. The old man with the donkey was about to fulfil his promise. The dwarf and his bear joined the spectators, as did the monk who had watched the old man so closely the previous day. The boy possessed by the Devil had been brought by his father. Ten years old, he had none of the joy and exuberance of other children of that age. Instead, his body was shaking wildly, his eyes stared and he had no control at all over his limbs. Every so often he would go into such a series of convulsions that people would cry out in horror and step back.

‘Help him, sir!’ begged the father. ‘Save my son.’

‘I will,’ said the old man.

‘He is all we have. Do not let the Devil take him from us.’

‘Leave him to me.’

When the old man touched him the boy was seized with the worst spasm yet and twitched violently, crying out in pain then emitting a hideous laugh, deafening in volume and eerie in tone.

The miracle worker did not release his grip. Pulling the boy towards him, he held him in an embrace and began to chant something in his ear. The result was startling. The threshing slowly subsided, the cry faded to a gentle whimper. The old man continued to hold him and talk to him.

‘Can you hear me now?’ he whispered.

‘Yes,’ said the boy.

‘God has cured you through the magic of my touch.’

‘I worship Him and give thanks!’

‘The demons have been driven out, my son. Go to your father.’

The boy turned to his father as if seeing him for the first time.

There was no sign of any affliction now. The boy was calm, upright and in full control of his limbs. He ran to his father, who gave him a tearful hug before looking across to the old man.

‘You have saved him,’ he said. ‘It was a miracle.’

‘He believed in me and I cured him.’

The crowd broke into spontaneous applause. Even the dwarf and his bear joined in. They were still clapping as the monk hurried off as fast as his outrage would carry him.

‘Why come to me?’ said Thorkell of Warwick. ‘I have not seen the man.’

‘We felt that he might head this way,’ said Gervase.

‘And you hoped to trap him to gain some reward, is that it?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘We hoped to be able to help him,’ explained Ralph. ‘We believe that Boio is unjustly accused. Our scribe, Brother Benedict, who talked with him in his cell, is convinced that he is innocent.’

‘He is,’ said Thorkell bluntly. ‘I know him.’

‘That is why we thought he would make for you,’ said Gervase.

‘You are his overlord. He could be sure that you would not hand him straight over to the army which is at his heels.’

‘I would never hand him over to the lord Henry.’

‘At least we have been able to alert you.’

‘Yes,’ said Thorkell, studying them carefully. ‘Boio’s escape is good news. I thank you for warning me of it. But do not think to take me in by this pretence of friendship. You are guests of the lord Henry and like to side with him. I believe you came to see if I had the blacksmith hidden away in my house.’

‘That is not true,’ said Gervase earnestly.

‘No,’ reinforced Ralph. ‘Our sole aim is to solve this crime in order to secure Boio’s release. As long as he is on the run, he will never be free. The real killer of Martin Reynard must be found.’

Thorkell was still not persuaded of their good intentions. When Ralph and Gervase rode up to his house with six men-at-arms at their backs the old man was deeply suspicious of them, especially as they spoke down to him from their saddles. He had met Gervase at the funeral and found him an upright young man but his soldierly companion was less easy to trust. Ralph Delchard had the look of a man who would not scruple to turn the whole manor house upside down in search of the fugitive. Thorkell stroked his white beard as he appraised the two of them. His tone was neutral and his manner noncommittal.

‘Where will you start looking?’ he said.

‘For what?’ said Ralph.

‘The real killer.’

‘In Coventry.’

‘You will find him much nearer than that.’

‘If you mean on Adam Reynard’s land,’ said Gervase, ‘we have already been there. We spoke to him and Grimketel. The evidence against Boio is not as powerful as the lord Henry claims.

Grimketel’s story has odd gaps in it. I would dearly love to be able to test him in court.’

‘Too late for that, Gervase,’ said Ralph. ‘There will be no trial now. If Boio is taken, the lord Henry will dispense summary justice.’

‘It was ever thus,’ grumbled Thorkell.

‘You sound as if you speak from experience.’

‘I do.’

‘Tell us more.’

‘It is not my place to do so,’ said the thegn, pulling himself to his full height. ‘I will not complain to one Norman soldier about another. Though you claim to disagree with the lord Henry, you and he come from the same country and have the same attitudes.

What is the death of a mere Saxon blacksmith to men such as you? It is meaningless.’

‘That is not so!’

‘Prove it!’

‘Is my presence here not proof enough?’

‘That depends on your real motive for coming here.’

‘To help Boio.’

‘And to antagonise your host? You would not dare to do that.’

‘We would and have, my lord,’ said Gervase. ‘The lord Henry must think us poor guests, I fear. We have felt his displeasure keenly already. If we are able to save the life of an innocent man, we will happily invite it again. Send to the castle for further proof.

Ask for our scribe, Brother Benedict. You will find him locked up in the dungeon on suspicion of having aided Boio’s escape.’

Thorkell was shocked. ‘A monk thrown into custody?’

‘Until we can get him out again. And the only way that we can do that is to deliver up a murderer to the lord Henry. Someone with a motive to kill Martin Reynard and the means to do so.’

‘His kinsman has a motive.’

‘But where are the means?’

‘I do not know, Master Bret.’

‘Someone crushed the victim to death.’

‘Or broke his bones with clubs to make his injuries mislead you.’

‘We were not misled,’ Ralph assured him. ‘We both viewed the body in the morgue. Someone wrestled with Martin Reynard and squeezed him until the last drop of life ebbed away. I could well imagine that slinking Grimketel wanting to do the deed himself but he lacks both the strength and the courage.’

‘You have weighed him up well,’ said Thorkell.

‘He is no fighter, my lord. Break wind and you blow him over.’

The old Saxon chuckled but he remained vigilant. Had Gervase Bret come alone, Thorkell might have been persuaded of the honesty of his intentions but the presence of Ralph Delchard and his men-at-arms brought a faint element of menace. It was far safer to keep all of them at arm’s length until he had plumbed their true character.

‘Thank you for coming here,’ he said guardedly. ‘I am glad to be forewarned of the lord Henry’s approach. He too will suspect that I am hiding Boio and he will be a more demanding visitor than you have been.’

‘We must not let him find us here,’ said Ralph, turning his horse to leave. ‘That would not help anyone’s cause. Come, Gervase.’

‘Ride on ahead. I will catch you up in a minute.’

‘Do not delay. The lord Henry will not be far distant.’

After waving a farewell, Ralph led his men off at a steady trot.

Gervase nudged his horse closer to Thorkell and leaned down to him.

‘I am hoping that you may be able to help me, my lord.’

‘How?’

‘Do you know a woman called Asmoth?’

‘No.’

‘I believe that she may live on one of your estates.’

‘It is very possible,’ said the other. ‘But I have — thank God -

many holdings in this county. I do not know the name of everyone who dwells on them. What sort of a woman is this Asmoth?’

‘Once seen she would not be forgotten. A plump woman about my own age. She might be pretty if it were not for the hare lip.’

‘Hare lip! Is that her?’

‘You know Asmoth?’

‘Not by name but that hare lip picks her out at once,’ said Thorkell. ‘A terrible affliction for a comely wench. I know this creature. She lives with her father over at Roundshill.’

‘That is here in the Stoneleigh hundred, is it not?’

‘Yes, Master Bret.’

‘Where in Roundshill might I find her?’

Thorkell grinned. ‘There are not many houses to choose from.

It is barely a hamlet. Everyone there will know Asmoth. What is your interest in this woman?’

‘She may be able to help us, my lord. First, we ride to Coventry.’

‘Why there?’

‘We search for a man who could save Boio’s life.’

‘Only a miracle worker could do that.’

‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘That is the very man we seek.’

They had found a quiet corner near the marketplace. Someone had broken the ice on the stone trough and the donkey was drinking noisily from it. Ursa perched on the edge of the trough beside his master. The dwarf was still filled with excitement over what he had witnessed.

‘How did you do it, old man?’ he said. ‘How? How?’

‘By the power of prayer.’

‘I used to pray daily that I would grow to be six feet tall and look what happened. So much for the power of prayer.’

‘Ah,’ said the old man, ‘but you did not believe. I do.’

‘Believe in what?’

‘The benevolence of God.’

‘It does not exist, my friend.’

‘But it does.’

‘For you, perhaps, but not for me. How can I believe in a benevolent God when I am afraid to see myself reflected in this water here? Only a malign God would send someone into the world in this shape.’

‘That is not so.’

‘So how was it done? The miracle? Explain the trick.’

‘There is no trick.’

‘There has to be.’ The dwarf smacked his palms together. ‘I have it. They were your accomplices.’

‘Who?’

‘The boy and his father.’

‘No, they were not.’

‘That is why you told everyone that they were coming from some distance to see you. It gave you a chance to build up expectations when all the while your confederates were lurking nearby.’

‘I have no confederates.’

‘The boy only pretended to be possessed.’

‘What you saw was real, I swear it.’

‘Nobody can cure simply by laying on of hands.’

‘I can, my friend,’ said the old man with a benign smile. ‘And that is what I did. You were my witness.’

‘He was not the only one!’ said a sharp voice.

They looked up to see a monk approaching with two armed men at his heels. Pleasantries were cast aside. When the monk pointed an accusatory finger at the old man, the miracle worker was seized in a tight grip and dragged off. The dwarf protested loudly and his bear added his roared complaint but the old man himself seemed quite philosophical about his arrest. As they took him in the direction of the monastery, his donkey trotted meekly behind him. It seemed used to such violent treatment of its master.