The Foxes of Warwick

Chapter Seven

Adam Reynard was not expecting visitors. He was seated at the table, studying a charter, when he heard the drumming of hoofbeats on the road outside, and, crossing the room to open the door, saw six riders converging on his manor house. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had travelled from Warwick with four men-at-arms to ensure safety and to reinforce their authority.

While the commissioners dismounted, the others remained in the saddle. Reynard was merely puzzled at first, then something alerted him. He sensed trouble.

‘We come in search of Adam Reynard,’ said Ralph.

‘You have found him, my lord.’

‘I am Ralph Delchard and this is Gervase Bret. We are royal commissioners, visiting this county with regard to the Great Survey which has been ordered.’ He saw the look of recognition on the other’s face. ‘You have heard of us, I think.’

‘Your reputation has come before you.’

‘Then you will know us as men who prefer a warm house to the cold weather outside it. Will you not invite us in?’

‘When I know your business, my lord.’

‘It concerns the murder of your kinsman.’

Adam Reynard looked from one to the other and ran his tongue over his lips. Gesturing for them to follow, he went back into the house. All three of them were soon standing close enough to the fire to enjoy its comforting glow. Ralph appraised the man before speaking again.

‘You were not at the funeral, I hear,’ he said.

‘No, my lord.’

‘Yet you were the kinsman of Martin Reynard.’

‘That did not, alas, make us friends.’

‘What did it make you?’

‘We preferred to keep out of each other’s way.’

‘Until your paths were forced to cross,’ observed Gervase.

‘In what way?’ asked Reynard.

‘This dispute in which you are involved. When your kinsman was in lord Henry’s household, you saw little enough of him. Out of sight, out of mind. But when Martin Reynard became reeve to Thorkell of Warwick, you were bound to see more of him.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Your land borders on that of Thorkell.’

‘I need no reminding of that, Master Bret.’

‘You must have encountered his reeve from time to time.’

‘Only to ride off so that we had no need to speak.’

‘Was he so hostile to you?’ asked Ralph.

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then what was the cause of this rift between you?’

Reynard licked his lips again. ‘Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead,’ he began, ‘but Martin was too forthright in his speech.

Everyone will tell you the same. Working at the castle gave him a false sense of his importance. It made him arrogant, too quick to throw his weight about. He was not popular as a reeve. Efficient, I grant you, but not liked by the subtenants with whom he had to deal.’

‘That does not explain your enmity,’ said Ralph.

‘I offered the hand of friendship, he spurned it.’

‘How?’

‘It no longer matters. My anger was buried with him.’

‘So you were angry with Martin Reynard?’

‘From time to time.’

‘Angry enough to wish him dead?’

‘No, my lord,’ protested the other. ‘He was my kinsman.’

‘Yet you did not attend his funeral,’ Gervase reminded him.

‘Other affairs called me away.’

‘Does anything take precedence over the burial of a blood relation?’

‘I sent a man in my stead.’

‘Grimketel. I saw him there.’

‘It saved any embarrassment.’

‘Embarrassment?’ repeated Ralph.

‘With Martin’s wife and family,’ said Reynard. ‘They do not look kindly upon me and they have little reason to do so. But why court friction when it can be avoided? Had I been there myself there might have been awkwardness. Martin’s wife in particular might have been distressed. I wished to spare her.’

‘It sounds to me as if you merely wanted to spare yourself the trouble of riding into Warwick. What was the real cause of your absence?’ he pressed. ‘These other affairs of which you speak?

This embarrassment you strove to avoid? Or the fact that you hated your kinsman?’

‘Why do you put these questions?’ blustered the other.

‘Because they are relevant.’

‘To what?’

‘The death of Martin Reynard.’

‘I had nothing to do with that, my lord. I was not even here on the morning when it took place. Boio the Blacksmith was the killer. He lies at the castle, awaiting trial for his crime.’

‘And you believe him guilty?’

‘I am certain of it!’

‘Why?’

‘The evidence against him is clear.’

‘A little too clear.’

‘A witness saw him near the place where Martin was killed.’

‘Your own man, in fact. Grimketel.’

‘I can vouch for his honesty.’

‘We would prefer to test it ourselves. Is this fellow here?’

‘No, my lord. But he lives close by.’

‘Provide us with a servant to guide us there.’

‘Now?’

‘Without delay,’ said Ralph crisply. ‘We have not ridden all this way to be kept waiting. Grimketel’s evidence interests us. We wish to hear it from his own lips. Procure a guide or take us there yourself.’

‘I will do more than that, my lord,’ said Reynard, covering his dismay with a show of helpfulness. ‘There is no need for you to trudge across the mud when my servant can do the office. Stay here in the warm and I will have Grimketel brought to you.’ He raised his voice. ‘Ho, there! Come quickly!’

A slovenly young man with unkempt hair came shuffling in.

Adam Reynard took him aside to give him instructions, then opened the front door to hurry him on his way. When he turned back to his guests he contrived a nervous smile of welcome.

‘May I offer you refreshment while you wait?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Ralph.

‘Not even mulled wine?’

‘This is not a social visit. We come in search of evidence.’

‘Of what?’

‘We do not know until we find it.’

‘Have you been sent by the lord Henry?’

‘No,’ admitted Ralph.

‘Does he know that you are here?’

‘He will do so in time.’

‘In other words,’ said Reynard, seeing the chance to assert himself, ‘you are acting in defiance of the lord Henry. He is in charge of the murder investigation yet you set yourselves up in opposition to him. What right have you to do that?’

‘The right of free men with a belief in justice.’

‘Boio will get his justice at the end of a rope.’

‘Only if he is guilty.’

‘That has been established beyond doubt.’

‘We doubt his guilt,’ said Gervase. ‘He himself denies it. But let me come back to something you said a moment ago, if I may.

You claimed that you were not here on the morning when Martin Reynard was killed.’

‘That is true. I was visiting some friends in Kenilworth.’

‘It is probably true that you went on this visit and I am sure that you have witnesses to confirm it.’

‘I do,’ said Reynard with righteous indignation. ‘Several of them.’

‘Where were you the day before?’

‘What has that got to do with it, Master Bret?’

‘Only that Martin Reynard was not killed on the morning when his body was discovered. The murder took place some time on the previous day. The dead body was examined by someone who can read its signs with great skill.’

Reynard’s cheeks coloured. ‘Are you accusing me?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then why try to catch me out?’

‘I was merely pointing out the danger of making assumptions,’

said Gervase. ‘You made two of them. The first was that the victim was killed on the morning when he was found. And the second, that the murder took place at that very spot. You said that Grimketel caught sight of the blacksmith near the place where Martin Reynard was killed.’

‘And he was not killed there?’

‘Not for certain.’

‘Boio must have carried the dead body there, then.’

‘That is possible. Our minds tend another way.’

‘You are only trying to confuse me,’ said Reynard, his jowls shaking and his flabby hands waving. ‘What does it matter where and when he met his death? The killer has been caught. That is the main thing.’

‘He is innocent until proven guilty.’

‘That is not what the lord Henry thinks.’

‘We beg to differ.’

‘He will be less than pleased to hear of this,’ warned Reynard, trying to drive a wedge between them and their host. ‘Be warned, sirs. The lord Henry is a mighty man in these parts. He and his brother, Robert, Count of Meulan, are the effective rulers of this county.’

‘Not while Thorkell of Warwick still lives,’ opined Gervase.

‘Thorkell is a mad old Saxon.’

‘With substantial holdings in the county.’

‘He has nothing like the influence of the lord Henry.’

‘The lord Henry’s influence depends on a show of force but Thorkell needs no soldiers to exert his control. He has influence over the hearts and minds of every Saxon in Warwickshire and they far outnumber the garrison at the castle.’

‘Do I spy a friend of Thorkell’s?’ said Reynard with a sneer.

‘You talk to someone who gives him due respect.’

‘But only respect,’ said Ralph firmly. ‘When you and Thorkell come to match your wits before us, Gervase will show no favour to the mad old Saxon, as you call him. He is a rock of impartiality.’

‘I begin to wonder, my lord.’

‘You raise an interesting point, however. The lord Henry’s writ does seem to run throughout Warwickshire. There must have been far more satisfaction for a Norman in serving him than in helping to manage Thorkell’s estate.’

‘There was, my lord.’

‘Then why did Martin Reynard leave?’

‘I do not know. It is said that he and his master fell out.’

‘Over what?’

‘Ask that question of the ladies in the castle.’

‘The ladies?’

‘My guess is that Martin was too popular among them.’

‘A chamberer, eh?’ said Ralph with interest. ‘A backstairs man with a weakness for the ladies. I can see that it would irk someone like Henry Beaumont. A stern soldier, perhaps, but I take him for a faithful husband and an upright Christian as well. Yet you say Martin was married?’

‘That would not have stopped him.’

‘We have a new motive for his murder, then?’

‘Do we, my lord?’

‘Revenge. A jealous husband may have done the deed.’

‘Or a discarded mistress,’ said Reynard with a smirk.

‘Let us come back to the evidence against Boio.’

‘It is overwhelming,’ argued the other, legs splayed to take the weight of his body. ‘Even if he had not been seen in the forest that morning, Boio would still stand accused.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of the nature of the injuries.’

‘Go on.’

‘Martin was crushed to death. Can we agree at least on that?’

‘Willingly,’ said Gervase. ‘We saw the corpse.’

‘Ribs broken, spine snapped.’

‘That is correct.’

‘Then the blacksmith is hanged.’

‘Is he?’

‘He has to be, Master Bret. The victim’s back was broken. Boio’s work. No other man would be strong enough to do that.’

When the sun broke through the low clouds it brought a slight cheer to Coventry and lured more of the citizens out from their homes. Extra stalls were set up in the marketplace and more people came to browse and haggle. It was no warmer but it somehow seemed so. A sizeable crowd was soon milling around.

The old man was able to gather a larger audience around him this time and sang the praises of his medicine with more effect than he had managed earlier. People began to finger their purses.

When one man actually purchased a bottle, believing that it would remove the warts on his nose, others were tempted to follow but the traveller’s success was short-lived.

Before he could part with more of his elixir, his audience was diverted by a yell of excitement from the other side of the marketplace. A new source of entertainment lumbered forward.

It was a huge brown bear, wearing a muzzle and being led on a chain by a dwarf clad from head to foot in black. The massive beast and its tiny keeper were a strange sight and everyone flocked to get a closer view of them. Losing his fickle audience in an instant, the old man heaved a resigned sigh and went to watch the performance too.

The dwarf waited until he was ringed with spectators, then he took a flute from his belt and played a simple ditty. To the delight of the crowd the bear responded at once, dancing in a circle and clapping its paws in tune to the music. The people were enthralled.

When the dance was over, the dwarf shouted a command and the bear turned somersaults for a full minute. It went through its whole array of tricks — even scooping the bearward up into its arms at one point — until it was given applause by the spectators.

Doffing his cap, the dwarf held it out so that he could harvest something more meaningful than eager applause. Coins were tossed and one stallholder donated a small cake to the cap.

But another of the vendors was less entranced by the bear. It suddenly abandoned the tricks it had been taught and invented one of its own, ambling to the man’s stall and taking hold of the large barrel of salted herrings which stood beside it. Two sturdy men were needed to lift the barrel but the bear hoisted it up without any strain. While the stallholder protested wildly and the bearward tried to gain control over his animal by beating it with a stick, the crowd urged the creature on. It did not disappoint them.

Holding the barrel in both arms, it squeezed hard until the wood began first to creak, then to splinter, then to split. With a final hug the bear applied so much pressure that the barrel suddenly burst open with a loud crack and spilled the herrings all over the ground in a continuous and irresistible shoal. There was pandemonium. The stallholder howled, the spectators clapped, the bearward denied responsibility and children dived down to grab as many free fish as they could hold. Through it all, as if glorying in the chaos which it had produced, the bear gave a muffled roar and turned more somersaults.

The old man studied its face. It seemed to be laughing.

‘I have already given an account of what I saw,’ complained Grimketel.

‘Give it again,’ ordered Ralph.

‘Why, my lord?’

‘Because Gervase and I wish to hear it.’

‘Do you come with the authority of the lord Henry?’

‘No,’ said Ralph, holding up a fist. ‘I come with the authority of this and I will use it to box your ears if you do not speak up.’

‘Do not threaten him,’ intervened Adam Reynard.

‘Would you rather I threatened you?’

‘The lord Henry will learn of your behaviour.’

‘I will be the first to tell him about it.’ Ralph turned back to Grimketel. ‘We are still waiting to hear what you claim you saw.’

The four of them were in the parlour of Reynard’s house. The servant sent to fetch Grimketel had clearly given him a message of warning because the latter arrived in a defensive mood. Ralph quickly tired of his evasion and pressed him for an answer.

‘Tell us your tale, man!’ he snapped. ‘Now!’

Grimketel backed away slightly and glanced at his master before recounting his evidence. Ralph and Gervase listened intently.

‘That morning,’ said Grimketel, ‘not long after dawn, I was walking towards the forest when I saw Boio coming out of the trees. I waved to him but he did not seem to see me and hurried off before I could get close enough to talk to him. Later on that same morning, the lord Henry found the dead body of Martin Reynard. It was no more than a hundred yards from the place where I saw the blacksmith. That is it, sirs.’

‘Do you swear that it is the truth?’ said Ralph.

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Shortly after dawn,’ said Gervase, taking over the questioning.

‘Light must have been poor when you caught sight of Boio.’

‘It was,’ admitted the other. ‘The sky was overcast.’

‘How far away were you from him?’

‘Thirty or forty yards.’

‘On a gloomy morning.’

‘It was Boio,’ insisted the other, wagging a finger. ‘I know the way he holds himself, the way he moves. It had to be him.’

‘Why did he not see you?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Could it be that you were too far away to be picked out?’

‘I saw him clearly enough.’

‘So you tell us.’

‘It may be that Boio saw me but pretended not to.’ He shot another glance at Reynard. ‘If he had just killed a man he would not wish to meet up with anyone. I think he wanted to get away from the place as fast as he could.’

‘Was he carrying any weapon?’

‘A man that powerful does not need a weapon.’

‘Answer the question,’ said Ralph.

Grimketel shrugged. ‘I saw no weapon.’

‘Because you were too far away?’ probed Gervase.

‘Who knows?’

‘What sort of expression did he wear?’

‘Expression?’

‘On his face. Did he seem pleased, anxious, amused, frightened?’

‘I could not tell, Master Bret.’

‘In any case,’ said Reynard impatiently, ‘it is immaterial. The very fact that Boio was hurrying away from the murder scene is enough in itself to throw suspicion.’

‘Except that we are not sure that it was the murder scene.’

‘But the body was found there,’ argued Grimketel.

‘There is a possibility that the reeve was killed elsewhere.’

The third glance which Grimketel aimed at his master was far more eloquent than the others. He was momentarily bemused and seemed to be seeking guidance from Reynard. The latter replied with a reproving glare then turned his back on Grimketel.

‘You say that Boio was coming out of the trees,’ resumed Gervase.

‘Does that mean he was trespassing in the Forest of Arden?’

‘Yes,’ said Grimketel.

‘Are forest laws enforced here?’

‘Savagely.’

‘What is the penalty for trespass?’

‘A fine at the very least. Poachers are mutilated or hanged.’

‘But you do not think Boio had been poaching.’

‘No, Master Bret.’

‘What were you doing in the forest yourself?’ said Gervase. ‘If the blacksmith was trespassing then so were you.’

‘Grimketel has rights of warren,’ explained Reynard.

‘Let him speak for himself,’ said Ralph. ‘He has a tongue.’

‘It is as you have heard,’ said Grimketel. ‘I have a licence to kill vermin in the forest. Hares and wildcats, mostly.’

‘Did you catch any that morning?’

‘No. My snares were all empty.’

‘Have you ever seen Boio in the forest before?’

‘Never.’

‘Does he know the penalty for trespass?’

‘Everyone does.’

‘So he knew that he would be taking a risk?’

‘Yes,’ said Grimketel. ‘Perhaps he feared that I would report him to one of the foresters. That is why he kept well clear of me.’

‘He would sooner be arrested for trespass than for murder.’

‘He is guilty of both,’ said Reynard.

‘That remains to be proved.’

‘You will not sit in judgement on him. The lord Henry will.’

‘That is why we are making our own enquiries,’ said Ralph bluntly.

‘Your own irrelevant enquiries.’

‘We shall see.’

‘Thank you, Grimketel,’ said Gervase smoothly. ‘What you have told us is very interesting. One thing more before we leave.’

‘Yes?’

‘When you came to the funeral you spoke with Thorkell.’

‘Not by choice,’ said the other ruefully. ‘He turned on me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That his blacksmith was innocent and that …’

‘Go on,’ said Reynard, as if giving him permission. ‘Be truthful.’

Grimketel curled his lip. ‘Thorkell of Warwick said that my master had had his reeve murdered then threw the blame on to Boio. He was very bitter and all but struck me.’

‘I saw the exchange.’

‘Time for us to go, Gervase,’ said Ralph. ‘Other duties call.’

‘We will not try to detain you,’ said Reynard with sarcasm. ‘Nor entreat you to come again. You have no right to involve yourselves here. You do not even know Boio.’

‘We are getting to know him extremely well,’ said Gervase.

They exchanged farewells, then Reynard showed the two visitors out of the door before closing it quickly and pointedly after them.

Ralph and Gervase began to walk slowly towards their horses but they were still close enough to the house to hear the yell of pain from Grimketel as his master started to beat him.

Hours of continual effort began to tax even Boio’s strength but he did not dare to stop. Changing its angle, he worked away rhythmically with the file and tried to ignore the ache in his arms, the occasional shooting pain in his neck and the chafing on his ankles and wrists. When the iron band which enclosed one ankle finally began to weaken, he rubbed harder until he opened a gap in the iron. It was big enough for him to insert the file into it in order to lever the fetter apart. When it popped open he was afraid that the noise would bring the guards and he swiftly hid the file and the now liberated ankle beneath the straw, but nobody came.

He was safe for the time being. Having earned a brief rest, he massaged the ankle which had shed its fetter, then stretched out his leg so that it could enjoy its freedom. There was a long way to go yet but it was an encouraging start. When both legs were unencumbered he would at least be able to run away from his dungeon even though he had no idea at that point how he would get out of it. That was a problem he would face later. For the moment he was driven along by the simple desire to get rid of his shackles. That was why she had dropped the file through his window and why she was now praying that it would help him to escape. When they had first arrested him and flung him into the cell, Boio had felt completely defenceless and utterly alone.

But he did have one friend. She believed in him and had even risked imprisonment herself in order to aid him. That thought wiped away the aching fatigue. Picking up the file once more, he began his attack on the iron band which enclosed his other ankle, working with such grim dedication that sweat started to form on his brow and trickle down his face. It was like being back in his forge again.

When the Bishop of Lichfield left the church he still had the pleasing aroma of incense in his nostrils. Having celebrated Mass in Holy Trinity Church, he was free to address his mind to more mundane matters. Reginald padded along beside him like a faithful hound as they made the short journey to the monastery, followed by a dignified procession of Benedictine monks. Robert de Limesey waved his blessing to some of the children who stopped to watch them pass then he turned to Reginald.

‘Has the man been watched?’ he said.

‘Yes, my lord bishop.’

‘Is there any cause for alarm?’

‘I believe that there is.’

‘Explain why.’

‘He spoke to a small crowd this morning,’ said Reginald, relaying information passed directly to him. ‘In the marketplace. He was trying to sell them his medicine but they would not buy it. He became boastful and talked about performing a miracle.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow, my lord bishop.’

‘Where?’

‘In the same place, close to the same time.’

‘What form is this miracle to take?’

‘He promises to cure a boy who is possessed by demons.’

The bishop was aghast. ‘He dared to claim that?’

‘More than once, I am told.’

‘Who is this child? And why must this vaunted miracle be delayed until tomorrow?’

‘Because the boy lives some distance from Coventry,’ said the monk. ‘Hearing that the old man was in the town, the father came here to enquire if there was any hope for his son. He has been assured that there is. Instead of going to help this child at his home — as any honest physician assuredly would — the old man insists that the boy be brought to Coventry so that his “miracle” has an audience and so that he can sell his medicine on the strength of it.’

‘This is disturbing intelligence.’

‘There is worse yet.’

‘Save it until we are in the privacy of my apartment.’

They went into the monastery and headed for the bishop’s private chamber. As soon as he entered he was assisted in the removal of his vestments by the dutiful Reginald. Only when he had settled in the chair behind the table was Robert de Limesey ready to continue, picking up the conversation at the precise point of its termination.

‘Worse yet?’ he said.

‘The man claimed divine assistance for his miracles.’

‘He actually invoked the name of the Almighty?’

‘He claimed that God was working through his hands,’ said Reginald querulously. ‘He even had the temerity to compare himself with the Lord Jesus as a man who performed miracles with no thought of personal gain but only to relieve suffering.’

The bishop scoffed. ‘So that is who he is! A second Messiah!’

‘Witchcraft is at work, my lord bishop.’

‘It has all the signs.’

‘I begin to think that flea-bitten donkey of his may be a familiar.’

‘Unless he intends to ride into Jerusalem on it and proclaim the Second Coming!’ The bishop controlled his sarcasm. ‘That remark was uncalled for, Reginald. I withdraw it.’

‘I did not hear it, my lord bishop.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Shall we have this man taken?’

‘Not yet, not yet.’

‘But he may do untold damage if left at liberty.’

‘Remind me when this miracle of his is due.’

‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘Let us wait until then. Have men ready. If he really does try to practise sorcery he will be arrested and thrown into custody. No mercy will be shown.’ He looked up. ‘What is this man’s name?’

‘We do not know, my lord bishop.’

‘I think we do, Reginald.’

‘Do we?’

‘He is called Satan.’

Golde was pleased to be invited to join the lady Adela in her private apartment and relieved to discover that Marguerite was not there.

‘Confined to her chamber with a headache,’ said Adela.

‘I am sorry to hear that, my lady.’

‘The lord Philippe is with her at the moment.’

‘I see.’

‘She will soon recover, I am sure. Meanwhile, you and I have time for private conference, Golde. We can get to know each other properly.’

‘Nothing would please me more,’ said Golde warmly. ‘It is not always easy to have a conversation in the lady Marguerite’s presence.’

‘That was tactfully put.’

‘She is a forceful lady.’

‘Have you ever considered why?’

They were seated either side of the fire in Adela’s apartment in the keep, a small, neat, comfortable chamber with rich hangings on the walls. While she talked, Adela worked quietly at a tapestry which was stretched on a frame in front of her. When Golde hesitated, her companion looked up with a quizzical smile.

‘No, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘I have not considered why because I felt that it was too apparent. The lady Marguerite has a strong personality. It is in her nature to thrust herself forward. I imagined that she inherited her characteristics.’

‘That is what I imagined at first.’

‘But not now?’

‘No, Golde.’ She studied her visitor’s face. ‘I can see that you have not yet heard what transpired after you left the table last night.’

‘Nothing has been said to me.’

‘Then I will tell you. I know that I am not speaking out of turn here for the lord Ralph will surely have been told by now and he would not keep the intelligence from you.’

‘What intelligence?’

‘When you quit the table,’ explained the other, ‘only four of us remained. One of which was Heloise, who grew surprisingly talkative in the absence of her mistress, though always discreet in her comments until the confession unwittingly slipped out.’

‘Confession?’

‘Archdeacon Theobald drew it from her.’

‘What did Heloise say?’

‘That the lord Philippe’s first wife died by her own hand.’

‘Oh, my lady!’ exclaimed Golde. ‘That is terrible! Poor woman!

She must have been driven beyond reason to commit such an act. Did Heloise give any details?’

‘No, Golde. Nor did we seek any. We were too shaken by the revelation to pursue the matter. Archbishop Theobald was mortified that he had unthinkingly brought the matter into the light. It is a private tragedy which, I am sure, the family prefers to keep to itself.’

‘How did Heloise react?’

‘With horror when she realised what she had said.’

‘I can understand it.’

‘She rushed off at once,’ said Adela. ‘I am certain she will have confided in her mistress and that that is probably the reason why the lady Marguerite declined to join us. She feels … vulnerable.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘And embarrassed.’

‘So must Heloise. Eaten up with remorse.’

‘That is why I felt you should be told sooner rather than later.

So that you would comprehend their behaviour. We must treat the lord Philippe and his wife as if we knew nothing at all of this.’

‘Of course.’

‘It was an unfortunate lapse on Heloise’s part.’

‘She will be harshly reprimanded by her mistress.’

‘Not as harshly as by herself,’ noted the other. ‘But let us put her aside. We do not know the circumstances of this dreadful event but one thing is certain: when suicide strikes a family, those left behind suffer agonies of guilt which are insupportable.’

She plied her needle for a few moments. ‘That is why I asked about the lady Marguerite.’

Golde pondered. ‘You think she was … implicated in some way?’

‘Did she not hint as much to us?’

‘When?’

‘When the three of us sat together in the hall.’

‘Why, yes,’ said Golde, recalling the exchange. ‘You said that her husband would never go astray because he adored his wife. And the lady Marguerite replied that he adored his first wife until …’

‘Until he met her.’

‘Then she may be involved.’

‘Not in the way we think,’ said Adela quickly, ‘and we must be careful not to sit in judgement when we know so little. When the lady Marguerite met her future husband she may not have been aware that he was married. Why should she, brought up in Normandy? Nor do I mean to impugn the integrity of the lord Philippe. He strikes me as an honest man and the death of his first wife may not have been prompted in any way by his actions.

But I am bound to wonder this,’ she concluded. ‘What does his ebullience and her force of character signify? Is it merely a shield behind which both of them hide?’

‘A shield?’

‘A show of bravado almost.’

‘To conceal their inner torment?’

‘If that is what it is, Golde.’

‘I do not know, my lady.’

‘What else could it be?’

‘In the case of the lord Philippe, I could not hazard a guess.’

‘And the lady Marguerite?’

‘There may be a much simpler explanation.’

‘What is that?’

‘She has a foul temper.’

Marguerite was perched on the stool in an attitude of cold indifference. The fire which lit up their chamber did nothing to melt her ire. Philippe Trouville watched her in silence, marvelling at her beauty as if seeing her for the first time, pulsing with joy that he had taken her as his wife yet feeling, at the same time, both rejected and inadequate. He was standing very close to the woman he loved yet she seemed miles away. Wanting to reach out to touch her, he felt powerless to do so. Marguerite was exuding displeasure from every pore. She was quite unattainable.

The silence became longer and more painful. He shuffled his feet. The bell for sext began to chime in the distance. It prompted him to take a small step forward and clear his throat.

‘Marguerite,’ he whispered.

‘Are you still here?’

‘I have to go back to the shire hall.’

‘Then go — I do not want you here.’

‘We must talk.’

‘We have talked interminably.’

‘I am sorry about what I said last night.’

‘It is what Heloise said which concerns me more.’

‘You surely cannot blame that on me.’

‘I can, Philippe.’ She turned to face him. ‘Indirectly.’

‘How could I have stopped Heloise?’

‘Think, you stupid man!’

‘I will not be spoken to like that!’ he said, reddening.

‘Then do not provoke me.’

‘How am I at fault?’

‘An ugly family secret cannot be divulged when it does not exist.’

‘It does not, Marguerite. Any longer.’

‘Have you so soon shrugged it off?’

‘No!’

‘I did not think even you were that callous.’

‘There is no need to insult me.’

‘I thought you might take it as a compliment.’

‘Marguerite!’

‘Do not bellow so.’

‘I am your husband!’

‘Will I ever be allowed to forget that?’

‘It gives me certain rights. Legal and moral rights.’

‘Rights have to be earned,’ she said, standing up with eyes blazing. ‘Remember who I am, Philippe. And what I am. You are not talking to your first wife now.’

Trouville’s exasperation made the veins in his temple stand out and deepened the hue in his cheeks. He battled to hold on to his anger. He was in a dilemma. Expected at the shire hall by his colleagues, he felt that his place was with his wife, trying to achieve, if not a reconciliation, at least a degree of calm between them. There had been arguments with Marguerite before and he found it easier to permit her an occasional victory in order to prevent a war of attrition. But they had never seemed quite so far apart as at that moment and it galled him that he was unable to do anything about it.

‘I will have to leave,’ he decided at length.

‘Adieu!’ she said, crossing to open the door for him.

‘Is that all you have to say to me?’

‘Words could not express my full disgust.’

‘What have I done, Marguerite?’

‘Go to the shire hall. Try to do something correctly.’

‘Tell me,’ he insisted. ‘What is my crime?’

‘You married me!’

The contempt in her voice rocked him. He spread his arms.

‘I loved you. I wanted you. I needed you.’

‘Did you ever consider my needs?’

‘Constantly. Besides, nobody forced you to marry me.’

‘That is a matter of opinion.’

Biting back a reply, he strode across to the open door.

‘We will discuss this later,’ he said, trying to assert himself.

‘When you have come to your senses. And when you have realised that I am not the villain here. The person to blame is Heloise.’

‘Forget her. She is gone.’

‘Where?’

‘Who cares? She has been dismissed.’

‘Heloise has gone for good?’

‘I hope so. It will teach her to keep her mouth shut in future.’

‘Were you so furious with her, Marguerite?’

‘No,’ she said vehemently. ‘I was only annoyed with her. I reserve my full fury for you. Go now, Philippe. And do not hurry back.’