The Lions of the North

CHAPTER SIX

With an armed escort to clear a way through the crowd for them, Canon Hubert and Brother Simon walked towards York Minster with a sense of profound satisfaction. It had been a productive day. Many disputes had been settled and much land, albeit in small amounts, had been reassigned to its rightful owners. Some people had been foolish enough to try to give false evidence but Hubert exposed them ruthlessly with the help of Tanchelm of Ghent. The two men had complementary virtues. As a team, they were shrewd, effective and totally impervious to corruption. Canon Hubert was increasingly grateful that he had accepted the Fleming as his judicial partner.

Another decision was also most pleasing in retrospect.

“I was right to insist on lodging apart from the others,” said Hubert.

“We belong on consecrated ground.”

Brother Simon shivered. “To stay at the castle would have been an ordeal.”

“I could never have tolerated those lions.”

“The female presence would have been more disturbing to me, Canon Hubert. At least the lions are male.”

“But wild and ferocious, by all accounts.”

“It is in their nature. They have no control over their brutish inclination. A civilised man should.”

“You speak of my lord Ralph?”

“I think you know my feelings on that subject.”

“I share them, Brother Simon.”

“Then I will say no more.”

“Please do. Give vent to your thoughts.”

“I am not sure that it is my place to do so. I mean no disrespect to my lord Ralph. In many ways, he is worthy of admiration.” Simon drew in his breath. “In this instance, he most certainly is not.”

“I have endeavoured to make that clear to him.”

“What was his answer, Canon Hubert?”

“Modesty forbids me from repeating such foul language.”

“The lady is not his wife!” hissed Simon in alarm. “Yet he consorts openly with her. Since we ride with them, we will be seen as condoning their sinful behaviour. But I most assuredly do not condone it.”

“No more do I. It offends me to the marrow.”

“The woman is … the woman is …”

“Do not be afraid to say the word, Brother Simon.”

“His concubine!”

“Quite so,” said Hubert. “She travels with him for one purpose only and that is to offer him delights of the flesh more proper to the state of holy matrimony, and then only in pursuit of lawful procreation.”

“It is shameful to look on such concupiscence.”

“Turn your gaze inward. Contemplate a pure soul.”

“I call the advice of Peter Damiani to my aid.”

“A wise teacher.”

“His words are ever a comfort. ‘Who, therefore, as a monk hastens to attain perfection, let him confine himself within the walls of a cloister, let him love spiritual quiet, let him have a horror of running about in the world, as he would of immersing himself in a pool of blood.’ When I see my lord Ralph and the lady together, I see a pool of blood beckoning to me.”

“Peter Damiani had more to say,” reminded Hubert. “And it is relevant to us. ‘For the world is more and more every day polluted by the contaminations of so many crimes that the holy mind is corrupted by the merest consideration of it.’ Forced to look on sin, we are stained ourselves.”

“I fear me that we are!”

The discussion brought them close to the minster, but a bulky figure in a black cowl was now blocking their way. Recognising Brother Francis, they paused to exchange greetings. He smiled benignly at them.

“Are your deliberations concluded for the day?”

“They are,” said Hubert complacently. “What of our fellow commissioners? Do they no longer require a scribe?”

“I have just been sent for once more.”

“Then we will not delay you, Brother Francis.”

“It is interesting work,” said the other, “but I would much rather break bread with you in the refectory. I have no taste for secular matters.”

“We have just been saying the same,” boomed Hubert. “Brother Simon and I venerate the monastic ideal-sobriety, humility, patience, obedience, chastity, charity.”

“And the greatest of these is chastity,” added Simon.

“We are all of one mind,” said Francis.

After polite farewells, they parted company. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon moved nearer to their God with measured tread. Neither of them saw the contented smile on the face of Brother Francis as he strode with enthusiasm towards another session with the commissioners. When he turned the corner, he positively skipped along the street.

Gervase Bret was in a quandary. How much should he tell Ralph Delchard and how much keep from him? They were close friends as well as colleagues and he ordinarily confided everything in him. Now it was different. Ralph had a right to know the name of the man who was devoured by the two lions but Gervase could not divulge it without betraying Inga. He had given her his word. At that moment, for reasons he only vaguely understood, his promise to her took precedence over his obligation to Ralph.

There was an allied fear. If he disclosed the identity of the intruder to Ralph, the latter would feel duty-bound to pass it on to Aubrey Maminot. He could hardly enjoy his friend’s hospitality while keeping such a valuable piece of information from him. Once in possession of the name of Toki, the castellan would set in motion an investigation that would surely lead to Inga and her mother. Though the women knew nothing of Toki’s visit to the castle, they would come under grave suspicion and be hounded by Aubrey. Their credibility would be destroyed and their dispute with Nigel Arbarbonel would crumble.

Gervase was not bound to his host by any ties of friendship. Grateful for the accommodation, he had seen enough of the genial Aubrey to be wary of arousing his ire. Romulus and Remus were a lethal pair of pets. A man who took such pleasure in the way they had eaten a human being alive should not be unleashed on two defenceless women.

Gervase resolved to keep his own counsel. There were many things he needed to find out about Toki before he passed on the name to anybody.

His meditations were curtailed by the arrival of Ralph Delchard, who marched into the room with four of his men-at-arms. Brother Francis came close on their heels and took his place behind the table.

Gervase began to leaf once more through the documents supplied by Nigel Arbarbonel.

Ralph was in a characteristically jocular mood. As he took his seat between the two men, he leaned over to whisper in Gervase’s ear.

“Where is she?”

“Who?” said Gervase.

“You know quite well. Where have you hidden her?”

“Inga is no longer here, Ralph.”

“But she was?”

“Very briefly.”

“It only takes a moment for love to blossom.”

“Brunn the Priest was with her,” said Gervase, trying to sound calm.

“They came for advice.”

“As long as they did not try to bribe you.”

“There was no question of that. I told them that I could not violate my independence by discussing their case. What I did Stress-as I told you I would-was the need for documentary evidence. I warned them that they did not have unlimited time in which to produce it.”

“And that was all?”

“That was all.”

Ralph became serious. “I don’t need to tell you of the dangers of being influenced by pleas from any witnesses.”

“No,” said Gervase, “you don’t.”

He met Ralph’s gaze without flinching. His friend soon relaxed again and punched him playfully on the shoulder. He pretended to search under the table.

“I still think you have her hidden away somewhere.” He looked over at Brother Francis. “She’s not lurking under your skirt, by any chance?”

“Who, my lord?”

“The young woman we met earlier.”

“Heavens, no!” said the monk with a worldly chortle. “That is no place for a woman, young or old. I renounced the flesh when I took the cowl.”

“Have you no regrets about such a rash decision?”

“None, my lord.”

“None?”

Brother Francis sat back with a quiet smile.

“None at all.”

“So be it,” said Ralph, anxious to set the wheels of justice in motion once more. “Let us address our minds to the dispute in hand. Whom do we examine next, Gervase?”

“Tenants of my lord Nigel.”

“I am ready. Fetch the first one in!”

Golde stood at the window of her apartment and looked out at the city below. Night was falling but the moon was a kindly lantern. When she gazed across the river, she saw a larger and more forbidding castle on the eastern bank, surrounded by a moat that had been created when the Foss was dammed to form the King’s fishpool. Houses, meadows and orchards had disappeared to make way for the defensive ring of water around the fortress. It was a fearsome sight, yet the castle of Aubrey Maminot somehow had more character and menace to it. When Golde heard the telltale roar from below, she knew why. Romulus and Remus were in residence.

A tap on the door drew her away from the window. Expecting a servant, she was taken aback when Herleve stepped into the room.

The visitor was strangely hesitant.

“May I please come in?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Golde. “This is your home.”

“It is where I live. That much is true.”

Herleve looked as stately as ever but her coldness had gone and the polite expression had changed to a wan smile. She glanced around the room before lowering herself into the chair that was offered to her.

Golde sat on a stool opposite her, waiting for her visitor to speak first and feeling slightly invaded. Eyes downcast, Herleve held her hands in her lap as she chose her words with care.

“I have come to apologise to you, Golde.”

“Why, my lady?”

“For my behaviour towards you.”

“That requires no apology.”

“I have been unforgivably rude to you.”

“That is not true, my lady.”

“Yes, it is,” said Herleve, looking up at her. “When I should have welcomed you, I was cool and distant. Instead of making your stay here a pleasurable one, I have shown you nothing but disdain. I am very sorry.”

Golde could see the effort it had cost her to make such an admission.

Herleve’s face was tense, her eyes were haunted and her fingers were knotted tightly together. Golde was moved. She felt drawn to a woman whose frailty she was now glimpsing for the first time.

“Thank you, my lady,” she said, “but you have nothing with which to reproach yourself.”

“Oh, I do, Golde. I do.”

“It is I who should apologise for offending you.”

“That is nonsense.”

“You did not choose to invite me here.”

“My husband’s guests are mine also.”

“I was forced upon you.”

“Rules of hospitality must be observed,” said Herleve. “I should have been warmer towards you. And more generous. I should have remembered what I knew of Ralph Delchard.”

“Ralph?”

“It is many years since we last met but he is not a man one easily forgets. His wife was alive then. Elinor. She was very beautiful and he gloried in her. Ralph Delchard was a good, kind, loving husband.”

“He has often talked to me of Elinor.”

“A man does not change his character. I should have trusted him. I was wrong to believe that someone like Ralph would dare to come here with … with …”

“His whore?”

“I am ashamed that the thought even crossed my mind.”

“It hurt me, my lady. I must own that.”

“All the more so because it was cruelly unfair.” She reached out to take Golde’s hands in hers. “I watched you in the solar when you folded his tunic. You were so tender with it. So loving. That was not the behaviour of a …”

“I am his, my lady. Whatever name you call me.”

“You are his and he is yours,” said Herleve with a fleeting envy. “I saw you earlier in the chapel, kneeling beside each other in prayer.

That was no man and his mistress. I was filled with such remorse at the evil thoughts I had about you.”

“They were not evil, my lady. They were natural.”

“I was too hasty in my judgement.”

“We are not married. It cannot be denied.”

“You are, Golde. Almost. You and Ralph Delchard have something just as binding and meaningful as a marriage.”

“I like to believe that.”

“Do not let it go.”

Herleve squeezed her hands before getting to her feet.

“I have one other confession to make.”

“It is not necessary, my lady.”

“Yes, it is.” She bit her lip. “You recall that dress that I loaned you on your first night here?”

“Very well.”

“I had it thrown on a fire.”

Golde was jolted as she realised just how low an opinion her hostess had held of her. The dress had been destroyed because Herleve had felt that it was contaminated. Golde struggled hard to make light of the matter.

“Yorkshire is a strange place,” she said. “Olaf Evil Child steals my apparel, then gives it back to me. You loan me a dress, then have it burned. Why do you deal so perversely with your wardrobe in this county?”

They shared a laugh but it did not reach Herleve’s eyes. She seemed to be on the point of saying something else, but the words would not come. Golde waited in vain. After a long pause, Herleve leaned forward to kiss her softly on the cheek before going out of the room. The visit had yielded one real benefit. They were friends.

“Where else have you fought?” asked Aubrey Maminot.

“Wherever my sword was hired,” said Tanchelm of Ghent. “It was a hard life but it taught me my trade and earned me a little piece of Lincolnshire in which to grow old. I may not have anything like your wealth and position but I will die a contented man.”

“How many of us can say that?” wondered Ralph Delchard.

“I can,” boasted Aubrey with a chuckle. “Life has been extremely kind to me.”

“You have earned your good fortune,” said Tanchelm. “They hold you in high esteem hereabouts. Everyone in York speaks well of Aubrey Maminot.”

“Then some of them are arrant liars!”

They were in the hall at the castle. The three men were sitting over their cups of wine at the table. Gervase had retired to bed and left them to it. Aubrey had drunk far too much and Tanchelm far too little.

Ralph had reached the point where the thought of Golde, waiting for him in bed, was infinitely more appealing than the banter of his drinking companions. He began to rehearse his excuse for leaving.

“Only one man spoke ill of you,” said Tanchelm.

Aubrey giggled. “Who was the rogue? I’ll have him flogged at day-break.”

“You’ll have to catch him first.”

“Who was he?”

“Olaf Evil Child!”

“What! You talked with Olaf?”

Aubrey was about to explode with rage when he realized that his guest was teasing him. Tanchelm had not seen the outlaw at all. Aubrey joined in the laughter.

“You fooled me for a moment,” he said, reaching for the flagon. “More wine, Ralph?”

“No, Aubrey,” said the other, standing up. “I have had enough. My legs want to take me to the bedchamber.”

“Not only your legs, I think!”

“Good night, old friend.” Ralph slapped him on the back, then nodded to Tanchelm. “We will confer in the morning.”

“Sleep well.”

As Ralph lurched off, Aubrey looked fondly after him.

“With a woman like Golde in his bed, any man would sleep well.”

“They seem well-matched.”

“Well-matched and well-mated. I am so glad for Ralph. When his wife died, I never thought he would find the woman to replace her.”

He poured wine for both of them. “In Golde, I dare to hope, he finally has.”

“You fought beside him in the old days, I hear.”

“Yes,” said Aubrey. “We came here with King William himself. I stayed but Ralph went back in disgust. He was not happy with the way we despoiled this county.”

“Were you?”

“I am a soldier. I obeyed my king.”

“And since then? Have you seen my lord Ralph often?”

“No more than once or twice. But we hear news of each other from time to time. His memory has always stayed bright in my mind. My wife, Herleve, has happy recollections of him as well. We were delighted to learn that Ralph was coming to York.”

“Has he changed much since you last met?”

“Not in the slightest. He is a soldier still.”

“Yet he tells me that he yearns for a quiet life on his estates in Hampshire.”

“Do not believe it!” said Aubrey with a grin. “Ralph Delchard will always go in search of action. I am the same. It is in our blood. That is the main reason I remained here in York. It is a fine city but it is also a dangerous place in which to live. I thrive on that danger.”

“So I see.”

“My wife, alas, does not find Yorkshire so attractive.”

“I gathered that,” said Tanchelm. “At the banquet that you so kindly held in our honour, she told me that she has never felt wholly safe here. Especially when you are away.”

“But I rarely leave York.”

“That was not the impression she gave.”

“Herleve exaggerates,” said the other airily. “You know how women are. I have to visit my estates in the East Riding occasionally and may spend a night or two away from here, but that is all. My wife really has no cause to fear. When I am absent, she has the finest guards in York to protect her.”

“Romulus and Remus.”

“They would frighten an entire army.”

“Yet they are like babes in your arms.”

“Yes,” said Aubrey, swallowing the last of his wine. “To everyone else, the lions are instruments of death, as that intruder found out the other night.”

“And to you?”

“My children!”

Outside in the darkness, Romulus and Remus roared in acknowledgement. Aubrey gave a paternal chuckle.

Brother Francis was already seated at the table in readiness when Gervase Bret arrived next morning. The monk gave him a warm smile of welcome.

“You must have risen early, Master Bret.”

“Not as early as you, I think.”

“No,” said Francis cheerfully. “While you were still caught up in your dreams, I was attending Matins and Lauds. It is an inspiring way to start the day. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon joined us in worship.”

“At the minster?”

“Of course. Though I am attached to the abbey, I spend much time with the secular canons at the minster. Our abbey is still in a rather primitive state, I fear. We will continue to lean heavily on the goodwill of Archbishop Thomas until our own buildings are fit to receive us.”

“And when will that be, Brother Francis?”

“Who knows?” said the monk sadly. “Work on the minster must naturally take first place. Archbishop Thomas has been exceedingly generous with his own wealth and his example has brought money flooding in from many sources. The Abbey of St. Mary has not been so fortunate.” Optimism revived his smile. “But we have kind benefactors as well. It is only a matter of time before the abbey plays a full part in the spiritual life of York.”

“I would like to view the site, Brother Francis.”

“Then you shall.”

“I know there is not much to see as yet, but the project interests me.

Could I trespass on you when I have more time?”

“Please do,” said the monk with genuine delight. “I will happily show you all that you wish to see. This is a quite unlooked-for pleasure. When royal commissioners arrive here on secular business, I do not expect two of them to express such curiosity in our abbey.”

“Two of us?”

“I showed your colleague around but yesterday.”

Gervase was astonished. “My lord Ralph?”

“No,” said Francis tolerantly. “My lord Ralph is not as predisposed towards the Church as you and your other colleagues seem to be. My companion last evening was my lord Tanchelm.”

“Indeed?”

“A most inquisitive visitor. I must have talked with him an hour or more. He wanted to know everything.”

“My questions may be more superficial.”

“I will be just as willing to answer them.”

“Thank you.”

A testing day lay ahead. Gervase took his place at the table and sorted through the documents in his satchel. He was not surprised that Tanchelm of Ghent had visited the Abbey of St. Mary. What puzzled him was that his colleague had made absolutely no mention of the fact.

Nigel Arbarbonel was annoyed at having to spend the night in York.

Business that was concluded during the visit of the first commissioners now appeared to be unresolved. It was galling to find that the past was not as completely behind him as he assumed. Bolstered by the knowledge that he had nothing to fear, he determined to be helpful and even-tempered in the presence of his examiners. They were acting with royal warrant and that had to be respected. At the same time, he would not let them intimidate him in any way. There were limits to even his good humour.

Making virtue of a necessity, he paid a number of calls on friends in the city to exchange pleasantries and conduct business. That morning he was summoned before the commissioners again. As he rode through the streets with his men-at-arms, he caught sight of three figures emerging from their lodging. He could not resist accosting them.

“Good morrow!” he said with a courteous wave.

Sunnifa was startled to see him towering over her on his destrier.

She stepped back and gave him a cautious nod. Brunn the Priest muttered a welcome. Inga merely stared up at him with defiance. He addressed his remarks to her.

“It is a long journey home,” he observed. “You had best start out now to be sure of getting back before nightfall.”

“We have to give evidence about the theft of our land.”

“Hearsay evidence,” he mocked. “It counts for nothing.”

“We will stay in York until we get justice.”

“Then you may be here for eternity, Inga. You have no case to offer and the commissioners must find in my favour.” He pointed in the direction of Monkgate. “There lies your way. Take it while you may.

You never know what perils may lurk beside it if you delay here.”

“You are a brave man, my lord Nigel,” said Inga, glaring up at him, “to threaten two unarmed women and a priest. That takes the courage of a true soldier!”

He smiled disarmingly. “What I give is no threat. It is sage advice. The countryside around York is infested with outlaws. The commissioners themselves were robbed on their way here.” He leaned in closer to her.

“I will be pleased to offer you the protection of my men as you ride back.”

“No, thank you!” she said with scorn.

“You are tenants of mine. I wish to help you.”

“Then restore the holdings you stole from my father.”

“This argument belongs in front of the commissioners,” he said. “When they have made their decision, I hope that you and your mother have the grace to abide by it.” He flashed a grin. “And do not forget my offer.”

“Offer?”

“Yes, Inga. It still stands. You do not need to spend the rest of your days in that hovel where you live.” He gave her a polite leer. “There is always a place for you in my household.”

“I would sooner die, my lord!”

Laughing happily, he rode off down the street.

Sunnifa was anxious. “Do not provoke him, Inga.”

“I will not let any man insult me!”

“My lord Nigel is a cruel enemy,” warned Brunn. “Fight him with legal argument, not with intemperate language. We have seen to what depths he will sink to achieve his ends.”

“We need Toki here,” said Sunnifa. “He would advise us. Toki would know what to do.”

“He would furnish us with the proof we require,” said the priest. “My lord Nigel holds the reins in this dispute. Our word alone is not strong enough to knock him from the saddle. Only Toki could do that. And we do not have him.”

“No,” said Inga sadly. “We never will.”

Ralph Delchard subjected him to far more robust questioning that morning. Something about Nigel Arbarbonel’s manner irritated him and he could not decide if it was the easy charm, the studied helpfulness or the deep complacence that lay behind both. Ralph worked hard to unsettle him, hurling a continuous stream of questions at him and wagging an admonitory finger for effect. Prompted by Gervase, he took the witness on a tour of his holdings, demanding to know how and when each came into his possession, and seizing on minor points in the title deeds to try to fluster him.

Nigel Arbarbonel was unscathed by the assault. His smile remained intact and his voice calm and unhurried. He behaved with the subdued arrogance of someone who knows that his position is quite unas-sailable. When Ralph finally paused to get his breath back, the witness smirked.

“How much longer must we play this game, my lord?”

“Game?” said Ralph.

“Asking me questions that are already answered by the documents that lie beside you and that are quite outside the scope of this inquiry.”

“It is for us to say what is and what is not relevant.”

“Of course,” conceded the other. “But when you summon me here to discuss some disputed land in the wapentakes of Bulmer, Halikeld and Manshowe, why waste time arguing about my property in Allerton and Langbargh?”

“It all has a bearing on the case.”

“Let us turn to the disputed holdings,” said Gervase Bret. “We are still concerned about the manner in which they were transferred to you.”

“Deed of gift is a legal process, is it not?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then what is the cause for concern?”

“Thorbrand’s state of mind at the close of his life. Sunnifa and Brunn the Priest told us that he was very fevered and faded rapidly.”

“That is true.”

“He kept saying how anxious he was to safeguard the future of his wife and daughter.”

“Any husband and father would feel the same.”

“At the very end, when the fever tightened its grip on him, and the herbal compound no longer kept out the pain, Thorbrand could do little more than babble incoherently.”

“I anticipate your question, Master Bret.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” said Nigel. “You wish to know how it was that a man who cared so much for his family, and who was racked by a terrible disease, nevertheless had the wisdom to revoke his will at the eleventh hour in favour of me.”

“That is precisely what I wish to know, my lord.”

“Ask of the witnesses at his deathbed.”

“I prefer to hear your explanation,” said Gervase.

“Then you shall. Fever is a capricious tormentor. It will bring a man to his knees, then allow him moments of calm and clarity before setting about him again with vicious intensity. It was during such a period of remission-when Thorbrand came briefly to his senses-that he voiced a decision he had long contemplated.”

“To surrender his land to you.”

“To ensure that his wife and daughter enjoyed my protection. That is why he willed his holdings to me. I am the trustee of their safety.”

“That is not how they see it, my lord.”

“They will. In time.” He became restless. “Need we sit here, speculating endlessly on the death of a good man? You are a lawyer, Master Bret, and I do not need to remind you of the legal position here. That land is in my possession. If someone wishes to wrest it from me, they have to provide conclusive proof of ownership. Am I correct?”

“Yes,” admitted Gervase.

“Can they provide such proof?”

“They believe so.”

“Then they are deluding themselves,” he said softly. “And so are you.”

It was a long, tiring and singularly unrewarding day. Hours of questioning Nigel Arbarbonel ended in stalemate. Another extended session with Inga, Sunnifa and Brunn was equally depressing. All that they could do was to talk nostalgically about the time when Thorbrand was alive and to rehearse their grievances against their landlord. No documents were forthcoming to give their complaints any legal impetus.

The commissioners had to turn them away yet again without the recompense they sought.

“We need more time!” pleaded Inga.

“I wish that we could offer it to you,” said Gervase. “But this dispute has already eaten up two days.”

“Another twenty-four hours. That is all we ask.”

“You ask in vain,” said Ralph peremptorily. “Enough is enough. My colleague and I will review this case and give our judgement first thing in the morning.”

“Then we have lost!” sighed Sunnifa.

“They could not be so heartless,” said Brunn.

“Is there no way we can persuade you?” implored Inga.

“This session has ended,” said Ralph, signalling to a guard to escort them out. “Come back tomorrow to learn our decision. We will weigh all the evidence with scrupulous care. Be assured of that.”

Sunnifa and Brunn went out with an air of resignation but Inga paused in the doorway to look back at Gervase. She searched his face for a hint of encouragement but she could not find it. Gervase writhed in discomfort. Desperate to help her and to relieve her sorrows, he was quite unable to do so. It made him feel weak and inadequate.

Inga made a last attempt to win them over.

“What of the reeve’s messenger?” she challenged. “The one who misled us so that we were unable to appear before the first commissioners. Did you not look closely into that?”

“We did,” said Gervase. “The reeve swears that he sent his man days earlier to fetch you.”

“Why did the summons take so long to reach us?”

“We do not know.”

“Then it is your duty to find out.”

“We know full well what our duty is,” said Ralph, stung by her accusatory tone. “What happened in the past is of no account to us. If you were prevented from giving testimony before our predecessors, that is to be regretted, but nobody has stopped you from appearing before this tribunal. The evidence you would have presented to them, you have instead given to us. We will consider it with all due care.”

Inga looked wounded. Disappointment clouded her eyes. When a soldier put a hand on her arm, she did not resist. He assisted her gently out through the door.

“I am glad to see her go,” said Ralph, sighing with relief. “She does not help her mother’s case by showing contempt in that way. Inga is too headstrong.”

“We must make allowances for youthful zeal.”

“Not when it gets out of control.”

“My concern is with Nigel Arbarbonel,” said Gervase. “Given his position, I am surprised that he has not been more assertive with us.

All the advantages lie with him, yet he behaves with utmost civility.

I wonder why.” He gathered up his papers. “And there is another thing that worries me.”

“What is that?”

“My lord Nigel parried your questions so adroitly.”

“I tried hard to break him,” said Ralph, “but I failed. He always seemed to be one jump ahead of me.”

“Yes, it was almost as if he knew what was coming.”

The minster bell interrupted their conversation.

“Vespers,” said Brother Francis, rising to his feet. “If you have finished with me for the day …”

“We have,” said Ralph.

“Thank you again for your help,” added Gervase.

“I kept a record, as instructed,” said the monk, pointing to the papers on the table. “I think you will find it both accurate and legible. Pray excuse me,” he continued, moving to the door. “Another duty calls. I would not be late.”

They waved him off, then made to leave themselves. Gervase glanced through the record of the proceedings before slipping it into his own satchel.

“We are blessed in Brother Francis,” he said. “His mind is quick and his hand is sure. I did not think we would find as conscientious a scribe as Brother Simon.”

“No,” agreed Ralph. “I never thought to hear myself speak well of a monk-for they are mostly sanctimonious eunuchs in flight from the world-but Brother Francis has been an asset to us. It is good to have a scribe who does not turn scarlet in the presence of a woman.”

“Brother Simon has many virtues.”

“That is my complaint against him, Gervase. Too many virtues but not a single vice to lend them some colour. Life is there to be lived.”

They came out into the street to find the sentries waiting for them but there was no sign of Tanchelm’s men-at-arms. Ralph turned to one of his soldiers.

“Have the other commissioners departed?” he said.

“Yes, my lord,” replied the man. “Canon Hubert left with Brother Simon some minutes ago. They headed for the minster with a small escort. Their work is concluded for the day.”

“What of my lord Tanchelm?”

“He came out to dismiss his men and went back into the shire hall alone.”

“He is still there?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good,” said Ralph. “I need to speak with him on several matters. He can ride back to the castle with us.”

“I would appreciate a word with him myself,” said Gervase. “It concerns his visit to the Abbey of St. Mary.”

He followed Ralph into the shire hall and entered a long room with a low ceiling and narrow windows. Tall candles were set at intervals on the table to give further illumination, but their flames had been extinguished and smoke was still curling up from their wicks. Ralph and Gervase stopped with surprise in the middle of the room. There was no sign of Tanchelm of Ghent.

“Where can he be?” asked Ralph. “There is only one door and he could not have left without being seen by my men.”

“Then he must still be here.”

It did not take long to find him. When Gervase crossed to the table at which the commissioners had sat, he saw that one of the stools had been knocked over. Tanchelm of Ghent lay on his back in the shadows beyond it. His mouth was agape, his tongue protruding and his bulging eyes staring upwards. Gervase rushed to kneel beside him but found no signs of life. Tanchelm of Ghent would now have his name in-scribed in another Domesday Book.