The Owls of Gloucester

Chapter Three

Gloucester was a clamorous city. Shortly after dawn was announced by a veritable choir of roosters, the first carts for market rumbled in through the gates, and their owners joined stallholders who lived within the precincts in setting out their wares and produce. Prompt housewives came in search of early bargains, playful children emerged from their homes, dogs and cats began a new day of foraging or fighting, and birds swooped down on discarded morsels. The quayside, too, was bustling with activity as boats set off with their cargoes, fishermen departed with their nets and the first craft came up the river to unload.

Almost 3,000 people lived in Gloucester and it sounded as if they were all helping to swell the tumult.

The mounting cacophony wafted across to the castle on a light wind and brought even the deafest of its inhabitants awake. Ralph Delchard did not complain. He and Gervase Bret were already up at dawn, sharing breakfast alone in the hall so that they could make full use of the day. A combination of soft beds and Stonehouse wine made them sleep soundly, and they awoke refreshed, ready to shake off the memory of their friction with the sheriff so that they could give all their attention to the work which had brought them there. Accompanied by half-a-dozen of Ralph’s men, they were soon leaving the castle to ride to the shire hall in Westgate Street. The commotion was now greater than ever and they inhaled the distinctive smell of the city, compounded of fish, flowers, ripe fruit, stagnant water, animal dung, human excrement, filthy clothing and the accumulated refuse over which flies were already buzzing crazily.

‘What a stink!’ said Ralph, wrinkling his nose.

‘We’ll get used to it,’ said Gervase.

‘We’ll have to now that our stay is likely to be much longer than we imagined. What fool told me that we would be gone in a week?’

‘That may still be the case, Ralph.’

‘I doubt it. We could be here for months!’

Gervase smiled. ‘It will give you time to get to know Durand better.’

‘I know his kind only too well already. The sheriff will do little to make our visit more pleasant and much to impede us. Left to him, we would be on the road home this very morning.’

Arriving at the shire hall, they tethered their horses and went inside, taking two men with them while leaving the other four on guard at the door. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were already there, having walked from the abbey, and they greeted the newcomers with polite nods. Ralph and Gervase took their bearings. The shire hall was a substantial building of timber and interwoven wattle. Open shutters allowed light to flood into the room, but fresh air did not completely dispel the reek of damp.

An oak table and bench had been set out facing a series of much longer benches to accommodate any witnesses they had to examine. The place had been recently swept and a jug of wine with four cups provided for them. Apart from its greater size, there was nothing to set it apart from the many other shire halls which they made use of in their travels. It was an adequate but nondescript courtroom.

Ralph was just about to ask where the reeve was when the man himself swept in through the door with a flourish. It was a dramatic entrance by someone who had deliberately waited until they were all present before he saw fit to make his own appearance.

‘Good morrow, sirs!’ he declared. ‘Welcome to our fair city.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ralph.

‘I am Nigel the Reeve. Tell me your requirements and they will be satisfied to the letter. The first commissioners, who included Remigius, Bishop of Lincoln, did not find me wanting. Indeed, one of their number, the lord Adam Fitzherbert, went out of his way to compliment me. I trust I will earn similar approval from you.’

While introducing himself and his companions, Ralph took a moment to weigh the man up. Short, compact, well dressed and clean-shaven, Nigel the Reeve had an air of unassailable self-importance. It was not just the lordly pose he adopted nor the condescending tone in which he spoke. He exuded pomposity.

Now in his forties, he had the solid look of a soldier overlaid with the trappings of office. Nigel was a royal reeve who administered Gloucester on behalf of the crown yet who acted as if he were wearing that symbol of majesty. Taking an immediate dislike to the fellow, Ralph sought to put him in his place from the start.

‘We sent full instructions from Winchester,’ he said, meeting the reeve’s supercilious gaze. ‘I trust that they have been obeyed.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Good.’

‘The first disputants will arrive when the abbey bell rings for Sext. That will give you and your fellow commissioners plenty of time to settle in here and prepare yourselves. When the Bishop of Lincoln was here-’

‘I want no anecdotes about our predecessors,’ interrupted Ralph sharply. ‘If they had done their job thoroughly — and, by implication, you had been as efficient as you obviously think you are — the problems which we have come to solve would not have existed.’

‘I do not think you can fault me, my lord.’

‘We shall see.’

‘My reputation goes before me.’

‘It will be put to the test.’

‘Respect my position,’ warned the other, drawing himself up to his full height. ‘I am not at your beck and call. Many other duties fall to me as well. Important commitments which must be honoured. I have shown you the courtesy of a personal welcome but will have to assign most of your requests to one of my underlings.’

‘You will still be responsible for their actions.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Make sure that they are diligent.’

‘Do not try to teach me my occupation, my lord.’

‘I merely advise you to answer our demands with celerity.’

Nigel replied with a look of disdain. Gervase stepped in to see what information he could glean from the reeve with a more friendly approach.

‘It was kind of you to have the shire hall prepared for us,’ he said.

‘I did no less for the first commissioners,’ said the other, sniffing meaningfully. ‘Though they seemed to carry more authority than those that follow them. The bishop had a clerk and two monks in attendance, supported by three lords of high standing. You travel much lighter.’

‘Our pronouncements have equal weight,’ said Ralph.

‘Tell us something about Gloucester,’ invited Gervase, riding over his friend’s comment. ‘As reeve here, you must know it as well as anyone and we are anxious to hear your insights. The sheriff, alas, did not feel able to furnish us with much intelligence.’

‘That is not surprising,’ muttered Nigel.

‘You and he must see a great deal of each other.’

‘Yes, Master Bret.’

There was a wealth of regret in his voice but he was too diplomatic to put his hostility into words. Gervase understood the situation at once. Though the reeve held a crucial administrative position, his powers were severely limited by a domineering sheriff. Evidently, there was no love lost between the two men. Gervase introduced some gentle flattery.

‘I suspect that you are a surer guide than our host,’ he said.

‘Durand sees little that happens outside the castle.’

‘Whereas you do.’

‘Inevitably.’

‘What kind of place is Gloucester?’

‘It is mine,’ said Nigel with a gesture of pride, ‘and I have made it indisputably one of the finest cities in the realm.’

‘How did you do that?’

The reeve needed no prompting. He described the city, its history and its relationship to the surrounding county. Though his lecture was couched in unashamed self-admiration, it was both lucid and concise. Hubert threw in a few questions of his own and they were answered frankly. By the time the reeve had finished, the visitors had a much clearer idea of the place they had come to and the personalities they would encounter.

Gervase was sincerely grateful. Feeling that he had established his primacy once more, Nigel the Reeve gave a token bow and withdrew with dignity.

‘I’ll teach the rogue to mend his manners before I’m done,’

said Ralph, glowering at the door. ‘Those airs and graces will get short shrift from me. Who does he think he is?’

‘I found his comments enlightening,’ observed Hubert.

‘So did I,’ Brother Simon piped up.

‘He needs to be handled in the right way,’ said Gervase.

Ralph gave a grim chuckle. ‘Around the throat.’

He called the others to order and they took their seats behind the table, spreading out the documents that related to the first case they were due to investigate and discussing the questions they would need to put to the disputants. Only a minor case was coming before them on their first day and they saw no reason why it could not be dispatched quickly. When they had reviewed some of the other disputes on which they would adjudicate, there was a little time left before their official duties began. Ralph turned to the subject which he had put aside until now.

‘How did you find the abbey, Canon Hubert?’

‘Sorely troubled, my lord,’ said the other. ‘It is a sad place.’

‘I did not sleep a wink there,’ confided Simon.

‘The fear is tangible. Abbot Serlo does not believe it will leave the abbey until the murderer has been caught and executed. We talked at length about the crime,’ said Hubert solemnly. ‘About its nature, its impact and its consequences in the longer term.’

‘What are the details?’ asked Ralph.

‘The story is more complicated than the sheriff made it sound when he first broached the topic to us. Brother Nicholas, it turns out, occupied a somewhat strange position at the abbey.’

Ralph and Gervase listened intently while Hubert explained what he meant. Beside the overwhelming vanity of the reeve, Hubert’s flights of pomposity seemed negligible, and his constant reference to his friendship with Abbot Serlo was forgiven because it had yielded so much of interest to his listeners. His account of the murder was indeed far more detailed than the one given by Durand and he was happy to amplify it.

‘Let us go back to the spot where the body was found,’ decided Ralph. ‘On a wooden platform in the bell tower, you say?’

‘That is correct, my lord.’

‘What reason would Brother Nicholas have to go there?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Did he have duties regarding the bell?’

‘No, my lord. They fall to the Sub-Sacristan.’

‘Is it not likely, then, that the victim was killed elsewhere and carried into the church so that his corpse could be hidden there?’

‘That occurred to me,’ said Hubert, ‘but the abbot discounted that proposition, arguing that it would be very difficult to carry a dead body up the ladder to the loft.’

‘Perhaps he was not carried,’ suggested Gervase. ‘The killer might have hauled him up with a rope.’

‘That, too, occurred to me but the abbot was sceptical. Where was the blood that must surely have dripped from his wound?

His throat was slit from ear to ear, his cowl was sodden. Had he been hauled aloft, his blood would have been all over the floor yet there was no sign of it. Nor,’ said Hubert, anticipating Gervase’s next guess, ‘was there any indication of the floor being recently washed to remove stains. The whole abbey has been searched and the only place bloodstains were found was on the timber where he lay.’

‘So that is where he was killed,’ concluded Ralph.

‘Apparently, my lord.’

‘What on earth was he doing up there?’

‘Abbot Serlo is at a loss to understand that.’

‘How long had he been missing?’

‘A couple of days.’

‘Who saw him last?’

‘One of the tenants from whom he collected rent.’

‘Close by the abbey?’

‘Some miles away, my lord,’ said Hubert, with an expansive gesture of his hands. ‘The abbey’s land is scattered far and wide.’

‘I know.’

‘It owns seventeen manors in the county,’ noted Gervase.

‘Far too many,’ decided Ralph, fingering his chin as he pondered.

‘Could that provide the motive?’ he said at length. ‘The fact that Brother Nicholas collected rents? Did he upset one of the tenants? Or was his scrip so full of money that it incited someone to theft and murder? No,’ he added, thinking it through, ‘why would any monk be foolhardy enough to climb up a ladder with a vengeful tenant? What would such a person be doing in the abbey church with Nicholas in the first place? I begin to wonder if Durand’s accusation may be just. Perhaps the victim was slain by one of his fellow monks.’

‘No!’ protested Simon.

‘It is unthinkable!’ wailed Hubert.

‘Not to the sheriff,’ said Ralph.

‘He does not know the monks, my lord. Abbot Serlo does. And there is not one among them on whom the slightest suspicion can fall. Take the abbot’s word for it. Brother Nicholas was killed by an outsider.’

‘Or by a guest at the abbey,’ said Gervase.

‘Or by an act of God,’ said Ralph with mild sarcasm. ‘On the face of it it’s a baffling crime, but that only makes me want to get to grips with it. If time serves, I would value a talk with Abbot Serlo myself. Would that be at all possible, Hubert?’

‘If the approach were first made through me, my lord.’

‘Of course.’

‘There’s a couple of individuals we’re forgetting,’ remarked Gervase. ‘The novices who stumbled on the body that night. What about them?’

Hubert gave his first smile of the day. ‘I’m glad that you mention them. They are young boys, Kenelm and Elaf by name. The abbot has given me permission to question them myself but I need an interpreter to reach them in their own tongue. Brother Frewine, the Precentor, could serve in that office but he is a stranger to me and, from what I can gather, too well disposed towards the boys to be entirely independent in his judgements. I prefer someone of proven skill in translation, someone I know well, someone I can trust.’

‘Gervase is the obvious person,’ said Ralph.

‘That is what I felt, my lord.’ Hubert looked at Gervase. ‘Will you please help me in the interrogation?’

‘Do I have any choice in the matter?’ asked Gervase.

‘No!’ said Ralph cheerfully.

‘Then it is settled. I am at your command, Canon Hubert, and glad to be of assistance. Their names are Kenelm and Elaf, you say. What sort of boys are they?’

‘Frightened ones.’

It was ironic. Kenelm was the older, bigger and more boisterous of the two novices, and yet he was the one who suffered most.

Elaf, who had unwittingly fallen against the dead body of Brother Nicholas, was still haunted by the memory but he was learning to master his emotions in a way that eluded his friend, making it necessary for Elaf to provide the reassurance which had hitherto come from Kenelm. As they sat with the other novices and took instruction from Brother Paul, it was Kenelm who kept nervously glancing across to Elaf for moral support.

‘ Cantate Domino canticum novum: quia mirabilia fecit.’

Afraid to be caught at fault, they joined the others in their recitation of the psalm, knowing that Brother Paul was keeping a close eye on both of them. The Master of the Novices was a brawny man of medium height, with muscular forearms covered with thick black hair and bushy eyebrows which all but hid his dark, gleaming eyes. Brother Paul believed in summary justice. A sound beating soon after an offence had been committed was, in his opinion, the best way to enforce discipline. Kenelm and Elaf had committed a whole series of offences, ranging from youthful mischief to outright theft, and it pained Brother Paul that he was not allowed to inflict the savage punishment he felt was their due. Instead of howling in agony, they were praising the Lord.

‘ Salvabit sibi dextera eus; et brachium sanctum eius. Notum fecit Dominus sautare suum; in conspectu, Gentium revelavit iustitiam suam.’

The Master listened carefully, hoping for a stumble or stutter from Kenelm or Elaf so that he would have legitimate cause to upbraid them on a minor charge. Paul had not forgotten the wild chase on which they had led him through the darkness and he longed for retribution. But they gave him no opportunity to claim it now. Though their minds were in turmoil, Kenelm and Elaf chanted the Latin with clarity and precision.

‘ Iudicabit orbem terrarum in iustitia; et populos in aequitate.’

It was a long while before the novices were released from their lesson. Elaf used their brief freedom to visit the abbey garden.

Kenelm trotted after him, desperate for a moment alone with his friend. Together they reached the cover of some shrubs.

‘How can you keep so calm, Elaf?’ asked Kenelm.

‘I am not calm underneath.’

‘My mind gives me no rest. I cannot stop thinking of what we found in the bell tower. Nor can I get rid of that awful smell of death.’

‘I still catch a whiff of that,’ confessed Elaf. ‘And at night, lying in the dark, I still remember that I touched poor Brother Nicholas.’

‘That is something else which plagues me.’

‘What is?’

‘He is poor Brother Nicholas now but he was loathsome Brother Nicholas while he was alive. I despised him as much as anyone.

I writhe with guilt about it. He was not the hateful man I took him for, Elaf. His murder has made me see him afresh.’

‘It is so with me, Kenelm. I feel nothing but sympathy.’

‘Sympathy and fear.’

‘Yes, terrible fear. It makes my stomach turn.’

‘I have not been able to eat a morsel since that night.’

‘Find solace in prayer.’

‘I have tried,’ said Kenelm. ‘I have even sought Brother Owl’s advice but he has not been able to help me shake these terrible thoughts from my head. How have you done so, Elaf?’

‘By prayer and meditation.’

‘All that I can meditate on is that dead body.’

‘Our pain will ease in time.’

‘Not while we stay here.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There are too many reminders,’ said Kenelm morosely. ‘Every time I see the church, I think of what we found there. Every time one of the brothers walks across the cloister garth, I think it is Brother Nicholas. We will never escape those memories as long as we stay here.’

‘We have to stay, Kenelm.’

‘Do we?’

A dangerous notion began to form but Kenelm had no chance to discuss it with Elaf. A sudden rustling sound alerted them to the presence of an eavesdropper. Frightened that it was Brother Paul, they were rooted to the spot, but it was not the Master of the Novices who stepped from behind a bush. It was the diminutive figure of Owen, the youngest of the novices, teased by the others for his innocence and persecuted for his rosy-cheeked prettiness.

Owen seemed to be on the point of speaking to them but he lost his nerve and turned tail, scurrying off as fast as his little legs would take him.

‘Was he listening?’ said Elaf in alarm.

‘I hope not.’

‘Do you think Owen will tell on us?’

‘Not if he has any sense,’ warned Kenelm, bunching a fist and recovering some of his former bravado. ‘Or he’ll answer to me.’

The first case which animated the shire hall concerned misappropriation of land in the Bisley Hundred. A Saxon thegn, formerly the owner of the property, alleged that it had been steadily encroached upon by his Norman neighbour until it was all but swallowed up in the latter’s estate. The dispute soon moved from reasoned argument to bellowed assertion and Ralph Delchard had to step in to subdue the two men and caution them against any further descent into a verbal brawl. What made the issue slightly more complicated was the fact that a third person, Alfwold, presented himself to the commissioners and claimed that he had the right to the land in question on account of a bequest made over fifty years earlier when a Danish king ruled the country.

It was left to Gervase Bret to study the last will and testament of a certain Leofhelm the Anchorite before translating the Anglo-Saxon aloud.

‘Leofhelm the Anchorite, God’s exile, greets King Cnut and Queen Emma very joyfully with God’s joy. And I make it known to you that I have entrusted our charitable gift to Christ and all his saints where it shall remain for the comfort and happiness of our soul. First, the estate near Frampton Mansell to the Abbey of St Peter in Gloucester, where our bones shall lie; the remainder of our property, the manors of Sapperton and Westwood, to our heirs in perpetuity …’

Cries of outrage from the other two disputants greeted this new claim and Ralph had to impose himself even more strongly.

He had grave doubts about the validity of the document and was supported by Canon Hubert, who, knowing that Sapperton was firmly in the possession of the powerful Robert de Tosny, did not wish to draw in a fourth person to further enliven the debate. It was Gervase who eventually ruled out the will of Leofhelm, finding inaccuracies in the wording and the calligraphy which confirmed his suspicion that the document was a blatant forgery. The bold Alfwold tried first to bluster then to bluff his way out of the situation but Ralph was merciless. Summoning his men, he had the supposed descendant of Leofhelm the Anchorite placed under arrest and hauled off to cool his heels in a dungeon at the castle.

With one claimant out of the way, the commissioners swiftly disposed of another, restoring it to the thegn from whom it had been illegally taken and chastising his rapacious neighbour in round terms. When the shire hall was cleared of witnesses, the four men were able to relax in the knowledge that it was only mid-afternoon yet their work was done for the day. Ralph wanted to make good use of their leisure time.

‘We must go to the abbey, Gervase,’ he announced, gathering up his documents, ‘and inspect the scene of the crime in the hope of picking up clues which others may have missed.’

‘I was about to urge that idea on you,’ said Gervase.

‘It may not be altogether welcome,’ warned Hubert.

‘Why not?’ said Ralph.

‘Because the abbot is already unhappy about the way that the sheriff and his men are trampling all over the abbey. It is very unsettling. The last thing he wants is more lay people intruding.’

‘Intruding? Did I hear you aright, Hubert? You call us intruders?

Doesn’t the abbot want this dreadful crime to be solved?’

‘It is his dearest wish, my lord.’

‘Then he must endure the curiosity of those who wish to help.’

‘You would need to secure his permission first.’

‘Perhaps you could be our ambassador there, Canon Hubert,’

said Gervase politely. ‘Since you have privileged access to Abbot Serlo, you would be the ideal person to put our request before him. And while we are in the abbey, of course, I could find a moment to question the two novices with you. Could that be arranged as well?’

Hubert was persuaded. ‘It will be, Gervase.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ said Ralph impatiently. ‘Lead the way, Hubert. I long to see this bell tower and, if possible, to view the body of the deceased.’

‘That is something I am not able to guarantee, my lord.’

‘At least, get us inside the church.’

Canon Hubert nodded confidently and left the hall, picking his way through the crowd with surprising nimbleness and towing Brother Simon behind him. Ralph went out to the sentries and sent them back to the castle with the satchels which he and Gervase had brought. The two of them then mounted their horses and ambled off in pursuit of their colleagues, noting that the streets were busier than ever and that the city smells had taken on a greater pungency. When they reached the abbey, they did not have long to wait. Hubert appeared to confirm that the abbot’s permission had been granted, and he conducted them to the church as if he were a long-standing member of the community and not merely a recent visitor. Ralph and Gervase easily tolerated his customary self-importance. Compared to Nigel the Reeve, the canon was modest and unassuming.

Shafts of sunlight shone through the windows to pierce the gloomy interior of the church and illumine the way to the bell tower. Hubert was hovering at Ralph’s elbow. Gervase could see that his friend was becoming increasingly annoyed by their colleague’s presence and he moved in tactfully before Ralph resorted to language unfit to be heard on consecrated ground.

‘Since you know the abbey so well,’ said Gervase, taking Hubert gently by the arm, ‘perhaps you could track down those two novices, Kenelm and Elaf. We will talk with them anon.’

‘Am I not needed here?’ said Hubert.

‘No!’ Ralph was blunt.

‘But I could be of assistance.’

‘Do as Gervase bids and you will be.’

Hubert’s pride was hurt. Gathering his paunch in both hands, he plodded off on his errand without a backward glance.

Ralph looked around the church to see what other exits it possessed, then he turned his attention to the ladder which led up to the loft, testing it for strength and reliability. Satisfied that it was robust enough, he turned to Gervase and took a firm grip on him.

‘What are you doing, Ralph?’ protested the other.

‘Proving something to myself.’

‘Does it involve assaulting me?’

‘Relax and have faith in your friend.’

Having secured a hold, Ralph suddenly hoisted Gervase over his shoulder and held him there with one hand as he began to climb the ladder. It was a slow and perilous ascent, leaving Gervase to stare down at a slowly receding stone floor while having no control over his limbs. The rungs of the ladder creaked ominously under the combined weight and it bent and swayed from time to time, but Ralph went purposefully on, making light of the problems. When he reached the top, he eased Gervase carefully on to his back on the wooden platform then clambered up to join him.

‘There!’ he said triumphantly. ‘I knew it. It was possible for the killer to carry his victim up here.’

‘Only if he was as strong and wilful as you, Ralph,’ said Gervase, head still pounding from the ordeal. ‘I’ll tell you this. You are certainly not going to carry me down again.’

‘It will not be necessary. I’ve proved my point.’

‘What about the dripping blood?’

‘Easily stemmed by wrapping a cloth around the victim’s neck.’

‘I remain to be convinced.’

‘Then let’s look around.’

There was not much room for two adults in the confined area.

The huge iron bell took up most of the available space, hanging silent and lifeless now but capable of rousing the whole city when rung in earnest. Light was poor but they could see far more than the two novices who had used the place as a nighttime refuge. Several bloodstains were visible on the timber and they examined them with care, noting their position and texture. For the rest, there was nothing else in the loft apart from a coil of rope, which would, in time, replace the existing bell rope, and a new stay, hewn out of ash and, judging by the one already in position to prevent the bell from turning full circle when it was rung, soon to be brought into use instead of its battered predecessor.

‘It’s far too dark up here,’ said Ralph. ‘We should have thought to bring a candle with us.’

‘We have at least established one thing,’ observed Gervase.

‘Yes, you don’t like to be carried up ladders.’

‘That, too, I grant you. No, sit down and you will see what I mean.’ Ralph lowered himself into a seated position beside Gervase. ‘It is a perfect hiding place. Even during the day it is impossible to see anyone up here if they are crouched down.’

‘Or lying full-length in their own blood.’

‘Quite.’

‘The killer knew exactly where to stow the body. Had it not been for those two boys, it might have lain undetected for much longer.’

‘Until the stink became too unbearable!’

Ralph got up and kept a steadying hand on the bell as he manoeuvred his way around to the other side of it. Even more shadow obscured his view there so he relied on touch rather than sight, feeling his way gently along each timber. The oaken beams were thick and well-seasoned and he admired the skill with which they had been chiselled into shape and shorn of their roughness. When he came to the largest beam of all, he used both hands to explore it, finding nothing untoward until he slipped them under the timber to feel the other side. His fingers met something which caused him to stop in surprise.

‘Now that’s interesting,’ he said, identifying his find.

‘What is it, Ralph?’

‘Something I didn’t expect on the back of this beam.’

‘A bird’s nest or a couple of bats?’

‘No, Gervase, these were put here by the hand of man, but for what possible purpose I can’t rightly say. Nobody would fix them on the wrong side of the beam like this.’

‘Why? What is it that you’ve found?’

‘Hooks,’ said Ralph, still fingering his discovery. ‘Two large hooks.’