The Owls of Gloucester

Chapter Five

On the following morning, work began in earnest at the shire hall. As the commissioners assembled to sit in judgement on the most complex case which confronted them, they put aside all thought of a murder at the abbey and gave their full attention to the matter in hand. Ralph Delchard was relieved to be able to do so because it rescued him, temporarily, from the moral dilemma of whether or not to tell Golde about the possible visit of King William. Ordinarily, he concealed very little from his wife and she, in turn, was refreshingly open with him. He decided that the latest tidings should be kept from her, because he had given his word to that effect. Besides, there was some doubt about the King’s arrival in Gloucester and thus no point in alerting Golde to an event which might not even take place.

Gervase Bret was untroubled by any qualms on the subject. In his opinion, a vow was a solemn undertaking. Having been sworn to secrecy, he did not consider for a moment the notion of divulging the news to anyone else, not even to Canon Hubert and Brother Simon, both as trustworthy as himself. Like Ralph, he did speculate in private on the motives for the King’s rumoured visit but he put none of his conclusions into words. Once inside the shire hall, he forgot all about the warning imparted to them by Durand as he tried to assess the irascible man who first came before them.

Strang the Dane had a loud voice and forthright manner.

‘The land has been mine since I received it from King Edward’s own hand,’ he asserted. ‘I have the charter which proves my incontestable right to it. For some reason, your predecessors chose to question that right and I am now put in the invidious position of having to defend my claim once again. I hope that you have sufficient intelligence to see what is before your noses.’

‘Do you dare to malign our intelligence?’ snarled Ralph.

‘The first commissioners were found lacking in that respect.’

‘On the contrary, they were remarkably astute men which is why they identified so clearly the many irregularities and corrupt practices which have been going on in this county. Your name is linked to them.’

‘Wrongfully.’

‘That remains to be seen.’

‘I demand justice.’

‘We will give you no less.’

‘Your predecessors did. They were purblind.’

Ralph was trenchant. ‘By insulting them, you insult us and -

by extension — the King who initiated this Great Survey. We speak for him. Do you wish to rid yourself of any more jibes before we begin?’

‘All I wish for is what is legally mine.’

‘That is what we are here to determine.’

Ralph’s glare silenced him at last. Strang the Dane was a hefty man in his fifties with long grey hair and a full grey beard. His attire suggested a degree of wealth and his bearing was that of a soldier. Gervase wondered why someone who was bristling with defiance before his Norman conquerors had taken the trouble to learn their language so well, unless to be able to abuse them roundly in their own tongue. He glanced down at the document in front of him and saw that Strang had scattered holdings throughout Gloucestershire as well as in one of the Welsh commotes attached to it. The invaders had deprived him of far less land than most other thegns. Strang was determined not to yield up another acre. He was accompanied by his reeve, Balki, a slightly younger and much quieter individual with a long, thin face to which a ragged red beard clung like so much ivy.

After a muttered conversation with his master, Balki took over.

His smile was ingratiating as he approached the table where Ralph sat with the other commissioners and their watchful scribe.

The red-haired Balki, too, spoke Norman French almost fluently.

‘We appreciate the difficulties involved here,’ he began.

‘Do you?’ said Ralph gruffly.

‘Yes, my lord. We have lived in the county for many years and know how complicated the pattern of landholding is. We would be the first to admit that there have been many irregularities — downright acts of theft in some cases — because we have been the victims of them. The property under discussion is a perfect instance.

It was granted to my master, Strang the Dane,’ he said, producing a charter from his satchel, ‘in recognition of services rendered.

Here is proof.’ Handing the document to Ralph, he smirked helpfully.

‘Would you like me to translate it for you, my lord?’

‘That will not be necessary,’ said Ralph, passing the charter to Gervase. ‘We have our own interpreter.’

‘Then I hope his translation is sound.’

‘It had better be,’ rumbled Strang, stroking his beard.

After a glance through it, Gervase rendered the wording carefully into language that his colleagues could understand.

‘“I, King Edward, greet Bishop Aldred and all my thegns in Worcestershire and Gloucestershire. And I give you to know that Strang my housecarl has been granted a certain piece of land, namely eight hides in the manor called Westbury to be held and enjoyed for three lives, and after that time the estate is to return to the disposal of whoever is in control of the bishopric of Worcester …”’

Hunched in concentration, Balki nodded in approval at the accuracy of the translation. Strang stood proudly with hands on his hips as if the mere recitation of the charter’s contents would be enough to secure the property under discussion. When he realised that the Dane had been one of the royal housecarls, Ralph viewed him with slightly more respect. Housecarls were elite soldiers, members of a standing bodyguard who had been selected for their courage, loyalty and military skills. Strang must have given good service to be repaid so handsomely with various grants of land. Qualities which aroused Ralph’s admiration only served to increase Canon Hubert’s antipathy towards the first claimant. He resented his insolent manner and his total lack of deference before them. Nor did Hubert warm to the oleaginous reeve whom he suspected of being far too devious to be trusted.

He decided to wipe the irritating grin off Balki’s face.

‘How do we know that the charter is genuine?’ he asked.

‘Because you have my word that it is,’ roared Strang.

‘Why else should it be presented to you?’ said Balki, hurt by the very suggestion. ‘That property was acquired by fair means and lost by foul ones. I swear that the document is authentic.’

‘It has every appearance of being so,’ admitted Gervase, subjecting it to close scrutiny, ‘but I would value more time to examine it.’

‘You shall have it,’ announced Ralph. ‘And if it is found to be a clever forgery, those who perpetrated it will be duly arraigned.

We have already uncovered one grotesque attempt at deception.’

‘There is no deception here,’ said Strang, simmering with anger.

‘We speak before you under oath, my lord,’ added Balki.

‘Find in my favour and let us away.’

‘Before we have even questioned the others?’ asked Ralph.

‘What kind of justice is that? All four of you will be given a fair hearing.’

‘Four?’ repeated Strang. ‘Four? We know of only two rivals. The first is Hamelin of Lisieux who unjustly seized the land from me and the second is Querengar the Breton.’

‘They still contest your claim.’

‘Then where does this fourth person come from?’

‘Wales.’

Strang was derisive. ‘Do you jest with me, my lord?’

‘Not on the subject of a Welshman, I do assure you.’

‘What is the man’s name?’

‘Abraham the Priest.’

Strang let out a long hiss of disgust and Balki turned an anxious eye towards his master. Ralph found their different reactions interesting. Evidently, they knew and disliked the Archdeacon of Gwent. While Strang dismissed him with contempt, however, Balki was quietly alarmed by the mention of his name. His master rebuked him with a long stare then turned his ire upon the commissioners again.

‘Are you not capable of making a decision?’ he demanded.

‘Of course,’ said Ralph sternly, ‘and we have already decided that your manner is too bold and your words too ill-chosen.

Whatever the merits of your claim, you will not advance your cause by unseemly behaviour.’

‘No offence was intended,’ said Balki with an apologetic smirk.

‘I’ll speak for myself,’ contradicted Strang. ‘And I do so honestly and fearlessly. If some are offended by what I say, it is of no account to me. I’ll not be muzzled.’

‘Remember who we are,’ warned Hubert.

‘I can see all too well!’ sneered the other.

‘We’ll brook no disrespect.’

‘Nor will you have to,’ said Balki, trying to calm his master.

‘Simply ask the questions you have no doubt prepared and we will answer each and every one of them to your satisfaction.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Ralph.

‘Those hides in Westbury belong to me!’ insisted Strang.

‘Then how do they happen to be in the possession of Hamelin of Lisieux?’ asked Gervase quietly, introducing a more moderate note. ‘You have one charter, he, it seems, another. Which should we accept?’

‘Mine!’

‘Why?’

‘Read it, man.’

‘I have already done so.’

‘It bears the King’s seal.’

‘That of King Edward,’ agreed Gervase, glancing at the charter,

‘but Hamelin of Lisieux has a document which bears the seal of King William. I do not need to remind you which of the two now occupies the throne.’

‘Hamelin took my land by force.’

‘Do you have any proof of that?’ said Ralph.

‘Yes, my lord,’ replied Strang, rolling up his sleeve to display a long, livid scar on his forearm. ‘Here is one piece of evidence. I have others on my body. I fought to protect what is rightly mine but I was outnumbered. Hamelin of Lisieux is a barefaced robber.’

‘That is slander!’ said Hubert.

‘It is the truth.’

‘I can vouch for that,’ said Balki. ‘You have two witnesses here.’

Strang glowered. ‘I have not been the only person in this county to suffer. Consult the returns from the first commissioners. The name of Hamelin appeared many times regarding land which he did not acquire by legal means. He is a master of unjust seizure.

Because he is rich and powerful, most people are too frightened to resist him, let alone challenge him openly. I am not.’

‘Nor,’ observed Ralph, ‘is Abraham the Priest.’

‘Not to mention Querengar the Breton,’ Gervase reminded them.

‘Both of them are prepared to stand up against Hamelin of Lisieux and, of course, against you.’

Strang was about to issue a tart rejoinder but Balki put a hand on his arm to restrain him. He contrived his most obsequious smile yet.

‘My master is sorry if his passion spills over but he has been most grievously treated. He looks to you for retribution. Now,’ he said, gazing at each of them in turn, ‘you have the charter before you. We have a dozen witnesses who will vouch for the fact that the land in question was once — and still should be — the property of Strang the Dane. How else can we convince you of the strength of our claim?’

Though he took his duties very seriously, Brother Frewine carried them lightly. Since he was in charge of the church services, the Precentor was the most important of the obedientiaries. It fell to him to arrange the daily services, to take charge of the abbey’s music, to teach the monks how to sing, to decide the readings in church and to provide materials for the repair of books from the choir and the cloister. Responsibilities which would have weighed heavily on a lesser man were discharged with ease by a man whose philosophical calm was the envy of his holy brothers.

‘Are the funeral arrangements complete, Brother Frewine?’

‘Yes, Father Abbot.’

‘I will not pretend that I am looking forward to the service.’

‘No more am I. The nature of Brother Nicholas’s death makes it a peculiarly sad occasion. But I am sure,’ he said with gentle sincerity, ‘that you will find exactly the right words of consolation.’

‘I hope so, Brother Frewine.’

‘You have a gift, Father Abbot.’

‘I pray to God that it will not desert me now.’

They were in the abbot’s lodging and, in the course of a busy morning, the Precentor somehow found the time to visit Serlo with a request. When they had discussed the details of the funeral service, he raised the subject which had brought him there.

‘I came in search of your permission, Father Abbot.’

‘To what end?’

‘It concern’s Brother Nicholas’s cell,’ explained Frewine. ‘I know that it was searched by the sheriff’s officers and that you gave orders for it to be swept clean. But the officers did not really know where to look and those who went in with brooms were too scared to stay there long enough to be thorough.’

‘Too scared?’

‘To linger in the cell of a murder victim.’

‘Why?’

‘They are superstitious.’

‘Superstition has no place in a religious house,’ said Serlo with uncharacteristic acerbity. ‘God has cleared our minds of such nonsense. I am glad you brought this to my attention, Brother Frewine. Who were the weak vessels? Name them to me and I will make sure they go back to sweep and scrub the cell properly.’

‘That is not my request, Father Abbot,’ said the other with an appeasing smile. ‘Give me a broom and I will gladly do their office for them. No, what I seek is permission to search the cell. Not that I expect to find anything,’ he added quickly, ‘but at least I would know where to look. The sheriff’s officers would have been repelled by the very bareness of Brother Nicholas’s abode. I doubt if they gave it more than a cursory glance. I have lived in this abbey many years, remember.’

‘More than any of us. What has it taught you?’

‘That secretive people can often find the most ingenious hiding places and Brother Nicholas was unduly secretive.’

‘Granted. But what would he have to hide?’

‘Who knows until we find it?’

‘Do you really expect that there is anything to find?’

‘I am not sure, Father Abbot,’ admitted Frewine, ‘but it worries me that we are leaving this investigation to the sheriff and, it now seems, to the royal commissioners. Forgive me for saying so, but we should not be absolved from the duty of searching for evidence ourselves. After all, we knew Brother Nicholas and that surely gives us an advantage over anyone else.’

Abbot Serlo watched him shrewdly for a few moments, hands clasped and forefingers meeting at the tiny cleft of his chin. Frewine waited patiently like an owl perched on the branch of a tree.

‘There is something behind this,’ said the abbot at length.

‘A desire to solve a dreadful crime.’

‘Something else. Something you are not telling me.’

‘I am not dissembling, Father Abbot.’

‘Of course not, I accept that.’ His forefingers tapped his chin.

‘Let me approach it another way. What first put this idea into your head?’

‘The need for a motive.’

‘Motive?’

‘Why was Brother Nicholas murdered?’

‘You obviously have your own theory on the matter.’

‘I believe the killer wanted something from him.’

‘What was it?’

‘I wish I knew, Father Abbot.’

‘Brother Nicholas had nothing of his own. Like the rest of us, he took a vow of poverty. No earthly possessions. The only thing a killer could take from him was his own life.’

‘You are probably right,’ sighed the Precentor.

‘But you would still like to search his cell.’

‘With your permission, Father Abbot,’ he said respectfully. ‘And I promise to sweep it clean before I leave.’

‘It will be a wasted visit. You realise that?’

‘I do.’

‘You will search in vain.’

‘I know.’

‘So why do you bother?’

‘To put my mind at rest.’

‘Instinct tells me that you will not find a thing.’

‘I, too, am impelled by instinct.’

Serlo was cautious. ‘But if, by chance, you do,’ he said, locking eyes with his Precentor, ‘send for me at once.’

Hamelin of Lisieux took them all by surprise. Having seen his name recurring time and again in the returns for the county sent to the Exchequer in Wiltshire, they knew him as a leading landholder and one of the few who actually lived in Gloucestershire itself. Hamelin was no absentee landlord. His manor was at the heart of the county. Strang the Dane painted his portrait in such dark colours that they half-expected Hamelin to prance into the shire hall on cloven feet, swishing his forked tail behind him. No such malignant creature appeared. The man who sailed in to greet them was a tall, well-favoured, elegant Norman lord in his forties, immaculately dressed and accompanied by his wife, Emma, a woman of such startling loveliness that she caused Ralph Delchard’s jaw to drop in wonderment and Canon Hubert’s eyebrows to shoot up in disbelief. Even Gervase was momentarily taken aback, but it was Brother Simon who suffered the greatest impact, recoiling from her beauty as if from a physical assault and screwing his whole body into a tight ball so that more of it could be comprehensively covered by his cowl.

With a grace singularly lacking in his Danish predecessor, Hamelin introduced himself and his wife then left Emma to distribute a generous smile between the four men behind the table. Ralph responded with a broad grin but his scribe yelped like a branded animal. The newcomers were waved to seats on the front bench then Ralph went through the preliminaries, introducing his companions and explaining the methods they would adopt during their inquiry. He also found himself apologising profusely for the dinginess of the hall and the inadequacy of the seating arrangements. Both man and wife were clearly accustomed to far more comfortable surroundings than those they now shared with the four commissioners.

It was Canon Hubert who initiated the questioning.

‘Now that the formalities are finally out of the way,’ he said with almost imperceptible sarcasm, ‘perhaps we can address the problem which brought us here? I take it that you are familiar with Strang the Dane, my lord?’

‘All too familiar!’ said Hamelin, suppressing a sigh.

‘He was here before you.’

‘I hope that does not betoken an order of merit, Canon Hubert.’

‘Far from it. Every claimant has equal status.’

‘How can that be when our claims do not have equal validity?’

‘Relative validity has yet to be decided, my lord.’

‘Not by me,’ said Hamelin politely. ‘I willingly concede that Strang the Dane did, at one time, have a legitimate right to that land in the Westbury. It is unfortunate for him that his right melted in the heat of conquest. As for Querengar the Breton,’ he continued, with a fond glance at his wife, ‘you must not ask me to take his claim at all seriously. And I can muster even less respect for Abraham the Priest.’

‘You know that he is also represented here?’ asked Ralph.

‘Naturally.’

‘How?’

‘I am well informed, my lord.’

‘More so than we ourselves. We did not learn of the Welshman’s intervention until we arrived and Strang the Dane was astonished to hear of it. Why did you catch what eluded his ears?’

‘I have many friends in Gwent.’

‘Enemies, too, if Strang is to be believed.’

Hamelin laughed. ‘Several enemies. He is one of them.’

‘You do not seem perturbed by that thought.’

‘Why should I be, my lord? You and I are two of a kind, Norman lords in a land we first had to subdue. Our very presence here makes us despised intruders. Where would we be if we could not cope with a little enmity?’ he asked, bestowing another fond look on his wife. ‘Especially when we can offset all that hatred with so much love.’

‘Have you and Strang ever come to blows, my lord?’ said Gervase.

‘Unfortunately, we have not.’

‘He says otherwise.’

‘Then he is lying, Master Bret.’

‘Strang the Dane is an appalling man,’ said Emma demurely. ‘I know that it is not my place to speak here but I feel it my duty to tell you that his word is not to be trusted.’

‘He spoke under oath, my lady,’ said Hubert.

‘So does my husband.’

‘And I say, under oath,’ continued Hamelin pointedly, ‘that I have never crossed swords with Strang. More’s the pity! Had I done so, that verminous Dane would not now be alive to poison your ears with his wicked lies.’

‘He showed us a wound, my lord,’ said Gervase.

‘It was not inflicted by me.’

‘By one of your men, perhaps?’

‘That is not impossible. Strang has trespassed on my estates.’

‘Did he have to be expelled by force of arms?’

‘How else, Master Bret?’

‘Recourse to law.’

‘That is why I am here,’ said Hamelin blandly. ‘To attest the legal basis of every hide in my possession. Most of the country is howling in protest at this Great Survey, fearful that it will cost more in taxes and knight-service. My voice is not raised in complaint, as my wife will tell you. I appreciate the true value of this Domesday Book.’

‘It is good to meet someone who does!’ said Ralph.

‘You draw clear lines, my lord. You clarify who holds what where.

Once you have pronounced, nobody can lay false claims to my land any more. That is why I welcome this inquiry.’

‘Even if we find against you?’ probed Hubert.

‘That is out of the question.’

‘Why?’

‘I will show you, Canon Hubert.’

‘Why did you not show the first commissioners?’

‘Unhappily, I was not in a position to do so when they first visited the shire,’ said Hamelin easily. ‘I was visiting Normandy to deal with a problem concerning my estates there. My reeve spoke on my behalf before your predecessors but he lacked conviction, I am told. That is why I replaced him on my return and why I come before you in person this time. To eliminate even the slightest possibility of error.’

‘Do you fear we will make an error?’ probed Ralph.

‘The first commissioners did.’

‘How?’

‘By having insufficient evidence set before them.’

‘What new evidence do you have to add?’

‘First, peruse this,’ advised Hamelin, rising to give Ralph the charter which he held in his hand. ‘You will recognise the hand and seal of King William and note that I am granted fifteen hides in the Westbury Hundred. Much of the land which abuts mine is held directly by the King himself so I have one neighbour with whom I am on very friendly terms.’

Ralph skimmed through the charter then handed it to Gervase, who, having read it more carefully, passed it on to Canon Hubert.

When Gervase looked back at them, Hamelin, seated once more, was smiling complacently and Emma was looking earnestly at the commissioners.

‘Is any more proof than that required?’ she asked softly.

‘I fear that it is, my lady,’ said Gervase.

‘Why, Master Bret?’

‘Because the document is not as specific as it might be. Fifteen hides are indeed granted to your husband but it is not clear that they include the eight hides formerly given to Strang the Dane.’

‘It is clear to us.’

‘But not to Strang himself.’

‘What irks him most,’ said Ralph, taking over, ‘is that some of this land lies close to the Severn, down which his boats sail with cargoes of iron ore. Among other things, Strang has the right to mine ore in the Forest of Dean.’ His eyes flicked to Hamelin.

‘The loss of those hides in Westbury have caused him great inconvenience. He has to transport the ore a longer distance over land, adding to his costs.’

‘That is not my concern, my lord,’ said Hamelin.

‘But it is the consequence of your annexation of the land.’

‘It was not annexation. I merely took what is mine.’

‘Which, according to Strang, amounted to rather more than the twenty hides to which this document refers.’

‘That is palpably untrue,’ said Emma with feeling. ‘Go to Westbury yourselves and you will surely find as much.’

‘We would rather determine this matter here, my lady,’ said Hubert as he finished studying the charter. ‘We do not have unlimited time at our disposal and cannot ride around the county to measure hides and count the heads of those who work on them.’

‘Then tell us this,’ requested Hamelin. ‘Apart from Strang, has anyone else in Westbury raised objections against me?’

‘Querengar and Abraham the Priest.’

‘I discount them. Neither actually holds property in the hundred. Both merely claim to do so. Of those that do — the King excepted, of course — which have spoken against me? Go further afield, Canon Hubert. Name me anyone in the Berkeley or Bledisloe Hundreds who accuses me of seizing their land.’

Hubert gave a shrug. ‘I cannot, my lord.’

‘Does that not say something in my favour?’

‘It might indicate that people are too afraid to challenge you.’

‘Why should they be afraid of my husband?’ asked Emma with apparent surprise. ‘He is the most amenable of men. Talk to any of his sub-tenants and they will tell you the same.’

‘I’m sure that they will,’ commented Gervase quietly.

‘Let us go back to the charter,’ decreed Ralph, reclaiming it from Hubert. ‘Perhaps you can tell us the circumstances in which the King saw fit to grant you such valuable holdings, my lord.’

‘Certainly,’ said Hamelin of Lisieux.

And he delivered his speech with ringing confidence.

It took Elaf a little while to find his friend. When he finally did so, he was alarmed to see the expression of utter dejection on Kenelm’s face. The mettlesome boy who had led him on so many exploits was now hiding in the abbey garden, wrestling with his guilt and contemplating a bleak future in the Benedictine Order.

When Elaf touched him on the shoulder, Kenelm let out a gasp and jerked involuntarily away.

‘It’s only me,’ Elaf reassured him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wanted to be alone.’

‘Why?’

‘To do some thinking.’

‘About what happened to Brother Nicholas?’

‘What else, Elaf?’

‘It preys on my mind as well.’

‘It is gnawing its way through my brain,’ confessed Kenelm, turning to face him with hollow eyes. ‘There is no respite.

Whatever I am doing, it is there, nibbling away like a rat inside my skull.’

‘Brother Owl says that we must seek help through prayer.’

‘How can I pray when my mind torments me?’

‘I have managed to do so,’ argued Elaf, ‘and I was the one who actually touched Brother Nicholas that night. The very thought makes me shiver afresh but I am learning to banish the thought.’

‘That is because you have less to banish than me.’

‘Less?’

‘Yes,’ said Kenelm, his face ashen with dismay. ‘The shock of finding the dead body is all that you have to chill your heart. I have a deeper source of guilt, Elaf, one that will not be so easily forgotten.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I did something unpardonable.’

‘When?’

‘When we were sent into church by Brother Owl to pray for the safe return of Brother Nicholas. I didn’t only wish that he would never come back. I prayed,’ he admitted, chewing his lip, ‘I actually beseeched God to kill Brother Nicholas.’

Elaf was shaken. ‘Is this true?’

‘To my eternal shame, it is.’

‘Kenelm!’

‘Now do you see why I am in such despair? I prayed for his death, Elaf. I willed his murder.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘I did. I’m responsible for it.’

‘How can that be? You had nothing to do with it.’

‘I feel that I did.’

‘No, Kenelm.’

‘And I can see no way to atone.’

‘There’s no need for atonement.’

‘Isn’t there?’ said the other vehemently. ‘When I’m an accomplice in his murder? I wished him dead and God answered my prayer. I feel as if I slit his throat with my own hands.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘Not to me.’

‘Then you have learned nothing since you became a novice here,’

chided Elaf. ‘God is bountiful. He responds to pleas for help, guidance and forgiveness. God is the supreme giver of life. He would never take it away in an act of foul murder simply because someone prayed for that to happen. God is not so cruel, Kenelm.’

‘But I am.’

‘You do yourself a wrong here.’

‘That is my punishment.’

‘An undeserved punishment.’

‘I see it differently.’ He looked furtively around him. ‘This place oppresses me more and more each day. I will never be content within its walls while the ghost of Brother Nicholas stalks the abbey.’

‘What else can you do?’

‘Leave.’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Is it? Don’t you remember what he told us, the man who came to question us with Canon Hubert?’

‘Gervase Bret?’

‘Yes,’ said Kenelm. ‘He was once a novice at Eltham Abbey but he left at the end of his novitiate. He decide that the Order was too strict a place in which to spend the rest of his life. He was very honest about it and I must be equally honest.’

‘But his case is different from yours. Worldly concerns stopped him from taking the cowl. You were placed here by your parents because it was their dearest hope that you became a monk and you have many times confided to me that it is what you really want. It is so with me,’ said Elaf wistfully. ‘It was my father’s dying wish that I be made an oblate here and I would never betray that wish.’

‘Even if it meant a life of purgatory?’

‘There is no purgatory here, Kenelm.’

‘There is for me. I must get away somehow.’

‘That is futile talk.’

‘Is it?’

‘Your parents would never allow you to leave.’

‘I will not seek their permission.’

‘How else can you go?’

‘The way that others have done so before me.’

‘No!’ exclaimed his friend.

‘Siward was one,’ recalled Kenelm. ‘Before him, it was Dena.

Both of them simply took to their heels and fled from the abbey.’

‘Where to, though?’

‘Does it matter? Escape is escape.’

‘Yet nothing was ever heard of Siward and Dena again. Doesn’t that worry you? Some terrible harm may have befallen them. And what of their grieving families? Think of the pain they inflicted on their loved ones by running away like that. Do you want to hurt your parents in that way? Do you intend to desert all the friends you have made here?’

‘Only because I am forced to, Elaf.’

‘By whom? By what?’

‘My conscience.’

‘Salve it with a penance.’

‘It is too late for that.’

‘But you mustn’t go,’ said Elaf fervently. ‘We need you, we love you.’ He saw the tears in his friend’s eyes and reached out to embrace him. ‘Stay with us, Kenelm. Stay with me, please. I, too, have my doubts but I can fend them off if you are beside me.

Let us help each other. We can do anything together. I’d never forgive myself if you ran away. Promise me that you’ll stay here.

Will you, Kenelm? Will you?’

Kenelm nodded gently but his mind was still in turmoil. Touched by his friend’s display of affection, he was willing to soothe Elaf with a token agreement but he was not sure that he could keep his promise.

‘Hamelin of Lisieux presented his case very effectively,’ said Ralph.

‘Almost too effectively,’ said Gervase. ‘I had the feeling that every word had been rehearsed beforehand with the assistance of his wife.’

‘The lady Emma had no place here,’ complained Canon Hubert.

Ralph chuckled. ‘I disagree. She lit up this cheerless place like a roaring fire. The lady Emma is welcome to decorate the shire hall whenever she wishes. She was a joy to look upon.’

‘That was the intention, my lord. She was there to divert you.’

‘What an absurd suggestion, Hubert!’

‘It is not absurd at all,’ said Gervase. ‘Hamelin brought his wife here with a purpose, though it was not merely to distract us. The lady Emma was there to lend her husband a softness and appeal which he lacked in Strang’s report of him. That’s what worries me about Hamelin’s claim. If it really is as incontrovertible as he believes, why did he need the support of his wife? The lady Emma was clearly schooled by him.’

‘Then she is an apt pupil,’ said Ralph with admiration.

‘She is an irrelevance,’ argued Hubert.

‘A terrifying one,’ said Brother Simon under his breath.

The four commissioners were taking a short break at the shire hall and enjoying some light refreshment. As they supped their wine and nibbled the pastries which had been provided, they reflected on the long and searching examination of Hamelin of Lisieux. Even when pressed, the man had remained courteous and obliging, deflecting some of the more testing questions with a combination of charm and skill. Emma, too, had shown herself a clever advocate. Individually, each could have mounted a more persuasive argument than Strang the Dane. Together, they were formidable. Gervase was troubled.

‘They were too plausible,’ he ventured. ‘Too good to be true.’

‘The lady Emma was true enough,’ said Ralph through a mouthful of pastry. ‘As large as life and twice as beautiful.’

‘I think they were hiding something.’

‘What could it be?’

‘Only time will tell.’

‘Hamelin was more affable than the Dane,’ noted Hubert, ‘but the affability was worn for our benefit. Another face greets those who dare to trespass on what he believes is his land.’

‘Who do you believe, Hubert? Strang or Hamelin?’

‘Neither.’

‘You think they are both lying?’

‘No, my lord. I think it would be foolish to make a judgement before we have examined all four claimants. Querengar would seem to have a more slender case, and we do not even know what the Archdeacon of Gwent is going to argue, but both deserve to be given the same opportunities as their rivals.’

‘That is ever our policy. Let all speak before a verdict is reached.’

He drained his cup. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘perhaps this Querengar will also produce a wondrous wife to brighten up our day.’

Simon gulped. ‘She would only darken mine.’

‘One thing is certain. Abraham the Priest will come alone.’

‘Do not be so sure, Ralph,’ teased Gervase. ‘Some of the older Welsh clergy are married. Idwal is.’

Ralph choked on his last pastry. ‘That name again!’

‘He spoke very fondly of his wife.’

‘What kind of woman would marry someone like that?’ asked Ralph incredulously. ‘It defies logic. She must have one eye, no teeth and swing from the trees by her tail!’

‘That is ungentlemanly,’ reproved Gervase.

‘Priests should be celibate,’ said Hubert seriously. ‘It is quite disgusting for them to have carnal relations with a woman.’

Ralph was jocular. ‘It all depends on the woman, Hubert. When you saw someone as gorgeous as the lady Emma sitting before you, I suspect that even you began to regret your vow of chastity.’

‘I did no such thing!’

‘Nor did I!’ murmured Simon.

‘No urgent little twitch beneath your cowls?’ asked Ralph.

‘Fleshly desire is beyond my ken,’ insisted Hubert.

‘The lady Emma will be disappointed,’ mocked Ralph. He looked up as one of his men came into the hall. ‘Ah, it seems that Querengar has arrived. Let us start anew, my friends. Take your places.’ The other three returned to their seats and Ralph waved to his knight. ‘Is the Breton alone?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘No wife, no concubine?’

‘None.’

‘Send him in while we master our regret.’

Hubert reprimanded him for his levity but Ralph took no notice.

Resuming his own seat, he consulted the papers before him and waited for the arrival of the third claimant. It was a lengthy wait and Ralph became restive. He was about to go in search of Querengar when the man finally entered. The delay was explained at once. While Strang had marched and Hamelin had glided, Querengar had to drag himself into the shire hall on his crutches.

One leg heavily bandaged and dangling uselessly, he made his way with painful slowness to the bench in front of them. They could see the effort that it cost him.

Gervase leaped up and went forward to help him but Querengar brushed him away with a shake of the head. He was too proud to accept any assistance. A short, compact man, he was shrunk by his injury into an almost dwarfish shape. Each of the commissioners felt a sharp tug at their sympathy. Lowering himself gingerly on to the bench, the newcomer set his crutches aside and turned a wizened face up to the table.

‘I am Querengar the Breton,’ he said firmly. ‘I expect justice.’

It was not until dinner was over that Brother Frewine was able to slip away on his errand. Having eaten a frugal meal of fish, vegetables, cheese and milk, the Precentor left the refectory and made his way to the cell vacated by the untimely death of Brother Nicholas. When he reached the door, he paused out of respect rather than fear, halted by the grim thought that he would never again see alive the monk whose corpse lay in the morgue awaiting burial. Death had robbed him of any personal reservations he had about Nicholas. Frewine mourned him like a brother.

Letting himself into the little room, he gazed sadly around it.

Built of stone, it was cool in summer but icy in winter; there was no source of heat. The ceiling was low, the floor sunken. All that the cell contained by way of furniture was a small table, a stool and a rough mattress. A crucifix stood on the table, its shadow magnified on the wall behind it by the shaft of light which came in through the little window. It was a bleak room but contained all that a monk would need. Frewine wondered if it might also contain something unsanctioned by the Benedictine Rule. Brother Nicholas would not be the first monk to harbour forbidden items in his private abode.

His search began on the ceiling then moved to the walls.

Frewine’s old fingers probed for loose masonry or chance crevices.

None could be found. Lowering himself to his knees, he began to grope around the floor of the cell, wishing that there was more light to assist him. What he could see was that the place had been only superficially swept. A thick layer of dust was largely untouched in some areas of the room. It was especially noticeable at the foot of the bed and he brushed it away with his hand to reveal something which had been invisible before. The floor was scored with parallel lines as if the mattress had been dragged out from the wall and replaced again many times.

Frewine’s curiosity was set alight. Grabbing the edge of the mattress, the Precentor eased it into the centre of the room then walked to the end which had been pressed against the wall.

Nothing unusual presented itself. The section of wall now uncovered was as bare and uneven as the rest. A spider was scurrying across it on long legs. It was only when Frewine began to explore with his fingers that he noticed something suspicious.

One of the stones in the wall was protruding slightly, allowing him to get a purchase on it. When he jiggled it to and fro, he got more and more movement until it suddenly popped away from the wall altogether. He was right. Brother Nicholas did have a hiding place after all.

Frewine set the stone down and reached inside the cavity until his hand closed on something soft and pliable. When he extracted it, the object was much heavier than it had felt at first. Holding it on one palm, he shook it slightly and heard the telltale chink.

He did not know whether to be pleased that his instinct had been sound or shocked by the nature of his discovery. It gave him something to think about as he hurried off to report to Abbot Serlo.