The Owls of Gloucester

Chapter Seven

Ralph Delchard and his wife talked long into the night. It was the only opportunity they had to be alone together and to exchange details of how they had spent their respective days. Over the delicious meal served in the hall that evening, they had been too busy talking to their hosts to pay much attention to each other and they were determined to make up for it. When they were finally alone, conversation was preceded by an act of spontaneous passion, always their most pleasurable and effective means of communication.

As they made love with uninhibited vigour in the privacy of their bed, the warm night brought them out in beads of perspiration and left them in a state of joyful exhaustion. When Ralph eventually rolled over on to his back, his face and chest were glistening.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered, cradling her in his arms.

‘And thank you, Ralph.’

‘Have I pleased you?’

‘Delightfully.’

‘Does that mean you will keep me on for a while?’

‘A week or two more,’ she joked, nestling into him. ‘If you think that you can last that long.’

‘Watch me!’ They shared a laugh. ‘I strive to be a satisfactory husband. Do I succeed?’

‘Every time.’

‘Good.’

‘Not that I am keeping score, mark you.’

‘I hope not! That would be calculation in every sense.’ He kissed her on the temple and drew her closer. ‘Well, my love, I think that we can be sure of one thing.’

‘What is that?’

‘The sheriff and his wife are not lying in each other’s arms.’

‘How do you know?’

‘They have long gone past that stage.’

‘I am not so sure.’

‘I am,’ said Ralph. ‘My guess is that the lady Maud keeps a cold bed. Durand may not even share it with her any more.’

‘That is idle comment,’ she replied. ‘And why blame her for any coldness between them? It is far more likely to arise from the sheriff’s neglect of his wife.’

‘Is that what she told you?’

‘It’s what I have gathered, Ralph. He is very attentive to her in public but that may be consolation for his disregard of her in private. What I do know is this. His work totally eclipses his wife. When his duties call him, she might just as well not exist.’

‘You could make the same complaint about me.’

‘I do,’ she returned, ‘but you never hear it.’

‘I listen to everything you say, Golde.’

‘Eventually.’

‘Look at me now. I’m a captive audience.’

‘Only because you are too weary for anything else.’

‘Is that a challenge?’ he said, easing his leg over hers.

‘No, Ralph, merely an observation. Now take your rest and tell me what you have been doing all day.’

‘Being thoroughly bored in the shire hall.’

‘Gervase didn’t seem bored and he spent as much time there as you. He told me that it had been a stimulating session.’

‘Well, yes,’ conceded Ralph as he remembered the encounter with the lady Emma, ‘there were stimulating moments, it’s true, but it was largely dross. Only Gervase Bret can get inspired by the fine detail of a charter or by the tedium of debate.’

‘What about Canon Hubert?’

‘Golde!’ he protested. ‘I refuse to talk about Hubert at a time like this. He has no place whatsoever in the marital couch. If he did, there would not be room for either of us, I can assure you.

Leave him to his chaste mattress at the abbey. Tell me about your day. I am dying to hear about Aelgar and this new suitor of hers. Forne, is he called?’

‘Yes. And he does not possess an ounce of Welsh blood.’

‘Thank heaven for that!’

‘He and my sister seem very well matched.’

‘Like us, you mean?’

‘Nobody is like us, Ralph.’

‘No, we are quite unique.’

‘Unusual, that is all.’

‘We are a model for all young lovers.’

‘Hardly!’ she argued. ‘Who would emulate us? Let’s be honest here. We’re much more likely to excite curiosity than imitation.’

‘In what way?’

‘Not every woman in my position would consider marrying you.’

‘None of them would get the chance!’

‘I’m serious, Ralph. You belong in here, in the castle and all that it stands for, while I come from out there with the other citizens. A lot of people would say that I betrayed my nation when I became your wife. There was a time when my own sister might have believed that, and I know that Forne has grave doubts on the subject.’

He bridled. ‘What business is it of his!’

‘Forne is to be my brother-in-law.’

‘Then he will have to learn to respect you.’

‘He does, I am sure.’

‘So what are these grave doubts of his?’

‘He let slip a remark that put into words what I could already see in his face. He has severe qualms about us. It’s only natural.’

‘I can see that I will have to talk to this Forne.’

‘No, Ralph. Not in any spirit of anger.’

‘I’ll not have him criticising my wife!’

‘He was not doing that,’ she said, putting her face closer to his. ‘Why not let me tell you exactly what happened before you rush to judgement? That is what you do in the shire hall, isn’t it?

Hear all the evidence before deciding on your verdict. Do the same here. Pretend that you’re in the shire hall now, Ralph.’

‘I daren’t. I will fall asleep.’

‘Not with me beside you,’ she said, giving him a sharp dig in the ribs. His grunt of pain made her smile. ‘That’s better. Now, listen.’

Golde described her reunion with Aelgar and the subsequent visit to the house in the city. She tried to sing Forne’s praises but she was conscious of having to invent much of her enthusiasm. Ideal as a husband for her sister, she feared that he might not turn out to be a perfect brother-in-law. Golde knew that everything would depend on what he and Ralph felt about each other. At the end of her account, her husband was slightly more well-disposed towards Forne, but he was far from expressing outright approval. Ralph wanted to reserve his opinion until he actually met the young man.

‘Do you think they will be happy together?’ he asked.

‘Very happy.’

‘That is all that matters.’

‘I know,’ she said, stroking his arm. ‘Aelgar has chosen well.

And they are like us in one thing, if in nothing else.’

‘What is that?’

‘Their truthfulness. They are completely honest with each other.’

‘So they should be.’

‘It is not always so in marriage.’

‘It ought to be, Golde. True love permits no secrecy.’

‘Not every union is blessed with true love,’ she sighed. ‘And even if it is at the start, circumstances can change. Take our host and his wife. The lady Maud adored him when they first met and he courted her with as much ardour as any lover. But now?’

‘His responsibilities divert his attention.’

‘His wife expects that. What rankles with her is that he refuses to say anything about his work. It is a closed book to the lady Maud and she would dearly like to flick through the pages. When I told her about us, she was very envious.’

‘Envious?’

‘Of my good fortune in having a husband who trusted me.’

‘Implicitly.’

‘I assured her that there was nothing you held back from me.

It would hurt me deeply if there was. You confide in me as your wife and I confide freely in you. That way we spring no unpleasant surprises on each other, do we?’

‘No, my love.’

‘Holding something back is a form of lying, really. A deception.

A concealment of truth. I told the lady Maud that you were very honest. Whatever the situation, you’d never lie to me. Would you, Ralph?’

Ralph thought about the possible arrival of King William in Gloucester and ran a tongue over dry lips. He had still not raised the subject with her and felt it unwise to do so now, even though he was breaking the vow they had once made to each other.

‘Well?’ she said, prodding him. ‘Would you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Why did you hesitate?’

‘I’m tired, Golde.’

‘Then let us get some sleep,’ she said, snuggling into him with a purring contentment. ‘You have to make an early start tomorrow.’

She was about to doze off when she remembered something. ‘I almost forgot, Ralph. They brought worrying news from Hereford.’

‘Oh?’

‘There has been more trouble on the Welsh border.’

‘Not again!’

‘Raiding parties have been sighted.’

‘The Welsh are a bellicose nation.’

‘I hope they do not strike this far south.’

Ralph quivered. ‘As long as they do not contain Archdeacon Idwal,’ he moaned. ‘Renegade bands can easily be repelled but no fortifications are proof against Idwal. He is an invasion army in himself.’

‘Do not get so agitated. I merely pass on rumours.’

‘Well, I hope that they are proved false, Golde. But we’re far too close to the Welsh border to be able to relax. Forne lives in Archenfield, well placed to catch the first whiff of revolt.’

‘There’s no serious danger, surely?’ she said. ‘If there were, the sheriff would be marshalling his men in readiness, yet there is no sign of that. Besides, if there was any hint of a real invasion, would not the King himself ride from Winchester with an army?’

Ralph fell silent. Long after his wife had drifted off to sleep, he brooded on what she had said. He had even more reason to wish that King William would not descend on the city now.

As far as their duties would permit, Canon Hubert and Brother Simon tried to enter into the life of the abbey. Like the other monks, they rose early to attend Matins and shuffled towards the church with heads bowed and hands tucked into their sleeves.

When the service was over, they slipped quietly out to prepare for the day ahead while the rest of the holy brothers remained in church for Lauds. They were about to cross the cloister garth when Abbot Serlo hailed them. Stopping at once, they waited for him to catch them up.

‘I wanted a quiet word with you,’ began Serlo.

‘As many as you wish, Father Abbot,’ said Hubert.

‘First, let me say how pleased I was to see both you and Brother Simon at the funeral service yesterday. I know that you have pressing duties in the shire hall, yet you found time to pay your respects to poor Brother Nicholas.’

‘We were honoured to be part of the congregation and, though it is hardly a subject for congratulation, I must commend you on the way you conducted the service. It was most impressive.’

‘And very moving,’ said Brother Simon.

‘You handled a difficult situation with the utmost tact,’

continued Hubert. ‘Your whole treatment of this wretched business has been quite exemplary.’

‘Thank you, Canon Hubert,’ said the abbot, ‘but I do not feel that I have behaved in an exemplary manner. It is a novel predicament for me and I am not entirely sure how to cope with it. But prayer and meditation have taught me this. We must explore every possible means of tracking down the man who killed Brother Nicholas.’

‘I agree, Father Abbot.’

‘That is why I value a moment with you now. Something has come to light, something so disturbing that my first instinct was to keep it from you because it reflects badly on the abbey and hence on me.’

‘I refuse to believe that.’

‘So do I, Father Abbot,’ endorsed Simon.

‘Hear me out.’ Serlo cleared his throat then spoke rapidly.

‘Brother Frewine, our Precentor, as wise a man as any here, felt that the sheriff’s officers may have missed something in their search of Brother Nicholas’s cell and, prompted by some inner conviction, he requested permission to carry out his own search.

Certain that he would find nothing, I was proved horribly wrong.

Concealed behind a stone in the wall was a bag of coins, amounting to a substantial amount.’

‘Saints preserve us!’ murmured Simon.

‘This is a grim discovery,’ said Hubert. ‘Do you or the Precentor have any idea where the money came from?’

‘None, Canon Hubert. I need hardly tell you that personal wealth is anathema within the enclave. And before you ask me,’

said Serlo as a question formed on the other’s lips, ‘we do not believe that it was a stolen portion of the abbey rents. The leather pouch contained new coins, all minted here in Gloucester. Our tenants would not pay with such money. It came from another source, I fear, but what could that source be?’

‘And is it in any way connected to Brother Nicholas’s death?’

‘That is the question with which I have been wrestling.’

‘Quite rightly, Abbot Serlo. But you must acquit yourself of any blame here. It is wrong to hold yourself responsible.’

‘The fault lies with Brother Nicholas,’ suggested Simon.

‘Answerable to you, of course,’ said Hubert, ‘but capable of independent action over which you had no control. The nature of his work is crucial here. Spending so much time outside the abbey, he was beyond your ken, vulnerable to unholy impulses, drawn into some kind of corrupt practice. Thank you for confiding in us, Father Abbot. Though it is disturbing news, it is also an invaluable clue and I will pass it on to the lord Ralph as soon as I may.’

‘This mystery grows murkier by the day,’ said Serlo with a hand to his brow. ‘I do hope that someone can solve it before too long.’

‘So do we,’ said Hubert solemnly. ‘But tell us more about Brother Nicholas’s work as a rent collector. How far afield did he go and was he absent from the abbey for any length of time? Why was he assigned to the work in the first place? It is a position of such trust …’

It was a dull morning when Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret set off from the castle, the overcast sky reflecting the former’s mood.

He was churlish and preoccupied and Gervase knew better than to attempt any conversation on their ride. Hoping to take out his irritation on the posturing reeve, Ralph was annoyed to see that he had sent a deputy in his place, a polite young man, too obliging to merit any reproach and too eager to deserve the torrent of abuse Ralph intended to unleash on his master. The bell for Prime was ringing as the commissioners took their places in the shire hall beside Canon Hubert and Brother Simon. Ralph ordered that Abraham the Priest be summoned before them, deciding to release his bile upon the Archdeacon of Gwent instead.

As soon as the archdeacon and the monk who accompanied him entered the shire hall, Ralph began his attack.

‘You were instructed to be here yesterday!’ he accused.

‘We know, my lord,’ said Abraham gently. ‘We regret the delay.’

‘Regret is not enough. I demand an explanation.’

‘Then you will have one as soon as you have the grace to explain to whom the explanation is being given.’

‘To royal commissioners.’

‘Do they possess names?’

‘Damnation! Tell us your paltry excuse.’

‘Are we allowed to sit while we do so, my lord?’

‘Sit, stand or turn somersaults. But stop prevaricating.’

‘There is no prevarication here, my lord,’ intervened Hubert,

‘and I do think it best that the archdeacon and his companion take a seat.’

He waved them to the front bench, performed the introductions and imposed a calmer note on the proceedings. Abraham was a tall, dignified man in his fifties, with a head supremely suited to a tonsure and a manner which combined spirituality and worldliness in the correct proportions. Brother Tomos was younger, plumper and distinctly more anxious. He had none of the archdeacon’s composure. Lacking his master’s command of Norman French, he was struggling to understand what was being said.

Impressed by the archdeacon’s bearing, Gervase sought to make him feel more welcome and to prevent further browbeating from Ralph.

‘We are pleased to see you here at last,’ he said with a smile,

‘and we are sure that only a serious mishap could have held you up.’

‘It was more of a blessing than a mishap,’ said Abraham.

‘Was it?’

‘Yes, Master Bret. We set off in plenty of time but our journey took us through a village where a young woman was with child.

No sooner had we arrived than she went into labour. We could hardly leave her.’

‘Did you linger in order to baptise the child?’ said Ralph.

‘No, my lord. In order to deliver it.’

Ralph was startled into silence, Hubert paled with embarrassment and Brother Simon began to gibber incoherently.

The very notion of childbirth was deeply upsetting to the scribe.

To have it raised so easily by the archdeacon caught him completely off guard.

Gervase was fascinated. ‘You delivered the child?’

‘Of course. Who else would take on the office?’

‘Was there no doctor? No midwife?’

‘None within call,’ said Abraham. ‘The child came slightly ahead of time and took them all unawares. As Tomos will tell you, the mother was in great distress. We heard her cries as we entered the village.’ Simon added to them with an involuntary howl. ‘I could hardly abandon her in her hour of need. She lives in my diocese. That means I must turn doctor, midwife, nurse or anything else on occasion, even if it means putting my shoulder to a plough.’

Hubert gaped. ‘A plough was involved in this delivery?’

‘No, Canon Hubert. I was simply trying to explain that I will become what is needed at any particular moment to relieve those in my care. A midwife was called for and that is what I became.’

‘Was it a safe delivery?’ wondered Gervase.

‘Do not tell us!’ cried Simon.

‘Why not?’ asked Abraham. ‘Is it not always a moment of joy when we bring a new Christian into the world?’

‘Yes, Archdeacon, but we need not dwell on the means by which that joy is achieved. It does not bear thinking about.’

‘But it was such a privilege to be involved in the process.’

Simon emitted another yell and lapsed into open-mouthed horror.

‘Was it a boy or girl?’ said Gervase.

‘A lusty boy, so anxious to come into the world that he would not bide his time. Mother and baby are both well, Master Bret, but it was a difficult labour. We had to tarry. When I realised that we would not reach Gloucester to answer your summons, I sent an apology ahead of me.’

‘It was duly received,’ said Hubert, ‘so perhaps we can put aside your eccentric habit of delivering babies and turn our minds to the question of certain hides in the Westbury Hundred?’

‘Of course, Canon Hubert.’

‘Do you have a justifiable claim?’ said Ralph.

‘Yes, my lord. It begins with a moral right.’

‘You Welshmen will preach about morality!’

‘But it is grounded in legality.’

‘Then why did you not advance it to the earlier commissioners?’

said Ralph. ‘Were you too busy bringing other children into the world?’

‘Fortunately, no. I was visiting the Bishop of St David’s. I did not even know about this Great Survey until I returned.’

‘St David’s?’ said Gervase with interest. ‘In that case, you may have met-’

‘That is not germane to this inquiry,’ interrupted Ralph savagely before another archdeacon could be named. ‘We have Welshmen enough under this roof, Gervase, without adding more. Most especially that one.’

Abraham was puzzled. ‘Why do you have a prejudice against us?’

‘I do not.’

‘Forgive me, my lord, but I feel hostility. Tomos?’

His companion gave a nervous nod of agreement.

‘The lord Ralph is not hostile to anyone,’ said Gervase, shooting him a look of reproof. ‘He strives to be impartial and objective, as do we all. That is why we can assure you of a fair hearing, Archdeacon, be you Welsh, Irish, Dane or Breton. You talk of a legal claim. Have you documentary proof of it?’

‘Of course. Tomos.’

The monk produced a charter from his satchel and handed it to his master. After unrolling it to remind himself of its contents, Abraham rose to pass it over before resuming his seat on the bench. Gervase glanced at the document and noted the seal at its base.

‘This was issued by King Edward,’ he observed.

‘It ratifies a right to property long-held by my predecessors.’

‘Strang the Dane also has a charter from King Edward.’

‘Set one against the other.’

‘It is not as simple as that,’ explained Gervase. ‘The lord Hamelin bases his claim on a charter from King William, as does Querengar the Breton. Each seems to have validity.’

‘I am well acquainted with both men.’

‘And with Strang the Dane, I expect.’

Abraham’s face darkened. ‘I know him best of all.’

‘But like him the least, by the sound of it.’

‘We have had our differences, I will admit, but they touch on other matters and do not belong here in this hall.’

‘Are you familiar with Strang’s reeve?’

‘Balki? Oh yes! We all know Balki, alas.’

‘He is certainly aware of you, Archdeacon,’ said Gervase, recalling the discomfort shown by the reeve at the mention of Abraham’s name. ‘And not at all happy to be ranged against you here.’

‘With cause. I intend to take his master’s land from him.’

‘Strang alleges that it has already been taken away by Hamelin of Lisieux and, given the chance, Querengar the Breton will seize it from all three of you. Which one of you are we to favour?’

‘The one with the most legitimate claim,’ said Hubert.

Abraham smiled. ‘Then that will be me.’

‘Tell us why, Archdeacon.’

‘Without any mention of childbirth,’ begged Simon.

‘Very well,’ said the Welshman calmly. ‘Let us go back to the reign of King Edward for that is when the problem first arose …’

When the others dispersed after choir practice, Elaf lingered to speak to Brother Owl. The Precentor knew why. He sat on a bench with the boy and turned a sympathetic ear to his concerns.

‘Are you still worried about Kenelm?’

‘Yes, Brother Frewine.’

‘He will recover in time.’

‘That is what I thought but he seems to get worse. Fearful thoughts haunt him day and night. Can you not tell by his face?’

‘Yes, Elaf. I can and did. Kenelm looks harrowed.’

‘He will not survive much longer.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He has talked of putting an end to it.’

‘How?’ asked Frewine with sudden alarm. ‘He is surely not contemplating suicide? That would be an unforgivable sin.’

‘Kenelm feels that he has already committed an unforgivable sin.’

‘And he plans to take his own life?’

‘No, Brother Frewine. His thoughts do not tend that way.’

‘Thank the Lord!’

‘He knows the penalty for such an act.’

‘To lie forever in unconsecrated ground,’ warned the other. ‘To be turned away from the kingdom of heaven. Nobody should pay such a hideous price. In a young boy, it would be doubly tragic.’

‘Kenelm realises that.’

‘So whence comes this talk of ending it?’

Elaf gave a shrug and tussled with his conscience. Kenelm was his friend and he did not wish to betray a confidence. At the same time, he did not want to lose the one person who made his own life at the abbey more bearable. Seeing his dilemma, the Precentor tried to help him out of it. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

‘You were right to come to me, Elaf,’ he said. ‘Whatever you tell me will go no further. I have helped you both in the past and, I like to think, pulled the pair of you out from beneath Brother Paul’s avenging arm more than once. Let me help you again.’

‘I’m not sure that you can.’

‘Simply talking to me will bring its own reward for it will ease your mind. Unburden yourself of the load you carry.’

‘It’s such a heavy load,’ confessed the novice. ‘I have remorse of my own, Brother Frewine, as you can imagine. During the funeral yesterday, I thought that I would faint. But Kenelm suffers something far worse than remorse. It pursues him every hour of the day.’

‘So what does he intend to do about it?’

‘Leave the abbey.’

‘Abandon his novitiate?’

‘Yes, Brother Frewine.’

‘But that would be such a waste.’

‘So I told him.’

‘His parents would never condone it.’

‘I know.’

‘Then why does he indulge in such futile talk?’

‘If only it were futile!’

‘Kenelm would not disobey his parents.’

‘I fear that he may, Brother Frewine.’

The old man’s face was at its most owlish. ‘What are you telling me, Elaf?’ he said in alarm. ‘Kenelm is planning to run away?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘That would be a scandal.’

‘I told him that.’

‘A scandal for the abbey and a bitter blow for his dear parents.

Nobody ever flees from here. It is unheard of, Elaf.’

‘What about Siward?’

Frewine was checked. ‘That was different,’ he muttered.

‘He disappeared one day. So did Dena. Those were the names that Kenelm cited. He said he’d follow their example.’

‘I pray to God that he doesn’t do that!’

‘Why? What happened to them?’

‘If only we knew!’

‘What drove them to quit the abbey in the first place?’

‘We are not even sure if that is what they did, Elaf.’

‘But they vanished.’

‘Sadly, they did.’

‘So they must have run away because they hated it here.’

‘Dena did not hate it,’ said the Precentor. ‘He had a beautiful voice and loved singing. Dena was always the first to come to choir practice and the last to leave. He liked it here. It was his natural home.’

‘Then why did he want to escape?’

‘I have no idea, Elaf. Nor do his parents. It is baffling. And Siward’s disappearance was equally mysterious. He was more wayward, perhaps, more accustomed to feel the wrath of Brother Paul, but that would not have been enough to drive him away.’

The boy was apprehensive. His heart was starting to pound.

‘I am not sure what you are telling me,’ he said slowly.

‘We do not know if Siward or Dena fled the abbey.’

‘How else did they vanish?’

Brother Frewine winced. ‘They may have been taken.’

Abraham the Priest was a revelation. On the face of it, he had by far the weakest claim, and yet he advanced it most convincingly.

He needed no bullying manner like Strang the Dane and no beautiful wife like Hamelin of Lisieux. Nor did he trade on the unvarnished directness of Querengar the Breton. Advocacy was his weapon. Arguments were cleverly arranged before being presented in a lilting voice which seemed to lull his hearers into agreement. Resolved to dislike him, Ralph slowly warmed to the archdeacon. When the latter strayed briefly into the realms of canon law, he was challenged immediately by Hubert but he held his ground with equanimity and beat off the attack. Even Gervase’s probing questions could not find a chink. Abraham was confounding them all.

‘Let us end there,’ announced Ralph, slapping the table, ‘before we become entirely bemused. Thank you, Archdeacon. I am sorry to give you such a sour welcome. I had no idea that your delay was caused by your compassion for a young mother. If your skill in midwifery matches your ability in a courtroom, the lady was indeed fortunate.’

‘She came bravely through the ordeal.’

‘Do not put us through it again!’ implored Simon.

‘There is no time,’ said Ralph. ‘We have spent the whole morning listening to you. If nothing else, I hope that absolves me of the charge of prejudice. What we now need is a recess so that we may study your charter alongside the others in our possession.

We also need to weigh your arguments in the balance and decide if there is need for any further examination.’

‘I will await your summons, my lord,’ said Abraham.

‘Keep well away from pregnant women in the meantime.’

‘This is not my diocese.’

‘One last thing,’ said Ralph as the two men rose to go. ‘I expected to speak to you through an interpreter. How is it that you know our language so well?’

‘I took the trouble to learn it, my lord.’

‘Patently. But why?’

‘It is very useful to speak in the tongue of our neighbours. In my experience, it is the best way to avoid misunderstandings.

Also, my lord, simple necessity came into play.’ He gave a tolerant smile. ‘I learned your language because I had a strong feeling that you would never deign to learn mine. Am I right?’

‘Absolutely.’

They parted on good terms and the two visitors left the room.

Ralph turned first to Canon Hubert and invited his comment with a raised eyebrow. The latter needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

‘Our archdeacon has a beguiling tongue,’ he said at length,

‘but I was not entirely persuaded by it.’

‘What about you, Gervase?’ asked Ralph.

‘I found his arguments very cogent.’

‘More so than those of the other claimants?’

‘Yes,’ said Gervase, ‘but he did not resolve the basic contradiction. All four of them have shown us royal charters relating to land in the Westbury Hundred. The problem is that they may not all refer to the hides in question. All the charters lack definition. As things stand, we could do no worse than to quarter the whole property and parcel it out between them.’

‘That is a mischievous suggestion,’ said Hubert.

‘Then let me offer a better one. Why not see for ourselves?’

‘I do not follow, Gervase.’

‘It is simple, Canon Hubert. Let us suspend our work here and ride out to the Westbury Hundred. We may well find that the twenty hides claimed by the lord Hamelin are quite separate from the eight to which Strang would seem to have the right. And where do Querengar’s lie?’

‘In the control of Hamelin of Lisieux,’ said Ralph.

‘And his wife,’ added Hubert pointedly.

‘And, as you remind us, his charming wife.’

‘I was less charmed and more critical of him, my lord.’

‘Be that as it may, Hubert, I think that Gervase has a point.

There is confusion here. The only way to plumb the depth of this controversy is to visit the disputed property in person.’

‘Is that really necessary?’

‘I believe it is, though we do not all have to go.’

‘Thank goodness for that!’ said Brother Simon.

‘No, Hubert,’ taunted Ralph. ‘You and Simon can go alone. Who knows? On your way, you may come across a woman in labour and discover that you have the medical talents of Abraham the Priest.’

‘Never!’ exclaimed Simon.

Hubert shuddered. ‘The very thought makes me go numb.’

‘Ralph is only jesting,’ said Gervase, shooting his friend an admonitory glance. ‘I will volunteer to make the journey. Alone, if need be. You and Brother Simon will certainly be spared, Canon Hubert.’

The two of them nodded their gratitude in unison.

‘That only leaves me,’ said Ralph. ‘What can I say?’

‘That you will bear me company.’

‘If I must, Gervase.’

‘It is agreed. In the course of our travels, we may be able to kill two birds with one stone. Our journey should take us past other portions of abbey land. We can speak to the sub-tenants about their rent collector.’

‘I am glad you mention Brother Nicholas,’ said Hubert, ‘because we bring news from the abbey about him. Abbot Serlo divulged it to us only this morning and it casts the rent collector in a new light.’

‘Go on,’ urged Ralph.

He and Gervase listened to a description of what was found in Brother Nicholas’s cell. They were intrigued. Ralph scratched his head.

‘Who has the pouch with the coins in it?’ he asked.

‘Brother Frewine, the Precentor,’ said Hubert.

‘I will need to speak to him.’

‘Is there any message we can convey, my lord?’

‘Simply that we are one step closer to identifying the murderer,’

said Ralph confidently. ‘Come, Gervase. We have a long ride ahead of us. And a great deal to discuss as we go.’

Leaving their satchels with Brother Simon, the two of them set off at once. Outside the shire hall, Ralph gave instructions to the reeve’s deputy then asked him for directions to the Westbury Hundred. He and Gervase mounted, gathered their escort then kicked their horses into action. As they turned the first corner, they were confronted by a sight which made Ralph gurgle in despair. Riding towards them at the head of his own escort was a small, wizened figure in a black cowl over which was worn a lambskin cloak frayed by age and stained with filth.

‘He’s here after all!’ said Ralph, aghast. ‘It’s Archdeacon Idwal!’

Gervase laughed. ‘Look more carefully,’ he suggested. ‘Since when would Idwal have an armed escort of Norman soldiers?

And since when has he been promoted to the Bishopric of Worcester?’

‘Is that who it is?’ asked Ralph, giggling with relief.

‘Yes. It is Bishop Wulfstan. I recognise him clearly.’

‘This is excellent news, Gervase!’

‘I would not say that.’

‘Why?’

‘Wulfstan is a royal counsellor. My guess is that he is not only here because Gloucester is part of his diocese. He has come from Worcester on a more temporal errand.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘His presence here confirms it, Ralph. The King is indeed coming.’

Ralph squirmed in the saddle as he foresaw a prickly discussion ahead with his wife. It made him ride out of the city with eagerness.

Durand the Sheriff conducted his guest to the hall in the castle.

Wine awaited them and a servant poured two cups before he retired. When it was offered to him, the bishop waved the cup politely away but Durand felt the need of sustenance. He gulped down his own wine with undue haste and undisguised relish.

‘That’s better!’ he said, licking his lips. ‘I needed that.’

‘Wine is a mocker, my lord. Put it aside.’

‘I prefer to be mocked.’ He indicated a chair and his visitor sat down. ‘It is good to see you again, Bishop, though I would be grateful to know precisely why we are meeting like this.’

‘So would I, my lord sheriff.’

‘Do you have no notion what this portends?’

‘None. I was hoping you might enlighten me.’

‘All I know is that King William is on his way.’

‘When is he due to arrive?’

‘By nightfall today.’

‘That is more than I was told.’

‘A message to that effect arrived this morning.’

‘I am glad I reached Gloucester before him,’ said Wulfstan.

‘The King does not like to be kept waiting. Who else has been summoned? If others descend on you, we may have some clue as to the size and nature of the crisis.’

‘If, that is, a crisis actually exists.’

‘Why else would he come here? Much as he appreciates us, I do not believe that King William would ride all this way to enquire after our health. Something is afoot. I smell an emergency.’

Durand took a step away from him. What he could smell was the noxious stink which came from the lambskin cloak. The garment looked even more ragged at close quarters, as wrinkled with age as its wearer and far more blotched. Wulfstan seemed sublimely unaware of the reek. He was a small man with a huge reputation, the only surviving Saxon bishop in England, ready to serve Archbishop Lanfranc as steadfastly as he had served Stigand, the previous primate. Well into his seventies, Wulfstan still had remarkable vitality and an extraordinary range of interests. His learning was matched by his political skills, making him one of the King’s most able counsellors. Durand distrusted him as much as the bishop distrusted the sheriff, but he could not deny the prelate’s expertise in affairs of state. Wulfstan was the Great Survivor. That, in itself, entitled him to a respectful hearing.

‘I wonder if it may concern Wales,’ ventured Wulfstan.

‘Possibly.’

‘Disturbing reports have reached me from Bishop Robert. He tells me that Hereford is reinforcing itself against the possibility of attack.’

‘We have also had worrying intelligence about activity on our western border,’ confided Durand. ‘Sporadic raids have taken place. They are on a very small scale but I wonder if they presage a larger assault.’

‘I hope not.’

‘So do we all, Bishop.’

‘But if not Wales, what, then, brings the King to Gloucester again?’

‘We will have to wait until he tells us but I begin to doubt that it is a real emergency. I know of nobody else who has been summoned. You and I are the sum total of his advisors, unless we count Hamelin of Lisieux, that is.’

‘Is he in Gloucester as well?’

‘On his own account. Commissioners have descended on us.’

‘I thought they came and went.’

‘The first ones did,’ said Durand petulantly. ‘After they had caused several flutters, I may say. When the returns for this county were examined in Winchester, irregularities appeared.

Serious discrepancies. The new commissioners have come to investigate them.’

‘That might explain the King’s need to be here.’

‘Might it?’

‘Yes, my lord sheriff. The King needs money to raise an army to fight the Danes. That is the main purpose of this Great Survey, is it not?’

Durand was rueful. ‘To see who owns what and how much can be wrung from them by way of tax or knight-service. I do not like tax collectors at the best of times, but these have been the worst who have ever afflicted my county.’

‘And mine,’ said Wulfstan philosophically. ‘Letters of complaint flooded in to me, asking me to use my influence with the King to relieve the burden of taxation. What influence, I cry? If I had any, I would employ it to seek relief for myself. The church of Worcester suffers as much as anyone.’

‘Why grant us land if he then bleeds us dry with taxes?’

‘Take the matter up with him,’ suggested Wulfstan with a chuckle. ‘I am not sure that I have the courage to do so. You saw how determined he was to push this Great Survey through when he first mooted the idea at the Christmas council here in Gloucester. The King would hear no whisper of criticism.’

‘I admire that aspect of him.’

‘So do I, my lord bishop. From a safe distance.’

‘But to answer your original question, I doubt very much if he is coming on the heels of his commissioners. Apart from anything else, they knew nothing about his imminent visit. Other teams are visiting other counties to unravel peculiarities in the returns.

Why should the King pick Gloucester when he has so many other counties to choose from?’

‘A telling point.’

‘All I know is that it is a most inconvenient time to receive a royal visit. Still less to host a meeting of the whole council, if that is what is in the wind. Not only are the commissioners here, I have had another problem dropped into my lap.’

‘Another problem?’

‘A murder, Bishop Wulfstan.’

‘Where?’

‘At the abbey.’

The bishop was on his feet. ‘Who was the victim?’

‘One of the monks, Brother Nicholas.’

‘This is dire news,’ said the other. ‘Has any arrest been made?’

‘Not yet,’ admitted Durand, ‘nor is there likely to be one in the near future. My officers are hunting high and low for clues but they are very scarce. It is a most vexing case in every way. Abbot Serlo refuses even to consider the possibility, but I feel more and more that the killer lives within the abbey itself.’

‘A Benedictine monk? Out of the question!’

‘The evidence points that way.’

‘But you just told me how flimsy it is. Do not accuse a monk, my lord sheriff. I have spent a whole lifetime within the enclave, first in the abbeys of Evesham and Peterborough, then in my beloved Worcester. In well over half a century inside a cowl, I have never once met a monk who would dare to contemplate murder, let alone actually commit it. This has upset me more than I can say,’ he confessed, starting to pant slightly. ‘I must go to the abbey at once to learn the full details of this crime.’

‘I expected that you would stay here at the castle.’

‘In these circumstances?’

‘But I have an apartment prepared for you, Bishop.’

‘Thank you,’ said Wulfstan, pulling his cloak around him so tightly that bits of it were shaken off to float aromatically to the floor. ‘But I must decline your kind invitation. When the King calls me, I will return at once. Meanwhile, I will be at the abbey,’

he asserted, hurrying towards the door. ‘Look for me there. That is where I am needed.’