The Stallions of Woodstock

Chapter Ten

His horse was saddled and his men ready to depart from the castle with him but he first had to take his leave of his wife. Golde had come down into the bailey to wave Ralph Delchard off. He strode swiftly across to her to collect a farewell kiss.

‘I thought you might have gone by now,’ she said.

‘Bertrand Gamberell detained me.’

‘I have heard that name a lot in the last day or two.’

‘So have I, alas!’

‘He is very popular with all the ladies in the castle.’

‘Yes,’ said Ralph, ‘and he knows how to trade on his popularity. A backstairs man, if ever I saw one. A smiling, soft-voiced predator of the bedchamber. A sly, dangerous, devious satyr with the fiendish good looks to seduce a holy nun and turn her into a rampant harlot.

No woman is safe while Bertrand is on the loose.’

‘Are you warning me?’ she teased.

‘Only if you feel in need of a warning,’ he said with a grin. ‘And I doubt that. No, you would be more than a match for Bertrand Gamberell.

You are too strong and self-possessed to fall for his tricks. He finds his victims among the weak and unprotected. You are neither.’

‘I am still interested to meet this man.’

‘You will, Golde. He will be back in time. He is leading the hunt for his missing horse again. A black stallion named Hyperion. One stallion is searching for another.’ He stole a second kiss. ‘But I must away.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To Wallingford.’

‘As far as that?’

‘I want to speak with Milo Crispin,’ explained Ralph. ‘He was another witness of the race at Woodstock. He may furnish me with details which others forgot or were too distracted to notice. Milo is a shrewd man. I met him briefly yesterday but we had no time for conversation.’

‘My lady Edith adores him.’

‘She would. He is her son-in-law.’

‘She says that he is a cool and capable man.’

‘I saw something of his coolness in the courtroom,’ said Ralph. ‘It is certainly not shared by Bertrand Gamberell. Still less by Milo’s father-in-law. Robert d’Oilly is a peppery sheriff when he is crossed. I am glad that I am not one of his underlings. A man with such a vile temper can be vicious.’

‘We both saw evidence of that.’

The two of them looked involuntarily at the dungeons.

‘No more brooding on that,’ said Ralph, trying to depart on a more cheery note. ‘What will you do while I am gone?’

‘Pine for your return.’

He laughed. ‘I’m sure you have other plans.’

‘I do, Ralph,’ she said. ‘There are still many decisions to be made about the banquet. My lady Edith wants me to help her. Last evening, we went down to the kitchen and discussed the fare to be served.

Today, we finalise the entertainment.’

‘You are entertainment enough for me, my love.’

‘I am talking about public performance,’ she scolded. ‘It is going to be the most wondrous feast. Almost everybody of consequence in the shire will be there. I am glad that our stay in Oxford has been extended so that we will be here for the occasion. My lord Maurice deserves our thanks for that.’

‘If for nothing else!’ said Ralph seriously. ‘Maurice Pagnal has much to answer for, I fear.’

‘My lady Edith tried to sound me out about him.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘Nothing whatsoever.’

‘Good. Her husband obviously set her on to you.’

‘Surely not. She was simply being curious.’

‘He ordered her to question you, to see if she could find out from you what I would not divulge to him. Say nothing, Golde. Trust nobody.’

‘Would he really use his own wife as a spy?’ she said, mildly shocked by the notion. ‘Would he drag her down to that level?’

Ralph glanced around to make sure they were not overheard.

‘Robert d’Oilly would stop at nothing,’ he said bluntly. ‘And that includes having a man murdered during a horse race at Woodstock. I am almost coming to believe that our host may be the one who instigated this crime. What better way to cover his own tracks than to lead the inquiry into a murder which he himself set up?’

Bristeva was so full of girlish excitement that her father did not have the heart to mention the cloud on the horizon. On the ride back to their home, he let her talk about the rehearsal at the church and rhapsodise about Arnulf the Chaplain.

‘He is the kindest man in creation, father.’

‘A true Christian.’

‘Some of the boys snigger at him,’ she said, ‘but they don’t know him as well as I do. And they are jealous because he has chosen me to take over from Helene.’ She giggled with delight. ‘They were so angry when Father Arnulf told them that I was going to sing at the banquet in front of the Bishop of Coutances. Father Arnulf said such wonderful things about me. I know it is a sin to be vain but I could not help enjoying his praise. Out of the whole choir, I am the only one who will go to the banquet.’

‘It is a signal honour, Bristeva.’

‘I am so looking forward to it!’

‘Yes,’ he said with forced enthusiasm. ‘So am I.’

Ordgar was only half listening to his daughter. His mind was grappling with the problem of what to do about his son. Amalric had been quite adamant. Having thought it over, the boy had decided to do all he could to prevent his sister from taking part in what could be the most important night of her life so far. Bristeva’s joy was very fragile. It would be shattered beyond repair if her chance to sing at the banquet was taken away from her. Ordgar mused on the perils of fatherhood. There seemed to be no easy way to reconcile his children.

They were locked in conflict. The happiness of one directly depended on the unhappiness of the other.

They were close to home when Bristeva raised the issue herself.

She knew that deep disapproval awaited her.

‘Will you speak to Amalric for me, please?’ she said.

‘I will try.’

‘Make him understand how much this means to me.’

‘Yes, Bristeva.’

‘And talk to Edric as well. In some ways, he is worse.’

‘They see things rather differently from us.’

‘Why?’

‘When you are older, I will explain.’

‘I cannot believe that I am doing anything wrong.’

‘You are not, Bristeva.’

Amalric was working in the field when they rode up. He shot them a hostile glance then turned away without even offering them a greeting. Bristling at the insult, Ordgar vowed to confront him at once and compel his obedience. They dismounted and Bristeva went running into the house, eager to scavenge in the kitchen for food. Her father waited until she was out of sight then swung round and marched purposefully towards the field. He was soon overhauled.

‘One moment!’ called Edric the Cripple, hobbling after him on his crutch. ‘We need to talk.’

‘The accounts will have to wait, Edric.’

‘This is nothing to do with the accounts.’

‘I must speak to Amalric first.’

‘Let me save you the trouble, Ordgar.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Stand still and I will tell you.’

The old man came to a halt and Edric moved in close.

‘I know what you are going to say to your son.’

Ordgar was forceful. ‘I will say the same to you, Edric. Leave Bristeva alone. I will not have the girl baited by either of you. She has had precious little enough to smile about since her mother died. Now that something good has finally happened to her, I will not let you and Amalric ruin it. It is not kind. It is not fair.’

‘I know,’ admitted Edric shamefacedly. ‘I am sorry for pouring cold water on her happiness. It was a terrible thing to do. Why should I spoil the girl’s pleasure? I have reasons of my own to loathe Oxford Castle and all that it stands for but it means something else to Bristeva.

I see that now.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes. Mine is one story, hers another.’

‘It is such a relief to hear you say that!’ exclaimed the other, embracing him warmly. ‘In all the years we have known each other, this is the one thing on which we have disagreed.’

‘Not any more.’

‘Do I have your word on that?’

‘I will not censure Bristeva again,’ vowed Edric. ‘From now on, I will hold my tongue in her presence.’

‘This pleases me more than I can tell you. I want amity in my home.

I am so grateful, Edric. If only my son would come to his senses in the same way.’

‘It will take more time to persuade Amalric’

‘He is threatening to cause mayhem on Saturday.’

‘Leave him to me,’ advised the other. ‘Challenge him now and you will only stir up his anger. The boy needs a day or so to calm down properly. I’ll choose the right moment to reason with him.’

Ordgar was touched. ‘Would you do that for me?’

‘For you and for Bristeva.’

‘I want my children to be reconciled, Edric.’

‘They will be.’

‘What will you say to him?’

‘I am not sure yet. But I will find the words.’

‘You always do.’

Ordgar knew that the steward had far more influence with his son than he did. Edric the Cripple was like a second father to him. His values were the ones that Amalric admired, his life was the one which the boy wanted to emulate. There was a time when Ordgar had resented his son’s obvious preference but he was now resigned to it, and saw how it could actually work to his advantage. At a stroke, Edric had relieved him of the task of reprimanding his son and guaranteed that Bristeva’s role as a performer at the banquet at the castle was no longer under threat.

The two men headed back towards the house.

‘We will go without him,’ decided Ordgar.

‘Without him?’

‘On Saturday night. To the banquet. Amalric and I were invited to join the feast so that we could listen to Bristeva sing. It would put too much of a strain on him. He can be so impulsive. He might do something wild.’

‘Not if I curb him strongly enough.’

‘Amalric is not easily curbed,’ sighed Ordgar. ‘Besides, you will not be at the banquet. Suppose he loses control? Suppose my son starts an affray? He would bring shame down on the whole family.’ He flung a glance over his shoulder. ‘It will be safer to leave Amalric here.’

‘But he has been invited, Ordgar.’

‘That is true.’

‘How many times will he be asked to sit at the sheriff’s table and revel in his company?’

‘Never again, probably.’

‘Then why take this one opportunity from him?’ said Edric. ‘It is not every day that the Bishop of Coutances visits Oxford. Let your son see the great man in the flesh. He will not like him but that is no reason to deny him the right to meet him.’

‘I hate to deny my son anything but I have to lean towards caution here. Amalric can be hot-blooded. We both know that. How can I enjoy the performance of my daughter if I am afraid that my son may suddenly disrupt the banquet?’

‘There is one obvious solution.’

‘Is there?’

‘Take me to the castle with you,’ volunteered Edric. ‘I will undertake to stifle Amalric. He might defy you, Ordgar, but he would not dare to disobey me.’

Ordgar was surprised. ‘Can you be serious?’

‘I would never make such an offer lightly.’

‘After all that has happened? You would be prepared to attend a banquet at Oxford Castle in the presence of Robert d’Oilly and the Bishop of Coutances?’

‘Yes, Ordgar.’

‘Here is a change indeed!’

‘It is long overdue,’ admitted Edric. ‘Even hatred mellows with time.

I am coming round to your view. When I was in Warwickshire earlier this week, I gave much thought to the problem. Bitterness destroys. It eats you up from the inside. I will not spend the rest of my days fighting a battle that was decided many years ago.’

‘These words are music to me, Edric’

‘Take me with you to the castle on Saturday.’

‘I will.’

‘Amalric will cause no upset. I give you my promise.’

Brother Columbanus faded so completely into the background that they almost forgot he was there. With the work of the tribunal suspended, the monk’s official duties ceased until further notice and he exploited his unexpected freedom. Gervase Bret was coming in through the castle gates when he met Columbanus. He was pleased to see the beaming countenance of his friend once more.

‘Well met!’ he said. ‘We have missed you.’

‘I have deliberately made myself scarce, Gervase.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I do not wish to get in your way.’

‘We enjoy your company, Brother Columbanus.’

‘And I delight in yours,’ said the other genially, ‘but therein lies the danger. When I break bread with you, I also have the urge to sup ale and that is a temptation I must suppress in every way.’

‘A monk is allowed to drink ale in moderation.’

‘Yes, Gervase. But what is moderation? If I drink one cup of ale, I tell myself that a second cup is a moderate amount. After that, a third is irresistible. By the time I am reaching for a fourth, all thought of moderation has left me. You see my dilemma?’ He gave a merry chuckle.

‘I am a weak vessel.’

‘Recognition of your weakness is a strength in itself.’

‘That is my solace. Since I cannot always resist the temptation, I will henceforth avoid it altogether. That is why I have been absent from the table.’

‘Where have you been taking meals?’

‘Here and there, Gervase,’ said Columbanus. ‘Here and there. The canons of St Frideswide’s fed me last night and gave me spiritual nourishment as well. I am on my way there now to draw on their fellowship.’

‘Then I will not hold you up.’

‘When will I be needed again?’

‘Not until Canon Hubert arrives.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘A day or two at least,’ reckoned Gervase. ‘Probably more. We rode from Winchester on swift horses. Canon Hubert will only travel on his donkey and that sets a much slower pace. He may not arrive until Sunday.’

Columbanus brightened. ‘After the banquet, then?’

‘Yes. Does that make a difference to you?’

‘No, no, Gervase. Not in the slightest.’

He let out another chuckle, patted his companion on the arm, then walked jauntily out through the gates. Gervase was both amused and puzzled by his behaviour. Columbanus was a jovial Christian who freely owned up to human fallibility but his joviality was edged with contrition. Gervase wondered why.

He stood aside as six riders trotted across the bailey and clattered out through the gates. The soldiers were patently in a hurry. Arnulf the Chaplain provided the explanation.

‘They are on their way to Woodstock,’ he said, walking over to meet Gervase. ‘To begin the hunt all over again. My lord sheriff was not pleased to release Ebbi. He truly believed that he had the killer of Walter Payne locked up in a cell.’

‘The assassin is still at liberty.’

‘And so is Ebbi now. Thanks to you and my lord Ralph.’

‘We could not let an innocent man die.’

‘He suffered great indignities while he was here,’ said Arnulf. ‘By rights, he is owed some compensation.’

‘What hope is there of that?’

‘None, I fear.’

‘My lord sheriff will never be accused of compassion.’

‘He gave you a fair hearing, Gervase,’ countered the other, keen to defend his master. ‘My lord sheriff had the grace to admit that he was misled. When you presented your evidence and let Leofrun bear witness, he accepted that Ebbi had been wrongfully imprisoned and ordered his release at once.’

‘That is not quite what happened,’ said Gervase, recalling the sheriff’s intense reluctance, ‘but the result is what counts. Ebbi was set free.

Leofrun will medicine his wounds.’ He pursed his lips as he gazed up at the keep. ‘What alarms me is the speed with which the legal process moved. Is the law always administered with such celerity in Oxford? A man is killed, a suspect is arrested, a trial is ordered. I have never known such summary justice. Why did my lord sheriff feel the need to act so swiftly?’

‘He abhors delay of any kind.’

‘Delay can mean the difference between life and death. Had we not been here, Ebbi would have been tried, convicted and executed for a murder that he did not commit.’

‘Nobody regrets that possibility more than I.’

‘It is almost as if Robert d’Oilly had a private reason to rush this trial. Do you know of such a reason?’

Arnulf shook his head and Gervase let the matter drop.

‘I heard the choir practice earlier on,’ he said.

‘We saw you at the rear of the nave.’

‘A small congregation but an appreciative one.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Bristeva was in fine voice.’

‘Yes,’ sighed Arnulf, ‘but whether that fine voice will be heard at the banquet on Saturday is open to question. Her father gave me disturbing news.’

‘I spoke with Ordgar myself.’

‘Then you will know the problem we face. Bristeva is eager to sing for us but Amalric, her brother, is just as eager to stop her. I offered to talk to the boy myself but Ordgar felt that it was his duty to do that.

He did, however, agree with my other suggestion.’

‘What was that, Arnulf?’

On the eve of the banquet, Bristeva will sleep here at the castle. It will give us more time to rehearse together, and if she is away from home she will not be subject to Amalric’s sneers. It grieves me that I have to protect a girl from her own brother but there is no other way.’

He gave a wry smile. ‘My choir is afflicted by unhelpful siblings.’

‘So it seems.’

‘First Helene. And now Bristeva.’

‘Both have met with opposition from their brothers.’

‘My lord Wymarc was a more formidable proposition. He took Helene away from me. That is not going to happen to Bristeva,’ Arnulf vowed.

‘I will fight to keep her. She is my Helene now.’

Hours of pleading had left Wymarc’s voice hoarse. Ignoring the pain in his throat, he summoned up all of his remaining energy for a final assault on Baldwin the Doctor.

‘I beg you, man! Please help me!’

‘I wish that I could, my lord, believe me.’

‘Save me from certain scandal and disgrace.’

‘The law must take its course,’ said Baldwin.

‘Only if the true facts of the case are disclosed.’

‘As they must be.’

‘No, Baldwin!’ hissed the other. ‘You are Helene’s doctor. Give out that she was taken ill and died before you could reach her. We will say that she has been sickening for days, which, in a sense, is true.

Nobody will question your word and the hideous truth will be kept within these four walls.’

‘That is not possible, my lord.’

‘Why not?’

‘Honesty compels me to reveal all. It is my duty.’

‘Do you not have a duty to me? As your friend?’ Wymarc clutched at his purse. ‘I would not expect you to do this service for nothing.

Name your price. It will be paid.’

‘No amount of money can make me do what you ask.’

‘Please!’

‘It is wrong, my lord.’

Wymarc let out a gasp of despair and turned away to sink down on a stool. Baldwin crossed to stand beside him, fighting off his own fatigue and reminding himself of the solemn obligations laid upon his profession. Though he had some sympathy for Wymarc, he could not even consider what the latter was trying to persuade him to do.

‘Understand my position,’ he said reasonably. ‘I am a doctor. I have a code of ethics. If I suppress the truth, I am committing a terrible crime. The consequences would be quite horrendous.’

‘Only if the crime came to light.’

‘It is bound to, my lord.’

‘Is it? Who else knows besides you and me?’

‘Your wife knows that Helene is dead. So do your servants.’

‘We will tell them she died of natural causes.’

‘Is it natural to barricade yourself into a bedchamber? Is that the action of someone who is desperately ill?’ Baldwin shook his head.

‘No, my lord. Nobody would believe that story. A healthy young woman will not expire so suddenly. Your wife and servants know that full well.’

‘I’ll force them to keep their mouths shut!’

‘How long would such enforcement last?’

‘Indefinitely!’

‘You would not be able to stand guard over them twenty-four hours a day,’ argued Baldwin. ‘It would only need one person to let slip an inadvertent remark and the whole fraud would be exposed. In any case,’

he added, ‘there are two people whom even you are not able to gag.’

‘Who are they?’

‘One of them stands before you, my lord. I simply will not countenance such a gross deception. And then there is Helene’s chosen accomplice.’

‘Accomplice?’

‘Your sister did not concoct that poison herself. It was supplied to her by someone with skill enough to make such a lethal preparation.

When that person hears of Helene’s death, the cause will be self-evident.’

‘Such a person would not dare to come forth.’

‘Do not be so sure, my lord.’

‘In providing a fatal poison, he will have assisted in the crime of suicide and be liable to arrest. It is in his interests to remain silent about his role.’

‘But think of the power they would wield.’

‘Power?’

‘Over you, my lord,’ said Baldwin. ‘The cunning apothecary who sold Helene that bottle of death will wish to make even more profit from the transaction. He would be in a position to lay information against you that would bring the sheriff and his men galloping out here to investigate. An unsigned letter is all that it would take.’ He covered a yawn with his hand. ‘In brief, you would be open to blackmail.’

‘I’d part with every penny I have to keep this secret buried!’ howled Wymarc, jumping to his feet and punching a fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘I’d give anything, Baldwin.’

‘It will not come to that.’

Baldwin spoke with untypical firmness and Wymarc’s hopes crumbled. The doctor would not conceal the truth. Helene’s suicide would become common knowledge and her brother would be left behind to bear the brunt of the infamy. Her pregnancy would subject him to further humiliation and he could already hear the crude speculation that would arise.

Wymarc had failed his sister abysmally and his failure would now be published.

Grateful to be allowed to leave, the doctor paused at the door to offer some parting advice to the grieving brother.

‘There is someone we have forgotten, my lord,’ he said.

‘Who is that?’

‘The man who fathered the child. If, as it seems, Helene took her young life to escape the shame of bearing a child out of wedlock, then the man must take some responsibility.’

‘He will,’ vowed Wymarc. ‘He will.’

‘Seek him out. That is my counsel.’

‘It will be done, Baldwin.’

‘Do you have any idea who he might be?’

Wymarc did not hear him. His mind was seven miles away in Oxford Castle, watching a handsome man on a black stallion, preening himself as he waited to talk to Helene.

Milo Crispin was less than pleased to see his uninvited guests riding into Wallingford Castle but neither his expression nor his manner hinted at annoyance. Ralph Delchard and his men were given a courteous welcome and offered refreshment after their journey from Oxford. While his six knights were taken off to be fed in the kitchen, Ralph himself was conducted to the hall where he accepted a cup of wine and picked at a bowl of fruit set out on the table in front of them.

They soon dispensed with conversational niceties.

‘You have come to talk about Woodstock,’ guessed Milo.

‘Yes,’ admitted Ralph. ‘I want to hear from all four of you who were involved in that race.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it will enable me to build up a complete picture of what actually occurred.’

‘I see that, but why should you bother to do so?’

‘Why not?’

‘It is the sheriff’s duty to solve the crime.’

‘I am giving him a helping hand.’

‘Even though he has not requested it?’

‘With respect to your father-in-law, he needs all the help that he can get,’ said Ralph, selecting an apple. ‘If I had not seen fit to aid him in this investigation, a blameless man would have been sent to his death for the crime. Is that what you would have preferred?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Then why do you object to my involvement here?’

‘It is not so much an objection as a polite enquiry,’ said Milo smoothly.

‘When you set out from Winchester, I imagine that you had more than enough work to occupy you in Oxford.’

‘We did. Satchels full of it.’

‘Yet you somehow find the time to ride around the county and talk about a horse race. It does seem strange to me.’

Ralph grinned. ‘I have always been eccentric’

‘I hope these eccentricities will not get in the way when you sit in judgement on me at the shire court.’

Ralph’s grin broadened. Milo Crispin was a more appealing man than either Wymarc or Bertrand Gamberell. The one had fawned and flattered while the other postured irritatingly. Milo had poise and self-control. Nobody could intimidate him. He would never try to curry favour with a royal commissioner. Milo Crispin and Ralph Delchard occupied the same baronial rank. In every sense, they met on equal terms.

‘Did you know Walter Payne?’ asked Ralph.

‘Yes.’

‘Very well?’

‘As well as I wished to do,’ said Milo. ‘He was a fine horseman but he was not the sort of knight I would ever keep in my retinue.’

‘Why not?’

‘He was too boorish. And too wayward.’

‘Bertrand Gamberell called him a good man.’

‘Do not trust his definition of goodness.’

‘He said that Walter was exceptionally loyal.’

‘But loyal to what?’ said Milo evenly. ‘Loyal to the Gamberell code of boasting and bullying. Those knights of his are drunken oafs. My own men have clashed with them often enough to get their measure.

Walter Payne was among the worst of them. Always trespassing on my land and harassing my tenants for sport.’

‘Bertrand painted a rather different portrait.’

‘He would.’

‘You hated this Walter Payne, then?’

‘Let us say that I did not shed a tear at his funeral.’

‘Did you have a motive to kill him?’

‘Several.’

‘Were you the assassin’s paymaster?’

‘No.’

‘How can I be sure of that?’

‘Because I would never have assigned the removal of Walter Payne to anyone else. I prefer to settle my own scores.’

Ralph chewed on a piece of apple and regarded him with fresh interest. Milo’s composure was extraordinary.

‘Thank you,’ said Ralph.

‘For what?’

‘Giving me straight answers.’

‘It saves time.’

‘I would be grateful if you could pass on that advice to your father-in-law. He has been less forthcoming.’ He rose from the table and wandered idly to the window, gazing down into the courtyard. ‘I rode through Wallingford once before,’ he continued. ‘Some twenty years ago when we were still trying to acquaint the Saxons with the concept of defeat. They took time to accept it, especially in this area. King Edward kept a garrison of his housecarls here. I seem to remember that they gave us stiff resistance for a while.’

‘They were doughty warriors.’

‘Just like those who fought against us at Hastings.’ He swung round.

‘But I did not come to reminisce. I am here to find the man who killed Walter Payne and you have already helped me in that search.’

‘Have I?’

‘By eliminating yourself as a suspect.’

Milo was firm. ‘My horse took part in that race in order to win. No other business drew me to Woodstock that day. My sole aim was to beat Hyperion in a fair contest.’

‘Hyperion has been a thorn in your flesh.’

‘My hope was to pluck it out.’

‘Who stole the horse from Bertrand?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Then it was not you, I take it?’

‘No,’ said Milo patiently. ‘I am a busy man, my lord. You have ridden across my land and seen how much responsibility all those acres place upon me. I simply do not have the time to hire an assassin or to steal a horse. Nor would I demean myself by sinking to such depths.’

Ralph walked back to the table and stood close to him.

‘Who did kill Walter Payne?’

‘Someone who despised the man enough.’

‘Was the assassin really striking at Bertrand Gamberell?’

‘No.’

‘That was my feeling.’

‘Why go to such trouble to kill a servant when the same guile would enable you to kill his master? Bertrand was not the target. Walter Payne was the intended victim. His murder was carefully planned.’

‘Who contrived it?’

‘That is for you to find out.’

‘I Would be grateful for some more help.’

‘All that I can offer is a wild guess.’

‘There will be nothing wild about anything you say, my lord. I am certain of that. You are one of the most deliberate men I have ever met. Now, sir. What is this guess?’

Milo kept him waiting. Getting to his feet, he crossed to the door and opened it to indicate that the discussion was being terminated.

His tone was neutral.

‘Ride north again,’ he advised.

‘Why?’

‘The man you are looking for had a grudge against Walter Payne because he was riding Hyperion. Why kill him during a race if not to disable him from winning yet again? Who knows, my lord? With another rider in the saddle, Hyperion might not be quite so invincible.’

‘Give me a name.’

‘I could easily be wrong.’

‘You know the parties involved far better than I.’

‘Then talk to the man who lost most heavily in the previous races,’

said Milo calmly. ‘Talk to the one who took his defeat most to heart.

Talk to the one whose younger sister was plagued by the attentions of Walter Payne. Talk to the one who would do anything to preserve the girl’s virginity. Talk to someone with real cause to fear Walter Payne.’

‘Who is that?’

‘Wymarc.’

Exhausted, dishevelled, unshaven and half asleep, Wymarc was slumped in a chair in his parlour. His wife flitted around him like a demented butterfly, anxious not to upset him yet eager to say something which might comfort him and relieve her own mind. She did not yet understand the enormity of what had happened in an upstairs room.

A tragedy which had crushed her husband’s spirit and reduced him to an inert mass was still making her twitch violently and grasp feverishly at non-existent solutions to their plight.

‘The doctor may have made a mistake,’ she said nervously. ‘It was late when he arrived. Baldwin was weary and overwrought. His diagnosis was wrong. It has to be wrong. Helene would never do such a thing. It is unthinkable. Helene was a good girl. We brought her up with true Christian precepts. She could not do this to herself.’

A Shockwave made her whole body shake. ‘Or to us. Helene would never hurt us. She loved us. She had to love us. We were her family.

Helene was part of a loving family.’ Her voice trailed to a whisper.

‘These things do not happen in … Loving families.’

There was a long pause as she gathered her strength for a second burst of self-delusion. Wymarc was motionless. When there was a loud banging on the door, he did not even blink. A servant answered the door and the visitor was admitted.

Arnulf the Chaplain darted across to her at once.

‘I came as soon as I got your summons!’ he said.

‘We prayed that you would.’

‘Tell me everything. Can this hideous news be true?’

‘Ask my husband,’ she said, indicating Wymarc. ‘He spoke with the doctor. He knows the details.’

Arnulf had not even noticed Wymarc when he first arrived in the room. He now went over to the crumpled figure and saw the deep distress he was suffering. The chaplain put out a gentle hand to touch his bowed head.

‘It is Arnulf,’ he said softly. ‘You sent for me, my lord. And I have come. I am here for you.’

Wymarc slowly raised his head and looked at him with no sign of recognition. It was a full minute before he realised that it was the chaplain who was standing in front of him. A sudden fit of anguish coursed through Wymarc and he flung himself on his knees, gibbering pathetically and clutching desperately at Arnulf.

‘Help us!’ he implored. ‘In the name of God, help us!’