The Stallions of Woodstock

Chapter Fourteen

Arnulf the Chaplain was confronted by an unforeseen problem. It was impossible for him to spend all his time with Bristeva and yet he was afraid to leave her entirely alone lest she somehow hear the loud whispers concerning Helene’s suicide which were still blowing about the castle like a stiff breeze. The one person to whom he could entrust her was the discreet and kindly Brother Columbanus but the affable monk had completely vanished. Nobody had seen him and Arnulf’s own hurried search through the fortress had proved futile. It was a worrying situation.

Bristeva was anxious not to be a nuisance to him.

‘I will stay in my chamber,’ she volunteered.

‘It is so cold and cheerless.’

‘I do not mind, Father Arnulf. I can practise my songs. When I am singing, I do not really care where I am.’

‘I promised your father I would look after you,’ said the chaplain,

‘and that does not mean abandoning you for the whole afternoon. But my lord sheriff has summoned me and I am not able to ignore his call.

His needs are paramount.’

‘Go to him. Let me stay here.’

He heaved a sigh. ‘I may have no choice, Bristeva.’

‘I could always sit in the church,’ she offered.

‘No, no. You are safer here.’

‘Nobody will talk to me in there.’

‘I would rather not take that risk,’ he said quickly. ‘Besides, you need to rest and you will not do that with people coming to and from the church. Stay here. And do not stir from this chamber.’

‘I will not go anywhere.’

‘Close the door after me.’

‘Yes, Father Arnulf.’

‘I will return as soon as possible.’

‘Do not worry about me. I am used to being alone.’

Bristeva smiled bravely and he gave her arm a delicate squeeze.

When he went out, she closed the door behind him. He waited long enough to hear her begin the first song before moving along the passage to peer into Columbanus’s chamber in the vain hope that the monk may have returned. The room was still empty. As he headed for the bailey, Arnulf’s lips were pursed in anxiety.

He was halfway up the steps to the keep when Golde emerged from the door to the tower and descended towards him. Her smile flowered immediately. He gave an answering nod of greeting to her.

‘I am so glad to meet you like this,’ she said.

‘Are you, my lady?’

‘Yes. You can solve the mystery that is puzzling me.’

‘Mystery?’

‘That beautiful voice I heard in the hall earlier on,’ she explained.

‘I was walking past when the divine sound came wafting out. My curiosity was roused at once but I did not dare to interrupt.’

‘I am grateful that you did not. We were practising.’

‘With your little songbird from the choir?’

‘Yes, my lady. Bristeva.’

‘Her voice is as clear as a bell.’

‘I have taught her how to project it.’

‘Then you have taught her well, Father Arnulf,’ said Golde with enthusiasm. ‘Girls are not usually allowed to develop their talents.

We are expected to sit quietly and speak only when spoken to. That is how my father brought me up. Had I been a boy, my world would have been much larger.’

‘Unhappily, that is so.’

‘I can imagine the resistance you met when you first introduced girls into your choir.’

‘More derision than resistance,’ he recalled. ‘We still have much censure to withstand from those who cling blindly to tradition.’

‘It was a courageous thing to do. I hope that you feel vindicated now.’

‘I do, my lady.’

‘If Bristeva is an example of your choristers, you should be very proud. She was a joy to listen to in the hall. How many other Saxon girls would have such a wonderful chance as this? The girl must worship you.’

‘She trusts me. That is far more important.’

‘Is there any chance of my meeting her?’

‘You will see her at the banquet tomorrow.’

‘I wanted to talk to her properly,’ said Golde, ‘to find out more about her, perhaps even to help her. A castle as big as this must be an intimidating place for a young girl. It unsettles me and I have been here for days. Bristeva must be quite overawed by it.’

‘She is, my lady.’

‘The sight of all these soldiers will only increase her discomfort.

She might welcome some female company. Where is the girl now?’

Arnulf did not hesitate. He had a deep admiration for Golde. She was a gentle, considerate, kind-hearted woman who would be a far more suitable companion for Bristeva than a Benedictine monk. Golde would offer a maternal warmth which would help to reassure the girl.

‘Bristeva is in her chamber, my lady,’ he said.

‘May I go to her?’

‘There is something you must understand before you do that. Bristeva knows nothing of Helene’s tragedy. It would shatter her if she did. I have to guard her from the truth until after the banquet. You do appreciate that?’

‘She will hear nothing from me,’ promised Golde.

It was settled.

*

The church of St George’s-in-the-Castle was not simply a place of worship. It was an integral part of the fortifications. Its square tower served both as a belfry and as a key part of the castle’s defences, providing as it did a high point from which the town could be kept under surveillance and an almost impregnable base from which arrows, rocks and other missiles could be discharged by unseen soldiers at any attackers below. As he strolled towards the church, Gervase Bret glanced up at the massive stone structure and noted with sadness how religion was forced to go hand in hand with military might.

When he had said his prayers at the altar rail, he moved to a bench and sat for an hour or more in the dank interior, lost in thought.

Meditation was impossible in any other part of the castle, where the sound of many voices and much activity blended with the movement of men and horses to produce a mild chaos which lasted throughout each day. Alone in the church, Gervase felt refreshingly isolated from the worst of the din outside. It was only when the bell tolled that he abandoned his contemplation.

Edith was walking towards the church as Gervase emerged into the sunlight. He blinked to adjust his eyes to the glare.

‘You are a devout parishioner,’ she said with approval.

‘Only because I have time on my hands, my lady. When we came to Oxford, we expected to spend every daylight hour in the shire hall. It is highly unusual for our work to be suspended in this way.’

‘When will it resume?’

‘When Canon Hubert arrives,’ he said. ‘The messenger brought word back from Winchester this afternoon. In spite of his ailments, Canon Hubert has consented to answer our call but he is not able to set out until today.’

‘Will he reach us in time for the banquet?’ she asked. ‘He would be most welcome to take his place at the table.’

‘Nothing would please him more, my lady. However, I have grave doubts. Canon Hubert travels slowly. My guess is that we will see him some time on Sunday morning.’

‘I regret that his journey is necessary.’

‘So do we.’

‘My lord Maurice seemed like an upright man.’

‘He took great pains to appear so.’

‘Robert liked him and my husband is a sound judge of character. He was shocked by the revelations.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said Gervase guardedly.

‘I see that you do not believe me.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I am not blind,’ she said. ‘You and my lord Ralph show my husband the respect that is due but you both harbour doubts about him. Why deny it? I’ve seen it in your eyes. I do not censure you for it. In your position, I would probably think the same. But you are wrong.’

‘Are we?’

‘Robert is a good man and a loving husband. It has not been easy to keep the peace in a county as unruly as this.’

‘My lord sheriff seems to have succeeded very well.’

‘Only because of his dedication. Take that into account before you pass judgement on him.’

‘We pass no judgement, my lady.’

‘You have not seen him at his best,’ she said defensively. She studied him with interest for a moment. ‘Golde tells me that you are betrothed.’

‘That is true.’

‘Her name is Alys, I understand.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘She is fortunate in her choice.’

‘Alys does not always think so,’ he admitted with a smile. ‘We long to be together, but as soon as I return to Winchester we are dispatched on some new investigation. She vexes during my absence.’

‘A sure sign of love.’

‘It is mutual.’

‘Her good fortune does not only lie in having such a handsome and able young man as her future husband,’ said Edith wistfully. ‘It resides in her freedom to choose you in the first place.’ There was a long pause. ‘I did not have that freedom of choice.’

‘You do not have to explain that, my lady.’

‘I think I do,’ she continued. ‘I know what all of you must think when you see me with my husband. We must look ill matched in some ways. Robert can be brutal but only when that brutality is essential. I have learned to live with that.’

Gervase was embarrassed. ‘This is a matter between you and your husband. You do not have to justify yourself to me, my lady. What I see is a gracious and loyal wife.’

‘But I had to learn that grace and loyalty. My situation was so different from yours. You and Alys have a love match. In my case,’ she confessed,

‘respect and duty came first. Love grew slowly out of them. It took some years. My husband has true nobility and I am honoured to share my life with him.’

Gervase was touched. Anxious to defend her husband, Edith was confiding details of her courtship. She was not merely a marital decoration on the arm of the sheriff of Oxfordshire. She was a concerned and faithful partner who had seen all of Robert d’Oilly’s finer qualities and — while aware of his defects — had come to love him as a result.

‘It is my lord sheriff who is fortunate,’ he observed.

‘Thank you. But I will not hold you up,’ she said. ‘I came in search of Brother Columbanus.’

‘He is not in the church, my lady.’

‘I supposed him to be in his chamber nearby.’

‘You may find him there,’ he said, stepping aside to let her past.

‘But I doubt it. We have all been looking for Brother Columbanus. He is a Benedictine magician. He seems to have disappeared into thin air.’

When he came fully awake, Brother Columbanus put the empty flagon aside and started to make a more detailed survey of his surroundings.

He felt warm, happy and strangely guiltless. As he groped around in the darkness, his hand touched nothing but bare earth. It was when he tried to rise that he had some indication of where he was. His tonsured head collided so hard with a wooden beam that he was momentarily dazed. The impact sobered him at once.

The low ceiling and the earthen floor told him that he must be in the undercroft and his brain was now functioning well enough for him to work out how he had got there. On his return from the hall the previous night, he had evidently been too inebriated to find his chamber and had strayed into the undercroft by mistake. He was reassured to learn that he was still on consecrated ground.

Taking care to avoid a second collision, he scrambled around in the gloom until he finally located the door. He was soon rejoining the world of the castle, padding across the bailey and dusting off his cowl with a vigorous palm. Ralph Delchard was talking to some of his men near the stables. He looked up as the monk approached.

‘There you are, Brother Columbanus!’ he said.

‘Did you want me, my lord?’

‘We have all wanted you. Where have you been?’

‘With the canons of St Frideswide’s,’ said Columbanus.

The cheerful lie did not even prick his conscience.

It was early evening and Golde was still engrossed in her conversation with Bristeva. She found the girl delightful and an immediate friendship had formed. Bristeva reminded her so much of herself at that age that it was uncanny. On her side, the girl was thrilled to have such interest taken in her and she revelled in the rare pleasure of talking to the wife of a Norman baron in her own tongue. They were in Bristeva’s chamber close by the church. Neither of them even noticed how cramped and uncomfortable it was.

‘Are you looking forward to the banquet?’ asked Golde.

‘I have thought about nothing else for days.’

‘Your songs will be a joy to hear.’

‘I hope so, my lady,’ said the girl. ‘Father Arnulf has rehearsed me so carefully. For his sake, I wish to do well.’

‘Will your family be there to hear you?’

‘Yes, they have been invited.’

‘You will make them feel very proud.’

‘I will try, my lady. My father will love me whatever I do. It is Amalric who will need persuading.’

‘Amalric?’

‘My brother. He does not want me to sing here.’

‘Why not?’

As soon as she asked it, Golde answered her own question and the girl’s blush confirmed that the answer was correct. If Bristeva had to defy her brother in order to sing, it must take some of the pleasure out of the occasion for her. The girl remembered a compensation and her smile returned.

‘Father Arnulf told me that the guests would be very appreciative if I sang well enough,’ she said.

‘I am sure they will.’

‘They sometimes gave Helene money for her performance. It would be wonderful if they did that for me. Not that I would keep it for myself,’ she stressed with a serious frown. ‘I would give it to Father Arnulf for the alms box.’

‘But you will have earned the reward, Bristeva.’

‘Only because of him.’

‘That is a very noble gesture to make.’

‘It is the least I can do to show my thanks.’ The frown vanished.

‘Do you know how many will be there tomorrow?’

‘As many as a hundred, I am told.’

‘All coming to hear me!’

‘There will be other entertainment, Bristeva,’ Golde reminded her with an indulgent smile, ‘but they will not compare with you, of course. You will have us all at your feet.’

‘My only disappointment is that she will not be there.’

‘She?’

‘Helene.’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘I would so love her to watch me taking her place,’ said Bristeva,

‘but they say she is unlikely to come.’

Golde felt the pain of holding back the truth from her.

‘I’m sure that you will not notice her absence in such a large gathering,’

she said soothingly. ‘It will be late before the banquet ends. Will you ride home through the night with your father and brother?’

‘No, my lady. Father Arnulf wants me to spend a second night here so that I will be able to join the rest of the choir for Matins on Sunday.’

‘That will save you two journeys.’

‘Yes.’ Bristeva was quizzical. ‘May I ask you something?’

‘Please do.’

‘How did you meet your husband?’ Golde laughed in surprise and the girl was immediately contrite. ‘Oh, dear! I did not mean to pry,’

she said quickly. ‘Please do not take offence. I should not have asked.

It is no business of mine.’

‘You took me unawares, Bristeva, that is all.’

‘Forget what I said.’

‘No,’ said Golde pleasantly. ‘I will give you an honest answer. I have nothing to hide. I met my husband by chance when he came to visit my home town.’

‘And where was that?’

‘Hereford.’

‘Edric used to live in Hereford.’

‘Edric?’

‘My father’s steward,’ she said. ‘He never talks about it to me but Amalric told me that he was once in the service of the Earl of Hereford.’

‘Some time ago, then. The county has no earl now.’

‘The name I remember is Earl Roger.’

Golde nodded. ‘Roger of Breteuil. He disgraced himself, Bristeva.

He joined with two other earls in a revolt against the King. The revolt was put down and Earl Roger was sent to prison. We have had no earl in Hereford since.’

‘According to my brother, Edric will say very little about his time there.’

‘That is understandable if he was Earl Roger’s man.’

‘I think there is another reason, my lady.’

‘What is that?’

‘Our steward is known as Edric the Cripple,’ said the other. ‘Hereford has unhappy memories for him. That is where he lost his leg.’

Towing his own horse on a lead-rein, Edric the Cripple gave himself the pleasure of riding Hyperion for the last time. The moon was hidden behind the clouds. He hugged the trees for additional cover. When he got close to the house, he tethered his own horse to a bush and eased Hyperion forward at a walking pace. A dog began to bark but the clank of a chain showed that he was not at large. Edric waited until the barking stopped then nudged the black stallion on.

It was over in a matter of minutes. When he closed the stable door, Edric looked up at the house where a contented man slept unwittingly with a wayward wife. Edric smirked. He took pleasure in being able to destroy their marital harmony. He used his crutch to hop away through the shadows. Hyperion was no longer his problem. The stallion would cause worries for somebody else now. Mounting his own horse, he was soon making his way back home at a steady trot.

When the dog barked again, Edric was miles away.

She was still in her night attire. Sitting on a chair in the bedchamber, she combed her hair with languid strokes and imagined the pleasure of having her lover’s fingers running through her tresses. He had liberated her as a woman. After years in a stale bed with an older man, she had finally found someone who could ignite her passion until it crackled with delight and burned itself out in an explosion of pure ecstasy. She knew that he would come to her again. Her letter had been sent in the code which he had given her. Meaningless to anyone else, it held a promise of utter bliss for them.

She cocked an ear to listen for the departing hoofbeats. Her husband would be away in Oxford for the whole day. Having left a bored and unsatisfied wife, he would return to a woman whose every desire had been fulfilled by her lover. The beauty of it was that her husband would observe no difference. He had long ago stopped looking at her with any interest. She was completely safe. He would never know.

When the hoofbeats did not come, she crossed to the window to investigate. They should have left by now. Her lover would be concealed nearby, waiting in the trees for her husband and his reeve to ride past him on the road to Oxford. Until that happened, he would not come near the house. She grew fretful. What was causing the delay?

The door burst open and her husband stormed in.

‘Why is his black stallion in my stables?’ he demanded.

‘Whose stallion?’ she asked.

The blow sent her reeling to the floor.

‘Bertrand Gamberell. Everyone in the county knows that horse of his.’

Arnulf the Chaplain was heartened to see so many communicants in church that morning. He did not flatter himself that they came in response to his own efforts to build a congregation. Shock and uncertainty had brought many of them there. The suicide of a girl in Woodstock had stirred them deeply and reminded them of the need to keep their spiritual lives in repair. They came in search of guidance and reassurance. They wanted to be told how Christians ought properly to view the tragedy and to be reaffirmed in a faith which Helene had so conspicuously betrayed. Arnulf was tolerant of their shortcomings.

He put bread on their tongues and held the chalice to their lips without discrimination.

When the service was over, he went quickly back to the chamber where Bristeva was lodged. He tapped on the door but there was no reply. Inching the door ajar, he saw that the girl was still fast asleep.

Bristeva lay on her back. He was struck by how beautiful she looked with her hair loose and her face brushed by the light from the window.

It was a peaceful slumber. The girl was completely at ease in the strange surroundings and he knew that Golde was partly responsible for that. She had helped Bristeva to relax and settle in.

Arnulf was about to step into the room when he heard a shuffling noise behind him. Brother Columbanus had come out of his own chamber and now stood behind him. Over the chaplain’s shoulder, he looked down at Bristeva.

‘She is an angel at rest,’ he said.

‘Bristeva worked hard yesterday. It tired her.’

‘Then let her sleep on.’

‘I will.’

‘This is a big day for her, Arnulf. Do not bring her into it until she is ready to come. Let her awake in her own time.’

‘You are right, Brother Columbanus.’

He stepped back and closed the door gently behind him.

Bertrand Gamberell began to wonder if there had been a mistake.

Having waited in his hiding place for the best part of an hour, he could still see no sign of a departing husband. Had the woman sent him the wrong message? Or had there been a change of plan? He felt certain that she would have sent a second message if there was any serious problem, and he could not believe that she had dragged him all the way there in order to humiliate him by keeping him at bay.

Was it possible that her husband had left even before he arrived?

Gamberell wondered if he should approach the house. A cautious reconnaissance would establish if its master was still at home. He decided against the idea. If she was already alone, she would surely have found a means to signal to him. All that he could do was to sit and wait. It was a small price to pay for the delights which lay ahead.

Relief eventually came. He heard the distant clack of hooves on the road and two horsemen appeared from the direction of the house.

Gamberell walked up the slope once again to make sure that they would not turn back. From his lofty perch, he saw the pair of them riding at a steady canter. Husband and reeve were clearly in a hurry to get to Oxford. Gamberell slapped his thigh and retrieved his own mount. He rode down to the house.

Recalling his last visit, he skirted the stables and instead concealed his horse in some thickets, looking around to make sure that he was unobserved. He did not want the same embarrassment again. When he was certain that nobody had seen where the animal was hidden, he crept back towards the house. From the edge of the stables, he could see the window of her bedchamber. She was there. A simple gesture from her hand was enough. Gamberell broke into a gentle run.

He let himself in by the rear door which had been left open for him then headed for the staircase. Surging up the steps, he went straight to her door and knocked on it with a proprietorial firmness. Before she could answer, he flung it open and stepped in to claim her. The woman was standing against the wall beside the bed. Gamberell beamed at her. In a moment he would saunter across and take her in his arms.

Then he saw the bruise on her temple and the blood that trickled from her mouth. He took a worried step towards her.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

The door slammed shut behind him. Gamberell swung round to find himself staring at her enraged husband. Two other men stood with him, each armed with a wooden stave. Gamberell recovered his poise with remarkable speed.

‘I can explain all this,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Do,’ said the husband coldly. ‘Afterwards.’

Before the secret lover could even move, he was felled by a blow from a stave. Both men belaboured him without mercy. The woman screamed at the top of her voice and begged them to stop but the husband urged them on.

Bertrand Gamberell writhed in pain.

Ralph Delchard remained sceptical about what he had heard.

‘This is her husband’s work,’ he decided.

‘I think not,’ said Gervase.

‘He told her to plead on his behalf.’

‘That is unlikely, Ralph.’

‘I agree,’ said Golde. ‘He may have asked her to sound me out because he assumed I would be an easier target. But he could hardly expect such an approach to work with Gervase.’

The three of them were sitting over the remains of breakfast in the hall. Having risen late, they were enjoying a leisurely start to the day. Gervase had told them of his conversation outside the church with Edith.

‘That is the other thing,’ he argued. ‘It was a chance encounter.’

‘Was it?’ wondered Ralph. ‘Perhaps she saw you go into the church and lurked outside in readiness.’

‘For a whole hour?’

‘That is a ridiculous idea,’ said Golde. ‘Besides, my lady Edith said nothing about her husband which is going to alter Gervase’s mind. It sounds to me as if she were merely trying to answer the question we have all posed. Why did she marry Robert d’Oilly?’

‘A death wish!’ declared Ralph.

‘Expediency,’ she said.

‘My lady Edith was at pains to suggest there was more to it than that,’ remembered Gervase. ‘To her, he is not the ogre he may appear to others.’

‘Appear!’ repeated Ralph with a snort. ‘Appear, Gervase? He is. When a man taxes you out of your home, or beats you senseless, he does not appear to be an ogre. He is one.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Speak to Ebbi. Ask him if Robert d’Oilly appeared to be cruel when he struck Ebbi down.’

‘Let us not bring that up again, Ralph,’ said Golde.

‘Let us not forget it either.’

‘I was pleased that my lady Edith spoke to me the way that she did,’

said Gervase. ‘She was not trying to excuse or offer extenuation. She wanted me simply to understand her position.’

‘We do,’ concluded Ralph. ‘She is married to an ogre.’

‘Who happens to be our host,’ reminded Golde.

‘An hospitable ogre, then.’

The three of them laughed and rose from the table. Tension evaporated. They strolled across to the door. Ralph turned back and waved an expansive arm.

‘This place will be full to the ceiling tonight,’ he warned. ‘And the noise in here will be deafening.’

‘Until Bristeva sings,’ noted Golde.

‘Is that the young Saxon girl you mentioned?’

‘Yes, Ralph.’

‘She is Arnulf’s prize chorister,’ said Gervase.

‘I can see why,’ said Golde. ‘I heard her practising in here yesterday.

She is a charming girl and deserves her chance to shine. Her father will be here to support her.’

‘We have met Ordgar,’ said Ralph.

‘Have you met his steward? Edric the Cripple?’

‘No, my love. But Ordgar talked at length about him.’

‘Did he say how the man lost his leg?’

‘In combat.’

‘Do you know where?’

‘We have not yet managed to find it,’ he said with sarcasm. ‘We have searched everywhere for that missing leg.’

Gervase grinned. ‘Ignore him, Golde.’

‘It was such an odd coincidence,’ she said.

‘Coincidence?’ said Gervase.

‘Yes,’ she continued. ‘Edric was once in Hereford. At a time when I lived there myself. He was in the service of Roger of Breteuil, once the Earl of Hereford.’

Ralph looked startled. He shot a glance at Gervase.

‘Is that not a coincidence?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ agreed Ralph. ‘It certainly is.’

Robert d’Oilly posted men on the northern road to Oxford so that he could have advance warning of the bishop’s approach. Geoffrey of Coutances was an important visitor who needed to be welcomed in style and looked after with the utmost care. When he left Oxford, the bishop would ride south to Winchester where he would doubtless give a full account to the King of his time with the sheriff. It was vital that that account was wholly complimentary.

Edith had helped to supervise the banquet itself. He had no qualms about that. It would be a splendid occasion. Once the bishop and his entourage were feasting in the hall, they would notice none of the problems which were besetting the town, and they would ride away with pleasant memories and a high opinion of Robert d’Oilly’s cordiality.

All that the sheriff had to do was to greet his distinguished visitor with the pomp and pageantry that he would expect.

The preparations were thorough. Guards were doubled on the ramparts. Banners were trailed over the walls. A flag was hoisted up each pole. Every man in the garrison was on parade in the bailey, lined up in readiness to impress the newcomers. Oxford Castle exuded a sense of order, alertness and power.

In her finest attire, Edith stood beside her husband.

‘How long will they be, Robert?’

‘A matter of minutes.’

‘It will be good to see the bishop again.’

‘I could wish the circumstances were more propitious,’ he said. ‘He will be riding into a castle that is besieged with all kinds of difficulties.’

‘Rise above them,’ she said, squeezing his arm.

‘I will try, Edith.’

A warning cry from the top of the church tower told him that the travellers were at hand, their cavalcade swinging right at the crossroads to make the short journey westwards to the castle. The sheriff signalled to his captains and orders were shouted. The ranks straightened. The rows of helms glinted in the sunlight. The flags fluttered in the wind. It was a fitting tribute to the arrival of one of the wealthiest, most celebrated and most ostentatious of Norman prelates.

Ralph, Gervase and Golde watched from windows in the keep.

Brother Columbanus took up his position in the bailey. Arnulf the Chaplain brought Bristeva out from the church so that she could witness the magnificence of the bishop’s train. Ostlers and servants made sure that they did not miss the moment of arrival. The whole castle quivered in anticipation.

Through the castle gates came the leading horse, ridden by a soldier who bore the banner of Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances. Six more knights came next in pairs, followed by the august person of the bishop himself on a white horse, flanked by four outriders and trailed by two monks, two priests and ten more armoured knights in a winding procession. They clattered into the bailey like members of a conquering army and the bishop acknowledged the assembly with a condescending wave.

Bristeva’s mouth went dry and her heart pounded. She had never seen anything like it. The sight of Robert d’Oilly always impressed her, but Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances made him seem small and insignificant. Erect in the saddle of his white charger, and wearing a scarlet robe that was trimmed with ermine, he was a huge, hunched, red-faced man who exuded an extraordinary amalgam of power and religiosity. Bristeva was so overwhelmed by him that her legs began to tremble and she feared that she would never be able to sing in front of someone so terrifyingly eminent. She leaned against Arnulf for support and he put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

Robert d’Oilly stepped forward to welcome the bishop with a short, flowery but reverential speech and Edith added her own greeting with a low curtsey. Geoffrey remained in the saddle to preserve his authority and to run a satisfied eye around the bailey. He liked to feel expected. His voice was deep and commanding.

‘It is good to be in Oxford again, Robert.’

‘You are always most welcome here, your grace.’

‘It has been a tedious journey from Warwickshire.’

‘We will help you to shake off the dust.’

‘I hear that you have commissioners in the town.’

‘That is so.’

‘I served in that office myself when the first circuits were drawn up,’ boasted Geoffrey. ‘This second team only looks under the stones that we lifted for them. I will be glad to meet them and give them the benefit of my advice.’

‘They await your company.’

‘What else awaits me, Robert?’

‘A banquet in your honour, your grace.’

‘I like the sound of this.’

‘You will feast royally at my table.’

Geoffrey was content. He took his horse in a wide circle to inspect the parade which had been laid on for his benefit and then he signalled to one of the soldiers. The man ran forward to help him dismount, offering his shoulder for support to the episcopal hand as the bulky frame was heaved out of the saddle. Even on foot, the Bishop of Coutances still towered over most of those around him.

‘How do I find Oxford?’ he asked.

‘In good order,’ lied the sheriff manfully. ‘You find it well governed and well maintained.’

‘We heard rumours of trouble as we rode south.’

‘They were only rumours, your grace.’

‘I knew that they were,’ said Geoffrey with a grin. ‘Robert d’Oilly would never allow anything to upset the even tenor of his county.’ He turned to Edith. ‘Would he?’

‘No, your grace,’ she said.

‘Oxford is an example to every town in the realm.’

‘I strive to make it so,’ said d’Oilly.

‘You succeed, Robert,’ confirmed the bishop, gazing around once more. ‘This castle is a symbol of your governance. I am truly glad to be within its comforting walls.’

‘Your peace will not be disturbed here, your grace.’

It was an unfortunate prediction. No sooner had it left the sheriff’s mouth than it was contradicted in the most striking way. Another visitor came trotting in through the castle gates but with far less ceremony. Hyperion, the black stallion, scattered the other horses as he came to the centre of the bailey and halted in front of the bishop.

Tied across his saddle, covered in bruises and dripping with blood, was the naked body of Bertrand Gamberell.