The Stallions of Woodstock

Chapter Five

As soon as she returned that evening, the whole atmosphere at the castle underwent a subtle change. Edith, wife to Robert d’Oilly, was a rather plump woman with a fading beauty but she was treated with the utmost respect by the whole garrison. The guards greeted her with a polite wave, the soldiers in the bailey cut short their crude banter, the ostlers ran to take charge of the horses from the little cavalcade and the servants in the keep, from the humblest to the most exalted, went about their chores with a new zest. With Edith in residence, the castle was a different place.

But the most striking alteration was in Robert d’Oilly himself. A warmth came into his manner and the visitors noted a first spontaneous smile. Affectionate to his wife, he showed far more courtesy to his guests and invited them to feast in the hall with him that night. It was not a lavish occasion but Ralph and the others did not mind. They were delighted to be able to meet Edith and to watch the effect she had on those around her. The cooks excelled themselves under her direction and the meal was served with more alacrity.

Seated beside his wife at the head of the long oak table, Robert at last began to remember the duties of a host. A convivial spirit soon spread throughout the hall.

Ralph could not resist baiting Brother Columbanus.

‘Drink your fill,’ he teased, pointing to the jugs of ale.

‘I am content with water, my lord,’ said the monk.

‘There is water enough in ale. Sample it.’

‘Do not tempt me.’

‘Last night, you needed no temptation,’ Ralph reminded him. ‘You quaffed your ale so heartily that I thought you might burst asunder.

Doff the cowl and drink until dawn. That seemed to be your rubric.

Yet tonight you are telling Satan to get behind thee.’ He gave the other a playful nudge. ‘Drink, man. We will not tell on you. Have all the ale you wish.’

‘Do not lead the poor man astray,’ said a jocular Maurice Pagnal, raising his cup. ‘You should not be thrusting ale at him. Introduce him to the taste of good French wine instead.’

Columbanus wore a brave smile but shifted uneasily on the bench.

He was grateful when the conversation moved away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he could still see the jug of ale and it exercised a strange fascination for him, at once attracting and repelling him, awaking a deep thirst yet frightening him with its inherent danger. The water began to taste increasingly sour upon his tongue.

Golde had no qualms about drinking the ale and she savoured its quality. Like most of those around the table, Edith sipped a cup of wine and she was intrigued by Golde’s preference.

‘Have you always had a liking for ale?’ she asked.

‘I had no choice in the matter, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘My first husband was a brewer and I was perforce apprenticed to the trade. When he died, I carried on after him and brewed ale for Hereford Castle until the day I left the town.’

‘Have you taught Ralph to enjoy English ale?’

‘Not yet, but I live in hope.’

‘Robert will not touch it while there is wine to be had.’

‘Both serve their purpose.’

‘We can all see that,’ observed Edith with a smile as Robert, Maurice and Ralph burst into laughter at a shared joke. ‘I am so glad that you decided to accompany your husband on this visit, Golde. I will make it as enjoyable for you as I may. Rely on that promise.’

‘Thank you.’

Golde had an immediate affinity with her. Like her, Edith was the daughter of a Saxon thegn who had lost his eminence and his property after the Conquest. Both had married Norman barons and learned to adjust to the new dispensation. It was a luxury for Golde to be able to talk in her own language to a woman of such rank.

‘My father was Wigot of Wallingford,’ said Edith with a wistful expression. ‘Kinsman and butler to King Edward. I was born and raised in Wallingford.’

‘We passed close by it on our journey.’

‘An important town, Golde, even more so in those days. King Edward held some land there with a garrison of housecarls to protect it. My father talked so fondly of those days.’

‘Everything has changed since then,’ said Golde soulfully. ‘In your life, as in mine. But those changes have not all been for the worse,’

she added with a fond glance at Ralph. ‘I have found a happiness that I never dared to imagine.’

‘It is so with me. Robert has been a good husband.’

Golde found it difficult to believe. She could not understand how such a kindly and mild-mannered woman could bear to live with such a brutish man as Robert d’Oilly. Their host was genial enough now but Golde could not forget his treatment of the prisoner who festered in the dungeon. Nor could she shake from her mind the image of so many ravaged houses in the town over which the sheriff held sway. Oxford was an attractive place which had been ruthlessly pillaged. Golde suspected that she was sitting at the same table as its leading persecutor.

‘Would you like to return to Herefordshire?’ said Edith.

‘I have done so a number of times,’ replied Golde. ‘My sister, Aelgar, is still there and I have many old friends to see as well.’

‘I wondered if you would prefer to live there yourself.’

‘There is no question of that. Ralph’s estates are in Hampshire and it is a most pleasant county in which to dwell. In truth, I am relieved to have left Hereford. When I lived there, I was constantly reminded of all that had been lost of my father’s manors. It must be so with you, my lady.’

‘In some sort.’

‘You live within an easy ride of Wallingford. Twenty years ago, your father was a man of great consequence. Now his lands have been completely forfeited.’

‘That is not quite true, Golde.’

‘Indeed?’

‘There are other ways to preserve an influence.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘The bonds of marriage,’ said Edith with a gentle smile. ‘Manors which formerly belonged to my dear father, Wigot of Wallingford, are now in the hands of Milo Crispin.’

‘Is that not a cause for regret?’

‘It was, Golde. Until Milo married my daughter.’

The two women remained in earnest discussion while Robert d’Oilly lapsed into soldierly reminiscences with Ralph and Maurice. Gervase Bret noted the way in which the feast had fragmented into three different conversations. He himself was seated between Arnulf and Brother Columbanus. The jug of ale was exercising a firm hold on the monk’s attention.

Gervase swallowed a mouthful of grilled quail and turned to the chaplain.

‘Golde tells me that you showed her the sights of Oxford.’

‘That is so,’ said Arnulf. ‘She is a delightful companion and it was a joy to be her guide.’

‘Where did you take her?’

‘Almost everywhere. Her curiosity was insatiable.’

‘She told me how much she enjoyed meeting the canons of St Frideswide’s. From our point of view as commissioners, it is a privileged community. Land held by St Frideswide’s is exempt from tax. It does not belong to any hundred.’

‘The canons are duly grateful.’ He looked beyond Gervase to Columbanus. ‘But I marvel that you did not choose to stay with them rather than with us. You might have found a softer lodging there than at the castle.’

‘I am happy enough here,’ said the monk.

‘You would be more than welcome at St Frideswide’s.’

‘I will pay my respects there at some point.’

‘Brother Simon would certainly have stayed with the canons while he was in Oxford,’ said Gervase. ‘He had but little tolerance of lay company.’

Columbanus grinned. ‘I have a more forgiving nature.’

‘It becomes you.’

The monk’s eye twinkled and he seemed to be emerging from his repentance. He allowed a passing servant to pour him a first cup of ale and sipped it with only the merest trace of the guilt which had afflicted him earlier.

‘Golde told me about your choir,’ said Gervase to the chaplain. ‘Is it true that you have female choristers?’

‘One or two. I hope to recruit more.’

‘From the town?’

‘From Oxford and beyond,’ said Arnulf. ‘The best girl we had came from Woodstock. As pure a voice as any I have heard. Her talent was so remarkable that it was not confined to a church service. She sang in this hall at banquets for the delight of the guests.’ He gave a sigh of regret. ‘It was a pity to lose her.’

‘Why did that happen?’

‘To be honest, I am not quite sure, Gervase. I spent hours training her voice. Helene could not have been a more apt pupil. Then, one day, she told me that she was losing interest and wished to withdraw.’

A deeper sigh. ‘I could not force her to remain with the choir.’

‘Did she say why her interest was waning?’

‘No. And I believe that it was merely an excuse.’

‘What was her real reason for leaving?’

‘My guess is that it had more to do with her elder brother than with Helene herself. She lives in his house and must do his bidding. He was never happy about her being in the choir in the first place and Helene had many disagreements with him.’

‘Could you not argue with him on her behalf?’

‘I did so repeatedly, Gervase.’

‘But without success.’

‘Helene was taken away. Her voice can delight us no more.’

‘It seems like an act of wilful cruelty.’

‘Her brother, alas, does have a cruel streak.’

‘Who is this man?’

‘My lord Wymarc.’

Helene sat in the window of her bedchamber and stared sorrowfully out at the garden below. Birds were heralding a fine morning with full-throated relish and the sun was already burnishing the trees and the grass. The sky was cloudless and the wind a mere whisper.

A squirrel darted up the trunk of a beech tree. A frog explored the slime at the edge of the pond. Insects were buzzing with early frenzy.

A gardener was ambling through the bushes.

Helene drew no pleasure from the tranquil scene. Its quiet beauty only served to sadden her even more. She was a tall, pale, willowy girl of fourteen with nothing of her brother’s ugliness or obesity. Her features were pleasant rather than handsome and there was a childlike awkwardness about the way she held herself. Still in her night attire, she ran a comb absent-mindedly through her long, black hair and let her eyes wander aimlessly around the garden.

A loud knock on her door brought her out of her reverie.

‘Helene?’ called a voice.

‘Yes?’ she said, crossing her arms protectively across her chest.

‘What do you want?’

‘You have eaten no breakfast this morning.’

‘I am not hungry.’

‘You said that yesterday. Are you unwell?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sickening for something?’

There was no sympathy in her brother’s enquiry. Wymarc did not have a close relationship with his younger sister. Since the death of their parents, the girl had been withdrawn and secretive. Helene resented having to live with him and his wife. After two years in their care, she had still not come to accept him as her guardian. For his part, Wymarc found her an irritating burden but she was his sister and duty prompted him. Vows made to his parents had to be honoured. Besides, his sister was a valuable commodity on the marriage market. Betrothed to the right man, Helene could bring her brother real advantage.

‘Shall I summon a doctor?’ he asked.

‘No!’ she protested.

‘He may have a cordial to restore your appetite.’

‘There is nothing wrong with me.’

‘Then why do you keep refusing food?’

‘I will eat in a while.’

Wymarc paused to consider his own diagnosis.

‘You cannot deceive me,’ he said. ‘I know what this is all about. You are still angry with me, are you not? You are still hurt because I took you away from St George’s-in-the-Castle.’

‘That is not true.’

‘It is, Helene. I remember how bitterly you railed at me. But I only did it for your own good. You will come to see that in time. While you were at the castle you were vulnerable, and it is my duty as your brother to protect you. That is why you had to leave the choir.’

‘I will never go back,’ she murmured.

‘You still hold it against me.’

‘No, I do not.’

‘It had to end,’ argued Wymarc. ‘A certain person was starting to pay too much attention to my sister. You are only a child but that would not stop him. I know him too well. When I saw him at the race two days ago, he asked after you yet again, Helene. In a way that disgusted me. He hoped that I would have brought you out to watch his black stallion run. Can you hear what I am saying?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you understand my reasoning?’

‘You did what you thought best,’ she said dully.

‘Then stop hiding up here from me. Come downstairs.’

‘I am not hungry.’

‘We would still like to see you, Helene. We are worried about you.

Stop behaving like this.’ A long silence. He became brusque. ‘Very well. I will send for the doctor.’

‘There is nothing wrong with me.’

‘I will let him be the judge of that.’

‘No!’ she protested. ‘Please!’

‘Then come out of there.’

Helene stood and made a forlorn gesture with her hands.

‘Very well,’ she capitulated. ‘I will get dressed.’

Bertrand Gamberell did not have long to wait. On the following morning, he timed his arrival perfectly. He leaned nonchalantly against the trunk of a tree while Hyperion cropped the grass behind him. It was only when he heard the drumming of the hooves that he crouched down out of sight. There were five of them but his only interest was in the man who led them at a canter along the winding track. When they had ridden past, he stood up and slapped his thigh with satisfaction.

But he took no chances. Gamberell was far too wily and experienced to do that. Leaving his own horse tethered, he strolled up the wooded slope until he reached the summit of the hill. The vantage point allowed him to see a dim outline of Oxford on the distant horizon. He watched the five riders as they continued steadily on their way towards the town. When they were a mile or more away, he strolled casually back to Hyperion and mounted the horse.

‘Come on, boy!’ he urged. ‘We must not keep her waiting.’

Ralph Delchard had to wait until after breakfast for the chance to speak to Gervase Bret alone and tell him about his findings at Woodstock the previous day. Alone in the hall at the castle, they spoke in subdued voices to cheat the echo. Gervase heard him out with rapt attention.

‘What did you conclude?’ he asked.

‘That the assassin did not flee into the forest at all. Not at first. Too many eyes were against him. He was bound to be seen as he ran across that field.’

‘Unless those eyes were deliberately blind.’

‘That is a possibility but I think it unlikely.’

‘Why?’

‘Accomplices would not simply have ignored what they saw. They would have distracted everyone else’s attention as well and there was no diversion. No,’ decided Ralph, ‘I think that there is another explanation.’

‘The assassin remained hidden in the copse.’

‘Yes.’

‘But it was thoroughly searched, you say.’

‘That is what Wymarc told me but I think they blundered about too hastily among those trees. They missed vital signs. I would like to have conducted a proper search myself but Wymarc was panting at my heels like a hunting dog. I need to go back to Woodstock when he is not around to hinder me.’

‘What does he think?’

‘That the murderer is here under lock and key.’

‘Ebbi?’

‘Yes, Gervase. According to him, Ebbi threw the dagger at his victim then hared across that field before the murder was discovered. But that is impossible.’

‘Is it?’

‘Only a fit and lithe young man would have risked a wild dash to the forest. Ebbi is none of those things. I only saw the fellow from a distance, but he looked too old and gaunt to have a turn of foot.’

‘He is, Ralph. No question of that.’

‘If Ebbi was indeed the assassin, I believe that he took refuge somewhere and remained hidden. It was only after everyone had left the area that he came out and made his escape to the forest. Except that it was no escape.’ He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘I come more and more to doubt that Ebbi is involved at all here.’

‘Of that I am certain, Ralph.’

‘How?’

‘I spoke with the man.’

‘When?’

It was Gervase’s turn to take over. He described his visit to the dungeon the previous day and explained how it helped to reinforce his earlier suspicions. Ralph was fascinated.

‘And you accepted his word?’

‘Why should he lie to me?’

‘A condemned man will say anything to get off the hook.’

‘That is not the case here. Ebbi is in despair. He has been beaten to a pulp by my lord sheriff and he knows there is worse to come. Yet he is not full of self-pity.’

‘Who could blame him if he were?’

‘He has resigned himself to his own fate,’ said Gervase. ‘But even in the midst of his own ordeal, he thinks of his family and friends.

That is why he wanted Arnulf to carry a message to them from him.

Does that sound like the action of some merciless assassin?’

‘No, Gervase. And yet he was apprehended in the forest.’

‘That was complete misfortune.’

‘Why was he there in the first place? Poaching game?’

‘No, Ralph. He swears it.’

‘What, then, took him into the forest?’

Gervase was about to answer when he became aware that they were no longer alone. Standing in silence at the other end of the hall was the rotund figure of Brother Columbanus. When they both stared questioningly at him, he replied with his usual benign smile and they were left to wonder why he did not announce his arrival and how much of their conversation he had overheard.

There were eight of them in all. The piping trebles of the six boys mingled with the softer voices of the two girls and rose up to the ceiling of the little chancel. The choir of St George’s-in-the-Castle was practising.

Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus,

Dominus Deus Sabaoth.

Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua.

Hosanna in excelsis!

Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.

Hosanna in excelsis!

Arnulf took them through it three more times before he was satisfied with the result. He clapped gentle palms together.

‘That is good,’ he congratulated them. ‘Very good.’

The girls lapped up his praise like two kittens presented with a pool of milk but the boys, who were younger, more restive and more anxious to be at play with their friends, were merely grateful that the rehearsal was over. When the chaplain dismissed them, it was the boys who scuttled down the aisle and the girls who hovered for more approval. Arnulf waited until the others had left the building.

‘Thank you,’ he said feelingly. ‘The boys were not at their best this morning. You redeemed their poor performance. Where the two of you led, they eventually followed.’

The younger of the girls giggled but the other simply gazed at the chaplain with admiration. In inviting her to join the choir, he had given her one of the most precious gifts she had ever received and she responded with total commitment. After garlanding them for a few more minutes, Arnulf let them go, then called back the older one at the door.

‘Bristeva!’

‘Yes?’ she said, halting at once.

‘There was something I wished to tell you. But not in front of the others. They will hear it from me in good time.’ He glided down the aisle towards her. ‘When we lost Helene, we lost the purest voice that we had.’

‘Helene put us all to shame.’

‘She was the heart and soul of the choir.’

‘We miss her badly.’

‘I was distraught when she decided to leave.’

‘Is there no chance that she may come back?’

‘No, Bristeva,’ said Arnulf, hands clasped in front of him. ‘Helene is lost to us. That is why I must look elsewhere for someone to set an example to the others.’ Her face lit up in anticipation. ‘I think that you are the only one who could take her place. Does that idea excite you?’

‘Very much, Father Arnulf!’

‘It would mean a lot of work.’

‘I am not afraid of that.’

‘There would be rewards,’ he promised. ‘You would not only take the solo parts in church. On occasion, you might be asked to sing in the hall in front of guests and some of them can be very appreciative.

Helene never went away empty-handed. Yes, you will certainly find that there are rewards.’

Bristeva did not even think of the money. Spending more time with the chaplain was reward enough for her. At home with her father, she was often neglected and always excluded from any discussion of significance, but she had achieved a mild importance in the little choir. It gave her a self-esteem which she had never had before and Bristeva could not have been more thankful to the chaplain. He chose her. His careful and patient training had turned a promising voice into one that was clear and mellifluous.

‘I will speak to Ordgar,’ he said.

‘Father will not object.’

‘I hope not, Bristeva. It took me a while to persuade him to let you join the choir. He was reluctant at first.’

‘He is proud of my singing now.’

‘And so he should be.’

‘May I tell him what you said?’

‘Please do, Bristeva. And ask him to talk to me.’

‘I will, Father Arnulf.’

He smiled at her. ‘Are you happy about this?’

‘Yes!’ she affirmed. ‘Very happy!’

‘So am I.’

When she left the church, she was suffused with joy.

The commissioners were still at the shire hall. Ralph and Gervase were calm but Maurice Pagnal was in an aggressive mood.

‘What more do we need to debate?’ he said testily. ‘We have heard both sides of the case and studied the documents which the witnesses produced. My mind is clear. Islip is legally the property of Azelina, wife of Roger d’Ivry. I have not the slightest doubt about that.’

‘I have, my lord,’ said Gervase firmly. ‘Having read the deposition from the Abbot of Westminster, I have a number of doubts, especially about the way in which Islip first came into the hands of the lady Azelina.’

‘It was a gift from King William.’

‘Before that, it was a gift from King Edward.’

‘If it is a choice between kings,’ decided Ralph, ‘I know which one I would support. The later surely supplants the former here.’

Maurice nodded. ‘Thank you, Ralph. The matter is settled.’

‘Not until we examine the disputants further,’ said Gervase.

‘What else can they tell us?’

‘Certain points in the charters need clarification.’

‘You are splitting hairs, Gervase.’

‘Just like a lawyer!’ added Ralph.

‘May I say something?’ interposed Brother Columbanus.

‘No,’ said Maurice contemptuously. ‘You are only our scribe here and not a commissioner.’

‘My opinion might be useful.’

‘But not sought after.’ He looked at Gervase. ‘Our two votes outweight your one.’

‘Only when we make a final decision, my lord.’

‘We have just made it,’ insisted Maurice. ‘Ralph?’

‘Let us hear the witnesses once again first.’

‘God’s wounds! We will be here until Domesday!’

‘An appropriate date for this Survey,’ said Gervase.

His mild joke produced a laugh which eased the tension considerably. Even Brother Columbanus joined in, chuckling happily and repeating the words aloud. Those waiting outside the shire hall wondered what had caused the mirthful explosion. Maurice waited until the laughter faded away then tried a different approach to win over his colleagues.

‘Why lock horns over this?’ he said reasonably. ‘All three of us want the same thing. A just and fair settlement. I believe that we can reach that now without further debate or prevarication.’ His manner became more confiding. ‘I spoke with our host this morning. Robert d’Oilly was most insistent that the lady Azelina has the better claim here. The sheriff remembers the exact time and place when Islip and Oddington came into her hands. Our host vouches for her. What more proof do we need than that?’

‘A great deal,’ said Ralph with asperity. ‘My lord sheriff has not been called as a witness and he is not speaking under oath. Discount his testimony at once.’

‘But why?’

‘Because he is the sworn brother of Roger d’lvry and will naturally wish to offer support to his wife. When he tried to push me in her direction, I answered him roundly in spite of his rank. You should have done likewise, Maurice.’

‘I knew nothing of this link with Roger d’lvry.’

‘You did not need to,’ reprimanded Ralph. ‘Impartiality is our touchstone. If someone tries to influence you in any way, you should give them a dusty answer and report them to me.’

‘I am sure that the sheriff meant no harm.’

‘He tried to affect your judgement.’

‘It was no more than a casual remark.’

‘I heard one of those from him myself, Maurice.’

‘Robert d’Oilly is not a reliable witness,’ said Gervase. ‘That is why we did not call him before us. It is not simply because he has sworn brotherhood to Roger d’Ivry. He is also the father-in-law of Milo Crispin.’

Maurice shrugged. ‘Milo Crispin does not figure here.’

‘Indirectly, he does. He is kinsman to Gilbert Crispin, abbot of Westminster and the other claimant of this land. Whom does my lord Robert support? Church or State? The kinsman of his son-in-law or the wife of his sworn brother? He is bound to be prejudiced in one direction.’

‘And we know what it is,’ said Ralph.

‘This is far too confusing for me!’ groaned Maurice.

‘I am as mystified as you. I never thought to hear myself say this but I actually miss Canon Hubert’s advice. Whenever there is a conflict between Church and State, he always seems to know how to settle it.

Canon Hubert has insight.’

‘I will pass on that compliment,’ said Columbanus.

‘He may choose to disbelieve it.’ Ralph slapped a palm on the table.

‘Enough of this bickering! We will hear both sides once more, then confer on our verdict.’

A guard was dispatched and soon reappeared with Azelina and Brother Timothy. Both were given a polite greeting and invited to sit on the cushions. There was an even greater contrast between them this time. The stately Azelina was glowing with confidence while the shuffling Timothy had a defeatist look about him. It was almost as if the verdict had already been given in her favour.

Ralph moved swiftly to counter that impression.

‘No decision has yet been made by us,’ he said firmly. ‘Nor will it be until you have both had an opportunity to add to what you have already told us. We have examined the documentary evidence and each of you has a legitimate claim. What we need to know from you, my lady, is how Islip first came into your possession. And from you, Brother Timothy, why the abbey seems to have let it slip from its fingers.’

Azelina needed no second invitation to speak and her melodious voice rang around the hall with conviction.

‘My husband, Roger d’Ivry, has been a loyal subject to the King and is held in high regard. When King William sought to reward his service, he granted him the manors of Mixbury, Beckley, Asthall and twenty more besides, now held from my husband by subtenants. At the same time, Islip was granted to me along with three hides and half a virgate of land in Oddington.’ The recital was so smooth it must have been carefully rehearsed. ‘Take note of the value of my holdings, my lords. Islip was worth seven pounds in 1066 and eight when I acquired it from the King. Thanks to my prudent stewardship, it is now worth ten pounds. That is an appreciable increase. The same is true of my land in Oddington.’

The facts poured out of her in a steady stream and her claim appeared unanswerable. When she finished, Brother Timothy looked more subdued than ever. Instead of leaping to the defence of Westminster Abbey as he had done so effectively during the previous session, he brought a hand out from a sleeve in order to signal withdrawal.

‘I have nothing more to add, my lords,’ he said meekly.

‘Nothing?’ echoed Gervase. ‘Can this be so?’

‘You heard him,’ said Maurice, jumping quickly in. ‘We may proceed to judgement without further impediment.’

Ralph agreed. He did not need to ask which way Maurice would vote and a glance from Gervase told him that the abbey was not unsupported. The casting vote lay with Ralph and he agonised for a few minutes before committing himself. All had seemed finely balanced on the previous day but Azelina had stolen the initiative now. After looking from one disputant to the other, he gave his verdict.

‘Islip will remain in the hands of the lady Azelina.’

She gave a quiet smile of triumph but it did not stay on her face for long. Brother Timothy suddenly erupted into life. Jumping to his feet, he waved an accusatory finger at Ralph and issued his thunderbolt.

‘I denounce this commission!’ he yelled with passion. ‘It has not dispensed justice here today. Instead, it has given way to bribery and corruption, making its verdict a travesty and a perversion. Unless the canker is removed from this tribunal, I will entreat Abbot Gilbert of Westminster to protest directly to the King himself to have this verdict overturned.’

The outburst ceased. Brother Timothy resumed his seat with studied calm but the rest of the shire hall was now in a state of consternation.