The Wildcats of Exeter Page 10

  She held out a pale hand and Golde took it between both palms. They sat in silence for a long while. Albreda slowly relaxed. The expression of suffering left her face, to be replaced by a look of regret. When she opened her eyes, they were moist with tears.

  ‘What is wrong, my lady?’ whispered Golde.

  ‘I should not have gone to the funeral,’ said the other meekly, ‘but my husband insisted and I had to obey. It was harrowing, Golde. I all but fainted with the agony of it. Nicholas Picard was such a handsome man in the prime of life. My heart went out to his widow, the lady Catherine.’

  ‘She must be destroyed with grief.’

  ‘It is beyond bearing. To lose a husband is punishment enough. To have him cruelly murdered is a tragedy that would overwhelm anyone. I do not know how the lady Catherine maintained her calm.’ She looked at Golde. ‘Have you ever lost a loved one?’

  ‘My first husband died some years ago, my lady.’

  ‘Then you know something of grief yourself.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Golde, unable to resist a gentle reproach. ‘Even though he was only a brewer. He was a good man and a loyal husband.’

  ‘I offended you on that score,’ admitted the other. ‘When you told us that you carried on his trade, I was condescending. It was unpardonable. I was tense and nervous that night, Golde. I did not behave as a hostess should towards her guests.’

  ‘Let us put all that behind us.’

  ‘Please,’ said Albreda, squeezing her hand. ‘I want us to be friends. I need you.’ She gave a sad smile. ‘Have you ever noticed that it is often easier to confide in a stranger than in someone you know well?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘I sensed that I could talk to you.’

  ‘I am listening.’

  There was another long pause while Albreda gathered her thoughts. Golde was glad that she had answered the summons. The awkwardness between the two women was dispelled. The gaunt and stately lady was showing signs of human frailty. Golde felt that she was in a privileged position of trust. She glanced around the apartment. It was a small room with tapestries on all four walls. An archway led to a bedchamber and it was apparent that it was not shared with the sheriff.

  ‘I love my husband,’ said Albreda defensively. ‘He is a fine man who does a difficult job extremely well. Devon is a large and unruly county. It needs someone as strong and forceful as Baldwin to keep it under control. He has many virtues, Golde. I appreciate them.’

  ‘That is as it should be.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the other. ‘But is this?’ Her gesture took in the whole chamber. ‘Do you live apart from your husband, Golde?’

  ‘No, my lady.’

  ‘Would he be content if his wife did not share his bed?’

  ‘He would not.’

  ‘Does he truly care for you?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Golde. ‘Every day brings proof of it.’

  ‘Then you are blessed in the lord Ralph. Cleave to him. Live under the same roof as man and wife. There is no pleasure in being a married nun.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘I was jealous of you at first. You seemed to have what I had always sought and what I might once have had.’

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘It is all past now. I must learn to forget.’

  ‘Forget what?’

  ‘Past mistakes. Irremediable errors.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Look at me, Golde. What do you see?’

  ‘A handsome woman of good repute.’

  ‘Am I not a sorry spectacle?’

  ‘No, my lady!’

  ‘I have heard them sniggering at me. I have seen them shooting glances in my direction. They think me a ridiculous woman, neglected and unloved. Drifting through my days in a dream.’

  ‘That is unfair.’

  ‘Yet it contains a grain of truth.’ Albreda sat forward and grasped both of Golde's hands. She stared deep into her eyes, simultaneously appraising and appealing to her, searching for a reassurance which would allow her to proceed. ‘I sense that you are discreet,’ she said. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘Nothing of what I tell you must leave this room.’

  ‘You have my solemn oath.’

  ‘I am letting you see my weakness, Golde. I would not have others see it and mock it. They would not understand. You will.’ She bit her lip before she continued. ‘Do you begin to guess what I am saying?’

  ‘I think so, my lady.’

  ‘Today has been a dreadful ordeal for me. I tried to think of others but I kept feeling my own sense of loss. Do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. The lord Nicholas was a friend.’

  ‘He was more than that to me, Golde.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It was not as you may think,’ said Albreda seriously. ‘I have been a devoted wife. I have kept my marriage vows and never looked at another man. But a little flame has always burned away inside me. Until today. When Nicholas was lowered into his grave, the flame went out for ever.’

  ‘Did you love him so much?’

  ‘Yes, Golde. That was the irremediable error of which I spoke.’

  ‘What was?’

  ‘Nicholas Picard once asked me to marry him. I declined his offer.’

  Chapter Six

  Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret rode out of the city to inspect the scene of the crime. Trapped in a musty shire hall for most of the day, Ralph found the fresh air bracing, and after the grim visits to a funeral and a castle dungeon Gervase was also glad to exchange Exeter for the refreshing tranquillity of the countryside. When they reached the wood on the road north, it did not take them long to find the place where the ambush occurred. There were several beech trees but few grew alongside the meandering track and overhung it. They dismounted to examine what they felt certain was the correct spot. Dried blood still clung to the grass and there were signs of a struggle. Twigs were snapped off from a bush, wild flowers had been unceremoniously flattened and the earth was heavily scored.

  Ralph knelt down to run an exploratory hand over the ground.

  ‘This was definitely the place,’ he decided. ‘Ideal for an ambush.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gervase, glancing around. ‘Where would the killer have lurked? Every tree could have hidden him.’

  ‘You are standing beneath the one that did, Gervase.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look upwards.’

  Gervase raised his eyes to the overhanging bough. It was thick enough to support the weight of a man, and the abundant foliage would have provided concealment, but the branch was high above the track.

  ‘I know what you are thinking,’ said Ralph, rising to his feet. ‘How did the murderer get up there?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘There is only one way to find out, Gervase.’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘You or me?’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘One of us has to climb the tree,’ said Ralph with a smile. ‘Since you are younger and more agile, I accept your offer to tackle it.’

  ‘But I did not make an offer.’

  ‘Surely you wish to spare my old bones?’

  Gervase grinned. ‘No,’ he said with a nudge. ‘What I will promise to do is to catch you if you fall.’

  ‘Get up there, man!’

  ‘Is that a request or an order?’

  ‘Common sense. I would climb up it like a bear whereas you can run up it like a squirrel. Go on, Gervase. I'll warrant you will find something of interest once you work your way out on to the bough.’ He walked to the trunk and linked his hands together. ‘Come, I'll help you.’

  Gervase appraised the tree. It was a fully grown beech, now in full leaf and with boughs reaching out in all directions. There was an air of solidity and permanence about it. After rubbing his palms together in preparation, he steeled himself then put a foot into the cradle made by Ralph's hands. His friend hoisted him effortlessly up to the
first branch. Gervase got a firm grip before swinging a leg up and hooking it over the bough. He made slow progress. Gervase was lithe enough but his work at the Chancery in Winchester gave him little opportunity to develop his treeclimbing skills. Ralph directed him from below, telling him which branch to move to next and urging him on.

  Eventually, Gervase was sitting astride the bough which overhung the track. He moved himself carefully along it, making the whole branch genuflect gracefully and rustle its leaves. When he reached a point directly above the track, he was screened from view by the foliage.

  ‘What can you see?’ called Ralph.

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘A good view of the road from Exeter?’

  ‘A perfect one, Ralph.’

  ‘Could you jump on to a passing traveller from there?’

  ‘It would be a long drop.’

  ‘Long but not impossible.’

  ‘Not impossible for some,’ said Gervase. ‘Inadvisable for me.’

  ‘Can you see anything else up there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Gervase looked at the marks along the bough. The bark had been scratched by sharp claws but there was also a much thicker souvenir, an inch or more in width, running, it seemed, over the whole circumference of the branch. Pale, shiny wood showed through the stripped bark. He ran a meditative finger over it.

  ‘Are you still up there?’ said Ralph impatiently.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I think that someone tied a rope up here and swung down. A fairly heavy man, judging by the marks he left. He may have practised a few times,’ he concluded. ‘That would explain why the bark is worn through.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Scratches made by claws.’

  ‘What sort of claws?’

  ‘Come up and see for yourself, Ralph,’ he teased.

  ‘No thank you.’

  ‘You'll get a fine view.’

  ‘I prefer the one from down here.’

  ‘The scratches are very deep.’

  ‘Can you guess what sort of animal put them there?’

  ‘No,’ said Gervase. ‘Not a big one, I suspect.’

  ‘There we are, then,’ said Ralph with light sarcasm. ‘All we need to look for is a small creature who uses his claws to climb the tree and a rope to get down from it. Would that description fit the man you saw in the castle dungeon?’

  ‘No, Ralph. He was not the killer.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’

  ‘Only a determined man would take the risk of climbing up here and hurling himself on someone passing below. Two robbers would find a much easier way to stop their victim and, as we both know, they would never let his horse get away. Apart from being a valuable prize, it might return to the man's stables and alert the household.’

  ‘Which is exactly what it did.’

  ‘The prisoner at the castle was telling the truth.’

  ‘So who was our woodland assassin?’

  ‘Someone who was strong, fit and daring.’

  ‘With claws instead of fingernails.’

  ‘I just can't explain these scratch marks,’ said Gervase. ‘Unless they were made by some animal at a different time and are unrelated to the ambush. But we have established one thing, Ralph.’

  ‘What's that?’

  ‘How a single attacker gained the advantage over Nicholas Picard.’

  ‘The element of surprise?’

  ‘And the force of his descent.’

  Gervase lifted a leg over the bough and hung with his arms at full stretch. Without warning, he suddenly dropped to the ground, missing Ralph by a matter of inches and sending the latter scrambling backwards in alarm. Gervase bent his knees to lessen the impact of the landing.

  Ralph was indignant. ‘You almost hit me!’

  ‘That is how he did it.’

  ‘Putting the fear of death into a friend like that?’

  ‘No, Ralph,’ said Gervase, dusting himself off. ‘I think that he used that rope to swing down and knock the lord Nicholas from the saddle, then stunned him before slitting his throat.’

  ‘How did he know that his victim would ride this way?’

  ‘It is the only road that leads to his manor house.’

  ‘But how could he be sure that Nicholas Picard would be alone?’

  ‘Because he saw him enter the city,’ said Gervase. ‘Without an armed escort. Knowing that his victim would have to ride back through the wood on his own, he set up the ambush. We are looking for someone who is well acquainted with the lord Nicholas and his habits. This was no random attack, Ralph. Too much preparation was involved.’

  ‘What about the claw marks up there?’

  Gervase rubbed his smoothly shaven chin while he ruminated. ‘They still puzzle me,’ he admitted.

  It was an occasion for a gentler approach. Hervey de Marigny knew that there were times when subtlety achieved far better results than threat and abuse. Those were the weapons for which Baldwin the Sheriff first reached and they were not always the most effective ones against a seasoned knight like Walter Baderon. Softer words were needed.

  ‘Good even, friend,’ said de Marigny.

  ‘My lord.’

  ‘You have a long night ahead of you.’

  ‘Do not remind us!’ moaned Baderon. ‘While others may sleep in their beds, we have to stay on sentry duty here at the North Gate.’

  ‘I am surprised you do not fall asleep through boredom.’

  ‘It is an unwelcome duty.’

  ‘Whom do you serve?’

  ‘The abbot of Tavistock.’

  ‘A churlish gentlemen, I hear.’

  ‘But a good master,’ said the other loyally.

  ‘How long have you been with him?’

  ‘Nigh on fifteen years, my lord.’

  ‘Yet you still have to mount a guard here?’ said de Marigny. ‘After all that time, I would have thought you might have earned sufficient thanks from the abbot to be excused such onerous duty.’

  ‘We all have to take our turn.’

  ‘Is there nothing to liven up the long night hours?’

  ‘Liven them up, my lord?’

  ‘Come, sir,’ said de Marigny with a confiding chuckle. ‘I have done my share of standing on guard in the darkness. On cold nights, we had drink brought out to warm us up. In summer, we had a woman or two to help us pass the time. There is good sport to be had up against a wall.’

  Walter Baderon sniggered. ‘We learned that long ago, my lord.’

  ‘Are the ladies of Exeter obliging?’

  ‘Very obliging.’

  ‘And not too costly?’

  ‘They will always do favours for a soldier.’

  ‘Especially a captain of the guard like yourself.’

  ‘I always have first pick.’

  Hervey de Marigny laughed. He had sauntered out to the North Gate shortly after Baderon and his men relieved their predecessors on sentry duty. Before their stint even began, they looked jaded. Conversation with a visitor to the city was a pleasant relief. Walter Baderon fell into it without realising to whom he was talking.

  ‘You have my sympathy, friend,’ de Marigny went on, drawing attention once again to the common ground between the two of them.

  ‘Why, my lord?’

  ‘Exeter is not the most hospitable city for Normans.’

  ‘That is true!’

  ‘I was part of the army which besieged the place. These men of Devon are hostile and unforgiving. I would not turn my back on any of them.’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘Are you still resented and sneered at?’

  ‘Daily.’

  ‘We had more than harsh words hurled at us.’

  ‘We, too, have incidents from time to time,’ said Baderon, hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘It is usually when some Saxon youths have drunk too much of that foul ale they brew. They taunt us to build up their courage then draw their weapons.’

  ‘What do
you do?’

  ‘Bang their heads together and send them home.’

  ‘No bloodshed?’

  ‘Not unless they really annoy me.’

  They chatted on amiably, both of them keeping one eye on the traffic coming in and out of the gate. There was no hurry. The commissioner took time to win the man's confidence. It would be worth it. They had been together for half an hour when de Marigny came round to the subject which brought him there.

  ‘Have they caught the villain yet?’ he asked.

  ‘What villain?’

  ‘The one who ambushed the lord Nicholas,’ he said casually. ‘I have only been in the city a few days but people talk of nothing else. They are certain that the victim was murdered by Saxons out of revenge.’

  ‘That may be so, my lord.’

  ‘Have any arrests been made?’

  ‘Word has it that two men were taken. One was killed but the other is being held in the castle dungeon.’

  ‘That is good to hear. Who was this Nicholas Picard?’

  ‘A baron of some substance.’

  ‘Buried here at the cathedral, I believe.’

  ‘That is so, my lord.’ His lip curled. ‘I dare swear that there was much weeping among the ladies at the graveside.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘The lord Nicholas was a very popular man.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Ladies came running and he did not turn them away.’

  ‘A man after my own heart!’

  ‘And mine, too!’

  ‘Yet struck down before his time.’

  ‘Alas, yes.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘A few days ago, my lord,’ said the other, ready to reveal his own part in the story. ‘He rode out past us that evening without noticing that we were here. I hailed him but got no reply. I remember thinking how wrapped up in his own thoughts he was.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Twenty minutes later, he was dead.’

  ‘Twenty minutes?’

  ‘It could not have taken him much longer to reach that wood.’

  ‘Unless he stopped on the way.’

  ‘He did not do that, my lord,’ said the other. ‘He was riding home.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘By the route that he took. I walked through the gate and watched him ride off until he was out of sight. From the moment he left the city, the lord Nicholas was doomed.’