The Lions of the North d-4 Read online

  We will do some assiduous rat-catching before we quit this place.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Stay at the door with your men. If a meeting was arranged here, someone will turn up to see my lord Tanchelm. Do not tell him what has happened, Fulco. Conduct him in.”

  “I will, my lord.”

  The soldier nodded and went off to take up his post. Gervase, meanwhile, had been conducting a more thorough search of the body and of the area surrounding it. He stood up.

  “We are not looking for a thief,” he said.

  “How do you know?”

  “His purse is full but untouched. Whoever killed him did not do so for money.”

  “Then what was his motive, Gervase?”

  “Fear.”

  “But he was the mildest and most pleasant of men. How could anyone be afraid of Tanchelm of Ghent?”

  “Look at his papers, Ralph. There is our clue.”

  Scattered across the table were the various charters that had been in Tanchelm’s satchel. Some were torn, some were deliberately mutilated, all had been tampered with in some way.

  “I’ll wager some were taken,” said Gervase. “That is why they were afraid of him. My lord Tanchelm found out something that they did not wish him to know.”

  The commotion outside the shire hall drew a small crowd. Soldiers came from the castle, monks hurried from the minster and the sheriff’s deputy hastened to the scene. Passers-by were being questioned by Ralph’s men-at-arms and the purpose soon became clear. Someone lay murdered within the building. Excited by rumour, those who swelled the knot of on-lookers speculated on who had died and by what means.

  No details were released, no guesswork confirmed.

  It was an hour before the body was brought out. Laid on a bier and covered by a large blanket, it was carried by six of Tanchelm’s men and lifted into the back of a cart. As it trundled off in the direction of the castle, some followed but most lingered to discuss and surmise. The presence of so many soldiers attested the importance of the murder victim. Several hopeful suggestions were made about his identity.

  In the fever of speculation, only one man remained silent. He kept to the back of the crowd and made sure that a swift departure was always possible. With his cap pulled down to conceal part of his face, he wore nondescript apparel and carried a staff. When soldiers started to disperse the crowd, he was the first to leave. Unlike the others, he did not need to ask who the murdered man was.

  Olaf Evil Child stole quietly into the shadows.

  Canon Hubert had many faults, and Ralph Delchard never tired of enumerating them, but even he was impressed by the way that his colleague reacted to the crisis. Snatched from Vespers and brought back to the shire hall, Brother Simon all but collapsed at the sight of the dead body. Hubert was quick to console him. With a blend of quiet dignity and maternal concern, he took Simon in his arms and rocked him gently to and fro, singing to him in Latin and soothing his troubled spirit. By the time the deputy sheriff arrived, the canon and the scribe were kneeling side by side on the hard floor, chanting the Lord’s Prayer in unison.

  Ralph was grateful. The last thing he needed on his hands while he was trying to set an official investigation in motion was an hysterical monk, weeping and wailing. With Brother Simon quiescent, Ralph was able to give his statement to the deputy sheriff and pass on what evidence he felt that they had detected. Gervase Bret, too, gave a statement relating to the discovery of the corpse. The murder of a royal official was no small matter and all the resources at the sheriff’s command would be brought to bear on the pursuit of the killer. The sheriff himself, absent from York on business, would be sent for so that he could lead the investigation.

  The removal of Tanchelm of Ghent served to restore Brother Simon’s stability. He was still shocked and consumed with grief but he no longer burst into floods of tears. Left alone with Ralph, Gervase and Hubert, he was relatively calm. The canon himself maintained a rock-like equanimity throughout.

  Ralph, too, showed that he had a compassionate side.

  “Why not sit on the bench, Brother Simon?” he said.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I can see that this tragedy has hit you hard.”

  “It has destroyed me. He was such a good man.”

  Hubert helped him up and the two of them sat on the bench. Gervase settled on a stool but Ralph stayed on his feet so that he could pace up and down during the conversation. The candles had now been lighted again and bright pools of yellow dappled the floor. Ralph bent solici-tously over the monk.

  “How do you feel now, Brother Simon?” asked Ralph.

  “A little better, my lord.”

  “Able to answer some questions?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Good. I will come to you in a moment.” He turned to Canon Hubert.

  “At what time did you leave the shire hall?”

  “As the bell for Vespers was ringing,” said Hubert.

  “And was my lord Tanchelm alone in the room?”

  “Completely.”

  “What of the men-at-arms on duty here?”

  “They acted as our escort.”

  “Did he say anything as you parted from him?”

  “Nothing beyond a farewell.”

  “No mention of a meeting?”

  “None.”

  “No name of a friend?”

  Hubert shook his head. “But that does not mean some meeting had not been arranged. My lord Tanchelm was a strange compound. Open in many ways, he was very private in others. Last evening, for instance, he paid a visit to the Abbey of St. Mary without even raising the matter with us. We would never have known about it had Brother Francis not let slip the details after Compline.”

  “And there were other meetings about which we were not informed,”

  said Simon. “My lord Tanchelm was ubiquitous.”

  “I put it down to his fascination with this city,” continued Hubert.

  “When he ceased to be a commissioner, he became a curious traveller intent on seeing all the sights of York.”

  “How did you find him when he sat beside you?” said Ralph.

  “Extremely able.”

  “Brother Simon?”

  “Astute and fair-minded,” said Simon.

  “Did he upset any of the witnesses?”

  “All the time,” said Hubert, “but that is what we are here for, my lord.

  You will not get the truth out of people unless you press down on them and that is bound to lead to antagonism. My lord Tanchelm aroused his share of that.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “One man threw foul abuse at Canon Hubert,” said Simon, “but I do not remember harsh words against my lord Tanchelm. Scowls and muttering, yes. But no threats of any kind.”

  “Why do you ask?” said Hubert.

  “Gervase believes that the murder may be linked to one of the disputes that came or will come before you.”

  “It is only a theory,” explained Gervase. “I have this feeling that the killer is either a vengeful litigant who took offence when judgement was given against him, or a ruthless landowner who is trying to disable the commission because he fears that we may dispossess him.”

  “The first possibility can straightway be ruled out,” said Hubert fussily.

  “I was senior to my lord Tanchelm and it was from my lips that the judicial pronouncements were made. If anyone had resented a verdict sufficiently to contemplate murder, then I would certainly have been the victim.”

  “Do not say that, Canon Hubert!” cried Simon.

  “It is the plain truth.”

  “I could not bear the thought of losing you.”

  “Nor will you, Brother Simon.”

  “If you are at risk, none of our lives is safe!”

  “Calm down, calm down,” said Ralph. “You are not in the slightest danger. Armed guards will attend you at all times.”


  Simon jumped up. “My lord Tanchelm had ten armed guards and yet he was killed under their very noses.”

  “Sit down,” said Hubert, reinforcing his advice with a sharp tug on Simon’s cowl. “This is needless panic.”

  Simon was contrite and nodded apologetically. Gervase had been re-examining his hypothesis in the light of Hubert’s comments. The canon’s argument was compelling.

  “You are right,” he said to Hubert. “This is no litigant with whom you have already dealt. It is most likely a witness yet to enter the fray.

  Someone who has been summoned by you to the shire hall and not requested to present himself before us next door. He knew which of the two tribunals to attack.”

  “Ours!” whispered Simon, eyes shut in terror.

  “Do you agree, Canon Hubert?” asked Gervase.

  “It lies within the bounds of possibility.”

  “I think it is highly probable,” said Ralph. “And it is the only real signpost we have. My men found no trail by which to follow the killer.

  People were stopped in the street by the score but no one could-or would-give any information of value.”

  “My lord Tanchelm’s papers were searched,” added Gervase. “Some may have been stolen. That points to one of your claimants. What was the biggest case due to come before you in here tomorrow, Canon Hubert?”

  “It relates to land in the wapentake of Burghshire.”

  “Can you recall the name of the disputants?”

  “I fear not. A hundred names have come in and out of my head since we have been in the city. Do not ask me to pluck some more out of the air.”

  “I remember a name,” piped Brother Simon.

  “What is it?” asked Gervase.

  “It stuck in my mind because it conjured up a clear picture of what the fellow must have looked like. He had holdings of some consequence in Burghshire when he died.”

  “Who did?” said Ralph. “Give us his name.”

  “Sweinn Redbeard.”

  “And he used to own this land, you say?”

  “Yes, my lord. It should have devolved to his son.”

  “And who might that be?”

  “Someone that nobody could forget.”

  “Go on.”

  Brother Simon savoured a rare moment when he felt he had an advantage over his superiors. It earned him a respect from all three of them that he never normally enjoyed. His time perusing the documents relating to the claims had not been wasted. It elevated his importance for once.

  “Well?” prompted Gervase.

  “Who is the son of this Sweinn Redbeard?” said Ralph.

  “Tell us, man!” urged Canon Hubert.

  “Very well,” said Simon. “It is Olaf Evil Child.”

  Aubrey Maminot was dumbfounded when he first heard the news about the murder. He had spent the day visiting one of his berewics to the west of York and only returned to the city in the evening. No sooner had he ridden into his castle with his men than the captain of the guard ran up to him to pass on the tidings. Aubrey was stunned but he recovered with speed as fury built inside him. Tanchelm of Ghent was a guest at his home. Any misfortune that befell the Fleming was a reflection on his host. Aubrey was beside himself.

  “I should have been here to guard him!” he yelled.

  “His own men were given that duty, my lord.”

  “A guest of mine murdered! I will not believe it.”

  “Unhappily, it is true.”

  “Has my lord sheriff been informed?”

  “His deputy has taken charge while he is away. The sheriff himself has been recalled with urgency.”

  “I should hope so! What steps have been taken?”

  “I do not know, my lord.”

  “Is the killer’s identity known?”

  “Not yet.”

  “God’s blood!” snarled Aubrey. “Then why have the gates been left open for him to escape? Every exit should have been sealed so that the villain was penned up inside York. Then we could have searched every inch of it until we rooted him out. The deputy sheriff is an imbecile.”

  “You will have to take that up with him in person.”

  “I shall, I shall!”

  Aubrey let his horse feel his spurs and cantered out of the castle.

  Five minutes later, he was in earnest discussion with the deputy sheriff, hearing what little progress had been made and offering an unlimited number of his own men to assist in the hunt for the killer. When he returned to his castle once more, he was still so incensed at what had happened that he left the feeding of his lions to Ludovico. His guests were his prior concern.

  “I blame myself, Ralph. It was unforgivable.”

  “You were not responsible for his safety,” said Ralph.

  “I feel that I was. I let him down cruelly.”

  “No, Aubrey.”

  “He was the victim of a cunning villain,” said Gervase. “What safer place could there have been than the shire hall when armed men were within call? An attack would never be expected there. That is why he was taken unawares.”

  Aubrey sighed. “Shameful, shameful!”

  It was late evening and the three of them were seated alone in the hall. Two flagons of wine had already been emptied. Even Gervase, habitually quite abstemious, felt the need of several drinks. The wine began to make him feel sleepy but Ralph and Aubrey slid into a maudlin mood.

  “The irony of it!” said Ralph. “Just as I was beginning to like the man, he gets himself killed.” He raised his cup. “I drink to the memory of Tanchelm of Ghent!”

  “Tanchelm!” echoed Aubrey.

  “May he rest in peace!” said Gervase.

  They sipped their drinks and Aubrey became wistful.

  “Poor fellow!” he said. “He and I sat in this very hall last night and caroused for hours. Tanchelm was a fine man. I tell you now, I do not like many Flemings and that may be accounted a prejudice in me, but he was different. He was an old soldier and that goes deep with me.

  But Tanchelm was something more. He was an educated man, a well-travelled man and yet withal a humble man.” He gave a chuckle. “Nobody could say that of Aubrey Maminot. Humility is a vice to me. But I did not see it as a flaw in Tanchelm’s character.”

  “I just wish that I had known him better,” said Ralph.

  “So do I.”

  “He was a deep man,” observed Gervase. “I think that we knew him as well as he would let us.”

  “What will happen to him now?” asked Aubrey.

  “The body has been examined by all who need to see it,” said Ralph.

  “It has now been released by the deputy sheriff. At first light, I am having it sent back to Lincolnshire. His wife will be distraught at the news of his death. We do not want to add to her misery by keeping the body here.”

  “That is very considerate, Ralph.”

  “We may need to borrow one of your carts, Aubrey.”

  “Feel free to take anything you wish.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How will his wife be informed?”

  “Riders have already been sent out. This is grim intelligence but she has a right to hear it as soon as possible. On our return journey, I plan to visit his home and explain in more detail the circumstances of his death.”

  “By that time, we’ll have hanged his killer.”

  “I hope so, Aubrey.”

  Gervase was becoming drowsy. He excused himself from the table and tottered off to bed, pausing first at the chapel to offer up a prayer for the soul of Tanchelm of Ghent.

  Ralph and Aubrey continued to drink and reminisce.

  “This has dealt a bitter blow to your work,” said the castellan. “That must have been the intention.”

  “It has stopped us in our tracks,” said Ralph. “We will suspend our tribunal until this murder is solved.”

  “Very wise.”

  “It is the least we can do for Tanchelm. Finding his killer is far more important than settling property disput
es. They can wait. Our colleague’s death must be answered.”

  “And when the villain is caught and punished?”

  “We will begin again,” sighed Ralph. “With only one tribunal, alas. I cannot ask Canon Hubert to operate on his own, however much he might yearn for such autocracy. He and Brother Simon will renew their partnership with Gervase and myself. Our progress will be slower but we will get through our assignment in time.”

  “The longer you stay, the more delighted I shall be.”

  “Your hospitality is like the rays of the sun, Aubrey.”

  “I feel that it is somewhat in eclipse.”

  “Gervase and I could not have a finer lodging. And Golde told me only this morning how she has started to settle into the castle. You have three very contented guests.”

  “Yes,” said Aubrey gloomily. “But you are forgetting something, old friend. I had four.”

  Philip the Chaplain had looked on death many times in his career.

  There had been a period when the castle had a garrison of over four hundred, and Aubrey Maminot’s famed generosity meant that there were usually plenty of guests staying there as well. In an establishment of that size, there was a steady flow of fatalities. Soldiers might be killed in skirmishes, fever might carry off the weaker vessels and old age would reap its own ineluctable harvest. Childbirth was another ready source of death.

  The chaplain was accustomed to the sight of terrible wounds on the bodies of soldiers, and it had taken Romulus and Remus to autograph a corpse in a way that actually made him feel squeamish. Tanchelm of Ghent posed no such threat. As he lay on the slab in the mortuary, his eyes now closed by Philip’s delicate fingers, the Fleming looked so calm and healthy that he might have been sleeping. Only his grue-some necklace hinted at a violent demise.

  It would not be an onerous duty. The chaplain chose to do it himself rather than delegate it to an assistant. All he had to do was to strip, wash and prepare the body for the journey to its last resting place. He stood the two lighted candles in the most advantageous position and set to work, according the body all the respect due to the departed. As he rolled Tanchelm onto his side to remove his tunic, his hand encountered something that made him stop. A pocket seemed to have been sewn on the inside of the garment. Philip the Chaplain was intrigued.