The Foxes of Warwick d-9 Read online

  Brother Simon was their customary scribe and Canon Hubert of Winchester their usual colleague but both men were indisposed, obliging Ralph and Gervase to accept deputies. Benedict, who bore the name of the founder of his monastic Order like a battle standard, replaced Simon but the more ample presence of Hubert required two substitutes. Theobald, Archdeacon of Hereford, was one of them, a tall, slim, dignified man in his fifties, already known and respected by the commissioners as a result of their earlier visit to the city, an assignment on which even Ralph looked back with pleasure since it was in Hereford that he first met Golde. His wife was delighted to befriend someone from her home town and, since the archdeacon had been visiting Winchester, she was able to stave off the tedium of travel by talking at leisure with him on their way north.

  The other commissioner was due to meet them at Banbury.

  ‘What do we know of this Philippe Trouville?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘Little enough,’ said Gervase. ‘Beyond the fact that he fought bravely beside the King in many battles.’

  ‘That speaks well for him. I did as much myself.’

  ‘The lord Philippe has substantial holdings in Suffolk, Essex and Northamptonshire. I heard a rumour that he looks to be sheriff in one of those counties before too long.’

  ‘An ambitious man, then. That can be good or bad.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘It depends on his motives, Gervase.’

  ‘The King obviously thinks highly of him.’

  ‘Then we must accept him on that basis and welcome him to the commission. It will be good to have another soldier sitting alongside us. Canon Hubert has his virtues but that cloying Christianity of his makes me want to puke at times.’

  ‘Hubert is a devout man.’

  ‘That is what I have against him.’

  ‘Archdeacon Theobald is cut from the same cloth.’

  ‘By a much more skilful tailor.’ They shared a laugh. ‘I like this Theobald. We have something in common: a shared dread of that mad Welshman, Idwal, who plagued us first in Hereford and then again in Chester. Theobald told me that he was never so glad to bid adieu to anyone as to that truculent Celt. Yes,’ he added with a smile, ‘Theobald and I will get along, I know it. He is a valuable addition.’ His smile gave way to a scowl. ‘I cannot say that of our crack-brained scribe.’

  ‘Brother Benedict?’

  ‘He talks to himself, Gervase.’

  ‘He is only praying aloud.’

  ‘In the middle of a meal?’

  ‘The spirit moves him when it will.’

  ‘Well, I wish that it would move him out of my way. Benedict and I can never be happy bedfellows. He is far too holy and I am far too sinful. The worst of it is that I am unable to shock him.

  Brother Simon is much more easily outraged. It was a joy to goad him.’

  ‘You were very unkind to Simon.’

  ‘He invited unkindness.’

  ‘Not to that degree,’ said Gervase. ‘But you may have met your match in Brother Benedict. He is here to exact retribution.’

  ‘If he survives the journey.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ralph jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Look at the man.

  Baring his head in this weather. Inviting the wind to scour that empty skull of his. I swear that the fellow would ride naked if there were not a lady present. Benedict actually courts pain. He relishes suffering.’

  ‘He believes that it will enhance the soul.’

  ‘What kind of lunacy is that?’

  Gervase smiled. ‘This may not be the place for a theological discussion.’

  ‘Are you saying that you agree with that nonsense?’

  ‘No, Ralph,’ replied the other tactfully. ‘I am simply saying that Banbury is less than a mile away and — God willing — our new colleague will be waiting there for us.’

  ‘Let us see what Philippe Trouville makes of this Benedict.’

  ‘I fear that he will be as intolerant as you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Soldiers never understand the impulse to take the cowl.’

  ‘Who but a fool would choose to be an eunuch?’

  ‘I rest my case.’

  They came around a bend in the road and, as the trees thinned out on their left, got their first glimpse of Banbury. Situated on a crossroads, it was a thriving village which fanned out from the church at its centre. Three mills harnessed the power of the river and served the needs of the hundred or more souls who lived in Banbury or its immediate vicinity. The spirits of the travellers were revived by the sight. The village would give them an opportunity to break their journey, take refreshment, find a brief shelter from the wind and make the acquaintance of their new colleague. Anticipation made them quicken their pace.

  Ralph was eager to meet Philippe Trouville and thereby acquire a companion with whom he could discuss military matters, a subject on which neither Theobald nor Benedict could speak with any interest or knowledge. Notwithstanding his skill with sword and dagger, Gervase too had no stomach for reminiscences about past battles or arguments about the technical aspects of warfare.

  Marriage to Golde may have softened Ralph in some ways but he remained a soldier at heart with a fund of rousing memories. In the new commissioner, he hoped for a sympathetic ear and a ready comprehension.

  That hope was dashed the moment he set eyes on him.

  ‘You are late!’ complained Philippe Trouville. ‘What kept you?’

  ‘Frosty roads slowed us down,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Nimble horses make light of such problems.’

  ‘We made what speed we could, my lord.’

  ‘And forced us to sit on our hands in this godforsaken hole!’

  It was an odd remark to make when they were outside a church but Ralph let it pass without challenge. Sitting astride his destrier, Philippe Trouville was waiting for them with six men-at-arms and a pulsing impatience. He was a big, hefty, black-eyed man in helm and hauberk, with a fur-trimmed cloak to keep out the pinch of winter. His face was pitted with age and darkened with anger.

  His voice had a rasping authority.

  ‘Let us set forth at once!’ he ordered.

  ‘We looked to rest for a while,’ said Ralph.

  ‘You have delayed us long enough.’

  ‘That was unavoidable.’

  ‘We must press on.’

  Ralph stiffened. ‘I will make that decision, my lord,’ he said firmly. ‘I bid you welcome and invite you to join us but you must do so on the clear understanding that it is I who will control the timing and the speed of our movements. I am Ralph Delchard and you should have been instructed that I am the arbiter here.’

  He lifted an arm to signal to the others. ‘Dismount and take your ease.’

  Trouville glowered in silence and remained in the saddle while the travellers got down from their horses. When Ralph introduced the other members of his party, the new commissioner was barely civil, managing a rough politeness when he met Golde but lapsing into undisguised contempt when Theobald and Benedict were presented to him. The archdeacon accepted the rebuff with equanimity but the scribe glowed with sudden benevolence.

  ‘I forgive you this unwarranted bluntness, my lord,’ he said.

  ‘When you come to know us better you will appreciate our true worth and set a higher value on our acquaintance.’

  ‘Do not preach at me!’ warned Trouville.

  ‘I merely extend the hand of Christian fellowship.’

  ‘Crawl back to your monastery where you belong.’

  ‘I have been called to render assistance to your great work and I do so willingly, my lord. You will find me able and quick-witted.’

  ‘I have no time for canting monks!’

  ‘God bless you!’ said Benedict with a benign smile as if responding to a rich compliment. ‘And thank you for your indulgence.’

  Ever the diplomat, Archdeacon Theobald took him by the sleeve and detached him with a mild enquiry, le
aving Trouville to mutter expletives under his breath before turning to bark an order to one of his men.

  ‘Ask my lady to join us!’

  The soldier dismounted and crossed to a nearby cottage.

  ‘Your wife travels with you?’ said Ralph in surprise.

  ‘I would not stir abroad without her.’

  ‘It is so with me,’ said the other, sensing a point of contact at last. ‘Golde is indispensable. When she is not at my side I feel as if a limb has been hacked off. I am only happy when she is here.’

  ‘That is not the case with me,’ grumbled Trouville. ‘I would prefer to travel alone but my wife insists on riding with me. It is one of the perils of marriage but it must be borne.’

  ‘I do not see it as a peril.’

  ‘You are not wed to Marguerite.’

  At that precise moment, the soldier stood back from the door of the cottage to allow a short, bulbous woman of middle years to come bustling out, her face, once handsome, now cruelly lined with age and puckered with disapproval, her body swathed in a cloak which failed to keep out the cold entirely and which, framing her features, accentuated the curl of her lip even more. Ralph could see at a glance that she was a potent woman with, no doubt, a demanding tongue and he even found himself feeling vaguely sorry for Trouville, imagining without much difficulty the lacerating encounters in the bedchamber which the man must endure, and deciding that they were the reason for his unrelieved surliness. But his conclusions, he soon discovered, were far too hasty.

  ‘Hurry up, Heloise!’ bellowed Trouville.

  The woman who scurried across to her waiting palfrey was not the wife at all but Heloise, her maidservant and companion, a subordinate figure in the entourage yet one who exuded visibly the strong opinions she was not entitled to voice in company and who was not abashed by the presence of a troop of armed men, even the most lustful of whom was deterred from ribald comment by her forbidding appearance. There was a long pause before Philippe Trouville’s wife came out of the house as if she had deliberately been keeping them waiting in order to heighten their interest and assure complete attention from her audience.

  The lady Marguerite was as unlike Heloise as it was possible to be. She was young, graceful and possessed of the kind of dazzling beauty which would make a saint catch his breath and consider whether his life had been quite as well spent as he believed.

  Her cloak and wimple in no way diminished her charms. Indeed, they seemed to blossom before the watching eyes like snowdrops sent to hurry winter on its way and presage spring. Though almost thirty years younger than her husband, she was no innocent child sacrificed to a grotesque marriage by uncaring parents but a creature of poise and maturity with a haughtiness in her gaze which could unsettle the most strong-willed of men. Trouville immediately dismounted to draw her into the group and perform brief introductions. Marguerite surveyed them with a glacial indifference. It changed to mild curiosity when she saw Golde but reverted to disdain when she realised that Ralph’s wife was a Saxon. Golde was taken aback by the woman’s blatant rudeness.

  ‘Could you not wed a Norman lady?’ Marguerite asked him.

  ‘I could and I did, my lady. She died, alas.’

  ‘So you married a Saxon in her stead?’

  ‘I married the woman I love,’ said Ralph proudly.

  Golde thanked him with a smile but Marguerite smouldered.

  ‘Why do we dawdle here?’ she snapped. ‘Let me ride away from this hateful place. I only stepped into that cottage to get warm but the stink of its occupants was a high price to pay for the comfort of their fire. Low-born Saxons have no self-respect. Take me out of here, Philippe.’

  ‘I will, Marguerite.’

  ‘When we have rested the horses,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Am I to be kept here against my will?’ demanded Marguerite.

  ‘There is nothing to prevent you from riding on ahead, my lady.’

  ‘Then that is what we will do.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said her husband, bowing to caution. ‘We will be travelling through dangerous countryside and need more protection than six men-at-arms can offer. Winter makes outlaws more desperate. Tarry awhile and we ensure safety.’

  ‘I wish to leave now, Philippe,’ she insisted.

  ‘The delay will not be long.’

  ‘Banbury depresses my soul.’

  ‘It uplifts mine,’ said Benedict cheerfully. ‘This church is a beacon of joy in the wilderness. It is a pleasure to linger here and feel God’s presence. Reach out to Him, my lady,’ he advised Marguerite, beaming familiarly at her and exposing huge teeth.

  ‘Let the touch of the Almighty bring you peace and happiness.’

  Philippe Trouville glared at him, his wife stifled a retort and the teak-faced Heloise snorted with derision but the monk was unmoved by their hostile response. Ralph exchanged a worried glance with Gervase.

  There would be a long and uncomfortable ride ahead of them.

  When they crossed the county boundary into Warwickshire, there was at first no discernible change in the landscape. Woodland then began to recede and, as they traversed the Feldon, they found themselves in a region which was heavily cultivated. Open-field strip holdings were now rimed with frost and lush pasture was deserted and hidden beneath a white blanket but the party was conscious of riding through an expanse of fertile soil. With few trees to protect them and no friendly contours to shield them, the cavalcade was largely exposed to the elements and, for the most part, deprived of the urge to converse, unless it be to mouth some fresh protest about the weather. Brother Benedict, riding once more at the rear of the column, was the singular exception, a grinning flagellant who revelled in the whiplashes of the wind and whose voice rose above its howl in a high and melodious chant. Only a blinding snowstorm would have increased his joy.

  Ralph Delchard had never been so glad to spy a destination.

  Light was fading badly when the town finally came into view and he could only see it in hazy outline but it had a stark loveliness to him. Set in the Avon valley, Warwick had grown up beside the river itself to become the largest community in the shire. It was almost twenty years since he had last visited the place, travelling on that occasion as a member of the Conqueror’s punitive army and pausing there long enough to see its castle being raised, its town walls strengthened and the additional fortification of an encircling ditch being dug. The closer they got, the more anxious Ralph became to renew his acquaintance with the town and rediscover the lost pleasures of eating, drinking and relaxing in warm surroundings.

  Golde was now riding beside him at the head of the shivering procession. As Warwick emerged from the gloom ahead of them, she found her tongue again.

  ‘At last!’ she said with a weary smile. ‘I was beginning to think that we would never get there.’

  ‘I am sorry that you have had to endure such a ride, my love.’

  ‘Being with you makes the discomfort bearable.’

  ‘I still feel guilty that I brought you here,’ he said solicitously.

  ‘It might have been better for you to stay in Hampshire. On a day like this, the only sensible place to be is behind closed doors.’

  ‘I have no complaints,’ she said bravely.

  ‘I do, Golde. It would take an hour to list them all.’ He looked back over the long column which snaked behind them. ‘I just wish that I could have provided some amenable companions to divert you from the misery of the ride.’

  ‘Nobody could have been more amenable than the archdeacon.

  We have talked for hours on end about Hereford. And Brother Benedict has always made some cheerful comment whenever we broke our journey.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ralph with a roll of his eyes. ‘Brother Benedict thrives on adversity. He would make cheerful comments during a tempest. But I was not referring to him nor to the good archdeacon.

  I was thinking of that eccentric trio who joined us at Banbury. It is difficult to decide which of them is the most objectionable
-

  the bellowing husband, the supercilious wife or that she-dragon who rides with them.’

  ‘The lady Marguerite is very beautiful.’

  ‘Her beauty is not matched by good breeding, my love. I will never forgive her the contempt she dared to display in front of you. Had she been a man, I would have buffeted her to the ground and demanded an apology. The lady Marguerite is a terrible imposition.’

  ‘She clearly views us as an imposition upon her.’

  ‘How does her husband put up with the woman?’

  Golde’s eyes twinkled. ‘I would rather ask how she tolerates him.’

  Ralph grinned before twisting in his saddle to stare back at the couple in question. Flanked by their men-at-arms, Philippe Trouville and his wife were riding in the middle of the cavalcade with Heloise directly behind them, all three sunk deep into a bruised silence as they nursed individual grievances about the journey. A warm fire might soon thaw them out but Ralph suspected that it would not make them in any way more agreeable.

  Warwick was gated to the north, east and west but they approached from the south, which had the extra defences of river and castle. As soon as they clattered across the wooden bridge and entered the fortress, their situation improved markedly. Lookouts had warned the constable of their imminent arrival and Henry Beaumont was in the courtyard to give them a cordial welcome. The horses were stabled, the men-at-arms taken off to their quarters and the commissioners conducted to the hall with their wives and their scribe. Though a crackling fire lit up the room and filled it with a smoky heat, the lady Marguerite insisted on being shown to her apartment and Trouville, hovering between curiosity about his host and marital duty, eventually succumbed to the latter and excused himself before following his wife and Heloise out. The atmosphere seemed to brighten instantly.

  ‘You must be hungry after such a long ride,’ suggested Henry.

  ‘We are, my lord,’ said Ralph, noting that the long table had been set for a meal. ‘Hungry and thirsty.’