The Wildcats of Exeter Read online

  ‘Is she too ill to witness your humiliation?’ taunted Ralph.

  ‘She is well enough,’ confessed the other with a scowl.

  ‘So one lie has been exposed. Let us examine the others. Did you or did you not talk to the lord Hervey last night?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Did you see him anywhere near the North Gate?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then where did you see him?’

  ‘Nowhere. Ask the other sentries. They will vouch for me.’

  Ralph's patience snapped. His forearm caught Baderon full in the face and knocked him to the floor. Blood streamed from the man's nose and he began to curse volubly. Two of the men hauled him back to his feet. When Ralph threatened another blow, Baderon fell silent. He tried to wipe the blood away with the back of his hand.

  ‘We have ridden too far to endure these fairytales,’ said Ralph. ‘I will try once again. One more lie and we will drag you all the way back to Exeter in your nightshirt. Is that what you want?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then forget what the abbot told you. Speak the truth. I will ask this for the last time so take care how you answer.’ He put his face in close. ‘Did you see the lord Hervey at the North Gate last night?’

  ‘Yes,’ grunted the other.

  ‘Did you talk with him?’

  ‘Only briefly.’

  ‘Then why did you try to deceive us?’

  ‘On the abbot's advice, my lord,’ said Baderon. ‘When I told him that someone had been asking me about the lord Nicholas, he asked me to describe the man and identified him as the lord Hervey. I was ordered to tell him nothing further if he sought me out again.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The abbot did not want his name linked with the murder inquiry. He is appearing before you in a dispute. He felt that there would be undue prejudice against him if any taint of suspicion touched him or one of his men. That is why he sent me home,’ he continued. ‘To be safe from further questioning about the death of the lord Nicholas.’

  ‘Or the death of Hervey de Marigny.’

  ‘I did not even know of it until you came here tonight.’

  ‘Is that the truth?’ said Ralph, grabbing him by the throat.

  ‘On my word of honour!’

  ‘That is worthless. A few minutes ago, you swore that you only spoke with the lord Hervey once. That was your first mistake. Make another and I'll beat you to a pulp to get at the truth. Now,’ said Ralph as he tightened his grip. ‘What happened last night?’

  ‘I was on duty at the North Gate,’ said Baderon, the words pouring out in a terrified stream. ‘The lord Hervey fell into conversation with me and tried to ask me about the night when the lord Nicholas died. I did as the abbot advised and said almost nothing to him. When the lord Hervey realised that I knew who he was, he gave up and walked away.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘Out through the gate.’

  ‘With you on his tail?’

  ‘No, my lord!’

  ‘Some of your men, then.’

  ‘We remained at our post,’ insisted the other. ‘The last I saw of the lord Hervey was when he walked through North Gate. My men were witnesses. They will tell you the same.’

  ‘All they have told me is the lie you agreed upon.’

  ‘Now you know what really did happen, my lord.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes!’ vowed the other. ‘It is God's own truth.’

  ‘God's own truth?’ said Ralph with irony. ‘Or the abbot of Tavistock's own truth? I fancy that there is a huge difference between the two. Let us go back to the night when the lord Nicholas died. You were on duty at the North Gate. That was the exit he would have taken from the city. What did you do when he rode past you? Did you mount your horse and follow him?’

  The lady Albreda was coming out of the chapel when Berold accosted her. Having prayed for the soul of the departed, she was in no mood for jesting and was relieved that he himself was solemn for once. He slipped something into her hand.

  ‘What is this, Berold?’

  ‘I was asked to give it to you, my lady.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘A man at the castle gate.’

  ‘What sort of man?’

  ‘I have never seen him before.’

  ‘Did he not have a name?’

  ‘He did not stay long enough to give it, my lady,’ said the other. ‘He thrust the letter into my hand, bade me deliver it, then ran away.’

  ‘Strange behaviour!’ she said. ‘Thank you, Berold.’

  He gave a nod, then slipped past her into the chapel. Albreda glanced down at the letter with curiosity. Before she even opened it, she had a sense of impending disaster.

  The ecclesiastical community was stunned by the murder of Hervey de Marigny. Bishop Osbern was horrified and a wave of quiet terror spread outwards from the cathedral to wash over the city's many churches. It was felt that a murderer was stalking the city. Two leading barons had already fallen victim to him. A third attack was only a matter of time. Fear kept many on their knees in prayer or safely hidden behind locked doors. Only when the killer was caught would the shadow of death be lifted from the city of Exeter.

  ‘We feel as if we are being held hostage,’ said Dean Jerome gloomily.

  Canon Hubert sighed. ‘It is a time of tribulation for us all,’ he said. ‘The lord Hervey took such pride in his appointment as a commissioner. Nobody could have expected his career would end so suddenly and so brutally.’

  ‘The sheriff will not rest until the murderer is brought to justice.’

  ‘The lord Ralph has set his own inquiry in motion.’

  ‘Let us hope that, between them, they bring success.’

  They were standing outside the cathedral with the wind plucking at their cowls. The dean looked more morose than ever and the canon was unusually subdued. Accustomed to a ready acceptance of God's will, they yet found there were times when they dared to question divine dispensation and this was one of them. When they searched for meaning in the death of Hervey de Marigny, they found it elusive.

  ‘Why?’ mused Hubert. ‘Why, why, why?’

  ‘I wish that I had the answer.’

  ‘Is it merely a demonstration of the mutability of human existence? Or are we looking at a warning from the Devil rather than a sign from God? The lord Hervey had only been in the city a matter of days. He had no enemies here. Who could possibly wish to kill him?’

  ‘The same man who struck down the lord Nicholas.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘Who can say, Canon Hubert?’

  ‘I can make no sense of it.’

  They were still struggling with their bewilderment when a man came walking towards the main entrance to the cathedral. Carrying a sack and a length of rope, he gave the dean a submissive nod and went on into the building. Hubert recognised the newcomer at once from his two appearances at the shire hall.

  ‘That was the lady Loretta's servant, was it not?’

  ‘Yes, Canon Hubert. She has kindly loaned him to us.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘Eldred has to go up into the tower from time to time.’

  ‘Does he tend the bells?’

  ‘No,’ said Dean Jerome, ‘but he performs a great service for us.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘We have a problem which you no doubt have encountered at Salisbury Cathedral as well. It is one which we share with some of our churches and we are lucky to have Eldred to call on. He helps to get rid of them, Canon Hubert.’

  ‘Get rid of what?’

  ‘Bats.’

  Golde's sprained ankle was no longer so tender. She still suffered an occasional twinge of pain but could now hobble around without the aid of a stick. When she was summoned to the lady Albreda, she managed to walk to the latter's apartment with relative ease, but she was grateful to be able to sit down once more. Albreda seemed tense and drawn.

  �
��How are you this morning?’ she enquired.

  ‘Much better, my lady.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I would never dare to admit this to Ralph,’ said Golde, ‘but it was more comfortable in bed last night when he was not there. He was not able to kick my ankle again in his sleep.’

  ‘Where, then, did he spend the night?’

  ‘I do not know, my lady. He rode to Tavistock on an errand.’

  ‘An important one if he spurned your bed to go there.’

  ‘Ralph went to make enquiries in connection with the lord Hervey's death. That is all he would tell me. He and his men have not yet returned from Tavistock.’

  ‘I see.’

  There was a long pause. Albreda seemed to be wrestling with her thoughts and Golde waited with a patient smile. At length, her companion bit her lip and gave a nervous laugh.

  ‘You said a moment ago that you would not dare to admit something to your husband. Is that true, Golde?’

  ‘It was said in fun.’

  ‘But there are things you hold back from him?’

  ‘Not as a rule.’

  ‘What if they threatened your happiness?’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  Albreda held up the letter in her hand. ‘This was given to me earlier this morning,’ she explained. ‘And by Berold, of all people! There is a cruel irony in that, for this is anything but a jest'

  ‘What is it, my lady?’

  ‘A letter which I wrote some years ago to the lord Nicholas. A fond and very private letter, Golde. It was intended for his eyes alone.’

  ‘How did it come into Berold's possession?’

  ‘A stranger thrust it into his hands at the castle gate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘So that I would not know who sent it.’

  ‘But is that not obvious?’ suggested Golde.

  ‘Obvious?’

  ‘If the letter was kept by the lord Nicholas, his widow must have found it after his death. She decided to return it to you.’

  ‘The lady Catherine would not have done that, Golde. She would have been far more likely to burn it in anger than send it back out of consideration to me. The problem is,’ she said, lowering her head, ‘that it was not the only declaration of love I sent to her husband. If he kept this letter, he may well have kept the others. They are much more damaging to me.’

  ‘Damaging?’

  ‘My husband would be enraged if he read them.’

  ‘But there is no chance of that, is there?’

  ‘There is every chance, Golde. Why else should this letter be given to me in such a mysterious manner if not as a warning? Someone has got hold of my correspondence. They are in a position to cause me intense embarrassment and to create a rift with my husband that might never be healed. I am in peril here, Golde.’ Albreda gave a sudden shiver. ‘What am I to do? What would you do in my place?’

  ‘Show the letter to my husband.’

  ‘That would be madness!’

  ‘Not if he loves and trusts you.’

  ‘I would sacrifice both love and trust if he saw this.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It was written after I was married.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Do not misunderstand,’ said the other hurriedly. ‘I have not been unfaithful to my husband. From the time that I married him, I never saw the lord Nicholas alone, but … I was still attracted to him and we remained friends. Baldwin was away a great deal. I was bored and alone. On impulse, I wrote this letter to the lord Nicholas but regretted it the moment it left my hand.’

  ‘How did he respond?’

  ‘Very warmly. He encouraged me to write again.’

  ‘And you did.’

  ‘Yes,’ confessed Albreda. ‘I was young and foolish, Golde. I did not know what I was doing. I was excited by the idea of a secret love which sustained me but which brought no harm to anyone else. And that is how it was for a while until I saw the folly of it all and stopped writing.’

  ‘Did you realise that he would keep your letters?’

  ‘No, Golde. I begged him to destroy them and he swore that he did.’

  ‘What of his letters to you?’

  ‘I burned them as soon as I had read them.’

  ‘But their contents stayed with you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I remember every word that he wrote to me.’

  ‘The important words are the ones you wrote to him,’ Golde pointed out. ‘They have the power to hurt you. I still believe that you should go to your husband and tell him the truth.’

  ‘I could never do that.’

  ‘After this length of time together, he surely cannot doubt you?’

  ‘I fear that he may.’

  ‘Be honest with him.’

  ‘I dare not, Golde. He has such a vile temper and this letter will spark it off. There is no telling what he would do. I am frightened of him. The person who has my letters knows that only too well.’

  ‘But why should they strike at you, my lady?’

  ‘That will soon become apparent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This was sent to me as proof of intent,’ she said, glancing down at the letter once more. ‘Though they were written in all innocence, the other letters are more incriminating than this. That is why I implored the lord Nicholas to destroy them once they had been read. He did not and they have come back to haunt me. I am being blackmailed, Golde.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  ‘You must have some idea.’

  ‘None whatsoever,’ said Albreda with a note of despair. ‘When this letter was put into my hand by Berold, I flew into a panic. That is why I turned to you for help. Only another woman could understand the position that I find myself in.’

  ‘My counsel remains the same. Tell your husband.’

  ‘No, Golde!’

  ‘Then you will for ever be at the mercy of the blackmailer.’

  ‘Not if I can buy my letters back.’

  ‘Is that what has been suggested?’

  ‘No, but it is clearly implied. He will want something from me and will no doubt set a high price on his demand. When the moment comes, I will need someone to act as my go-between.’ A look of pleading came into her eyes. ‘Will you do that office for me, Golde?’

  ‘It is not one that I take on with any willingness.’

  ‘But you will do it?’

  ‘I am not sure, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘I am touched that you were able to confide in me and I will support you all I can, but I loathe the idea of giving in to blackmail. It is a despicable crime.’

  ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘You do, my lady.

  ‘Please do not tell me to go to my husband again.’

  ‘I was not going to do that.’

  ‘Then what else can you advise?’

  ‘Find the person who sent you that letter.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Tetbald worked hard to restore himself to her favour. Having got so close to the lady Catherine, he found it galling to be thrust away so abruptly. He was submissive and obedient, quick to anticipate her needs and ready to satisfy them at once, never critical, never complaining and never again making the mistake of issuing a veiled threat. The steward's behaviour slowly won back her approval and Catherine allowed him minor concessions and even an occasional indication of affection. Tetbald was encouraged. His obsequious manner gradually evanesced into a renewed confidence. It put a spring into his step and he moved about with something of his earlier sense of possession.

  The barking of the dogs alerted him to the arrival of a visitor and he was astonished to see that it was Gervase Bret. Escorted by four of the knights from Hervey de Marigny's retinue, the young commissioner had ridden out to the manor house to continue his own investigations, firmly believing that the clue to both murders lay in the dispute in which both victims had been involved. Tetbald answered the door himself and invited the visitor i
n. The escort dismounted but remained outside.

  ‘Why have you come, Master Bret?’ asked Tetbald.

  ‘I needed to ask some questions of you,’ said Gervase.

  ‘But the proceedings at the shire hall have been postponed. That was the message that came from the town reeve. Or has that decision been revoked?’ He rubbed his hands unctuously. ‘It would be pleasing to hear that you had already arrived at a judgement in our favour. That is the kindest news I could bear to the lady Catherine.’

  ‘You will have to wait a while before you can do so, Tetbald. My enquiries concern the murder of the lord de Marigny.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the steward, composing his features into a token sympathy. ‘We heard about that from Saewin's messenger. It was a great shock to us. Who would dare to kill a royal commissioner?’

  ‘The same person who dared to kill the lord Nicholas.’

  ‘Do you think so, Master Bret?’

  ‘I am certain of it.’

  ‘There was no mention of this when the message came.’

  ‘It has still to be proved,’ admitted Gervase. ‘But I did not only come here to visit you this morning. I was hoping for a word with the lady Catherine herself.’

  ‘That is out of the question. The lady Catherine is in mourning and will see no visitors.’

  ‘She might if she knew the gravity of the situation.’

  ‘She has her own grief,’ said Tetbald firmly. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot allow you to disturb her. Any questions you may wish to put to the lady Catherine, you may put to me. I speak for her.’

  ‘Not when I am here to speak for myself,’ she said crisply.

  They turned to see her slowly descending the stairs. Gervase studied her carefully. She was wearing sober attire and an expression of distant pain but he did not feel that she was consumed with grief. As at the funeral, he sensed that her sorrow was not as deep as might be expected from the widow of a murdered husband. Catherine led him into the parlour and beckoned for Tetbald to follow. Annoyed that he had been overruled by her, the steward was mollified by the fact that he was to be included in the discussion with Gervase. It was a sign that she knew how much she could rely on him.

  When the others sat down, however, he remained standing. Catherine was very keen that he should be seen solely as her steward. Gervase noted the glance which passed between them and remembered the familiarity with which Tetbald had spoken of her at the shire hall.