The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9) Read online

  ‘That would be to add suicide to folly,’ warned Ralph. ‘I am a royal commissioner. Lay hands on me and the King himself will ride to Warwick to talk with you on the subject. Do you want that to happen?’

  Henry glared at him, then jumped from his saddle and went into the cottage to view the corpse. Ralph followed at his shoulder. The newcomer's diagnosis was swift and terse.

  ‘Boio!’

  ‘I thought he crushed his victims to death,’ said Ralph cynically.

  ‘He has been here. Stand aside.’

  Henry pushed him back and went out to his horse. Without another word he rode off to join in the search and to exhort his men. Ralph waited until he was out of sight, then he went into the cottage for the third time and examined the scene of the crime more carefully. When he inspected the wounds he came to the same conclusion as Trouville. Grimketel had been felled by a vicious blow to the temple and his head was dashed hard against the floor. As he studied the gash he recalled that Martin Reynard had also been struck on the temple with great force but there had been no blood in his case.

  He made a quick search of the cottage but found nothing of interest until he was about to leave. Standing behind the door was the stout length of oak which was used to bar it. He picked it up to feel its weight, then he closed the door and dropped it into position. It was an elementary means of fortification, but effective. Removing the oak, he stood it against the wall again and let himself out, strolling around the outbuildings and peering into them. Chickens were kept in one, another was used to store logs, a third housed a fractious goat. But it was the fourth hut which interested Ralph. It had no window and its door was securely locked. After walking around it a couple of times he used his heel to pound at the door until it gave way.

  Looking inside, he gave a gasp of astonishment.

  ‘What have we found here?’ he murmured.

  Shortly after parting with his friend, Gervase Bret left the road and struck off across open country with only a vague idea of where he was going. He and his two companions were soon hopelessly lost and there was nobody in sight from whom they could seek help. They pressed on over fields and through woodland until they finally came to a lone hovel in a clearing. A man was chopping wood outside it. When they told him they were looking for Roundshill, he had a laugh at their expense and told them they had gone completely astray but he gave them clear directions and they set off once more.

  They were a mile away from their destination when they saw a man forking hay into a stable. Gervase rode over to him to confirm that they were heading for their destination.

  ‘Roundshill?’ said the man. ‘Why do you want to go there?’

  ‘I am looking for a young woman called Asmoth.’

  ‘Then you should have come earlier, for she was here at my house.’

  ‘When?’ asked Gervase.

  ‘Oh, some time ago. They are well on their way by now.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Asmoth and her father,’ explained the man. ‘The poor fellow is fading badly. His only hope is the physician who lives in Warwick but he would not ride all the way to Roundshill. Asmoth has to take her father there. That is why she borrowed my horse and cart.’

  ‘To go to Warwick?’

  ‘That is where you will find her.’

  Gervase was minded to head straight for Warwick but something told him to stop in Roundshill first. They rode on until they came to a small cluster of dwellings near a frozen stream. The old lady in the first cottage told them where Asmoth and her father lived. Gervase was soon tapping on their door. There was no sound from within. When a louder rap brought no response he tried the door and it opened to reveal a small room with a few sticks of furniture in it. Lying on the bed in the corner was an old man, eyes watering with fear at the sight of an intruder.

  ‘I will not harm you, friend,’ said Gervase softly. ‘I was told that Asmoth lived here. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes,’ croaked the invalid.

  ‘Then you must be her father. Is she not taking you to Warwick?’

  ‘No. I would never make the journey alive.’

  ‘But your daughter borrowed a horse and cart.’

  ‘I would rather die in my own home.’ He held out a hand. ‘What is this about a horse and cart? Why should I go to Warwick?’

  Gervase crossed to the bed, gave him a calming pat on the arm then pulled the blanket gently over his shoulders. Seeing that the fire was dying, he fed it with logs before leaving the old man in peace. When he stepped outside again, he shook his head in bewilderment.

  ‘Wherever can she be?’ he said to himself.

  Staying clear of the main road, the cart trundled over wandering paths and rutted tracks. Asmoth was perched on its seat, her face tense and her teeth clenched, keeping the horse at a steady pace and tugging hard on the reins when it tried to veer off rebelliously. A tall pile of straw, brush and bramble lay in the back of the cart, heaped up and swaying violently every time the vehicle bucked or lurched. The journey was slow and uncomfortable, and the horse had to be stung on the rump with a stick whenever they went up a hill, in order to make it pull its load harder. Asmoth saw nobody and, she prayed, nobody saw her. She was not worried for her own safety and feared no consequences. Her thoughts were fixed on someone else.

  When a beaten path finally opened out into something resembling a road, she snapped the reins and gave a yell. The horse and cart picked up speed and moved on. They did not have far to go now.

  Adam Reynard paced restlessly up and down, cursing his luck and racking his brains. When someone banged on his door he jumped in alarm. He needed a moment to compose himself before he let Ralph Delchard in. The visitor wasted no time on a hollow greeting.

  ‘Why did you not come running?’ he said accusingly.

  ‘Running?’

  ‘To Grimketel's house. The man has been murdered. Do you care so little about him that you do not even go to view the body?’ He rode over Reynard's stuttered excuse. ‘You were here when the lord Philippe's man brought the news so you must have heard it. Why did you not ride off when the lord Henry did?’

  ‘I was just about to come, my lord.’

  ‘Without your cloak and cap on?’

  ‘Grimketel was my man. I was very fond of him. I was so griefstricken at his death that I could not move an inch.’

  ‘Stop lying,’ said Ralph. ‘We both know why you stayed here.’

  ‘Do we?’

  ‘It is the same reason you stopped us calling on Grimketel before. You were afraid that someone might look into the outbuildings. If the lord Henry had peeped inside one of those in search of Boio, he would have had an unpleasant shock. Three of his finest deer are hanging in there by their back legs.’

  ‘Deer!’ exclaimed Reynard, looking shocked. ‘Can this be?’

  ‘You know very well it can be,’ said Ralph, standing over him. ‘So do not insult my intelligence with evasion and falsehood. Grimketel had rights of warren to kill vermin. He had no hunting privileges in the Forest of Arden. How did that venison get where it is?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Ralph's blow sent him reeling. ‘My lord!’

  ‘I will use a sword next time. Now–answer my question.’

  ‘Grimketel must have—’ He broke off and licked his lips.

  ‘Grimketel must have what?’

  ‘Been poaching.’

  ‘On your orders.’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘A man like that does not dine off venison,’ sneered Ralph. ‘Only someone as fond of his belly as you would do that. The game was being hidden in that hut for your benefit. Admit it!’

  ‘He tried to sell it to me and I refused to buy.’

  Ralph's sword came out and Reynard started to blubber, holding up both hands for protection. The swordpoint was rested on his paunch.

  ‘Which would you prefer?’ said Ralph menacingly. ‘A quick death now or a lingering one at the hands of the lord Henry?’

  ‘Neither,
my lord. I beg you.’

  ‘The only thing which can save you is the truth. Otherwise, I'll drag you off by the scruff of the neck and throw you to the tender mercies of the lord Henry. He is very possessive about his deer. They are reserved for him and his brother. If he learns that you have been stuffing your fat carcass with his venison, he will carve you up into strips. Right,’ said Ralph, using the swordpoint to guide Reynard to a chair and push him down into it, ‘now that we understand each other, let me hear what you have to say. And I will brook no more lies.’

  Reynard nodded, his mind racing madly and his eyes darting around the room as if hoping to see a means of escape. The swordpoint pricked his paunch and he let out a cry of pain.

  ‘I am still waiting.’

  ‘It is true that Grimketel poached on my behalf,’ said Reynard, ‘but only once, I swear it. He slew three deer. Two were kept at his house where you found them. Until today the third was here, hanging in the kitchen, waiting to be eaten.’

  ‘How did it get from here to Grimketel's? Can a dead animal trot the best part of a mile?’

  ‘No, my lord. Grimketel warned me that the lord Henry was coming this way, leading a search party for Boio. I was terrified that he would come into my house and see one of his own fallow deer hanging here.’

  ‘So you made Grimketel take it away?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I loaned him a horse.’

  ‘That much I believe,’ said Ralph, ‘but I will never accept that a man like Grimketel could catch three deer on his own. I have met the fellow, remember. Catching vermin with snares or nets is all that he is fit for. He is no hunter. He had a confederate. Who was it?’ Reynard shook his head but his expression gave him away. ‘Who was it? One of the foresters, I'll wager. What is his name? Give it to me!’

  ‘There was nobody else,’ said Reynard, squirming in his chair.

  ‘Would you rather tell the name to the lord Henry?’

  ‘No, no!’

  ‘Then whisper it to me now. Who helped Grimketel? Which one of the foresters conspired with him to poach deer for you?’

  Reynard capitulated. ‘His name is Warin.’

  ‘Warin the Forester, eh? I will look forward to making the fellow's acquaintance. But let us put the poaching aside and turn to something far more important–the murder of Martin Reynard.’

  ‘I did not touch him,’ bleated the other.

  ‘You would not have enough guts. The only thing you would dare to attack is a dead animal on a platter. But you might still have found someone to act in your stead–the way you hired your poacher.’

  Reynard's throat was parched, his face took on a deathly pallor and he felt a pounding in his temples. His life might depend on what he said and how much he admitted. Ralph would not easily be deceived.

  The commissioner jabbed Reynard even harder with the sword and made him yelp.

  ‘Did you hire someone?’

  ‘I did not, my lord. On my oath. But …’

  ‘But?’

  An agonised pause. ‘But I may have … said something which Grimketel decided to act upon.’

  ‘Something about your kinsman?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. I told him how much I hated Martin and I remember saying …’ He clutched at his throat to help the words out. ‘I remember saying that it would be of great advantage to me if Thorkell were to lose his reeve before he battled with me in front of the tribunal. Martin was too tricky a foe. He had the gift of advocacy and I did not. I wanted him out of the way so that Thorkell's case was weakened.’

  ‘In other words, you ordered his death.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘But you put the idea into Grimketel's mind?’

  ‘Only in a moment of anger,’ gabbled Reynard. ‘The truth is that I do not know if he hired an assassin on my behalf or not. I did not want to know. Ignorance can sometimes be a protection. All that concerned me was that Martin was dead and …’ The words tumbled out. ‘Yes, I was glad. I rejoiced in his death, I will confess it. But I have no idea who killed him.’

  ‘Yet you were quick enough to accuse Boio.’

  ‘We needed a scapegoat. He was the obvious choice.’

  ‘So Grimketel did not see him in the forest that morning?’

  ‘He may have done.’

  ‘It was not some tale that you and he concocted?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ said the other. ‘I give you my word. I am no angel but I am not guilty here. Have it in plain language. Martin Reynard is dead. I was pleased. If one of my men contrived the murder, I prefer not to know. A suspect was arrested. I called for his conviction.’

  ‘You would have let an innocent man be hanged?’

  ‘Who knows if Boio is innocent? Let me be frank, my lord. Grimketel was as cunning as a fox. I would not put it past him to have paid the blacksmith to commit the crime then betrayed him to the lord Henry. Boio could well be the killer,’ he argued. ‘Grimketel knew that Boio would be too stupid to defend himself properly and that nobody would believe a word that he said.’

  ‘Boio was not too stupid to escape from the castle.’

  ‘Nor to find his way back here.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘To kill Grimketel,’ said the other. ‘I did not think he would take such a risk but he obviously did. If Grimketel hired the blacksmith to commit murder then betrayed him, Boio would have been seething with rage. He would be a powerful man when roused. Grimketel was shaking with fear when he heard of the escape. That is why I told him to lock himself in his house when he had concealed the deer carcass. He was no match for Boio, as we have seen.’

  Ralph watched him with a mixture of disgust and curiosity.

  ‘Repeat that again,’ he said.

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘What was that advice about locking himself in?’

  Seated in his chamber at the abbey, Robert de Limesey handled the charter as reverentially as if he held Holy Writ between his fingers. His eyes ran slowly over the neat Latin script so that he could savour each separate clause afresh. His joy seemed to increase with each reading. Brother Reginald stood behind him and peered over his shoulder to take his own pleasure from the document. In the course of one day it had assumed infinitely more promise. Robert felt entitled to be complacent.

  ‘I believe that I struck a hard bargain, Reginald.’

  ‘Yes, my lord bishop.’

  ‘I was fair.’

  ‘But admirably firm.’

  ‘I was tenacious.’

  ‘Inspired.’

  ‘Haggling is permissible if it serves the needs of the Church,’ said the bishop, absolving himself of any blame. ‘That is why I lowered myself to do it. Gervase Bret was a clever young man but less schooled in political arts than I am. All that he and the lord Ralph gained was a meeting in a draughty gaol with a disreputable old man whereas I–that is to say, we, by which I mean the Church–have secured some of the most valuable holdings in Warwickshire.’

  ‘They were yours by right, my lord bishop.’

  ‘Eminently true.’

  ‘That charter before you proves it.’

  ‘It would not have guaranteed success.’

  ‘Your status carries weight in itself.’

  ‘Even with right on our side,’ said the bishop, ‘we may have lost. Royal commissioners are a strange breed, as we found when the first team visited the county. They do not always appreciate the moral claims of the Church. That is why I took the trouble to have word sent to me from Winchester about the men who would judge our case this time. In matters of litigation one cannot be too well prepared.’

  ‘Your attention to detail is remarkable.’

  ‘Archdeacon Theobald is a sound man. I know him by repute. He could be expected to favour us but I did not like the sound of Ralph Delchard, still less of Philippe Trouville, both soldiers and like to prove stern judges. But,’ he said, flinging his hands in the air as if throwing a ball up to heaven, ‘when we most needed help, God provided it. He brought two of the commis
sioners to our very door and allowed me the opportunity to …’

  ‘Outwit them?’

  ‘Too vulgar a description.’

  ‘Persuade them.’

  ‘That has a far better ring to it, Reginald.’

  ‘On behalf of the Church, you persuaded them.’

  ‘And the property is as good as ours!’

  On impulse he lifted the charter to his face, thought about kissing it but checked himself in the belief that a display of such excitement would not be seemly in front of Reginald. Instead he glowed with an inner ecstasy which would be given free rein when he was alone.

  A polite tap on the door interrupted his self-congratulation.

  ‘Yes?’ he called.

  A monk entered and gave him a deferential nod.

  ‘A man is at the gate, my lord,’ said the newcomer. ‘He is in the utmost distress. He comes with a request. The abbot wishes to confer with you about the case as a matter of urgency.’

  ‘Why?’ said Robert. ‘Who is this man?’

  ‘A fugitive from the law.’

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘He claims right of sanctuary.’

  Chapter Twelve

  As the afternoon shaded into evening, Henry Beaumont became more wrathful than ever. He looked up at the sky. Light was starting to fade and it would not be long before the search would have to be abandoned. He was tormented by the thought that they had been in the saddle since dawn but had nothing whatsoever to show for their efforts. When they came to a wide track which ran away through woodland he called his men to a halt and turned to Philippe Trouville, who rode next to him.

  ‘Why have we found no trace of him?’ said Henry.

  ‘I am as baffled as you, my lord.’

  ‘He must have left Grimketel's house shortly before you got there. Boio could not have travelled far by the time we set out after him. We should have run him down long before now.’

  ‘If he was on foot,’ said Trouville.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He may have had a horse.’

  ‘Then it must have been stolen.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Someone may have loaned it to him.’

  ‘They would not dare!’