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

  ‘The blacksmith escaped from the castle,’ Trouville reminded him. ‘You said yourself that he must have had help to do that.’

  ‘Yes, from that scheming monk Brother Benedict.’

  ‘He may not be implicated at all.’

  ‘But he took that file into Boio's cell.’

  ‘Did he, my lord? I think it unlikely. I have got to know the man well in the past couple of days and his eternal benevolence sickens me but he would not help a prisoner to escape. And since he is now held in your dungeon, he could hardly have provided the blacksmith with a horse. No,’ concluded Trouville, ‘someone else is working on Boio's behalf. This is the work of a particular friend.’

  ‘Who could that be?’

  ‘Does he have no family?’

  ‘He lives alone.’

  ‘Kinsmen? Neighbours?’

  ‘None that I know of, my lord. Boio is a lonely creature.’

  ‘Is he?’

  Henry pondered. It irked him that he might have been too reckless in attaching blame to Brother Benedict and he did not relish the notion of having to release him and, what would be worse, apologise to the man. The monk had proclaimed Boio's innocence but that did not mean he procured a file for him. If someone else was helping the blacksmith, then the quickest way to find the fugitive might be to confront the friend who was aiding him. One name suggested itself.

  ‘You must have some notion who it might be,’ said Trouville.

  ‘I do. Let us ride on.’

  They did not have to go far. After following the track for half a mile through the trees, they came out into open country and found themselves face to face with the very man they sought. Thorkell of Warwick was seated proudly on his horse, flanked by two dozen of his men, all armed to give a show of resistance. The old man held up an imperious palm and the search party came to a sudden halt.

  ‘You are trespassing, my lord,’ warned Thorkell.

  ‘I will ride anywhere I wish in pursuit of a fugitive.’

  ‘There is no fugitive here.’

  ‘How do I know that?’

  ‘Because I give you my word.’

  ‘Boio is your man,’ accused Henry. ‘You would protect him.’

  ‘Not if he is the murderer you claim. I would have questioned him closely first and–if his guilt were established–I would have brought him back to the castle in person.’

  ‘I do not believe you.’

  ‘Believe what you like, my lord. I speak the truth.’

  ‘Where is Boio?’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘Because you helped him to escape.’

  ‘I did nothing of the kind,’ said Thorkell vehemently, ‘and I can prove it. Just because I protested at his arrest, it does not mean that I sought to get him out of your dungeon. That is a monstrous charge. What would I hope to gain? And where would Boio go? I could hardly conceal a fugitive on my land in perpetuity. Look elsewhere, my lord.’

  ‘I will look here first.’

  ‘No, you will not.’

  ‘Would you obstruct me?’

  ‘I would simply remind you where you are,’ said Thorkell with dignity. ‘I do not trespass on your estates and I will not permit trespass on mine. I have been a thegn here for many years, long before you came from Normandy to build your castle and to bully my people. But you will not bully me. I have right and title to this land, confirmed by King William himself, as you well know. I want no intruders here.’

  ‘Damnation!’ howled Trouville. ‘We are not intruders, old man! We are chasing a dangerous felon. He has already killed twice and may do so again if he is not caught.’

  Thorkell started. ‘He has killed twice?’

  ‘Grimketel was his second victim.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This afternoon. I found the fellow dead myself.’

  ‘How can you be sure that Boio is the culprit?’

  ‘There is no doubt about it,’ said Henry.

  ‘What proof do you have?’

  ‘What I saw with my own eyes, Thorkell. The man was felled by a savage blow. His head was smashed open. Grimketel feared for his life when he heard of the escape. Rightly so.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘His evidence put Boio in jeopardy. Grimketel was the vital witness. The blacksmith was clearly moved by vengeance.’

  ‘But he is not a vengeful man, my lord.’

  ‘You tell me that he is not a violent man,’ said Henry, ‘yet he has killed two victims with his bare hands. Does that not convince you of the need to catch this fiend?’

  Thorkell was nonplussed. The news had rocked him. He tried to match it against the character of the blacksmith whom he believed he knew so well and to separate clear proof from hasty assumption.

  ‘Now will you stand aside to let us search?’ demanded Trouville.

  ‘No,’ said Thorkell.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I say so.’

  ‘You must have a stronger reason than that.’

  ‘There is no need for any search. As soon as I heard of the escape, I sent out patrols of my own. I know the law against harbouring a fugitive. No sighting of Boio has been made. Nor did I expect one. Listen, my lords,’ he counselled, ‘you have wasted your time coming here. When Boio fled, his sole aim was to get free. There are two obvious places where he would run for cover.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘To his forge,’ said Thorkell, ‘or to his overlord.’

  ‘My men have searched the forge,’ grunted Henry.

  ‘I am sure it was the first place you looked, my lord. I am surprised that it has taken you so long to come here. Do you really imagine that Boio would go to one of the two places where you would be bound to find him? That would be tantamount to giving himself up.’

  ‘There is something in what he says,’ admitted Trouville.

  ‘Boio would not come near me,’ said Thorkell.

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Henry, caught in two minds. ‘But we will take the precaution of searching just to make sure.’

  ‘You will not, my lord.’

  ‘Who can stop us?’

  ‘We can,’ said Thorkell quietly. ‘I have fifty more men within hailing distance. Even you would not be foolish enough to make me call them.’

  Trouville tried to draw his sword but Henry reached across to hold his wrist. They were outnumbered. A skirmish would be a mistake.

  ‘I will return tomorrow with more men,’ said the constable.

  Thorkell met his gaze. ‘So will I. Now please ride off.’

  ‘Do not give orders to me!’

  ‘This is my land.’

  Henry's anger slowly disappeared behind a gloating smile.

  ‘Yes, Thorkell,’ he said. ‘It is your land. At the moment.’

  Darkness was falling fast by the time that Ralph Delchard and his men reached Warwick. Gervase Bret was waiting anxiously for him at the gate of the castle. The two friends adjourned swiftly to the keep. Golde joined them in Gervase's chamber and the three of them shared what they had each discovered. Ralph was bubbling to pass on his news but he held it back so that Golde could speak first. When she related the details of her conversation with the lady Adela, both men were intrigued.

  ‘Let me hear that again,’ said Ralph. ‘Martin Reynard left the household in disgrace yet came back here time after time?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Golde.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The lady Adela did not know.’

  ‘Her husband would hardly want to see him. Henry Beaumont is the sort of man who bears grudges. Once someone crosses him, Henry will never forgive him.’

  ‘Yet he seems to have forgiven the reeve.’

  ‘Does he, my love?’

  ‘Yes, Ralph. According to the lady Adela, the man who replaced him here has nothing like Martin Reynard's skill. Her husband moaned to her about it. He expressed regret that he had let the fellow go.’

  ‘Then why did he?’

  ‘Apparently the m
an exceeded his authority.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘The lady Adela could not say.’

  Ralph was puzzled. ‘Martin Reynard exceeded his authority and the constable merely dismissed him? The lord Henry keeps the strictest discipline here. I am surprised that he did not have the man whipped and turned out of the castle naked.’

  ‘Something else is odd,’ observed Gervase. ‘The lord Henry not only dispensed with a valuable man, he saw him go into Thorkell's service. That must have galled him. He has no love for Thorkell and must have hated to see his reeve lending his skills to the old Saxon. Unless,’ he added as a thought nudged him, ‘we are missing something here.’

  ‘We are, Gervase,’ said Ralph, ‘and I think I know what it may be. But let me give you my tidings now. What Golde has learned has been of great interest but I will burst if I hold back my own tale any longer.’

  ‘Speak out,’ said his wife.

  ‘The first thing you must know is that Grimketel is dead.’

  ‘How?’ asked Gervase.

  ‘Murdered in his own house.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Judge for yourself.’

  Ralph told them about his visit to Grimketel's house and about his abrasive encounter with Adam Reynard, explaining that it had been too late for him to go in search of Warin the Forester but that he intended to do so on the following day. The revelations about poaching did not surprise Gervase in the least. What he was most interested in, however, was the murder of Grimketel.

  ‘Did you believe the lord Philippe's story?’ he asked.

  ‘At first, Gervase.’

  ‘But not now?’

  ‘No, I doubt if Boio went near the place.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’ said Golde.

  ‘Because of what I knew of Grimketel and because of what Adam Reynard told me about him. Grimketel was a short, skinny man with no more muscle on him than on a broomstick. We met him, my love. He was a sly devil, by the look of him, and liable to shake in his shoes at the first hint of danger. Fearing that Boio was on the rampage, he would have barricaded himself into his house. Indeed,’ said Ralph, ‘that is exactly what his master urged him to do–after he'd made sure their poached deer were well hidden, of course. If the blacksmith did kill Grimketel, how did he get into the house?’

  ‘By battering down the door.’

  ‘It was untouched, Golde. I checked. You see my point? The lord Philippe would have us believe that Grimketel left his door unlocked even though he felt he was in peril. No, I think that what we have here is another crime being laid unfairly at Boio's feet. I do not believe that he had anything to do with Grimketel's death.’

  ‘I know it for certain,’ affirmed Gervase.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Hear my tale first.’

  Gervase described his visit to Roundshill and his brief talk with Asmoth's father. When they heard about the borrowed horse and cart, both his listeners reached the same conclusion that he had done and both were struck by the woman's daring.

  ‘Boio could not possibly have done it,’ said Gervase confidently. ‘He was miles away at the time. When Grimketel was killed in his house, the blacksmith was climbing into the cart which Asmoth borrowed for him. Now, that being the case, it raises two very important questions. First, who did murder Grimketel?’

  ‘I have one suspect already in mind,’ said Ralph.

  ‘So have I.’

  ‘Does he know that you have guessed his secret?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What is the second question, Gervase?’ asked Golde.

  ‘Asmoth procured the horse and cart to drive Boio to safety.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Where did she take him?’

  He was in a sorry state when he reached Coventry. A night without sleep and a headlong charge through field and forest had left their marks on Boio. His clothing was torn, his face and arms were crisscrossed with scratches and he was covered in filth from head to toe. His hair was matted with grime. Fear added its own vivid signature. Even when the monks washed most of the dirt off him, his odour was still pungent. Robert de Limesey kept a protective palm around his nose while he questioned the blacksmith, irritated that he had to use Brother Reginald as an interpreter and further peeved by the grinding slowness of Boio's responses. Swaying with exhaustion, the fugitive was having difficulty understanding the simplest of questions.

  ‘Why do you seek sanctuary?’ Reginald asked.

  ‘It is my only hope.’

  ‘What was your crime?’

  ‘They say that I murdered a man.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that the truth? You stand before a bishop on consecrated ground. Tell lies and you will roast in hell. We want the truth. Take care how you answer now. Did you commit this crime?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why were you arrested?’

  ‘False evidence.’

  ‘Where were you held?’

  ‘Warwick Castle.’

  When the reply was translated, the bishop was thunderstruck.

  ‘He escaped from custody?’ he said in wonderment. ‘When he was held by Henry Beaumont? A mouse could not get safely out of that castle. Ask him how he did it.’

  Boio told them about the file but refused to say how it came into his possession. Nor would he explain the route by which he came to Coventry, admitting only to a blundering dash north from Warwick. At no point did Asmoth's name come into the conversation. He was keen to ensure that she would be in no way held accountable for what happened. Escape, flight and search for sanctuary were all his own doing.

  The three of them were in Robert de Limesey's chamber. With the bishop in residence, the abbot was very grateful to shift the burden of examination on to him and his guest was glad to bear it. It was a tacit acknowledgement of his superior status and an opportunity to flex his legal and spiritual muscles in the battle with Henry Beaumont over the fugitive which he foresaw. Prejudiced against Boio because of his stink, the bishop was not convinced by his plea of innocence. On their visit to the abbey Ralph and Gervase had already given their account of the murder investigation. Robert wished to see if it accorded in every detail with the one from the man who was at the very heart of it.

  ‘Tell us about Huna,’ prodded Reginald.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The traveller with the donkey.’

  ‘He gave me no name,’ said Boio.

  ‘But he is the man you think could save your life?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know what he is?’

  ‘He cures people.’

  ‘By what means, though?’ said the monk. ‘That is the question.’

  ‘He makes potions. He gave me one.’

  ‘Do you still have it?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘What did you do with it?’

  ‘I drank it while held in the dungeons. It helped me sleep.’

  ‘Did Huna talk to you about miracles?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did he say how he performed them?’

  ‘With faith in God.’

  ‘The man is shameless!’

  ‘You know where he is?’

  ‘Huna is here in Coventry.’ Boio's face lit up. ‘He performed one of his so-called miracles in the street. Bishop Robert had him apprehended on a charge of sorcery and thrown into the town gaol. You will get no alibi from him. He is in need of one himself.’

  ‘Let me see him,’ begged Boio.

  ‘That will not be possible.’

  ‘What harm can it do?’

  ‘We have already heard enough from Huna.’

  ‘He is a friend.’

  ‘Look elsewhere for friendship.’

  ‘But I need him,’ said Boio. ‘Let him tell you if I am lying. He was there at my forge that morning. He knows that I could not have been in the Forest of Arden. Huna is a poor man but his mind is clear. I am sure he will remember. Please!’ he implor
ed. ‘Do you not see? This is God's wish. He has brought me and Huna together in the town. We must meet.’

  Bishop and monk were completely taken aback. Boio spoke with such passion and coherence that they found their sympathy for him increasing. His situation was indeed desperate. Right of sanctuary was granted but he would not be immune from the law indefinitely. When the time came to release him an arrest would immediately follow. Only proof of innocence would effect his acquittal. Otherwise, all that the abbey was doing was to delay the day of execution.

  ‘There may be matter in this for us,’ suggested a pensive Robert.

  ‘Matter, my lord bishop?’

  ‘Yes, Reginald. I must confess that I am not looking forward to another theological encounter with Huna but this blacksmith here might save me the trouble. If I sanctioned a meeting, you could be present and overhear every word which passes between them.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Not only will we know if Boio is telling the truth,’ said the bishop, ‘we will learn more about the old man. When he talks to a friend he may not be as glib and well defended as when he faces us. Yes,’ he decided, ‘that is what we will do. Arrange a meeting, Reginald. And soon.’

  ‘May I tell Boio your decision, my lord bishop?’

  They looked across to see the tears running down his face.

  ‘I think that he already knows it,’ said Robert.

  It was almost completely dark when Henry Beaumont led his dejected troop back to Warwick Castle. The search parties which had ventured off in other directions had already returned but none of them had picked up the fugitive's trail. As far as they knew, he was still at liberty. Henry's ill temper was not improved by a concerted appeal from Ralph, Gervase and Theobald for the release of Brother Benedict. When the appeal was supported by Trouville, the constable eventually relented, insisting that the monk be confined to the castle until he had time properly to interrogate him. The commissioners were delighted and thanked their host. They went off for a reunion with their incarcerated scribe.

  Henry and Trouville were still in the bailey when the messenger arrived, breathless from a hard ride. His horse was lathered with sweat. The man leaped from the saddle and ran across to Henry.

  ‘He is found, my lord!’ he announced.

  ‘Where?’ said Henry with a cry of pleasure.

  ‘In Coventry.’