The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10) Read online

  ‘Are you the leader of this second commission?’

  ‘Technically, no, but my word carries great weight. The lord Ralph, our appointed head, is a veteran soldier who lacks an appreciation of legal subtleties. He is forced to turn to me very often,’ said Hubert with smooth pomposity. ‘But no more of my work. It is an irrelevance at this moment in time. Tell me more about this catastrophe which has struck the abbey. Who was this unfortunate Brother Nicholas of whom the sheriff spoke?’

  ‘Our rent collector.’

  ‘How long had he been dead before he was found?’

  ‘We can only hazard a guess at that, Hubert.’

  Serlo ran a palm across his wrinkled brow and gave a detailed account of how the murder victim had been found. Hubert was dismayed at what he heard. After condemning the anonymous killer in the strongest language he felt able to use, he turned his ire on the novices.

  ‘I hope that they have been soundly swinged, Father Abbot,’ he said, puffing with indignation. ‘Their behaviour was disgraceful. To leave the dormitory like that, plunder the kitchen and flee into the church from the Master of the Novices! Their backs should be raw for a month.’

  ‘Far too Draconian a remedy.’

  ‘Disobedience must be punished. Not,’ he added hastily, ‘that I would presume to teach you how to rule here when you patently do so in the true spirit of the Benedictine Order. Yet, with respect, I do feel that these miscreants should be shown no mercy.’

  ‘Then you and I must agree to differ, Hubert.’

  ‘I hope not, Father Abbot.’

  ‘Kenelm and Elaf are relative newcomers to the abbey. They have yet to understand the sacrifices which they must make. What they did was deplorable and they realise that now. However,’ he continued, rising to his feet, ‘I do not feel that a flogging is appropriate here. You may wish their backs to be raw for a month but their young minds will be raw for the rest of their lives. Think of what they endured, Hubert. Finding one of the reverent brothers dead. Lunging against his corpse in the dark. A hideous experience. It cured their misbehaviour in an instant.’

  ‘That is one way of looking at it,’ conceded Hubert.

  ‘It is my way. Another consideration also guided me.’

  ‘What was that, Father Abbot?’

  ‘Kenelm and Elaf are key witnesses here. They were the first to be questioned by the sheriff and will certainly be called before him again. What sort of evidence can they give if they are writhing in pain after a beating with a birch rod?’

  ‘I begin to see your reasoning.’

  ‘I am glad you recognise it as reason rather than as weakness.’

  ‘Nobody could ever accuse you of that.’

  ‘The Master of the Novices might. He wanted to flay them.’

  ‘They have vital evidence.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Serlo, raising a silver eyebrow, ‘and they have yet to release all of it to us.’

  ‘They are holding something back?’

  ‘Not deliberately, Hubert. They are still stunned by their discovery. Still in a daze. They are eager to help yet one senses they have more to tell than has so far emerged. We must wait until the shock wears off. Facts which have so far been locked away inside their heads may then be drawn out of them.’

  ‘Let me speak to them,’ volunteered Hubert.

  ‘You?’

  ‘I am a skilled interrogator, Father Abbot, that is why the King has seen fit to employ me in this capacity. I am also used to the wiles and evasions of novices. When they are questioned by the sheriff, or by you and your obedientiaries, they are dealing with people they know, faces from their immediate world. I am a total stranger,’ he argued. ‘It will put them on their guard against me but it will disarm them at the same time because they will not know what to expect. With skill and patience, I might be able to dig out some of those buried facts.’

  ‘You might be able to, Hubert.’

  ‘Then I have your permission to speak with them?’

  ‘Gladly–if it were not a waste of your time.’

  ‘How a waste?’

  ‘They are Saxon boys, still struggling to learn our tongue and still unequal to the harsher demands of Latin. Kenelm and Elaf would not really know what you were talking about.’

  ‘But the sheriff has examined them.’

  ‘Only through an interpreter, Brother Frewine, our Precentor.’

  Hubert felt a thrill of pleasure as he remembered Gervase Bret.

  ‘Then I will use an interpreter as well.’

  When Gervase dined with his host that evening, he realised that the county was served by two sheriffs, both sharing the same name and body but quite distinct in personality. The man who had informed them of the murder was a brusque, arrogant man with no time for civilities and no tolerance of interference. In the presence of women, however, he became a considerate and almost playful character, laughing freely and trading on a rather heavyhanded charm. Seated directly opposite him in the hall, Gervase was grateful that Durand was flanked by his wife, Maud, a tall, slim creature with a pale beauty, and by Golde, looking every inch a Norman lady in a chemise and gown of light green hue with a white linen wimple. The interrelationships fascinated Gervase. Durand the Sheriff was humanised by his female companions and he, in turn, helped to take some of the haughtiness out of his wife's manner by gently mocking her when she tried to patronise Golde.

  Ralph Delchard was less interested in their host's display of hospitality than in the quality of the food, which was excellent, the taste of the wine, which was above reproach, and the identity of a mystery man. The five of them were alone at table. When his cup was filled once more by a servant, Ralph sipped it with unfeigned satisfaction.

  ‘A splendid vintage, my lord!’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Durand.

  ‘There is nothing to match the taste of Norman wine.’

  ‘I could not agree more.’

  ‘It is unmistakable.’

  ‘Not in this case,’ said the other with a grin. ‘What you are drinking has not come from Normandy at all but from somewhere much closer.’

  ‘I refuse to believe it.’

  ‘Go to the kitchens and ask them. They will tell you that this wine hails from the vineyard at Stonehouse in the Blacklow Hundred. Ride over there if you do not believe me.’

  ‘Our duties leave no time for excursions,’ said Ralph, peeved that he had been deceived. ‘Golde has been trying to lure me into drinking ale, as she does, but I have set my face against it. Wine delights my palate.’ He looked warily into his cup. ‘Though it would delight me more if it had come from Normandy grapes.’

  ‘You must learn to enjoy the pleasures of England.’

  ‘I have, my lord. That is why I married one of them.’

  Durand chuckled, Maud gave an ambiguous smile and Golde acknowledged the compliment with a grateful nod.

  Ralph took another sip of the wine before trying to rid himself of his abiding fear.

  ‘Who is the Archdeacon of Gwent?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘What a strange question!’ observed Maud with a shrill laugh.

  ‘Do you know, my lady?’

  ‘No, my lord. Nor do I care to know. Why do you ask?’

  ‘My husband believes that the archdeacon may be an acquaintance of his,’ explained Golde, ‘though I have assured him that it is unlikely.’

  ‘Give me certain proof,’ said Ralph. ‘What is his name?’

  ‘Abraham,’ replied the sheriff.

  ‘Thank God!’

  ‘You have met the fellow?’

  ‘Happily, I have not.’

  ‘Abraham the Priest is the Archdeacon of Gwent.’

  ‘You have done wonders for my digestion, my lord,’ said Ralph.

  ‘What manner of man is the archdeacon?’ wondered Gervase, looking across at Durand. ‘It seems that he is to appear before us. What should we expect, my lord?’

  ‘What you expect from every Welshman. Guile and deceit.’


  ‘I have a higher opinion of the nation.’

  ‘I don't!’ said Ralph.

  ‘The Welsh have always dealt honourably with me.’

  ‘They deal honourably with me,’ asserted the sheriff, lapsing back into his surlier self, ‘when I have a sword in my hand and armed men at my back. It is the only way to extract honesty from them. By force.’

  ‘Away with such talk!’ complained Maud.

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said her husband in retreat.

  ‘It has no place at the table.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Durand, soothing her with a penitent smile. ‘We are here to enjoy our meal and not to raise the disagreeable subject of our neighbours.’ He turned to Golde. ‘My wife and I have a rule that I never bother her with affairs of state, still less with the trivialities which sometimes clutter up my day.’

  ‘I would hardly call a murder a triviality,’ observed Gervase.

  ‘It belongs outside this hall, Master Bret,’ chided his host with a glare. ‘That is why we treat of more homely subjects such as the quality of the vineyard at Stonehouse.’

  ‘Or the beer in Hereford,’ murmured his wife, who did not know whether to be amused or dismissive about the revelation of Golde's earlier career as a brewer. ‘I want a husband who can separate his private life from his more worldly concerns. Is it not so with every wife?’

  ‘No,’ said Golde loyally. ‘I would love my husband whatever he talked about. I set no conditions whatsoever on his conversation.’

  ‘That's just as well!’ commented Ralph.

  ‘What of your wife, Master Bret?’ asked Maud.

  ‘Alys seems content with me the way that I am, my lady.’

  ‘Newly wed, then, I see.’

  ‘Do not be so cynical, Maud,’ teased Durand. ‘Our guests will think that you are being serious.’ More food was brought in on large platters. ‘Ah! Here is the venison! Indulge yourselves, my friends. Eat your fill.’

  The rest of the meal passed in pleasant banter. Whenever the talk seemed to be in the slightest danger of edging towards tedium, Durand would leap in with a gallant remark to the ladies or a provocative comment to the men. Time rolled easily by. It was Maud who brought an end to the festivities, stifling a yawn and excusing herself from the table, insisting that Golde went with her so that they could speak alone. Durand escorted them both to the door, bestowing a kiss on his wife's cheek and another on Golde's hand before he bowed them out. Then the smile froze on his lips. It was the other sheriff who came back to the table.

  ‘I bid you good night,’ he said off-handedly.

  ‘One moment, my lord,’ said Ralph, anxious to hear about the progress of the murder inquiry. ‘You have not told us what transpired at the abbey this afternoon.’

  ‘The abbey?’

  ‘You rode off there shortly after we arrived.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Have you narrowed down the number of suspects?’

  ‘What is that to you?’

  ‘A polite question deserves at least a polite answer,’ said Ralph, straightening his shoulders. ‘And while we are on the topic of civility, I am bound to say that we found your manner offensive when you rode out of the castle earlier. It is equally unappealing now.’

  ‘It is not my wish to appeal.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘We are curious about the murder, my lord,’ said Gervase, eager to prevent a row developing between the two men. ‘That is all.’

  ‘Master your curiosity. It is not welcome here.’

  ‘But the crime may have a bearing on our work.’

  ‘How could it?’ snorted the sheriff.

  Ralph stood up. ‘Surely you can tell us something,’ he urged.

  ‘Indeed I can,’ retorted Durand. ‘I can tell you in no uncertain terms to curb your interest in matters that do not concern you. I am sheriff here and I brook no intervention, however well intentioned. Your work is confined to the shire hall. Keep that in mind,’ he said, heading for the door again, ‘or it will go hard with both of you. Good night!’

  He left the door wide open but they both felt that it had just been slammed in their faces. Ralph Delchard scratched his head in disbelief.

  ‘Was that really the same man who entertained us so well in here tonight? I begin to think that power sits far too heavily upon him.’

  ‘Yes, Ralph,’ said Gervase. ‘But not as heavily as his wife.’

  Chapter Three

  Gloucester was a clamorous city. Shortly after dawn was announced by a veritable choir of roosters, the first carts for market rumbled in through the gates, and their owners joined stallholders who lived within the precincts in setting out their wares and produce. Prompt housewives came in search of early bargains, playful children emerged from their homes, dogs and cats began a new day of foraging or fighting, and birds swooped down on discarded morsels. The quayside, too, was bustling with activity as boats set off with their cargoes, fishermen departed with their nets and the first craft came up the river to unload. Almost 3,000 people lived in Gloucester and it sounded as if they were all helping to swell the tumult.

  The mounting cacophony wafted across to the castle on a light wind and brought even the deafest of its inhabitants awake. Ralph Delchard did not complain. He and Gervase Bret were already up at dawn, sharing breakfast alone in the hall so that they could make full use of the day. A combination of soft beds and Stonehouse wine made them sleep soundly, and they awoke refreshed, ready to shake off the memory of their friction with the sheriff so that they could give all their attention to the work which had brought them there. Accompanied by half-a-dozen of Ralph's men, they were soon leaving the castle to ride to the shire hall in Westgate Street. The commotion was now greater than ever and they inhaled the distinctive smell of the city, compounded of fish, flowers, ripe fruit, stagnant water, animal dung, human excrement, filthy clothing and the accumulated refuse over which flies were already buzzing crazily.

  ‘What a stink!’ said Ralph, wrinkling his nose.

  ‘We'll get used to it,’ said Gervase.

  ‘We'll have to now that our stay is likely to be much longer than we imagined. What fool told me that we would be gone in a week?’

  ‘That may still be the case, Ralph.’

  ‘I doubt it. We could be here for months!’

  Gervase smiled. ‘It will give you time to get to know Durand better.’

  ‘I know his kind only too well already. The sheriff will do little to make our visit more pleasant and much to impede us. Left to him, we would be on the road home this very morning.’

  Arriving at the shire hall, they tethered their horses and went inside, taking two men with them while leaving the other four on guard at the door. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were already there, having walked from the abbey, and they greeted the newcomers with polite nods. Ralph and Gervase took their bearings. The shire hall was a substantial building of timber and interwoven wattle. Open shutters allowed light to flood into the room, but fresh air did not completely dispel the reek of damp. An oak table and bench had been set out facing a series of much longer benches to accommodate any witnesses they had to examine. The place had been recently swept and a jug of wine with four cups provided for them. Apart from its greater size, there was nothing to set it apart from the many other shire halls which they made use of in their travels. It was an adequate but nondescript courtroom.

  Ralph was just about to ask where the reeve was when the man himself swept in through the door with a flourish. It was a dramatic entrance by someone who had deliberately waited until they were all present before he saw fit to make his own appearance.

  ‘Good morrow, sirs!’ he declared. ‘Welcome to our fair city.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ralph.

  ‘I am Nigel the Reeve. Tell me your requirements and they will be satisfied to the letter. The first commissioners, who included Remigius, Bishop of Lincoln, did not find me wanting. Indeed, one of their number, the lord
Adam Fitzherbert, went out of his way to compliment me. I trust I will earn similar approval from you.’

  While introducing himself and his companions, Ralph took a moment to weigh the man up. Short, compact, well dressed and clean-shaven, Nigel the Reeve had an air of unassailable selfimportance. It was not just the lordly pose he adopted nor the condescending tone in which he spoke. He exuded pomposity. Now in his forties, he had the solid look of a soldier overlaid with the trappings of office. Nigel was a royal reeve who administered Gloucester on behalf of the crown yet who acted as if he were wearing that symbol of majesty. Taking an immediate dislike to the fellow, Ralph sought to put him in his place from the start.

  ‘We sent full instructions from Winchester,’ he said, meeting the reeve's supercilious gaze. ‘I trust that they have been obeyed.

  ’ ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘The first disputants will arrive when the abbey bell rings for Sext. That will give you and your fellow commissioners plenty of time to settle in here and prepare yourselves. When the Bishop of Lincoln was here—’

  ‘I want no anecdotes about our predecessors,’ interrupted Ralph sharply. ‘If they had done their job thoroughly–and, by implication, you had been as efficient as you obviously think you are–the problems which we have come to solve would not have existed.’

  ‘I do not think you can fault me, my lord.’

  ‘We shall see.’

  ‘My reputation goes before me.’

  ‘It will be put to the test.’

  ‘Respect my position,’ warned the other, drawing himself up to his full height. ‘I am not at your beck and call. Many other duties fall to me as well. Important commitments which must be honoured. I have shown you the courtesy of a personal welcome but will have to assign most of your requests to one of my underlings.’

  ‘You will still be responsible for their actions.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Make sure that they are diligent.’

  ‘Do not try to teach me my occupation, my lord.’