The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9) Page 6

  Philippe Trouville surprised them all. Expecting him to be an awkward pupil, they found him alert and responsive, willing to learn and able quickly to absorb what he was taught. Ralph Delchard helped with the instruction but it was Gervase Bret who took charge, guiding the new commissioner through the documents relating to the first dispute with which they would deal and explaining the background to it. With the twin gifts of clarity and brevity, Gervase baptised Trouville into his role and, at the same time, further educated Archdeacon Theobald and Brother Benedict, both of whom plied him with intelligent questions throughout.

  Seated at the table, the five of them worked happily together and Ralph came to see why Trouville had been chosen to join them. He was not the boorish soldier he had at first appeared but a man with an agile mind and a grasp of Latin which was firm. Gervase had no need to translate the words for him in the way that he did for Ralph. At one point, Trouville was so caught up in his studies that he actually conversed with Theobald for a few sentences in Latin. Ralph found himself wondering in what language he had proposed to the lady Marguerite or whether -the idea caused him private amusement - she had proposed to him by the simple means of issuing an edict.

  A productive morning left them in a satisfied mood and their pleasure was increased by the arrival of the food, which Ednoth had arranged to be served to them. Benedict refused to touch anything more than bread and water but Theobald had a more liberal appetite and ate with relish. He and the scribe then fell into a long discussion about the importance of the reforms of Pope Gregory. Now that Trouville had become almost sociable, Ralph sought to find out more about him.

  He began with what Gervase recognised as an arrant lie.

  ‘I am glad that you brought the lady Marguerite with you,’ he said.

  ‘Are you?’ grunted Trouville through a mouthful of cold chicken.

  ‘Her conversation lit up the table last night.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Marguerite can certainly talk.’

  ‘How long have you been married, my lord?’

  ‘Little above a year.’

  ‘Then you are still enjoying the first fruits of the experience.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘You should know.’

  ‘It is not something I have ever thought about.’

  ‘The lady Marguerite is a remarkable woman.’

  ‘That is certainly true,’ said the other without enthusiasm.

  ‘From where does your wife hail?’ asked Gervase.

  ‘Falaise.’

  ‘The King's own birthplace!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Trouville, ‘though Marguerite has a more distinguished lineage. She was conceived within the legitimate bounds of marriage. We too easily forget that the King of England and Duke of Normandy was once derided as William the Bastard.’

  ‘And still is by his enemies,’ noted Ralph with a chuckle.

  ‘How did you meet the lady Marguerite?’ fished Gervase.

  ‘I am not here to give an account of my life,’ said Trouville with a show of irritation. ‘When people see a beautiful young woman married to an older man, they are bound to speculate and I know that is what you have both been doing. But I happen to believe in privacy. How and why my wife and I met and married is our own affair and I will not let it become the tittle-tattle of an idle moment.’

  ‘Of course not, my lord,’ said Ralph.

  Gervase nodded. ‘I apologise if my question was intrusive.’

  ‘Let us hear no more on the subject,’ said Trouville, swallowing his chicken and washing it down with a sip of wine. ‘Did you hear what the lord Henry said when we passed him on the stair this morning?’

  ‘What was that?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘He has promised to hold a banquet for us.’

  ‘That is good news. When?’

  ‘When this murder investigation has been completed.’

  ‘In the lord Henry's mind, it already has,’ observed Gervase drily. ‘He believes that he has the guilty man behind bars. Trial and sentence will soon follow.’

  ‘Excellent!’ said Trouville. ‘Then we can celebrate the hanging with a banquet. It will give us a chance to get to know the lord Henry better and to make the acquaintance of his brother.’

  ‘Robert Beaumont?’

  ‘Yes, the Count of Meulan himself. He and the lord Henry are both members of the King's council. We will be rubbing shoulders with two men who know the very nerves of state.’ He gave a complacent smile. ‘It will actually make the effort of getting here worthwhile.’

  ‘The pleasure of my company does that, surely?’ said Ralph jocularly. ‘That is what tore Gervase away from his young bride. Admit it, Gervase. Even the temptations of the marital couch could not compete with the joy of working alongside me again. True or false?’

  ‘Do you really need to ask?’ said Gervase wryly.

  ‘Where I go, you go. A true partnership.’

  ‘Do not let Alys hear you saying that. Nor your own dear wife. They would both contend that a loving marriage is the only true partnership.’ He pushed his platter aside and stood up. ‘I am inclined to agree.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘Back to the castle. We have finished all we have to do here.’

  ‘Thanks to the speed with which our new commissioner adapted to his work. I had thought it might take the whole day but we are through in less than half the time.’ Trouville did not acknowledge the compliment.

  ‘That is why I wish to take the documents back to my chamber.’

  ‘To study them further?’

  ‘No,’ said Gervase. ‘To put them in a safe place before I go to church this afternoon for the service.’

  ‘Service?’ Ralph was puzzled. ‘What service?’ ‘The funeral of Martin Reynard.’

  ‘But you never even knew the man.’

  ‘That is why I am going. To find out more about him.’

  Though she would never confess it to her husband, Golde had ambivalent feelings about accompanying him on his travels. While she hated to be apart from him and had no relish for the idea of being left alone in their manor house for any length of time, she was always slightly afraid that she might be a hindrance, distracting him from his work and making him the target for adverse comment. Many Norman barons had taken Saxon wives but usually because there was a substantial dowry involved. That was not the case with them. Ralph had married solely for love and, though his wife was the daughter of a thegn, her father had been dispossessed of his estates and long dead by the time they met. Bold and confident to the outward eye, Golde did have private moments of doubt about her role, anxious to support her husband to the full but fearful that her presence might diminish him in the opinion of his peers.

  Such thoughts surfaced again as she made her way to the hall in response to the invitation from the lady Adela. Certain that her hostess would pose no problem, she was less persuaded that the lady Marguerite or her companion, Heloise, would sustain the pleasantness they had risen to on the previous night. It had patently cost some effort. Yet Golde could not hide away from them and she was mindful of what her husband had said to her about acting as another pair of eyes for him. That was the way she could best help Ralph and to be of practical value would remove the faint sense of guilt which lurked at the very back of her mind.

  When she went down to the hall Golde was disconcerted to find Marguerite already there, seated beside the fire with Adela and talking familiarly with her as if they were old and dear friends. While Adela gave the newcomer a welcoming smile, Marguerite looked peeved, as if a private conversation had been disturbed, and the token greeting which came from her mouth was contradicted by the resentful glare in her eyes. Golde was waved to a seat by her hostess, close enough to the flames to feel their warm and restorative lick. There was no sign of Heloise but at the far end of the hall were three musicians who provided sweet background melodies.

  ‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Adela.

  ‘Extremely well, my lady,�
� said Golde. ‘I was very tired.’

  ‘I never sleep when we travel,’ complained Marguerite. ‘My mind is restless in novel surroundings. Yet I refused to be left behind at home when Philippe was given this assignment by the King. A loyal wife should be at her husband's side.’

  ‘Golde is a perfect example of that,’ observed Adela.

  ‘Of what?’ challenged Marguerite.

  ‘Wifely loyalty.’

  ‘Perhaps she is only here to ensure her husband's fidelity.’

  ‘That is not true at all,’ said Golde defensively.

  ‘I would not blame you if it were. It is the duty of a wife to remain vigilant. Marriage vows are sometimes forgotten when a man is far away from home and the lord Ralph would not be the first husband to develop a wandering eye.’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘It was the main reason why I made the effort to come here with Philippe. So that I could keep him firmly on the marital leash.’

  ‘There is no need for that, surely?’ said Adela.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He would never go astray when he has such a beautiful wife.’

  ‘Is that what you think, my lady?’

  ‘Yes. Your husband adores you.’

  ‘He adored his first wife - until he met me.’

  ‘What happened to her?’ asked Golde.

  ‘It does not matter,’ said Marguerite dismissively. ‘That is all in the past now. The point is that a husband who errs once can just as readily err again. Especially if he was reared as a soldier and so accustomed to take his pleasures where he finds them.’

  ‘You are very cynical about men, my lady.’

  ‘I simply recognise them for what they are, Golde.’

  ‘Well, I do not recognise my own husband from your description.’

  ‘No more do I,’ said Adela tolerantly. ‘It is true that men will pursue their pleasures when they have the chance but those pleasures need not involve another woman. Other delights rate higher in the minds of some men. It is so with Henry, I know, and with his brother, Robert. Their greatest pleasure lies in hunting and hawking.’ She turned to Golde. ‘What of the lord Ralph?’

  ‘Given the choice, he would prefer to lead a quiet life at home, my lady, but he is too often called upon by the King. I think that he will be grateful when this Great Survey is finally completed and he can retire from royal service altogether.’

  ‘What will he do then?’ said Marguerite.

  ‘Enjoy domestic life.’

  ‘Is that all?’ said the other waspishly.

  ‘No, my lady,’ said Golde. ‘He will probably become more involved in the administration of his estates as well. It irks Ralph that he has to neglect his own holdings in order to deal with problems concerning the property of others.’

  ‘But does he have no ambition higher than that, Golde?’

  ‘Ambition?’

  ‘Only a dull man would settle for what you have described.’

  ‘My husband is far from dull, I assure you.’

  ‘And he has already achieved his major ambition in marrying you,’ said Adela with a kind smile. ‘One only has to see the two of you together to realise that.’

  Marguerite clicked her tongue. ‘I thought the lord Ralph had more spirit in him. That is the impression he gives.’

  ‘It is not a false one,’ said Golde, stung by her criticism. ‘He has more spirit than any man I have ever met.’

  ‘Then why do you rein it in?’

  ‘That is not what Golde does, I am sure,’ said Adela, trying to soften the tone of the discussion. ‘She makes her husband happy. What more can he ask of her?’

  ‘A lot, my lady.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Golde, caught on the raw but disguising it. ‘Please instruct us.’

  ‘I have no wish to cause offence,’ said Marguerite offensively, ‘but I think that you should take a closer look at yourself. Are you holding your husband back or helping him to advance? The answer, I fear, is all too apparent. You have robbed him of his sense of purpose.’

  ‘Surely not,’ said Adela.

  ‘Let her finish, my lady,’ said Golde, controlling her anger.

  There was no stopping Marguerite now. ‘The lord Ralph should be looking to improve himself,’ she argued, ‘not to dwindle into obscurity on his estates. He should try to cut a figure. That is what he must have been doing at one time or the King would not have employed him in such a prestigious post. Ralph Delchard was evidently a coming man. But it seems as if marriage has taken all the bite out of him.’

  It seems to have had the opposite effect on you, thought Golde but drew back from expressing the thought aloud out of deference to her hostess. Adela wanted no disharmony between her guests. Golde therefore retained her composure. Apart from anything else, it was the best way to annoy Marguerite, who was trying to wound her pride enough to elicit an intemperate response from her. Failing to achieve it, Marguerite shed her measured politeness and became condescending.

  ‘What form does your married life take?’ she asked. ‘Do you divide your time between adorning the home and making ale for your husband? Do you set yourself no higher targets?’

  ‘This conversation is taking an unfortunate turn,’ warned Adela.

  ‘I apologise, my lady,’ said Marguerite with a demure bow of the head. ‘I did not mean to upset you with my comments but I believe that honesty is the only possible basis for friendship.’

  ‘Honesty can sometimes be hurtful.’

  ‘I have not been hurt,’ said Golde bravely. ‘If the lady Marguerite wishes to lecture me on wifely duties, I would be glad to learn from her. She is obviously succeeding where I have failed.’

  ‘You have not failed,’ insisted Adela.

  ‘Let me hear what she has to say.’

  ‘Simply this,’ said Marguerite evenly. ‘Drive your husband on to the very limit of his capabilities. Harness his ambitions and, if he has none, supply them. Wealth and position are everything in this world and he will achieve neither if you drag him back. I did not marry Philippe Trouville in order to waste my life in domesticity. He is destined for advancement and I will ensure that he receives it. With me at his back,’ she boasted with a glance at Golde, ‘his rise will be irresistible. It is only a matter of time before I am the wife of the Sheriff of Northamptonshire. And I promise you that his progress will not end there.’

  There was such a glint of naked ambition in her eyes and such a patronising note in her face that Golde could not resist a quiet rejoinder.

  ‘I see that you married out of infatuation, my lady.’

  Marguerite glared poisonously but Adela gave a quiet smile.

  The musicians struck up a fresh tune.

  Chapter Four

  Funerals are occasions for honesty. Gervase Bret had attended far too many of them not to realise that. Grief stripped most people of their petty deceptions and revealed their true feelings to the public gaze. When he joined the congregation in the parish church of St Mary that afternoon, Gervase knew that he would find out a great deal about the man who had died and about the family and friends whom he had left behind. There was the vague hope that the funeral might even provide him with clues which might in time help to establish beyond all reasonable doubt the guilt or innocence of the man who was charged with the crime. It still vexed Gervase that he was not allowed to speak with the prisoner and he wondered why Henry Beaumont had reacted so unfavourably to the notion. Did the constable of Warwick Castle have something to hide?

  The question posed itself again when the man himself arrived at the church, accompanied by his wife, his steward, the captain of his garrison and other senior members of his household. Martin Reynard had evidently been held in high regard at the castle though Gervase detected no real sorrow in Henry's demeanour, only the suppressed anger of a man who has had something of importance stolen from him. The lady Adela was a dignified mourner, head bowed and face clouded by sadness. The rest of the castle contingent also seemed to be genuinely distressed at the
loss of a former colleague and friend.

  Family members had pride of place at the front of the nave. It was not difficult to pick out the grief-stricken widow, her elderly parents and her close relations. There appeared to be no children from the marriage unless they were too young to attend or were being spared the ordeal. Three mourners in particular caught Gervase's eye. One was Ednoth the Reeve, wearing a dolorous expression and keeping a supportive arm around a sobbing woman whom Gervase took to be his wife. The second was the striking figure of Thorkell of Warwick, instantly recognisable by his Saxon attire and air of authority, and clearly distressed by the loss of his reeve. Four retainers, who had ridden into the town that morning with their master, had stayed to attend the funeral with him.

  But the person whom Gervase was able to study most carefully was the short, slight, fair-haired individual in his twenties with a ragged beard through which he kept running nervous fingers. Like Gervase himself, the man took a seat at the rear of the nave and was more of an observer than a mourner, yet he was patently no stranger because several people gave him a nod of acknowledgement when they first arrived. His mean apparel showed that he held no high station in life and, since the service was conducted in a mixture of Latin and Norman French, Gervase was not sure how much of it the young Saxon actually understood for the solemn words did not still his restless hand nor his darting glances.

  Though the parish priest was in attendance, it was the chaplain from the castle who conducted the service, another indication of the respect which Martin Reynard had earned from his former master. During his sermon the chaplain spoke of the deceased as a man whom he had known and admired for some years, and furnished many personal details about him, some of which were so touching that they set the widow and family members off into a flood of tears. Gervase noticed that Ednoth nodded in agreement throughout the sermon, Henry Beaumont sat immobile and Thorkell lowered his head in dejection. The fair-haired young man was uncertain what expression was most appropriate and he tried several before settling for a studied lugubriousness.

  The sizeable congregation took time to file out into the churchyard. Gervase was the last to leave and he stood on the periphery of the crowd which ringed the grave. In a high, reedy voice the chaplain recited the burial service and the coffin was lowered into ground so hard that it sorely taxed the muscles of the gravedigger. As the first handful of earth was tossed after Martin Reynard, the mourners tried to remember him for his good qualities and to forget the gruesome way in which he'd been killed. When people slowly began to disperse, Gervase saw the fair-haired young Saxon steal away, only to be intercepted by Thorkell of Warwick, who pointed an accusatory finger at him and said something which provoked a vigorous shaking of the other's head. When the young man left there was quiet fury mingling with the sadness in Thorkell's face.