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

  ‘Oh, yes, Master Bret.’

  ‘You sound as if Brother Nicholas was usually alone.’

  ‘He was.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Elaf looked guiltily across at Frewine. Hubert grew impatient.

  ‘What is he saying, Gervase?’

  After translating for him, Gervase suggested that he be allowed to put a series of contiguous questions himself to speed up the examination and extract more out of the boys. Reluctant to yield up control, Hubert nevertheless saw the virtue in the proposal and accepted it. Gervase turned back to Elaf, still having a silent conversation with Frewine.

  ‘Tell me the truth,’ said Gervase softly.

  ‘Brother Nicholas …’ The boy faltered. ‘He preferred to be alone.’

  ‘You mean that the other monks did not like him?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘That is not the case at all,’ said Frewine loyally.

  ‘The sheriff thinks otherwise,’ countered Gervase. ‘And with great respect, Brother Frewine, I would like to hear Elaf and Kenelm answer. They may perceive Brother Nicholas in ways that are different from you.’

  ‘Understandably.’

  ‘Is that not so, Kenelm?’ continued Gervase. ‘You have said little enough so far. Whom do you agree with here? Elaf or Brother Frewine? Do you think that Brother Nicholas was unpopular?’

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Kenelm.

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘I don't know.’

  ‘Elaf?’

  ‘Nor me.’

  ‘But you must have some idea.’

  ‘We didn't know Brother Nicholas very well.’

  ‘You knew him well enough to identify him in the cloister garth. And you must have picked up the gossip. I know that I did during my novitiate. We were always searching hungrily for scraps of information about our holy brothers. Which ones were kind, which ones were critical, which ones sounded like wild animals caught in a snare whenever they tried to sing.’ Kenelm smiled and Elaf gave an involuntary giggle. ‘I see that you have some toneless monks here as well. We certainly did at Eltham. What sort of a voice did Brother Nicholas have?’

  ‘A funny one,’ volunteered Elaf.

  ‘Funny?’

  ‘He was not in the choir,’ explained Frewine quickly. ‘Brother Nicholas's voice was not suited to choral singing, I fear. He had other virtues by way of compensation but his voice was a little odd.’

  ‘Odd?’

  ‘High and quavering.’

  ‘Could you not train it, Brother Frewine?’

  ‘I lacked both the time and the skill. My hands were already full getting the best out of the other choristers and making sure that two of them did not fall asleep during rehearsals.’ He threw a meaningful glance at the novices. ‘At least that will not happen again.’

  ‘No, Brother Frewine,’ promised Elaf.

  ‘Describe him to me,’ said Gervase to him. ‘In your own words. How tall was Brother Nicholas?’

  ‘Not very tall.’

  ‘Short, then?’

  ‘No, not short. In the middle.’

  ‘Was he fat or thin?’

  ‘He was quite—’ His hands mimed a paunch but words failed him as he saw the generous expanse of Hubert's midriff. ‘Wasn't he, Brother Frewine?’

  ‘A little plump,’ conceded the Precentor.

  ‘Heavier than me, then?’ said Gervase.

  ‘Yes. Much heavier.’

  Gervase nodded and ruled out the possibility of Brother Nicholas's dead body having been carried up the ladder. Even someone as strong as Ralph Delchard would have difficulty coping with a substantially heavier load than Gervase represented. After breaking off to translate for the benefit of Canon Hubert, he resumed his questioning.

  ‘Let me turn to you, Kenelm.’ The boy gave a little shudder. ‘This is a fine abbey. Do you like it here?’ Kenelm nodded without conviction. ‘In other words, you like some things and don't like others?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That's only to be expected. It was so with me. I used to chafe at the loss of freedom. The sense of being trapped. Does that worry you?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘What about you, Elaf?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ echoed the other.

  ‘Did you not draw inspiration from the monks around you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kenelm.

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘Brother Frewine.’

  ‘He is our best friend,’ said Elaf proudly.

  ‘Who else?’ Between them, the boys listed ten other names. ‘You see?’ said Gervase. ‘You know the holy brothers far better than you imagined. There was no mention of Brother Nicholas, of course. I take it that neither of you drew inspiration from him?’ They shook their heads. ‘You were too busy laughing at his funny voice.’

  Elaf licked his lips. ‘We never dared to laugh at him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘No reason, Master Bret.’

  ‘I'm sure you can recall one, if you try.’

  ‘We hardly ever saw him.’

  ‘But when you did, you were afraid to mock him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? Did he threaten you?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘So what was the reason?’

  There was a long pause. Hubert grew frustrated at being unable to understand what was going on. He leaned forward to speak but Gervase waved him back into silence, certain that he was on the verge of learning a significant piece of information. The two boys were trading glances.

  ‘Brother Nicholas was cruelly murdered,’ Gervase reminded them. ‘You had the misfortune to find him and I know how gruesome a discovery that must have been. But you're also in a position to help us catch his killer. Any fact about Brother Nicholas is vital, including his relationship with the novices. So tell me, please, because it may be of crucial importance, why you never laughed at Brother Nicholas.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Frewine gently. ‘Speak honestly.’

  Kenelm tried to speak then bit his lip in embarrassment.

  ‘Elaf?’ invited Gervase.

  ‘We didn't like him,’ confessed the other. ‘None of us did.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Elaf licked his lips again and took a deep breath before speaking.

  ‘It was the way that Brother Nicholas looked at us.’

  * * *

  The bulbous eyes of Brother Nicholas were no longer able to cause any disquiet. They were covered forever by lids which had been drawn down by a compassionate finger and thumb when his corpse was brought to the mortuary. Nicholas lay beneath a shroud on the cold stone slab, his wound bandaged and his body washed. Herbs sweetened his noisome stink. Candles burned at his head and feet, throwing a flickering light over the last remains of the abbey's ill-fated rent collector.

  When the door opened, Abbot Serlo led his visitor in, pausing to offer up a silent prayer before he reached down to pull back the shroud. Ralph Delchard looked down at the naked body with mingled sadness and interest. Brother Nicholas was a plump man in his forties with a pasty complexion which owed nothing to the pallor of death and a body of unusual whiteness, allowing blue veins to show through on his chest. The body was almost entirely devoid of hair. What Ralph noticed was the absence of any real muscle in the arms and legs. Here was one monk who had not toiled in the fields or taken on one of the more physically demanding tasks at the abbey. Soft white hands confirmed that Brother Nicholas was a stranger to strenuous exercise.

  The thickness of the bandaging showed how comprehensively the throat had been cut but there were no other marks of violence upon him. Ralph studied the face: big, round, podgy but surprisingly untouched by the march of time. Even in repose, there was a religiosity about the man. It was a quality which Ralph had never been able to understand or to appreciate but Brother Nicholas seemed to possess it. He reached out to feel the spindly legs and the weak forearms then he pulled the shroud back over the body and turned to h
is companion.

  ‘Not a strong man,’ he commented. ‘Brother Nicholas would not have been able to put up much resistance.’

  ‘We are monks, my lord, not soldiers.’

  ‘Even a monk should fight to save his life.’

  ‘He entrusts its safety to God.’

  ‘Then the Almighty was lax in his vigilance here.’

  ‘Do not presume to question divine dispensation.’

  ‘I dare not. Canon Hubert is an example of it.’

  ‘Let us step outside again.’

  Abbot Serlo guided him out of the mortuary and back into the fresh air. Both inhaled deeply. Their long conversation had persuaded the abbot that Ralph's help in solving the crime might be extremely useful but he wished that his visitor could take a more reverential approach. He was not quite as brusque and headstrong as the sheriff but his attitude towards the Benedictine Order had worrying similarities.

  ‘I must leave you, my lord,’ said the abbot. ‘Other duties await me.’

  ‘It was kind of you to spare me so much time.’

  ‘Repay me by finding the murderer.’

  ‘I will, my lord abbot. The more information I have, the easier the task will be. Do not forget your promise to give me a list of all of the tenants from whom Brother Nicholas collected rents.’

  ‘Canon Hubert will bring it to you in due course.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘Go back to the church.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To pray for the salvation of Brother Nicholas's soul,’ said Ralph.

  ‘A worthy motive.’

  ‘It was something I omitted to do on my first visit there. Having seen the body, I am anxious to repair that omission.’

  ‘Then I will not detain you, my lord.’

  Ralph waved a farewell and headed back to the abbey church, untroubled by guilt at having to conceal the real purpose of his return visit. Pleased to find the church empty, he approached the altar rail and knelt before it, offering up the prayer for the murdered man and feeling a genuine surge of grief on his behalf. It soon passed. Ralph made sure that nobody was watching him before moving up to the altar to borrow one of the large candles which burned there. He bore it off to the bell tower and carried it carefully up the ladder.

  Having viewed the body, he, too, was having second thoughts about his earlier theory. It was not that Brother Nicholas was too heavy for him to bear. He simply doubted that the rungs of the ladder would cope with the additional weight. Ralph got up to the wooden platform and used the flame to illumine every section of it. The blood was more vivid by candlelight and its extent far greater. It was when he went to the other side of the bell that he made an interesting new discovery. Holding the candle beneath the beam, he ducked his head so that he could actually see the two hooks which he had earlier felt with his fingers. Something else caught his eye. Lying directly below the beam was a small, thin strip of leather. Ralph picked it up and laid it on his palm to inspect it.

  After a thorough search, he slowly descended the ladder, glad that he had taken the trouble to pay a second visit to the murder scene. He pondered on the significance of the strip of leather and was far too preoccupied to realise that he was being watched from the shadows. Wide-eyed and tremulous, Owen, the novice, stayed hidden until Ralph had walked back to the altar. The boy took a last fearful look up at the bell tower then slipped quietly out. Tears coursed freely down his hot rosy cheeks.

  ‘When do you expect your sister to arrive?’ asked the lady Maud.

  ‘Almost any day now,’ said Golde.

  ‘Is that why you were so keen to accompany your husband?’

  ‘It was one of the reasons, though I would willingly go wherever Ralph asked me to go. I love to be near him.’

  ‘I enjoy Durand's company but I have to put up with less of it. When he goes away from Gloucester, I am never invited to go with him.’ Maud shook her head sadly. ‘I have endured some lonely weeks at the castle. The worst of it is that my husband is so secretive about his work. Most of the time, he will not even tell me where he is going, simply that he has to leave on urgent business.’

  ‘Being a sheriff carries huge responsibilities.’

  ‘We have learned that,’ said the other with a rueful smile. ‘The honour was thrust unexpectedly on Durand when his brother, Roger, died before his time. My husband feels that he has a sacred duty to carry on where his brother left off.’

  ‘That is to his credit.’

  Golde found the visit to Gloucester interesting and enlightening. When her companion had shaken off her irritation, she was friendly and talkative and had clearly taken the trouble to learn something of the city's history. Some of the glances which they collected along the way were tinged either with bitterness or envy but they ignored them for the most part. It was only when Golde heard some harsh words muttered in her own language that she flushed with discomfort. On the leisurely ride back to the castle, they were conversing more easily with each other.

  ‘What did you say your sister's name was?’

  ‘Aelgar, my lady.’

  ‘And this young man?’

  ‘Forne.’

  ‘When are they to be married?’

  ‘I do not know,’ said Golde. ‘I am hoping that my sister will tell me. All she has said in her letters is that she loves him dearly and wishes to spend the rest of her life with him. And since Forne, apparently, feels the same way about her, it sounds like a promising start for any marriage.’

  ‘Promising starts sometimes end in disappointment.’

  ‘Not in their case, I hope.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Maud, her cynicism tempered with goodwill. ‘But where will they stay? Room could be found for them at the castle.’

  ‘That is very kind of you, my lady, but they have already reserved accommodation. Forne, it seems, has a kinsman in Gloucester and they will stay under his roof. The truth is,’ she said quietly, ‘that Aelgar would feel out of place in a Norman castle. Even though she has been supplying the one in Hereford with its beer.’

  Maud gave a sudden laugh. ‘Is your sister really a brewer?’

  ‘It runs in the family, my lady,’ explained Golde. ‘I took over the business after the death of my first husband then handed it on to Aelgar when I left. Not that she has to work in the way that I did. Thanks to the judgement of the commissioners, Aelgar inherited property on her own account. She can afford to employ others to brew the beer for her now.’

  ‘What of her betrothed?’

  ‘His interest is only in drinking it.’

  Maud laughed again as they clattered across the drawbridge and went in through the gate. She gave their escort a wave of gratitude, allowing the four men to trot off in the direction of the stables. Maud looked up at the keep with a determination tinged with anger.

  ‘Please excuse me, Golde.’

  ‘Of course, my lady. Thank you again.’

  ‘It was a pleasure to get out of the castle for once.’

  ‘I did appreciate it.’

  ‘So did I. But we are back where we started now.’

  With the help of an ostler, she dismounted and went off in the direction of the keep to confront her husband. Golde wondered why Durand kept his domestic and official duties so rigidly separate. It led to obvious friction with his wife. Not for the first time, she was grateful to be married to a man who took her into his confidence instead of using his work as a means of shutting her out. Hers was one story, Maud's quite another. As she was helped down from the saddle, she found herself wondering what kind of story Aelgar and Forne were about to write.

  Ralph Delchard waited until they left the abbey before he started to hurl a stream of questions at Gervase Bret.

  ‘What did you learn?’ he said.

  ‘A great deal.’

  ‘Did they tell you anything new? What sort of boys were they? How freely were you able to talk to them? Why did they climb up that ladder in th
e first place? Had they ever been up in the bell tower before? Well, Gervase? Aren't you going to tell me?’

  ‘I will, when I'm allowed to speak.’

  ‘Who is preventing you from speaking?’

  ‘You, Ralph.’

  ‘Me?’ Righteous indignation showed. ‘Me?’

  ‘Who else?’

  Ralph unleashed another flurry of questions at him and only stopped when Gervase burst into laughter. Seeing himself through his friend's eyes at last, Ralph joined in the mirth. They mounted their horses and let them walk slowly off along the street.

  ‘Let us start again,’ suggested Gervase. ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘That I could never be a monk.’

  ‘Was that ever in doubt?’

  ‘It's this rule of complete obedience. Abbot Serlo seems like an intelligent and caring man, but I could never treat him as my father and bow to his every wish. He was not easy to woo but I managed it in the end. He told me all I wished to know and even allowed me to view the body in the mortuary.’

  ‘Did that reveal anything?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Ralph described his assessment of Brother Nicholas then explained how much the abbot had helped him. He considered the promise to provide a list of abbey tenants to be the greatest concession he had wrung out of Serlo. Gervase talked of his own findings.

  ‘It was a valuable meeting.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Give or take a few problems.’

  ‘What sort of problems?’

  ‘Canon Hubert was the main one,’ said Gervase. ‘It was he who asked me to act as his interpreter so he controlled the interview at the start. I had to wait some time before I could work in questions of my own, questions which Hubert would not have asked on his own.’

  ‘At least he got you close to those novices.’

  ‘I could not get too close, Ralph. There was another problem.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Precentor. Brother Frewine.’

  ‘What was he doing there?’

  ‘Protecting the novices. They obviously trusted him and looked for his support whenever the questions had them in retreat. Brother Frewine is a good man, honest and fair-minded, but he did defend them well.’

  ‘Would you have got more out of them had he not been there?’

  ‘I don't know. Kenelm and Elaf may have shut up completely. They were both very shocked by what happened. I don't think there will be any more midnight antics from them.’