The Elephants of Norwich Read online

  ‘And you say that you hardly knew the man,’ observed Gervase with irony.

  ‘I know of him and that’s quite different.’

  ‘How would he deal with his master’s tenants?’

  ‘Unmercifully.’

  ‘You just told us that he was weak,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Only in the presence of Richard de Fontenel. When his master wasn’t around, Hermer could strut and bully very effectively on his behalf.’

  ‘Was he capable of whipping a slave on the estate?’

  ‘Easily.’

  ‘Even if the man were old and defenceless?’

  ‘That would give the punishment more appeal.’

  Gervase took over again. ‘Hermer must have been very unpopular, then.’

  ‘Only among the men,’ said Livarot with a sly grin. ‘From what I gather, it might have been another story with the women. Isn’t that so, Drogo?’

  ‘According to the rumours,’ said the steward, trying to conceal a snigger.

  ‘You seem well informed about life on another estate,’ remarked Gervase.

  ‘News travels, Master Bret.’

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘Is there anything else you wish to know?’ asked Livarot with a benign smile. ‘I’m always more than ready to indulge royal commissioners.’

  ‘That wasn’t the experience of our predecessors, my lord.’

  ‘No,’ said Ralph, pointedly. ‘If you’d been more honest and less evasive with them, our journey might not have been necessary. But that’s something we can resolve in the shire hall when these crimes have been solved.’

  Livarot shrugged. ‘I’m sorry that my steward and I were unable to help you there.’

  ‘But you did help us,’ Ralph countered.

  ‘Immensely,’ said Gervase. ‘Without even realising it.’

  Their host exchanged a baffled glance with Drogo.

  ‘We’ll probably need to speak to you again,’ decided the sheriff, rising to his feet. ‘Meanwhile, if anything comes to mind that’s in any way relevant to our investigations, I’d be grateful if you’d let us know.’

  When Ralph and Gervase got up as well, Livarot escorted his visitors to his front door, pausing to scratch his head when he got there.

  ‘There is one thing that I should perhaps mention,’ he began.

  ‘Well?’ prodded the sheriff.

  ‘It may have nothing to do with the murder, of course, but who can tell?’

  ‘Does it concern Hermer?’

  ‘I think so, my lord sheriff. Some weeks ago, a man was seen trespassing on my land near nightfall. When he realised that he’d been spotted, he turned tail and ran off.’

  ‘What’s the significance of this story?’

  ‘According to the tenant who saw him, the man was Hermer the Steward.’

  ‘Why should Hermer be creeping around your property?’

  Mauger Livarot opened the door and waved his guests through it. ‘I’m afraid that it’s too late to ask him,’ he said. ‘Goodbye.’

  Slumped in a chair, Richard de Fontenel brooded on his misfortune. A few days earlier, he had been confident that he could at last overcome the resistance of the lady to whom he wished to be married. It was something for which he had worked zealously over a period of months. What gave him additional pleasure was the fact that his joy would provoke rage and frustration elsewhere. The imminent arrival of royal commissioners appeared to offer him another opportunity to secure an advantage over a despicable rival. Mauger Livarot would be completely routed. On other fronts, too, the tide seemed to be running in de Fontenel’s favour. Then, suddenly, everything had changed. The gifts intended to ensnare his bride were stolen, his steward vanished and his plans began to fall apart. Discovery of Hermer’s corpse served to exacerbate the situation. He was deprived of a vital ally in the property dispute that lay ahead and, while he was embroiled in a murder investigation, the field was clear for Livarot to court the lady Adelaide. It was galling.

  The unannounced visit to the castle had been a grave mistake. He saw that now. Anger had clouded his judgement. Not only had he insulted Roger Bigot, the person on whom he relied for justice, he had also lowered himself in the esteem of the very woman he sought to impress. Unaware of the lady Adelaide’s presence in the hall, he had blundered in and shocked her along with all the other guests. It would take more than two gold elephants to woo her once more to the verge of accepting his proposal. He meditated for a long while on how he might win back her good opinion. Recriminations were still sweeping through his mind in waves when there was a knock on the door. He did not even hear it. A louder knock made him sit up and listen.

  ‘Come in!’ he called.

  The door opened and a servant entered with a wooden box in his grasp.

  ‘Yes?’ said his master.

  ‘This was brought to the house, my lord.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but it bears your name.’

  ‘Who delivered it?’

  ‘I can’t tell you, my lord. I found it lying on the step.’

  ‘Bring it here.’

  The servant trudged across the room. He was a tall, gangly young man with a mop of dark hair and a curly beard. He gave the box to his master. Attached to the top by a nail was a scrap of paper on which the name of Richard de Fontenel had been scrawled.

  ‘Stand off, Clamahoc,’ he snapped, waving the servant away with an irritable hand. ‘I don’t need you to bend over me like that.’

  ‘No, my lord,’ said Clamahoc, taking a few paces backwards. ‘Shall I go?’

  ‘Not until I see what this is.’

  The box was crudely made. Having no lock, its lid was secured by means of two hooks that were hammered into a tight embrace. It took de Fontenel some time before he could prise the hooks apart with his dagger. He replaced the weapon on its sheath and lifted the lid. One glance was enough to make his blood run cold. Slamming the lid shut, he jumped up from the seat and thrust the box at his servant.

  Clamahoc took it, mystified. ‘What am I to do with it, my lord?’

  ‘Take it to the priest. Ask him to put it into Hermer’s coffin.’

  ‘Coffin?’

  ‘That’s where it belongs. See for yourself.’

  The servant was tentative. He slowly raised the lid of the box to peep in, then gaped in horror. His master’s command was explained. Lying side by side in the box were two blood-covered hands. On one of the fingers, he recognised Hermer’s ring.

  Chapter Five

  Seen from the vantage point of the castle, Norwich was a large city built in the loop of the river and replete with rows of timber dwellings whose thatched roofs shone in the morning sunlight like burnished gold. The dominating influence of religion was attested by the presence of almost forty churches and chapels, many of them constructed of local flint and possessing the distinctive round towers for which the city was justly renowned. Norwich had a sense of order and permanence to it. Closer inspection, however, revealed it to be a more decayed and cluttered place than at first appeared. As Golde and Alys rode through the dusty streets escorted by two of Ralph’s men, they saw countless examples of dire poverty and the fell hand of war. The weight of resentment was heavy. Even after twenty years of occupation, Normans were seen as odious foreigners, an imposition to be endured rather than a people with whom the inhabitants could make common cause.

  Alys had never met such open disapproval, evidenced, as it was, in cold stares, hostile comments, insulting gestures and mute insolence. She found it disturbing. As a Saxon woman in the garb of a Norman lady, Golde was in a more ambiguous position, understanding the feelings of the bystanders they passed while identifying herself with a conquering elite about whom she had many reservations. Not all the citizens were unfriendly. The latent animosity of the many was offset by the cheerful greetings of the few. Others simply ignored the quartet, coping with the sight of Norman soldiers in hauberks by pretending that they were not there. Murder adde
d a dimension of unease. News of the homicide had spread throughout the community and it hung in the air like a noisome stench. People looked warily over their shoulders.

  ‘Well,’ said Golde, turning to her friend, ‘what do you think of Norwich?’

  ‘I like it far more than it likes us,’ replied Alys.

  ‘You get used to that sort of thing.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I met it in York, Chester, Exeter and every other place I visited with Ralph.’

  ‘It’s never been quite so obvious in Winchester, perhaps because that’s where I grew up. I don’t simply sense their condemnation here; I can reach out and touch it.’

  ‘People are slow to accept change.’

  ‘It goes deeper than that, Golde.’

  After their short tour of the city, they rode into the noisy market, itself a symbol of discord. Moved from its original site in Tombland to the east of the city, it now occupied land in the parish of St Peter Mancroft to the west of the castle, serving the many Norman families who had settled in the district and causing a stream of protest that still flowed with a strong current. During the banquet the previous evening, Golde had been told about the enforced change of venue. She raised her voice above the hubbub.

  ‘It upset everybody,’ she said.

  ‘What did?’

  ‘Shifting the market here from its old site. It used to be in the parish of St Michael Tombland, the richest in the city, according to Ralph. It stood there for many years. They met a lot of opposition when they took it away.’

  ‘I can understand that, Golde.’

  ‘A market is really the heart of a town.’

  ‘Don’t let Brother Daniel hear you say that,’ warned Alys.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’d argue that a cathedral or an abbey was the heart of a community.’

  Golde took a more practical view. ‘We all have to eat.’

  Caught up in the mild frenzy around them, they picked their way through the milling crowds. The stallholders had been busy since dawn but the haggling was still at its height as fresh customers came in from outlying villages and hamlets to swell the numbers. Alys took note of a blaze of colour to her left.

  ‘Can we look at that stall selling cloth?’ she asked.

  Golde laughed. ‘We’ll look at everything.’

  ‘Look or buy?’

  ‘Both.’

  Helped by the two soldiers, they dismounted and made their way across to a display of silks, satins and woollen materials. Alys was soon entranced. The market was an education. It told them far more about the city than they could learn inside the confines of the castle. They heard the voices, shared in the emotions and observed the habits of the local people. Crafts of all kinds were on display. Stalls were set out in a higgledy-piggledy fashion. The two women followed a meandering route that took them past luscious fruit, fresh vegetables, slabs of meat, piles of fish, squawking poultry, baskets of eggs, jewellery, pottery, wine, beer, shoes, clothing, cutlery and all the other items that vendors promoted with loud competitive zeal. The powerful aroma of the market was compounded of many individual elements, the most enticing being that of freshly baked bread. The two women enjoyed it all immensely. Golde was pleased to see how well Alys stood up to what was a tiring expedition. They were on their feet for a long time and buffeting shoulders took their toll.

  ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘You looked quite ill during the banquet.’

  ‘I was tired, that’s all.’

  ‘You’ve certainly got your colour back today.’

  ‘And my appetite,’ said Alys with a smile. ‘The sight and smell of all this food is making me hungry. Shall we go back?’

  ‘I think we’d better or they’ll wonder what’s happened to us.’

  Lifted back on to their horses, they made their way to the castle through the steady throng with the few items they had purchased safely packed into a satchel. Their journey took them past the deserted house where the dead body had been found, now attracting the ghoulish interest of some children and a barking dog. When they rode into the castle, an ostler was waiting to assist them to the ground before taking their mounts away to be stabled. Somebody else was waiting for them as well.

  ‘There you are,’ said Brother Daniel, beaming happily as he swooped down on them. ‘I was hoping to find you.’

  ‘We’ve been to market, Brother Daniel,’ explained Golde.

  ‘Yes,’ said Alys. ‘It was wonderful.’

  His face clouded. ‘I’m glad that you found something to take your mind off the dreadful crime that came to light yesterday. It still preys on me. Perhaps I should’ve come with you to the market, though I doubt if even that would wipe away the memory of what I saw in that house.’

  ‘The lord Eustace told us how distressed you were,’ said Golde.

  ‘He’s been very kind to me.’

  ‘It must have been a horrid experience for you.’

  ‘It was, my lady,’ he confessed, ‘but God directed my footsteps for a purpose. I was meant to find that body. It chastened me. Shocking as it was, I think the experience has left me a better and more considerate person.’

  ‘Nobody could be more considerate than you, Brother Daniel,’ says Alys.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the monk, shaking off his melancholy. He held up a letter. ‘But this is why I’m so pleased to see you. I have something for you.’

  ‘For me?’ Alys said in surprise.

  ‘It’s addressed to both of you.’

  ‘Who could be writing to us?’ wondered Golde, taking the missive.

  ‘The servant belonged to the lady Adelaide’s household.’

  ‘The lady Adelaide?’

  ‘Open it, Golde,’ urged Alys.

  ‘No, you take it,’ said the other, passing it to her. ‘You spoke to the lady Adelaide last night. I didn’t.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Though I heard a great deal about her from my husband. Ralph sat next to her.’

  Alys broke the seal. ‘I’ll see what she says.’

  ‘I’m sorry that you missed the banquet, Brother Daniel,’ said Golde.

  ‘So am I,’ he replied. ‘But I hear you had an uninvited guest.’

  ‘Richard de Fontenel. It was his steward whose corpse you found.’ She saw the astonishment on Alys’s face. ‘Good news or bad?’

  ‘Excellent news,’ said Alys. ‘We’ve been invited to visit the lady Adelaide.’

  ‘Alone or with our husbands?’

  ‘Oh, alone. She makes that quite clear.’

  Eustace Coureton had no intention of being excluded from the investigation of the two crimes. He plied Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret with searching questions about their visit to the manor house of Mauger Livarot. ‘What sort of man is the lord Mauger?’

  ‘The kind that no sensible person would trust,’ said Ralph. ‘Behind that leering smile of his was a selfish, cunning, deceitful man who’d stop at nothing to gain the upper hand over a rival.’

  ‘Not even at murder?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then he could be the culprit?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. The lord Mauger is certainly capable of stabbing a man to death, though he’d be more likely to thrust the blade into his back than his chest. But I don’t think he’s guilty of this murder. He looked too surprised when he was told about it. Too surprised and too peeved.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘He felt cheated out of the pleasure of killing Hermer himself.’

  ‘Is that what he told you?’

  ‘I read it in his eyes.’ Ralph told Coureton in detail about the interrogation of Livarot and the old soldier took it all in, nodding sagely throughout. When the recital was over, he turned to Gervase.

  ‘Do you have anything to add to that?’

  ‘Only that I’m also convinced that the lord Mauger didn’t commit or instigate the murder. It came as a welcome bonus to him. We could see that. As fo
r the theft of the gold elephants, however,’ reflected Gervase, ‘I’m not so sure. The lord Mauger may well be implicated there. So might Drogo.’

  ‘Drogo?’

  ‘His steward.’

  Ralph gave a snort of disgust. ‘A wizened little weasel of a man.’

  ‘He was too knowing,’ said Gervase. ‘Too shifty, artful, sure of himself. He and the lord Mauger are well matched. They’ll be subtle advocates when they appear before us to ratify their claim to the disputed property. We’ll have to watch them like hawks.’

  ‘We will,’ vowed Ralph.

  ‘I look forward to meeting them,’ said Coureton. ‘But I’m glad you mentioned the theft of those elephants, Gervase. In pursuing a killer, the sheriff has rather lost sight of the earlier crime. His efforts are concentrated on solving a murder.’

  ‘He believes that the two crimes are linked,’ said Gervase.

  ‘All the more reason to look more closely into the first because

  that may lead directly to the second. I thought that the sheriff’s deputy was investigating the theft,’ Coureton went on, ‘but when I spoke to Olivier Romain earlier, he told me he was riding out to the lord Richard’s estate again to look for clues relating to the murder.’

  ‘That won’t please the lord Richard,’ commented Ralph. ‘Nothing is more important to him than the return of his precious elephants. And we all know why. They’re the bait for the lady Adelaide. What a hideous choice confronts her!’ he said, pulling a face. ‘Richard de Fontenel or Mauger Livarot. She wouldn’t be selecting a husband. She’d be choosing between death and damnation.’

  ‘The lady Adelaide may reject both,’ said Gervase.

  ‘That’s her business,’ said Coureton. ‘Ours is to do what we can to solve two crimes that are holding us back from the work that brought us here in the first place. To that end, I think that we should go hunting.’

  ‘For what, my lord?’

  ‘Elephants.’ He leaned forward to explain. The three men were sitting at a table in the hall over a light meal. Ralph had a cup of wine in front of him; Gervase and Coureton had opted for ale. The latter’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.