The Ravens of Blackwater (Domesday Series Book 2)

by Edward Marston

  “The poor man was distraught,” said Ralph in mitigation. “Put yourself in his position, Gervase. His son falls into the hands of his sworn enemy. There is no other way to secure his release. What would you have done?”

  “Taken my complaint to the sheriff.”

  “Peter de Valognes would not wish to get involved.”

  “I would not have stolen someone's property, Ralph.”

  “There speaks a lawyer! You value your charters as much as Humphrey values his golden testiculi.”

  “Theft is unforgivable.”

  Ralph was more pragmatic. “That depends on what you take and from whom you take it,” he said. “But do not lose complete faith in Gilbert. My guess is that he would not have been able to go through with it. He was a very halfhearted thief. Forgery is much more to his taste.”

  “Let us hope that it deceives Hamo.”

  “We will soon know, Gervase. I have sent word to him to appear before us in the shire hall at ten in the morning. If he thinks he has relieved us of much of our evidence, he will not miss the chance to gloat.”

  “What of Miles Champeney?”

  “He will be set free.”

  “Is his father angry with him?”

  “Infuriated. He'll have stern words for his son.”

  “I'll add a few of my own,” said Gervase. “He has caused us an immense amount of unnecessary trouble.”

  “Come now. You would do exactly the same as he.” “I think I would have more sense.”

  “Sense has no place in a love affair,” said Ralph easily. “If Alys were imprisoned in that house instead of Matilda, you would not hesitate to try to rescue her. Show some fellow-feeling for Miles. I admire the lad.”

  Gervase gave a nod. “So do I, Ralph,” he said, taking a more charitable view. “And he has helped us in a strange way. Our hand has been forced but we may have found the ideal way to lure Hamo within reach of the law.” He rested against the table. “What else have you learned?”

  “A most curious connection.”

  “Between what?”

  “The chalice and the raven.”

  “St. Benedict's emblem?”

  “Do you remember the cup I saw at the priory?” said Ralph. “I believe it may have belonged to Guy FitzCorbucion. Someone stole it from Blackwater Hall. Hamo was ranting about it when the sheriff called on him yesterday. It was a family heirloom, it seems, and much prized.”

  “Then how did it end up in Maldon Priory?”

  “Lady Mindred told me that it was part of a dowry that was paid to the priory by one of the nuns, and I assumed that she must be talking about Sister Tecla. But I was deliberately misled, I think. I warned you that nuns could tell lies, Gervase. It seems that they might be capable of other sinful acts as well.” He raised an eyebrow. “Our prioress has a wandering hand.”

  “A holy thief?”

  “You have seen the way she guards that chalice,” said Ralph. “It is very precious to her. We know that she is fond of jewelry that she is not supposed to wear. I saw that gold bangle on her arm. Perhaps she also has a passion for silver. Vanity dies hard behind the veil. Lady Mindred needs to wear bright adornment and to have valuable possessions about her.”

  “I cannot believe that she would steal anything.”

  “Then we must settle for the other explanation.”

  “What is that?”

  “The prioress is a witch,” said Ralph with a wink. “Sister Gunnhild is her familiar. She turned that Danish nun into a raven and sent her to fetch the chalice back in her beak like a true Benedictine. How does that idea sound?”

  “Ludicrous!”

  “Find me a better one.”

  “I will,” promised Gervase. “In time. If that chalice at the priory really is the one from Blackwater Hall, then it opens up many new lines of enquiry. But let me give you my news first.” He produced the knife from his belt and handed it over. “Do you know what this is, Ralph?”

  “I have a feeling you are about to tell me.”

  “The murder weapon used on Guy FitzCorbucion.”

  Ralph inspected it. “Where did you find it?”

  “Tovild the Haunted gave it to me.”

  He told his story once more, described his visit to the cutler, and spoke of how Oslac the Priest had reacted to the same tidings. Ralph was not pleased to hear that Wistan was once again on the run. A boy of fifteen would not have enough guile to outrun Hamo FitzCorbucion's men for long, especially as they had now been joined in the search by the sheriff's officers. Gervase had wanted to question him further in order to help him more effectively, but Wistan clearly felt that justice was something that he would have to dispense himself. The boy was a worrying complication.

  Ralph and Gervase went through all their evidence with meticulous care but it still did not give them the name of the murderer. Tovild's riddle might help them but it was still unsolved. Gervase shifted the angle of approach.

  “Perhaps we should be asking another question.”

  “Go on.”

  “What was Guy FitzCorbucion doing there?”

  “In the marshes?”

  “He must have had a good reason to go to such a place.”

  “Unless he was taken,” said Ralph. “That is more logical. He may have been killed elsewhere and then carried to the water's edge and dumped in.”

  “I doubt it. Think of his wounds. He had been stabbed many times. There would have been a trail of blood and the killer would also have been covered in it.” Gervase tapped his finger on the table. “I believe he went to that place to meet someone. That same person had chosen the spot with care because it was ideal for his purposes.”

  “Who would Guy have gone to see? And why?”

  “Let us try a process of elimination,” said Gervase. “We know that Wistan is not the murderer.”

  “Nor is Miles Champeney.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “You were wrong there, Gervase.”

  “We had to look at every possible suspect.”

  “Does that include Tovild the Haunted?”

  “I fear that it does. And Oslac the Priest.”

  “Oslac?”

  “His behaviour was most odd,” said Gervase. “And he has as much reason to hate the FitzCorbucions as anyone. Hamo took his land after the Conquest. Hamo holds the advowson of his church. Hamo has killed more than one of his parishioners. Oslac is a strong man.” He saw that Ralph was unconvinced. “Yes, I know. Oslac is a true Christian and believes that the taking of a human life is anathema. But look at Canon Hubert and Brother Simon. Nobody could be more devout than they, yet they are condoning this forgery of ours in order to expose a much larger act of fraud.”

  “Oslac killed in order to prevent more killing?”

  “Guy FitzCorbucion was a symbol of oppression.”

  “So is Hamo,” said Ralph. “Why murder the son when the father's death would remove an even worse tyrant?”

  “Hamo is too wily and well guarded. He would never have gone off alone to a secluded spot in the marshes. The killer waited until he was out of the way before he set to work on Guy.”

  “And you think that Oslac could do that?”

  “I'm not sure,” said Gervase uncertainly. “But I wonder about the sword that Wistan stole from him. Why does a man of God have a weapon of war in his house? And what I do know is that Guy would have trusted him. If the priest had arranged to meet him at that spot, he would have gone without fear of danger.” He took the knife back and held it up. “Until he saw this.”

  “Oslac still seems an unlikely assassin to me,” said Ralph. “But you are right about one thing. Guy would only go to that place to meet someone he knew and trusted.”

  “That rules out Wistan and Miles completely.”

  “Who does it leave?”

  They sifted through all the names once more but they could not agree on any one of them as the perpetrator of the crime. Gervase wondered if it was time to widen their search.


  “Guy FitzCorbucion is killed,” he said. “Cui bono?”

  “Cui bono?”

  “Who stands to gain by his murder?”

  “Every man, woman, and child in the town.”

  “But who will gain most?” asked Gervase. “Perhaps we have been looking in the wrong place, Ralph. We have only considered enemies of the family instead of the family itself. That would certainly give us motive. And there would be ample opportunity.”

  “The family itself?”

  “Think back to our first afternoon at the shire hall,” he said, moving around the chamber as he developed his argument and becoming more and more persuaded by it. “He went out of his way to challenge us. Remember how cool and assured he was? Did you see how eager he was to assert his authority? Did you notice how important it was for him to put us in our place?”

  “Jocelyn FitzCorbucion?”

  “Who else?”

  “But what did he stand to gain?”

  “Power.”

  “The younger son,” mused Ralph. “Weary of staying in his elder brother's shadow. More intelligent and gifted than Guy but forced into the background.”

  “Biding his time. Waiting to fulfill his own ambitions.”

  “He was certainly a self-possessed young man.”

  “Indeed, he was,” said Gervase. “Consider the position he was in that afternoon. His father was away, his brother was lying on a slab at the church, his sister was agitating about Miles Champeney, and there was still bad feeling among his slaves as a result of Algar's death. Jocelyn had much to do. There was a search party to organise and a huge demesne to administer, yet he rolls up at the shire hall as if he did not have a care in the world. What does all that tell you, Ralph?”

  “Put his name at the top of our list.”

  “Cui bono?”

  “Joceyln FitzCorbucion.”

  Jocelyn FitzCorbucion fretted quietly in a corner while his father guzzled his way through his food. He felt cheated of his fair reward. Thanks to him, Matilda was imprisoned in her chamber at the top of the house while Miles Champeney was languishing in the dungeon below it. He had discovered the planned elopement and been instrumental in stopping it. The political marriage, which Hamo had arranged in Coutances for his daughter, could now take place without the hindrance of a rival. But something else rankled even more. Jocelyn had taken considerable pains to prepare a solid defence against the accusations of the royal commissioners. Blackwater Hall would be saved by his mastery of detail and brilliance as an advocate. Hamo had swept him aside uncaringly and chosen a much quicker and cruder method of defying his enemies. It was galling. Jocelyn was deprived of his chance to prove himself in legal debate and robbed of the glory, which he was convinced he would have won.

  Hamo swilled down his food with some wine and belched.

  “He will not come,” decided Jocelyn.

  “Gilbert has to come. Give him time.”

  “He would never steal from his guests.”

  “He is not stealing,” said Hamo, sitting back in his chair. “He is merely borrowing a few documents.”

  “They will be missed. He will be caught.”

  “Gilbert Champeney will do exactly what I told him.”

  “But suppose that he does not, Father?”

  “He has no choice.”

  “Suppose he does not?” repeated Jocelyn, crossing to face him. “You will need my skills then. You will have to rely on my advocacy in front of the commissioners. I have prepared a stout defence with walls as thick as those of Colchester Castle. We would be invincible in battle.”

  Hamo was unimpressed. “When Gilbert follows his orders, there will be no battle. Why waste all that time in a draughty shire hall when we can send these idiots packing in less than an hour?” His fingers ran over the fruit bowl and settled on an apple. “You still have much to learn, Jocelyn,”

  “Nobody has studied harder.”

  “Study is only part of it. Instinct is the key.”

  “I have that, too.”

  “Not like me. Not like your brother, Guy. He had real instinct. Guy knew how to find out a man's weakness.”

  “It was usually his wife!” said Jocelyn ruefully.

  “Don't you dare speak ill of Guy!”

  “No, Father.”

  “He was twice the son you are!” yelled Hamo.

  He stifled a rejoinder. “Yes, Father,” he said.

  Hamo bit into the apple and chewed it noisily. It was early evening and the sun was still putting a bright sheen on Blackwater Hall, but its rays had failed to penetrate the house itself and to thaw out the cold fury of its master.

  “Where did they search today?” he snarled.

  “To the north, Father. As you directed.”

  “That boy has to be here!”

  “After all this time? I doubt it.”

  “Where else could he go?” demanded Hamo. “He has no money and no horse. Everyone is out looking for him. I've put such a high price on his young head that even his father would have turned him in for the reward.”

  “Perhaps he is already dead. Drowned in the estuary.”

  “He is still alive. I feel it.”

  “Then they will find him eventually.”

  “Tomorrow, I will ride out with them myself.”

  “But we are summoned to the shire hall, Father.”

  “That business will not detain us long,” said Hamo through a mouthful of apple. “I'll go along to spit in the eye of the commissioners then join the hunt for my son's killer. They'll have no case against me.”

  “Only if Gilbert Champeney does your bidding.”

  “He will, Jocelyn. Mark my words.”

  “So many things could go wrong,” warned his son. “My way is slower but more secure. Let me explain how I would go about it, Father. I have taken the measure of these royal commissioners so I know precisely what to expect from them. First of all …”

  Hamo ignored him. He had heard something else and it got him up from the table and across to the window. He let out a throaty chuckle and tossed his apple core to Jocelyn.

  “I told you that Gilbert would come.”

  He led the way to the main door and went down the stone steps and into the courtyard with an irritated Jocelyn a few paces behind him. Gilbert Champeney had brought two of his knights as an escort and they waited near the gate. Fulk the Steward was giving him a welcome and holding the bridle of his horse while the visitor dismounted. Gilbert was in a feisty mood. Jocelyn recognised the satchel that he was carrying. It belonged to one of the commissioners and had lain on the table at the shire hall when Jocelyn had gone there to confront them.

  “I knew that you would see sense!” said Hamo.

  “Where's my son?”

  “He is quite safe, Gilbert. I give you my word.”

  “Where is he? I wish to see him.”

  “You are in no position to haggle.”

  “Neither are you, Hamo.” He put a foot in the stirrup once more. “I will return these documents to their owners.”

  “Wait!”

  Gilbert stayed ready to mount. “Well?”

  “Show me what you have and you will see your son.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He can be brought here very quickly.”

  “Then send for him.” Gilbert was firm. “Send for him now, Hamo, or I ride out of this accursed place.”

  Hamo regarded him with a mixture of contempt and admiration, then he gave a signal and Fulk went towards the ground floor of the house. Gilbert consented to let go of the saddle and remove his foot from the stirrup. Hamo held out a hand and his visitor reluctantly opened the satchel and took out a sheaf of documents. Jocelyn came forward to peer at them. Gilbert would not surrender anything until he had been assured of his son's safety but he did let the two of them see the first parchment. It was an abstract of all the charges that were to be levelled against Blackwater Hall on the following morning. They would be forewarned about the whol
e prosecution case. Jocelyn read through it carefully and nodded to his father. The document was authentic.

  Fulk reappeared and waited until he got another signal from Hamo then he gestured in turn to somebody inside the building. Through the open door, two sturdy guards brought a dishevelled Miles Champeney, who was squinting in the unaccustomed light. His hands were bound with ropes and the guards had a firm grip on him but he seemed otherwise unhurt. Gilbert started forward towards him but quickly controlled himself. There was more bargaining to do.

  “I want the servant as well,” he said.

  “What servant?”

  “The one who carried the message between them. If he stays here, you will only beat him to death or starve him to a skeleton. Give him to me, Hamo.”

  “He is my servant.”

  “I will buy him from you.”

  Miles had adjusted to the light well enough to see his father. As he tried to lunge forward, the soldiers held him.

  “Father!” he called. “Help me.”

  “Be patient, Miles.”

  “They threw me in a dungeon!”

  “I have come for you. Hold still a little longer.”

  “What is this nonsense about my servant?” said Hamo.

  “I am trying to prevent a murder.” Gilbert would not budge on the issue. “No servant, no documents.”

  “And no son.”

  “Keep him, then,” said the father. “He ran away from me and forfeited my love. I want him back to chastise him as much as anything else, but Miles comes with the servant or you can sling the pair of them back into your dungeon.”

  “He is bluffing!” sneered Jocelyn.

  “Put me to the test.” Gilbert patted the satchel. “You have seen what thunderbolts they mean to hurl at you tomorrow. Do you really think you could withstand them without the help that I have brought you?”

  “Yes!” insisted Jocelyn.

  “Be quiet!” said Hamo.

  “We don't need him, Father.”

  “Stand aside!”

  Hamo shoved his son out of the way and walked up to Gilbert until they stood face to face. The visitor had none of the other's dark ferocity but his gaze did not falter. Hamo stared at him for some minutes before he came to a decision.