The Stallions of Woodstock

by Edward Marston

  As they clattered in through the gates, the visitors paid no heed to the more sinister aspects of the castle. All that they saw was an end to a tedious and exacting journey. The steward was waiting to welcome the commissioners and to conduct them to their apartments. Brother Columbanus was taken under the chaplain's wing and guards helped the rest of the party to stable the horses before leading them to their quarters. The newcomers were pleased with their reception.

  ‘This is better than being caught in a storm,’ said Ralph.

  Golde smiled. ‘It is a relief to have a sound roof over our heads at last. I thought that we would never get here.’

  ‘I determined that we would and we did. Are you not grateful to be married to such a masterful man?’

  ‘Profoundly,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘I have all the attributes of a perfect husband.’

  ‘Save one.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Modesty.’

  ‘Perish the thought!’

  ‘You are too ready to trumpet your virtues when they already go before you like lighted torches.’

  ‘That was elegantly put, my love.’

  ‘Take credit for that yourself, Ralph. It was you who instructed me in the finer points of your language. But only because you could not get your tongue around our Saxon vowels.’ She began to undress. ‘I so long to get out of these wet garments.’

  ‘I will enjoy watching you do it,’ he said with polite lechery. ‘A day in the saddle with the others has made me yearn for some privacy with my wife.’

  They were in a chamber high in the keep. Fresh rushes had been spread on the wooden floor and clean linen was on the bed. It was a serviceable lodging. The window looked out on the bailey but Ralph closed the shutters on the scene below. His attention was concentrated on Golde as she removed her chemise. Even with her back to him, she could read his warm thoughts.

  ‘We do not have time,’ she said pleasantly.

  ‘Let us make time.’

  ‘Later.’

  ‘One minute, two minutes.’ He ran his hands down her bare arms. ‘I can wait that long, Golde.’

  ‘You will have to be more patient than that.’

  ‘Three minutes would test me to breaking point.’

  ‘We are famished, Ralph. How can you even think about it?’

  ‘By looking at you now and being reminded how beautiful you are, my love. And how fortunate I was to find you. You are the one good thing to come out of this ceaseless meandering I do at the King's behest.’ He turned her to face him and pulled her close. ‘I want you.’

  ‘Stifle your desire until we have eaten.’

  ‘Are you resisting your husband, Golde?’

  ‘No, I am merely putting his empty stomach before my satisfaction.’ Ralph gave a ripe chuckle. ‘Now change into a dry tunic and you will feel more comfortable.’ ‘Is that an order?’

  ‘A simple request.’

  He kissed her on the lips and took her by the hips to lift her in the air and twirl her in a circle. When her feet touched the floor again she pushed him playfully away. While she dressed herself in fresh apparel, he began to take off his hauberk. There was a feeling of deep contentment between them.

  ‘You have no regrets, then?’ he asked.

  ‘Regrets?’

  ‘About riding with us to Oxford.’

  ‘You invited me. I came.’

  ‘But willingly, I hope.’

  ‘Very willingly,’ she said. ‘I hate to be apart from you even for a short length of time. My only fear is that I will be a hindrance to you.’

  ‘A most delightful hindrance.’

  ‘You are here on urgent business. I am in the way.’

  ‘That is not true at all, Golde.’

  ‘Maurice Pagnal thinks so.’

  ‘Only because he does not yet know you well enough.’

  ‘Canon Hubert knows me well enough yet he is always uneasy in my company. Brother Simon is plainly terrified.’

  ‘Neither of them is here, my love. If you want my opinion, this illness of Hubert's is a true benison. By losing him, we also rid ourselves of that walking cadaver, Brother Simon, who will not stir from his side. In their stead we have Maurice Pagnal and Brother Columbanus. An experienced soldier and a merry monk, sound fellows both, though I could do with less of that Benedictine's affability. I take them to be improvements on the canon and that corpse known as Brother Simon.’

  ‘I still feel out of place, Ralph.’

  ‘That feeling will soon wear off. It has troubled you in the past at first. During our stay in York and then again in Canterbury. Yet in both places you proved your worth to us and rendered practical help.’

  ‘I pray that I may do so again.’

  ‘You will. I sense it.’

  He reached across to cup her chin in his hand before placing another kiss on her lips. They looked deep into each other's eyes and forgot all else but their happiness. Marriage had changed both of them in ways they did not foresee and many compromises had been made on both sides. During a tender moment like this, all those compromises seemed a small price to pay for the resultant togetherness. Ralph enfolded her in his arms and held her tight.

  The mood was soon shattered. A loving impulse had taken them into the embrace but a sudden commotion forced them instantly apart. Clacking hooves, jingling harness and raised voices seemed to fill the courtyard below. Ralph opened the shutters to look down. Golde stood at his shoulder to see what had caused the untimely tumult.

  The castle gates had been flung wide open. Flaming torches had been brought to illumine the spectacle. Four knights in armour rode into the bailey with a prisoner whose hands were bound fast behind his back. The man had been dragged along by ropes and was obviously racked with pain and fatigue. When the prisoner fell to the ground, one of the knights dismounted to haul him roughly to his feet and to spit in his face.

  There was harsher treatment to come. A powerful figure in a rich tunic and mantle swept down the steps of the keep with a sword in his hand. His bellowing voice echoed around the courtyard. Shaking with fear, the prisoner fell to his knees in supplication but the newcomer showed no mercy. He grabbed the man unceremoniously to lift him upright before howling an accusation into his face. The prisoner shook his head wildly in denial of the charge. His accuser wasted no more words.

  Clubbing him to the ground with the hilt of his sword, he proceeded to kick the prisoner hard until his tongue stopped groaning and his body stopped twitching. On a command from their master, the four knights dragged the captive through the dust to the dungeon.

  Golde was appalled by what she had witnessed. As she watched the figure in the tunic stride towards the keep, she was positively trembling with disgust.

  ‘That was barbaric! Who is that man, Ralph?’

  He took a deep breath before breaking the news to her.

  ‘Robert d'Oilly,’ he said apologetically. ‘Our host.’

  Chapter Two

  Gervase Bret was kneeling at the altar rail when he heard the noise from the bailey. The thick walls of the church partially muffled the sound but it was still loud enough to interrupt his prayers. Lifting his head, he strained his ears to listen but he could make out nothing of what was being said by the angry voices. The distant clamour ended as abruptly as it had begun. A comforting silence invaded the church. Gervase lowered his chin, closed his eyes and surrendered himself once more.

  The habit of prayer had been inculcated in him during his time at Eltham Abbey and, though he had elected not to take the cowl at the end of his novitiate, he did not abjure all that he had been taught. Prayer replenished Gervase. It stilled his anxieties, cleansed his soul, offered guidance and allowed him personal communion with his Maker. Prayer never let him down. His simple act of faith and humility was always rewarded with peace of mind.

  It was only when he rose to leave that he realised he was not alone in the church. Standing in the shadows at the rear of the nave was a tall, s
lim figure who seemed to blend with the dark stone itself. The place had been empty when Gervase entered it so the newcomer must have slipped in unnoticed and that made the visitor wary. How long had he been watched at prayer? Why had his privacy been intruded upon? As Gervase walked back down the aisle, the man stepped forward to greet him and flickering candles disclosed his identity at once. He wore clerical garb and moved with the measured tread of someone at ease in the house of God.

  ‘I am Arnulf the Chaplain,’ he confirmed in a low and melodious voice. ‘You, I believe, are Gervase Bret.’

  ‘That is so.’

  ‘Brother Columbanus spoke fondly of you. He much enjoyed your company on the ride to Oxford. You talked at great length together, I understand.’

  ‘Brother Columbanus thrives on conversation.’

  ‘So I have discovered. I look to have much debate with him myself. He holds you in high esteem.’

  ‘I am flattered.’

  ‘His portrait of you was clearly accurate.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He told me what an unusual person you were.’

  ‘Unusual?’

  ‘Nineteen of you rode into the castle this evening. Tired, damp and hungry after your arduous journey. Apart from Brother Columbanus himself, you are the only member of the party who thought to come here in order to thank God for your safe arrival. That marks you out as very unusual.’

  ‘Most of my companions are soldiers.’

  ‘Say no more. This is a garrison church. I am acquainted with the difficulty of luring soldiers here for regular devotions. It is a problem with which I contend every day.’

  He spoke without rancour. Arnulf the Chaplain accepted the role assigned to him and sought to discharge his duties as conscientiously as he could. There was no trace of reproach or self-pity in him. He was a pragmatic Christian.

  Gervase's first impressions of the man were wholly favourable. Behind the chaplain's friendly smile, he sensed a keen intelligence and a deep commitment to his ministry. Arnulf had a long, thin, clean-shaven face that tapered towards the chin and positively glowed in the candlelight. Large, kind, watchful eyes were set beneath a high, domed forehead. Though in his early thirties, the chaplain retained an almost boyish enthusiasm. He was neither pious nor judgemental.

  ‘Did you hear the disturbance?’ said Arnulf, glancing over his shoulder. ‘There was quite a commotion out there earlier on. It was deafening.’

  ‘The noise reached me in here.’

  ‘I thought that it might.’

  ‘Do you know what caused it?’

  ‘Yes. I was in the bailey when they brought him in.’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘The assassin,’ explained Arnulf. ‘Or so it is alleged. Earlier today, a man was murdered near the forest of Woodstock. My lord sheriff sent out a posse in search of the killer and they have captured him. The fellow now lies in the dungeon, awaiting his fate. If his guilt be established, no mercy will be shown to him.’

  ‘And if he is proved to be innocent of the charge?’

  ‘That seems unlikely. The posse are convinced that they have apprehended the man responsible for this heinous crime.’

  ‘Who was the victim?’

  ‘One of Bertrand Gamberell's knights.’

  Gervase raised an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘Gamberell?’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Only by name. He is to appear before us at the shire hall.’ He ran a pensive hand across his chin. ‘The timing of this murder is curious. It occurs on the very day that we arrive in Oxford.’

  ‘An unfortunate coincidence.’

  ‘Probably so.’

  ‘What else could it be?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Gervase. ‘Nothing at all.’

  But his mind was already grappling with another faint possibility. Bertrand Gamberell was locked into an acrimonious property dispute with two rival claimants, Wymarc and Milo Crispin. Gervase was bound to wonder if the murder was in some way connected with that fraught situation. He was not ready to confide in Arnulf until he knew the man better and until more facts about the crime were at his disposal. His suspicion might yet prove to be completely unfounded.

  ‘I would hear more about this,’ he said at length.

  ‘Then I will tell you all I know,’ offered the chaplain, putting a hand on his sleeve. ‘But let us adjourn to the hall while we talk. A meal is waiting for you. Brother Columbanus tells me that you are all starving. You should not deny yourself a moment longer.’

  He opened the door and led Gervase out into darkness.

  Robert d'Oilly made only the briefest of appearances in the hall to welcome his guests and to assure them that they would want for nothing while they were in his care. He promised to spend more time with them on the morrow when his wife would return from a visit to her relatives and he himself might not be so weighed down with the cares of office. The castellan was unfailingly civil but there was little warmth behind that civility. When he took his leave of them, he did so with an undue alacrity. They felt unwanted.

  A meal had been set out on the table for them and Arnulf joined in the repast, showing a genuine interest in them and supplying the cordiality that was so signally lacking in their host. Even Ralph Delchard, with his rooted distrust of all churchmen, began to warm to the chaplain. Golde found him a soothing presence and gradually pushed the memory of Robert d'Oilly's earlier display of brutality to the back of her mind. Arnulf somehow made Oxford Castle seem a more civilised place than she had at first feared. He would be a useful friend to her while her husband was preoccupied with his work as a commissioner, and he promised to act as her guide when she wished to visit the town.

  Maurice Pagnal was more interested in the food than in anything else, munching his way noisily through his chicken pasties and flatbread, and washing them down with generous draughts of red wine. Brother Columbanus was the revelation. His predecessor as scribe, the shy, unworldly Brother Simon, rarely ate with the commissioners, preferring the more frugal fare and less boisterous company of a religious house, and never daring to venture an opinion of his own in public lest it bring down ridicule upon him.

  Columbanus was an altogether more convivial Benedictine, fond of his food, even fonder of his ale and ready to enter any discussion with beaming eagerness. The more he drank, the more garrulous he became, and Gervase was left to speculate on the motives which had taken such a gregarious man into a closed monastic order. He would not have such freedom of expression when he sat in the chapter house with his brothers. It was almost as if the monk were using the meal to celebrate his temporary release from the cloister.

  Arnulf, by contrast, ate little and drank only water yet showed no disapproval of Columbanus's voracious appetite. He encouraged the guests to call for anything they wanted from the kitchens. The strong ale eventually took its toll of the monk. He began to slur his words, sway on his bench and giggle ridiculously to himself. The chaplain took charge of him at once, helping him gently up and half carrying him off to his bed before another cup of ale nudged Columbanus into the realms of disgrace.

  Ralph watched it all with a tolerant smile.

  ‘A drunken scribe!’ he said. ‘That is all we need!’

  ‘Columbanus will not be found wanting,’ said Gervase.

  ‘I am sure that he will not,’ agreed Golde. ‘Even though he differs in every imaginable way from Brother Simon.’

  ‘Indeed he does,’ said Ralph amiably. ‘Columbanus downed more ale in one night than Simon drinks in a decade. There is a human being inside that black cowl. Brother Simon wears his in the same way that a snail carries his shell. As a place in which to hide from the real world.’

  ‘I loathe monks of all kinds,’ confessed Maurice through a loud yawn. ‘They are forever trying to prick my conscience about my misdeeds. What misdeeds? Is bearing arms for my King a misdeed? I am not ashamed of anything I have done in my life. Let those sanctimonious brothers stay in their cloisters where they belong and lea
ve us to manage the serious business of keeping the peace in this ungrateful land.’

  He gave another involuntary yawn and his lids drooped. With a supreme effort, he lifted himself up from the table.

  ‘Pray, excuse me,’ he said to Golde. ‘I did not mean to be so unmannerly. Old age is creeping up on me. I am exhausted.’ He raised a weary arm. ‘I bid you farewell, my friends.’

  They waved him off and he staggered out of the hall.

  ‘It is time for us to retire as well,’ said Golde.

  Ralph nodded. ‘Go ahead of me, my love. I will not keep you long. Gervase and I need to speak alone for a moment.’

  ‘Then I will steal quietly away.’

  After an exchange of farewells, Golde went off on her own. As soon as she was out of earshot, Ralph leaned across the table towards his friend. His geniality vanished at once.

  ‘What is going on here, Gervase?’ he asked.

  ‘Going on?’

  ‘There was uproar down in the bailey earlier on.’

  ‘Yes, I heard it.’

  ‘Robert d'Oilly saw fit to batter some poor wretch senseless. Why? What had the fellow done? Golde was revolted by the sight. It took me an age to persuade her to come here to the hall. Having seen the way that our host dealt with his prisoner, she was refusing even to meet Robert.’

  ‘I noticed that she was tight-lipped in his presence.’

  ‘Thank heaven he did not stay to eat with us! Or Golde would certainly have called him to account. And that would not have advantaged any of us. I love her dearly but she can be outspoken at times.’ He drained the last of the wine from his cup. ‘Do you have any idea what this is all about?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gervase.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘A horse race.’

  Ralph's eyes widened. ‘Horse race?’

  ‘Close by the forest of Woodstock.’

  ‘Can this be true?’

  ‘I had it from Arnulf the Chaplain and have been biding my time until I could divulge all the details to you. It is too soon to be certain but they may well have a bearing on our work here.’