The Stallions of Woodstock

by Edward Marston

‘Why?’

  ‘Accomplices would not simply have ignored what they saw. They would have distracted everyone else's attention as well and there was no diversion. No,’ decided Ralph, ‘I think that there is another explanation.’

  ‘The assassin remained hidden in the copse.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But it was thoroughly searched, you say.’

  ‘That is what Wymarc told me but I think they blundered about too hastily among those trees. They missed vital signs. I would like to have conducted a proper search myself but Wymarc was panting at my heels like a hunting dog. I need to go back to Woodstock when he is not around to hinder me.’

  ‘What does he think?’

  ‘That the murderer is here under lock and key.’

  ‘Ebbi?’

  ‘Yes, Gervase. According to him, Ebbi threw the dagger at his victim then hared across that field before the murder was discovered. But that is impossible.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Only a fit and lithe young man would have risked a wild dash to the forest. Ebbi is none of those things. I only saw the fellow from a distance, but he looked too old and gaunt to have a turn of foot.’

  ‘He is, Ralph. No question of that.’

  ‘If Ebbi was indeed the assassin, I believe that he took refuge somewhere and remained hidden. It was only after everyone had left the area that he came out and made his escape to the forest. Except that it was no escape.’ He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘I come more and more to doubt that Ebbi is involved at all here.’

  ‘Of that I am certain, Ralph.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I spoke with the man.’

  ‘When?’

  It was Gervase's turn to take over. He described his visit to the dungeon the previous day and explained how it helped to reinforce his earlier suspicions. Ralph was fascinated.

  ‘And you accepted his word?’

  ‘Why should he lie to me?’

  ‘A condemned man will say anything to get off the hook.’

  ‘That is not the case here. Ebbi is in despair. He has been beaten to a pulp by my lord sheriff and he knows there is worse to come. Yet he is not full of self-pity.’

  ‘Who could blame him if he were?’

  ‘He has resigned himself to his own fate,’ said Gervase. ‘But even in the midst of his own ordeal, he thinks of his family and friends. That is why he wanted Arnulf to carry a message to them from him. Does that sound like the action of some merciless assassin?’

  ‘No, Gervase. And yet he was apprehended in the forest.’

  ‘That was complete misfortune.’

  ‘Why was he there in the first place? Poaching game?’

  ‘No, Ralph. He swears it.’

  ‘What, then, took him into the forest?’

  Gervase was about to answer when he became aware that they were no longer alone. Standing in silence at the other end of the hall was the rotund figure of Brother Columbanus. When they both stared questioningly at him, he replied with his usual benign smile and they were left to wonder why he did not announce his arrival and how much of their conversation he had overheard.

  There were eight of them in all. The piping trebles of the six boys mingled with the softer voices of the two girls and rose up to the ceiling of the little chancel. The choir of St George's-in-the-Castle was practising.

  Sanctus, Sanctus,

  Sanctus, Dominus Deus Sabaoth.

  Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua.

  Hosanna in excelsis!

  Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.

  Hosanna in excelsis!

  Arnulf took them through it three more times before he was satisfied with the result. He clapped gentle palms together.

  ‘That is good,’ he congratulated them. ‘Very good.’

  The girls lapped up his praise like two kittens presented with a pool of milk but the boys, who were younger, more restive and more anxious to be at play with their friends, were merely grateful that the rehearsal was over. When the chaplain dismissed them, it was the boys who scuttled down the aisle and the girls who hovered for more approval. Arnulf waited until the others had left the building.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said feelingly. ‘The boys were not at their best this morning. You redeemed their poor performance. Where the two of you led, they eventually followed.’

  The younger of the girls giggled but the other simply gazed at the chaplain with admiration. In inviting her to join the choir, he had given her one of the most precious gifts she had ever received and she responded with total commitment. After garlanding them for a few more minutes, Arnulf let them go, then called back the older one at the door.

  ‘Bristeva!’

  ‘Yes?’ she said, halting at once.

  ‘There was something I wished to tell you. But not in front of the others. They will hear it from me in good time.’ He glided down the aisle towards her. ‘When we lost Helene, we lost the purest voice that we had.’

  ‘Helene put us all to shame.’

  ‘She was the heart and soul of the choir.’

  ‘We miss her badly.’

  ‘I was distraught when she decided to leave.’

  ‘Is there no chance that she may come back?’

  ‘No, Bristeva,’ said Arnulf, hands clasped in front of him. ‘Helene is lost to us. That is why I must look elsewhere for someone to set an example to the others.’ Her face lit up in anticipation. ‘I think that you are the only one who could take her place. Does that idea excite you?’

  ‘Very much, Father Arnulf!’

  ‘It would mean a lot of work.’

  ‘I am not afraid of that.’

  ‘There would be rewards,’ he promised. ‘You would not only take the solo parts in church. On occasion, you might be asked to sing in the hall in front of guests and some of them can be very appreciative. Helene never went away empty-handed. Yes, you will certainly find that there are rewards.’

  Bristeva did not even think of the money. Spending more time with the chaplain was reward enough for her. At home with her father, she was often neglected and always excluded from any discussion of significance, but she had achieved a mild importance in the little choir. It gave her a self-esteem which she had never had before and Bristeva could not have been more thankful to the chaplain. He chose her. His careful and patient training had turned a promising voice into one that was clear and mellifluous.

  ‘I will speak to Ordgar,’ he said.

  ‘Father will not object.’

  ‘I hope not, Bristeva. It took me a while to persuade him to let you join the choir. He was reluctant at first.’

  ‘He is proud of my singing now.’

  ‘And so he should be.’

  ‘May I tell him what you said?’

  ‘Please do, Bristeva. And ask him to talk to me.’

  ‘I will, Father Arnulf.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Are you happy about this?’

  ‘Yes!’ she affirmed. ‘Very happy!’

  ‘So am I.’

  When she left the church, she was suffused with joy.

  The commissioners were still at the shire hall. Ralph and Gervase were calm but Maurice Pagnal was in an aggressive mood.

  ‘What more do we need to debate?’ he said testily. ‘We have heard both sides of the case and studied the documents which the witnesses produced. My mind is clear. Islip is legally the property of Azelina, wife of Roger d'Ivry. I have not the slightest doubt about that.’

  ‘I have, my lord,’ said Gervase firmly. ‘Having read the deposition from the Abbot of Westminster, I have a number of doubts, especially about the way in which Islip first came into the hands of the lady Azelina.’

  ‘It was a gift from King William.’

  ‘Before that, it was a gift from King Edward.’

  ‘If it is a choice between kings,’ decided Ralph, ‘I know which one I would support. The later surely supplants the former here.’

  Maurice nodded. ‘Thank you, Ralph. The matter
is settled.’

  ‘Not until we examine the disputants further,’ said Gervase.

  ‘What else can they tell us?’

  ‘Certain points in the charters need clarification.’

  ‘You are splitting hairs, Gervase.’

  ‘Just like a lawyer!’ added Ralph.

  ‘May I say something?’ interposed Brother Columbanus.

  ‘No,’ said Maurice contemptuously. ‘You are only our scribe here and not a commissioner.’

  ‘My opinion might be useful.’

  ‘But not sought after.’ He looked at Gervase. ‘Our two votes outweight your one.’

  ‘Only when we make a final decision, my lord.’

  ‘We have just made it,’ insisted Maurice. ‘Ralph?’

  ‘Let us hear the witnesses once again first.’

  ‘God's wounds! We will be here until Domesday!’

  ‘An appropriate date for this Survey,’ said Gervase.

  His mild joke produced a laugh which eased the tension considerably. Even Brother Columbanus joined in, chuckling happily and repeating the words aloud. Those waiting outside the shire hall wondered what had caused the mirthful explosion. Maurice waited until the laughter faded away then tried a different approach to win over his colleagues.

  ‘Why lock horns over this?’ he said reasonably. ‘All three of us want the same thing. A just and fair settlement. I believe that we can reach that now without further debate or prevarication.’ His manner became more confiding. ‘I spoke with our host this morning. Robert d'Oilly was most insistent that the lady Azelina has the better claim here. The sheriff remembers the exact time and place when Islip and Oddington came into her hands. Our host vouches for her. What more proof do we need than that?’

  ‘A great deal,’ said Ralph with asperity. ‘My lord sheriff has not been called as a witness and he is not speaking under oath. Discount his testimony at once.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because he is the sworn brother of Roger d'lvry and will naturally wish to offer support to his wife. When he tried to push me in her direction, I answered him roundly in spite of his rank. You should have done likewise, Maurice.’

  ‘I knew nothing of this link with Roger d'lvry.’

  ‘You did not need to,’ reprimanded Ralph. ‘Impartiality is our touchstone. If someone tries to influence you in any way, you should give them a dusty answer and report them to me.’

  ‘I am sure that the sheriff meant no harm.’

  ‘He tried to affect your judgement.’

  ‘It was no more than a casual remark.’

  ‘I heard one of those from him myself, Maurice.’

  ‘Robert d'Oilly is not a reliable witness,’ said Gervase. ‘That is why we did not call him before us. It is not simply because he has sworn brotherhood to Roger d'Ivry. He is also the father-in-law of Milo Crispin.’

  Maurice shrugged. ‘Milo Crispin does not figure here.’

  ‘Indirectly, he does. He is kinsman to Gilbert Crispin, abbot of Westminster and the other claimant of this land. Whom does my lord Robert support? Church or State? The kinsman of his son-in-law or the wife of his sworn brother? He is bound to be prejudiced in one direction.’

  ‘And we know what it is,’ said Ralph.

  ‘This is far too confusing for me!’ groaned Maurice.

  ‘I am as mystified as you. I never thought to hear myself say this but I actually miss Canon Hubert's advice. Whenever there is a conflict between Church and State, he always seems to know how to settle it. Canon Hubert has insight.’

  ‘I will pass on that compliment,’ said Columbanus.

  ‘He may choose to disbelieve it.’ Ralph slapped a palm on the table. ‘Enough of this bickering! We will hear both sides once more, then confer on our verdict.’

  A guard was dispatched and soon reappeared with Azelina and Brother Timothy. Both were given a polite greeting and invited to sit on the cushions. There was an even greater contrast between them this time. The stately Azelina was glowing with confidence while the shuffling Timothy had a defeatist look about him. It was almost as if the verdict had already been given in her favour.

  Ralph moved swiftly to counter that impression.

  ‘No decision has yet been made by us,’ he said firmly. ‘Nor will it be until you have both had an opportunity to add to what you have already told us. We have examined the documentary evidence and each of you has a legitimate claim. What we need to know from you, my lady, is how Islip first came into your possession. And from you, Brother Timothy, why the abbey seems to have let it slip from its fingers.’

  Azelina needed no second invitation to speak and her melodious voice rang around the hall with conviction.

  ‘My husband, Roger d'Ivry, has been a loyal subject to the King and is held in high regard. When King William sought to reward his service, he granted him the manors of Mixbury, Beckley, Asthall and twenty more besides, now held from my husband by subtenants. At the same time, Islip was granted to me along with three hides and half a virgate of land in Oddington.’ The recital was so smooth it must have been carefully rehearsed. ‘Take note of the value of my holdings, my lords. Islip was worth seven pounds in 1066 and eight when I acquired it from the King. Thanks to my prudent stewardship, it is now worth ten pounds. That is an appreciable increase. The same is true of my land in Oddington.’

  The facts poured out of her in a steady stream and her claim appeared unanswerable. When she finished, Brother Timothy looked more subdued than ever. Instead of leaping to the defence of Westminster Abbey as he had done so effectively during the previous session, he brought a hand out from a sleeve in order to signal withdrawal.

  ‘I have nothing more to add, my lords,’ he said meekly.

  ‘Nothing?’ echoed Gervase. ‘Can this be so?’

  ‘You heard him,’ said Maurice, jumping quickly in. ‘We may proceed to judgement without further impediment.’

  Ralph agreed. He did not need to ask which way Maurice would vote and a glance from Gervase told him that the abbey was not unsupported. The casting vote lay with Ralph and he agonised for a few minutes before committing himself. All had seemed finely balanced on the previous day but Azelina had stolen the initiative now. After looking from one disputant to the other, he gave his verdict.

  ‘Islip will remain in the hands of the lady Azelina.’

  She gave a quiet smile of triumph but it did not stay on her face for long. Brother Timothy suddenly erupted into life. Jumping to his feet, he waved an accusatory finger at Ralph and issued his thunderbolt.

  ‘I denounce this commission!’ he yelled with passion. ‘It has not dispensed justice here today. Instead, it has given way to bribery and corruption, making its verdict a travesty and a perversion. Unless the canker is removed from this tribunal, I will entreat Abbot Gilbert of Westminster to protest directly to the King himself to have this verdict overturned.’

  The outburst ceased. Brother Timothy resumed his seat with studied calm but the rest of the shire hall was now in a state of consternation.

  Chapter Six

  Bertrand Gamberell lay on the bed in a state of joyful exhaustion. Long, luscious hours of exquisite pleasure had left him coated with perspiration and tingling with exhilaration. The woman in his arms was so gloriously sated that she dozed off to sleep. Gamberell ran a hand down her naked back and traced the curve of her fleshy buttocks. Her skin was like silk. She had a body of generous proportions and she had yielded it up to him unreservedly. It was their first time together and he resolved that there would be many other secret trysts. She was an eager lover but there was still much that he could teach her before he was done.

  The thrill of a new conquest was always something to savour but Gamberell took a special delight from the seduction of a married woman. It added a piquancy and an element of danger. It also gave him an exclusive insight into the most private area of a marriage. When he took a man's wife to bed, he could see exactly what kind of lover the husband was and that gave him a p
erverse gratification.

  In this case, the husband was an old, tired, neglectful man who was largely indifferent to his wife's needs and who had never fully explored the potentialities of her desire. What her husband lacked, Gamberell provided in abundance and she had groaned in ecstasy as he took her on a voyage of discovery. In place of a fumbling and inconsiderate old man, she now had a strong, sensitive, virile young lover who was seasoned in all the arts of pleasure. Her earlier fears and doubts had been burned away in the delicious heat of their adultery. She was a most willing victim.

  The woman had provided more than just a few hours of calculated lust for Gamberell. She was his escape. Locked in her embrace, he could forget all about the grim events at Woodstock. The cold-blooded murder of his knight preyed on his mind even though the assassin had apparently been caught. It was no random action. Gamberell felt certain that someone had hired the killer to make sure that Hyperion did not win the race. The murder had been an indirect attack on Gamberell himself and he was determined to root out the villain who had instigated it.

  As his excitement cooled, ugly memories began to flood back. Even the warmth of the woman's body could not block them out now. He recalled with a start that he had to be back in Oxford in good time for the funeral. In the service of his master, Walter Payne had been callously murdered. If he had not ridden Hyperion in the race, he would still be alive. The thought activated Gamberell's sense of guilt. He needed to be at the church to lead the mourners as they paid their last respects to a tragic victim.

  When he tried to disentangle himself, she opened her eyes.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked dreamily.

  ‘Back to Oxford, my sweet.’

  ‘So soon?’

  ‘I have important business there.’

  She nestled into him. ‘You have important business here, Bertrand. Or have you tired of me already?’

  ‘I could never do that,’ he murmured, nuzzling her cheek.

  ‘Do you still love me?’

  ‘You know that I do, my angel.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘I have already done so.’

  ‘Prove it again,’ she coaxed, kissing him on the lips.

  ‘If I had the time, I would. But I really must go.’