‘Take a seat, Bertrand,’ ordered a curt Robert d'Oilly. ‘And stay there throughout the proceedings. I am the judge here and you would do well to remember that.’
Gamberell schooled his rage and crossed to his seat. Milo, Wymarc and Gamberell were now in a straight line, separated by the knights who had watched the race at Woodstock and were thus additional witnesses. Ordgar sat alone at the rear of the hall, knowing that his evidence would never be sought. The fact that his horse had actually won the race was an embarrassing accident for his three rivals. They wanted a man to be convicted of the murder so that they could erase the memory of the fateful race from their minds.
The hall in the keep had been transformed into a courtroom. Robert d'Oilly sat behind the long table which had been turned sideways to face the witnesses. A scribe sat beside him to keep a record of the trial and the chaplain was next to the scribe, retained to act as an interpreter for the Saxon prisoner and looking distinctly uneasy with that role. Armed guards were on sentry duty at both doors. A room which had reverberated to the laughter of his guests on the previous night was now a chamber of death. The atmosphere was chill.
When the prisoner was brought in, he could barely stand. Swathed in bandages, Ebbi was dragged across to a stool to the right of the table and forced to sit. His hands were tied behind his back and he was patently in considerable distress. Temples pounding, Gamberell glared with hatred at the man. Wymarc, too, directed a blistering hostility at Ebbi. Milo was more detached from the whole thing and Ordgar, peering over their shoulders for a first proper look at the prisoner, felt a rush of sympathy for him. Guilty or not, the man would get short shrift from Robert d'Oilly. Ordgar had seen too many examples of Norman justice in Oxford to expect either fairness or clemency. Ebbi was doomed.
The sheriff banged a fist on the table to stifle the loud murmur which had started. With the funeral of the victim out of the way, he saw no reason to delay the trial. The sooner retribution was set in motion, the sooner he could shake Bertrand Gamberell from his back. Robert d'Oilly believed that summary justice was a useful instrument. It sent out a clear and unequivocal message that crime would be dealt with swiftly and savagely.
On the table in front of the sheriff was a copy of the Holy Bible but it induced no spirit of Christian charity in him. His voice boomed out with rasping authority.
‘This court has been convened to try a man for the foul murder of one Walter Payne, knight, cut down at Woodstock but two days ago.’
He paused while Arnulf translated for the benefit of the prisoner. Then Robert d'Oilly surged on with his preamble.
‘The slave, Ebbi, from the manor of my lord Wymarc, stands accused of this crime. The law is clear. If anyone breaks the King's peace, given by his hand or seal, so that he kills a man to whom the peace has been given, his limbs and life shall be in the King's decision.’ His back straightened and his chest swelled. ‘I represent the King in this shire.’
The chaplain took more time to translate this time and there was no indication that Ebbi even heard what was being said. The sheriff signalled to one of his men.
‘Take the Bible to him so that he may take the oath.’
‘How can he when his wrists are tied, my lord sheriff?’ said Arnulf reasonably. ‘May I suggest that his bonds be loosened so that he may place a hand on the Bible?’
‘If it is held before him,’ snapped the other, ‘that will suffice. Explain to him the significance of the oath. God himself will be his witness here in this hall.’
Arnulf acted as an interpreter once more and Ebbi took the oath in a faltering voice. The Bible was replaced on the table and the sheriff consulted the document in front of him. He did not foresee a long trial. All the witnesses told the same story. He switched his gaze to Ebbi.
‘How does the prisoner plead?
But there was no time for the words to be translated by Arnulf the Chaplain. Voices were heard outside, then the door was flung open and Ralph Delchard burst in. Everyone watched in stunned silence as he took a moment to look around before striding purposefully across the hall. Ralph stationed himself beside the cowering prisoner and put a compassionate hand on his shoulder. He spoke with quiet certitude.
‘This man is innocent, my lord sheriff.’
Chapter Eight
Mild uproar greeted Ralph's announcement but it was quelled immediately by a peremptory command from the sheriff. Robert d'Oilly mustered all the righteous indignation that he could and directed a withering gaze at the newcomer.
‘How dare you interrupt these proceedings!’ he said. ‘You have no place in this court and I demand that you withdraw.’
Ralph held his ground. ‘I am needed here.’
‘Leave now or I will have you removed by force.’
‘That would be very foolhardy, my lord sheriff.’
‘You are in contempt of court.’
‘I have come to defend the prisoner.’
‘Depart, sir!’
‘Not until you have heard me out.’
‘Away with him!’
He gave a gesture and four guards converged on Ralph but his bold rejoinder made them stop dead in their tracks.
‘Stay!’ he warned. ‘Lay hands on me and you will have to answer to the King himself. He will ask stern questions about the administration of justice in this shire. King William already has cause to be displeased with Oxford. I came to the town bearing a royal warrant and accompanied by two other commissioners.’ He aimed his words directly at the sheriff. ‘One of those colleagues, Maurice Pagnal, whom you entertained as your guest at the castle, and with whom you discussed one of the cases that came before us, has been sent home in disgrace because he succumbed to bribery and tried to influence our verdict to the benefit of his paymaster. Maurice Pagnal will face the wrath of the King. Am I to tell his grace that injustice runs much deeper here in Oxford?’
The four guards looked helplessly across at their master. Ralph Delchard exuded such authority and spoke with such fearlessness that they were reluctant to carry out the sheriff's order. Robert d'Oilly rescinded it with a flick of his hand and they returned gratefully to their positions.
Ebbi could not understand a word that was said but he sensed that he now had a friend. In a place where he had been treated with such cruelty, it was an unexpected bounty. He looked up at Ralph with pathetic gratitude.
Bertrand Gamberell saw only a mischievous interloper.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘My name is Ralph Delchard and I am a royal commissioner.’
Realising who the newcomer was, Gamberell showed a modicum of respect. ‘That gives you no right to interfere here,’ he said with slight deference. ‘This crime is outside your jurisdiction.’ He rose to his feet to introduce himself. ‘I am Bertrand Gamberell. My name will already have significance for you. Two days ago, one of my men was murdered in Woodstock during a horse race and I am here to make certain that his killer pays dearly for his crime.’
‘First, make certain that you catch the right man.’
‘He sits beside you, my lord.’
‘Ebbi is innocent. We have the proof of it.’
‘You know nothing whatsoever about this case.’
‘That is not true,’ said Ralph. ‘My lord Wymarc showed me the scene of the crime and explained in great detail what happened. Is that not so?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ agreed Wymarc, enjoying a rare chance to dumbfound Gamberell. ‘You expressed great curiosity and I was able to show you all that you needed to see.’
‘Not quite all. There was a vital element missing. I have just returned from a second visit to Woodstock with fresh evidence.’ He touched Ebbi again. ‘And it exonerates this man here, who has been most shamefully abused.’
‘Do not listen to him, my lord sheriff,’ urged Gamberell.
‘I believe that we should,’ countered Wymarc.
‘Your opinion was not sought.’
‘Neither was yours, Bertrand.’
‘Whose knight was killed out there in Woodstock?’
‘On whose land did the murder take place?’
‘Stop this bickering!’ snarled Robert d'Oilly.
‘Let me make a suggestion,’ said Milo Crispin, who had preserved his composure throughout. ‘If there is indeed new evidence, it should be taken into account but not before it has been sifted properly and that is best done in private. My advice is this, my lord sheriff. Adjourn the case until all the facts relating to it have been scrutinised then reconvene the court at your discretion. This answers all.’
‘Well spoken, friend,’ said Ralph.
‘My name is Milo Crispin.’
‘I had a feeling that it might be.’
‘Milo talks sense,’ endorsed Wymarc.
‘We have delayed this trial long enough,’ said Gamberell. I recommend that you proceed with it now, my lord sheriff. We have the guilty man before us. What more do we need?’
‘The truth,’ affirmed Ralph.
All heads turned to Robert d'Oilly. The decision lay with him and a great deal was hanging on it, not least his own reputation. If he let his authority be undermined by Ralph Delchard, then he would lose some of the respect in which he was held by the other barons and knights in the hall. On the other hand, were he to try the case without even examining the alleged new evidence, he would be incurring the displeasure of a royal commissioner and, through him, the anger of the King.
Two factors weighed most heavily with him. The trial was to have been a mere formality. He had pronounced sentence on Ebbi the moment the man was dragged before him and he had never doubted his guilt nor allowed Ebbi any chance of pleading his innocence. A Saxon villain suited his purpose in every way. If the prisoner were somehow exonerated and – it did not bear thinking about – acquitted and released from custody, then his handling of the case would be shown to be seriously at fault. What he saw as legitimate force used to question an assassin would instead become mindless brutality against an innocent man. Robert d'Oilly needed a verdict of guilt. That prompted him to continue.
A second factor held him back and that was the dismissal of Maurice Pagnal. He was the one amenable member of the tribunal, impelled by an old loyalty and rewarded by a hefty bribe. The sheriff and he were kindred spirits. Yet Maurice had been exposed and instantly discharged from the tribunal. Ralph Delchard had asserted himself to great effect. There would be severe repercussions when the King heard the grim tidings, and the more Robert d'Oilly obstructed the royal commissioners, the worse those repercussions would be for him.
Ralph chose that moment to reinforce the point.
‘No man is above the law,’ he reminded. ‘The greatest landholder in this county was the King's own half-brother, Odo, Bishop of Bayeux, Earl of Kent and one of the richest men in the kingdom. Where is he now? Languishing in prison, his lands forfeit.’ His gaze moved from d'Oilly to Milo Crispin. ‘Three men in this shire own between them one-fifth of its land. Two of them sit in this hall, the third, Roger d'Ivry, is presently in Rouen where he holds the Tower. None of those men is above the law. Let them remember Odo. If they try to thwart justice, they will bring the law down upon their own heads.’
Robert d'Oilly caught his son-in-law's eye and wished that he could appear as calm and detached as Milo, whose advice, as always, had been sound though uncomfortable. There was no easy way out of the predicament. Hiding his misgivings behind a show of authority, the sheriff banged the table once more and enforced absolute silence.
‘This case is adjourned until tomorrow,’ he said.
Coming to Oxford was in the nature of an ordeal for Leofrun. Crowds frightened her. She was a simple countrywoman who had rarely travelled more than a few miles from the place where she was born. In a town as big as Oxford, even with two men to escort her, she felt lost and threatened. Only the thought of helping Ebbi kept her from leaping down from Gervase Bret's horse and running back home. Leofrun was quite overwhelmed.
The sense of menace pressed down upon her even more when she rode through the castle gates. She clutched Gervase's shoulders tighter than ever, unused to being on any horse, still less on one ridden by a royal commissioner. Guards looked at her with derision, wondering why a scraggy old Saxon woman was being brought into the castle with such undeserved courtesy. She was humiliated by their sneers.
Gervase spent all his time trying to reassure her.
‘You will not have to stay here for long,’ he said.
‘Take me back now.’
‘No, Leofrun.’
‘Then let me walk home. I cannot stay here.’
‘You must. Until you are called.’
‘I am afraid.’
‘That is understandable.’
‘They will hurt me.’
‘Nobody will lay a finger on you.’
‘I should never have come.’
‘Would you desert Ebbi?’
She gave a despondent shrug. ‘What can I do? Who would listen to an old woman like me? Nobody will believe me.’
‘They will if you speak under oath.’
‘I will not know what to say.’
‘The truth.’
She began to sob and he put a consoling arm around her.
They were in an ante-room in the keep and Gervase was having doubts about her value as a witness. Leofrun was the only person whose evidence could save Ebbi but that evidence had to be offered clearly and confidently. If she was tearful now, when they were sitting alone on a bench, how could she possibly survive in a courtroom where she would have to face some searching questions? It had been embarrassing enough for Leofrun to have to confide in a stranger like Gervase. To make the same confession in front of more hostile listeners would be a continuous agony for her.
‘It will not be as bad as you fear,’ he said.
‘I will let you down.’
‘No, Leofrun.’
‘I will let Ebbi down. He will hate me for it.’
‘He will thank you with all his heart.’
A fond smile slowly spread across the moist cheeks.
‘Do you think so?’
‘I know it,’ he promised. ‘Ebbi sent me to you.’
‘That is true.’
‘He spoke so warmly of you, Leofrun.’
‘Did he?’
‘You are all that he has.’
Her voice cracked with emotion. ‘Ebbi is all that I have. I cannot bear the thought of what he has suffered here.’
‘Then help him, Leofrun.’
‘Do you really think I can?’
‘Be schooled by me and all will be well.’
She grasped his hands and squeezed them gratefully.
‘Why are you being so kind to us?’
‘I will not see an innocent man convicted of this crime.’
‘Ebbi trusted you. I see why.’
‘Put your own trust in me, Leofrun.’
She nodded and made an effort to collect herself.
‘Will you be in there with me?’ she asked.
‘I will not leave your side.’
‘How will I understand what they say to me?’
‘I will act as your interpreter.’
‘Will they deal harshly with me?’
‘Not while I am there,’ he said firmly. ‘I am a lawyer by training. The court is my home. You will be safe.’
‘Will I?’
Leofrun was unconvinced. She sat there in trepidation without saying another word. Several minutes passed. When the door opened without warning, she gasped in alarm. Gervase steadied her with a touch on her arm, then rose to speak to the guard who had just entered. The message was short. When the man went out again, Leofrun looked questioningly up at Gervase.
‘The court has been adjourned,’ he explained.
‘What does that mean?’
‘We got here in time.’
‘Ebbi has been sentenced?’
‘Not yet. My lord Ralph managed to stop the trial before it reached a verdict. He is now t
alking to the sheriff about you.’
‘Me? Why?’
‘He has to persuade the sheriff to admit your evidence.’
‘And if he fails?’
Gervase did not attempt to conceal the truth from her.
‘Ebbi will die.’
Robert d'Oilly was in a truculent mood. He did not like to be balked at any time. To have his authority questioned in so public a way was intolerable to him. When he conducted Ralph to a private apartment in the keep, he slammed the door behind them and confronted his guest.
‘That was unforgivable!’ he stormed. ‘You barged into a court when a trial was in progress and had the audacity to claim that I am slack in my duties.’
‘I made no such claim, my lord sheriff.’
‘Take care how far you go!’
‘There was no personal attack on you.’
‘Oxford is mine,’ declared the other. ‘All mine. I have been castellan here for twenty years and kept this town under strict control. It is the only way to get respect from these people. Show one sign of weakness and you are lost. Rule by force and they learn to obey.’
‘There is another way to earn their respect.’
‘And what is that?’
‘By dispensing justice.’
‘I always do.’
‘A trial such as this one? Hastily convened when the murder victim is still fresh in the ground? Why the unseemly rush? What time has there been to gather all the evidence?’
‘The man confessed. That was evidence enough.’
‘He admitted his guilt in so many words?’
‘Well, no. Not exactly. But he did not deny it.’
‘The fellow has been beaten to a pulp and scared witless. What credence can you place on anything he tells you? I saw Ebbi in court. Is that how you treat your prisoners before they are convicted?’
‘He was insolent and unhelpful.’
‘That means he did not admit his guilt.’
‘Whose side are you on?’ demanded the other.
‘Yours. If you deal justly.’
Robert d'Oilly turned abruptly away and marched to the window. Down in the bailey, he could see an armed guard escorting Ebbi back to his cell. Arnulf the Chaplain was walking beside them, talking to the prisoner and reaching out to steady him when he stumbled. The sheriff waited until Ebbi disappeared from sight before swinging back to face Ralph.
The Stallions of Woodstock Page 13