‘It is a signal honour, Bristeva.’
‘I am so looking forward to it!’
‘Yes,’ he said with forced enthusiasm. ‘So am I.’
Ordgar was only half listening to his daughter. His mind was grappling with the problem of what to do about his son. Amalric had been quite adamant. Having thought it over, the boy had decided to do all he could to prevent his sister from taking part in what could be the most important night of her life so far. Bristeva's joy was very fragile. It would be shattered beyond repair if her chance to sing at the banquet was taken away from her. Ordgar mused on the perils of fatherhood. There seemed to be no easy way to reconcile his children. They were locked in conflict. The happiness of one directly depended on the unhappiness of the other.
They were close to home when Bristeva raised the issue herself. She knew that deep disapproval awaited her.
‘Will you speak to Amalric for me, please?’ she said.
‘I will try.’
‘Make him understand how much this means to me.’
‘Yes, Bristeva.’
‘And talk to Edric as well. In some ways, he is worse.’
‘They see things rather differently from us.’
‘Why?’
‘When you are older, I will explain.’
‘I cannot believe that I am doing anything wrong.’
‘You are not, Bristeva.’
Amalric was working in the field when they rode up. He shot them a hostile glance then turned away without even offering them a greeting. Bristling at the insult, Ordgar vowed to confront him at once and compel his obedience. They dismounted and Bristeva went running into the house, eager to scavenge in the kitchen for food. Her father waited until she was out of sight then swung round and marched purposefully towards the field. He was soon overhauled.
‘One moment!’ called Edric the Cripple, hobbling after him on his crutch. ‘We need to talk.’
‘The accounts will have to wait, Edric.’
‘This is nothing to do with the accounts.’
‘I must speak to Amalric first.’
‘Let me save you the trouble, Ordgar.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Stand still and I will tell you.’
The old man came to a halt and Edric moved in close.
‘I know what you are going to say to your son.’
Ordgar was forceful. ‘I will say the same to you, Edric. Leave Bristeva alone. I will not have the girl baited by either of you. She has had precious little enough to smile about since her mother died. Now that something good has finally happened to her, I will not let you and Amalric ruin it. It is not kind. It is not fair.’
‘I know,’ admitted Edric shamefacedly. ‘I am sorry for pouring cold water on her happiness. It was a terrible thing to do. Why should I spoil the girl's pleasure? I have reasons of my own to loathe Oxford Castle and all that it stands for but it means something else to Bristeva. I see that now.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes. Mine is one story, hers another.’
‘It is such a relief to hear you say that!’ exclaimed the other, embracing him warmly. ‘In all the years we have known each other, this is the one thing on which we have disagreed.’
‘Not any more.’
‘Do I have your word on that?’
‘I will not censure Bristeva again,’ vowed Edric. ‘From now on, I will hold my tongue in her presence.’
‘This pleases me more than I can tell you. I want amity in my home. I am so grateful, Edric. If only my son would come to his senses in the same way.’
‘It will take more time to persuade Amalric'
‘He is threatening to cause mayhem on Saturday.’
‘Leave him to me,’ advised the other. ‘Challenge him now and you will only stir up his anger. The boy needs a day or so to calm down properly. I'll choose the right moment to reason with him.’
Ordgar was touched. ‘Would you do that for me?’
‘For you and for Bristeva.’
‘I want my children to be reconciled, Edric.’
‘They will be.’
‘What will you say to him?’
‘I am not sure yet. But I will find the words.’
‘You always do.’
Ordgar knew that the steward had far more influence with his son than he did. Edric the Cripple was like a second father to him. His values were the ones that Amalric admired, his life was the one which the boy wanted to emulate. There was a time when Ordgar had resented his son's obvious preference but he was now resigned to it, and saw how it could actually work to his advantage. At a stroke, Edric had relieved him of the task of reprimanding his son and guaranteed that Bristeva's role as a performer at the banquet at the castle was no longer under threat.
The two men headed back towards the house.
‘We will go without him,’ decided Ordgar.
‘Without him?’
‘On Saturday night. To the banquet. Amalric and I were invited to join the feast so that we could listen to Bristeva sing. It would put too much of a strain on him. He can be so impulsive. He might do something wild.’
‘Not if I curb him strongly enough.’
‘Amalric is not easily curbed,’ sighed Ordgar. ‘Besides, you will not be at the banquet. Suppose he loses control? Suppose my son starts an affray? He would bring shame down on the whole family.’ He flung a glance over his shoulder. ‘It will be safer to leave Amalric here.’
‘But he has been invited, Ordgar.’
‘That is true.’
‘How many times will he be asked to sit at the sheriff's table and revel in his company?’
‘Never again, probably.’
‘Then why take this one opportunity from him?’ said Edric. ‘It is not every day that the Bishop of Coutances visits Oxford. Let your son see the great man in the flesh. He will not like him but that is no reason to deny him the right to meet him.’
‘I hate to deny my son anything but I have to lean towards caution here. Amalric can be hot-blooded. We both know that. How can I enjoy the performance of my daughter if I am afraid that my son may suddenly disrupt the banquet?’
‘There is one obvious solution.’
‘Is there?’
‘Take me to the castle with you,’ volunteered Edric. ‘I will undertake to stifle Amalric. He might defy you, Ordgar, but he would not dare to disobey me.’
Ordgar was surprised. ‘Can you be serious?’
‘I would never make such an offer lightly.’
‘After all that has happened? You would be prepared to attend a banquet at Oxford Castle in the presence of Robert d'Oilly and the Bishop of Coutances?’
‘Yes, Ordgar.’
‘Here is a change indeed!’
‘It is long overdue,’ admitted Edric. ‘Even hatred mellows with time. I am coming round to your view. When I was in Warwickshire earlier this week, I gave much thought to the problem. Bitterness destroys. It eats you up from the inside. I will not spend the rest of my days fighting a battle that was decided many years ago.’
‘These words are music to me, Edric'
‘Take me with you to the castle on Saturday.’
‘I will.’
‘Amalric will cause no upset. I give you my promise.’
Brother Columbanus faded so completely into the background that they almost forgot he was there. With the work of the tribunal suspended, the monk's official duties ceased until further notice and he exploited his unexpected freedom. Gervase Bret was coming in through the castle gates when he met Columbanus. He was pleased to see the beaming countenance of his friend once more.
‘Well met!’ he said. ‘We have missed you.’
‘I have deliberately made myself scarce, Gervase.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I do not wish to get in your way.’
‘We enjoy your company, Brother Columbanus.’
‘And I delight in yours,’ said the other genially, ‘but therein lies the dang
er. When I break bread with you, I also have the urge to sup ale and that is a temptation I must suppress in every way.’
‘A monk is allowed to drink ale in moderation.’
‘Yes, Gervase. But what is moderation? If I drink one cup of ale, I tell myself that a second cup is a moderate amount. After that, a third is irresistible. By the time I am reaching for a fourth, all thought of moderation has left me. You see my dilemma?’ He gave a merry chuckle. ‘I am a weak vessel.’
‘Recognition of your weakness is a strength in itself.’
‘That is my solace. Since I cannot always resist the temptation, I will henceforth avoid it altogether. That is why I have been absent from the table.’
‘Where have you been taking meals?’
‘Here and there, Gervase,’ said Columbanus. ‘Here and there. The canons of St Frideswide's fed me last night and gave me spiritual nourishment as well. I am on my way there now to draw on their fellowship.’
‘Then I will not hold you up.’
‘When will I be needed again?’
‘Not until Canon Hubert arrives.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘A day or two at least,’ reckoned Gervase. ‘Probably more. We rode from Winchester on swift horses. Canon Hubert will only travel on his donkey and that sets a much slower pace. He may not arrive until Sunday.’
Columbanus brightened. ‘After the banquet, then?’
‘Yes. Does that make a difference to you?’
‘No, no, Gervase. Not in the slightest.’
He let out another chuckle, patted his companion on the arm, then walked jauntily out through the gates. Gervase was both amused and puzzled by his behaviour. Columbanus was a jovial Christian who freely owned up to human fallibility but his joviality was edged with contrition. Gervase wondered why.
He stood aside as six riders trotted across the bailey and clattered out through the gates. The soldiers were patently in a hurry. Arnulf the Chaplain provided the explanation.
‘They are on their way to Woodstock,’ he said, walking over to meet Gervase. ‘To begin the hunt all over again. My lord sheriff was not pleased to release Ebbi. He truly believed that he had the killer of Walter Payne locked up in a cell.’
‘The assassin is still at liberty.’
‘And so is Ebbi now. Thanks to you and my lord Ralph.’
‘We could not let an innocent man die.’
‘He suffered great indignities while he was here,’ said Arnulf. ‘By rights, he is owed some compensation.’
‘What hope is there of that?’
‘None, I fear.’
‘My lord sheriff will never be accused of compassion.’
‘He gave you a fair hearing, Gervase,’ countered the other, keen to defend his master. ‘My lord sheriff had the grace to admit that he was misled. When you presented your evidence and let Leofrun bear witness, he accepted that Ebbi had been wrongfully imprisoned and ordered his release at once.’
‘That is not quite what happened,’ said Gervase, recalling the sheriff's intense reluctance, ‘but the result is what counts. Ebbi was set free. Leofrun will medicine his wounds.’ He pursed his lips as he gazed up at the keep. ‘What alarms me is the speed with which the legal process moved. Is the law always administered with such celerity in Oxford? A man is killed, a suspect is arrested, a trial is ordered. I have never known such summary justice. Why did my lord sheriff feel the need to act so swiftly?’
‘He abhors delay of any kind.’
‘Delay can mean the difference between life and death. Had we not been here, Ebbi would have been tried, convicted and executed for a murder that he did not commit.’
‘Nobody regrets that possibility more than I.’
‘It is almost as if Robert d'Oilly had a private reason to rush this trial. Do you know of such a reason?’
Arnulf shook his head and Gervase let the matter drop.
‘I heard the choir practice earlier on,’ he said.
‘We saw you at the rear of the nave.’
‘A small congregation but an appreciative one.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Bristeva was in fine voice.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Arnulf, ‘but whether that fine voice will be heard at the banquet on Saturday is open to question. Her father gave me disturbing news.’
‘I spoke with Ordgar myself.’
‘Then you will know the problem we face. Bristeva is eager to sing for us but Amalric, her brother, is just as eager to stop her. I offered to talk to the boy myself but Ordgar felt that it was his duty to do that. He did, however, agree with my other suggestion.’
‘What was that, Arnulf?’
On the eve of the banquet, Bristeva will sleep here at the castle. It will give us more time to rehearse together, and if she is away from home she will not be subject to Amalric's sneers. It grieves me that I have to protect a girl from her own brother but there is no other way.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘My choir is afflicted by unhelpful siblings.’
‘So it seems.’
‘First Helene. And now Bristeva.’
‘Both have met with opposition from their brothers.’
‘My lord Wymarc was a more formidable proposition. He took Helene away from me. That is not going to happen to Bristeva,’ Arnulf vowed. ‘I will fight to keep her. She is my Helene now.’
Hours of pleading had left Wymarc's voice hoarse. Ignoring the pain in his throat, he summoned up all of his remaining energy for a final assault on Baldwin the Doctor.
‘I beg you, man! Please help me!’
‘I wish that I could, my lord, believe me.’
‘Save me from certain scandal and disgrace.’
‘The law must take its course,’ said Baldwin.
‘Only if the true facts of the case are disclosed.’
‘As they must be.’
‘No, Baldwin!’ hissed the other. ‘You are Helene's doctor. Give out that she was taken ill and died before you could reach her. We will say that she has been sickening for days, which, in a sense, is true. Nobody will question your word and the hideous truth will be kept within these four walls.’
‘That is not possible, my lord.’
‘Why not?’
‘Honesty compels me to reveal all. It is my duty.’
‘Do you not have a duty to me? As your friend?’ Wymarc clutched at his purse. ‘I would not expect you to do this service for nothing. Name your price. It will be paid.’
‘No amount of money can make me do what you ask.’
‘Please!’
‘It is wrong, my lord.’
Wymarc let out a gasp of despair and turned away to sink down on a stool. Baldwin crossed to stand beside him, fighting off his own fatigue and reminding himself of the solemn obligations laid upon his profession. Though he had some sympathy for Wymarc, he could not even consider what the latter was trying to persuade him to do.
‘Understand my position,’ he said reasonably. ‘I am a doctor. I have a code of ethics. If I suppress the truth, I am committing a terrible crime. The consequences would be quite horrendous.’
‘Only if the crime came to light.’
‘It is bound to, my lord.’
‘Is it? Who else knows besides you and me?’
‘Your wife knows that Helene is dead. So do your servants.’
‘We will tell them she died of natural causes.’
‘Is it natural to barricade yourself into a bedchamber? Is that the action of someone who is desperately ill?’ Baldwin shook his head. ‘No, my lord. Nobody would believe that story. A healthy young woman will not expire so suddenly. Your wife and servants know that full well.’
‘I'll force them to keep their mouths shut!’
‘How long would such enforcement last?’
‘Indefinitely!’
‘You would not be able to stand guard over them twenty-four hours a day,’ argued Baldwin. ‘It would only need one person to let slip an inadvertent remark and the whole fraud would be
exposed. In any case,’ he added, ‘there are two people whom even you are not able to gag.’
‘Who are they?’
‘One of them stands before you, my lord. I simply will not countenance such a gross deception. And then there is Helene's chosen accomplice.’
‘Accomplice?’
‘Your sister did not concoct that poison herself. It was supplied to her by someone with skill enough to make such a lethal preparation. When that person hears of Helene's death, the cause will be selfevident.’
‘Such a person would not dare to come forth.’
‘Do not be so sure, my lord.’
‘In providing a fatal poison, he will have assisted in the crime of suicide and be liable to arrest. It is in his interests to remain silent about his role.’
‘But think of the power they would wield.’
‘Power?’
‘Over you, my lord,’ said Baldwin. ‘The cunning apothecary who sold Helene that bottle of death will wish to make even more profit from the transaction. He would be in a position to lay information against you that would bring the sheriff and his men galloping out here to investigate. An unsigned letter is all that it would take.’ He covered a yawn with his hand. ‘In brief, you would be open to blackmail.’
‘I'd part with every penny I have to keep this secret buried!’ howled Wymarc, jumping to his feet and punching a fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘I'd give anything, Baldwin.’
‘It will not come to that.’
Baldwin spoke with untypical firmness and Wymarc's hopes crumbled. The doctor would not conceal the truth. Helene's suicide would become common knowledge and her brother would be left behind to bear the brunt of the infamy. Her pregnancy would subject him to further humiliation and he could already hear the crude speculation that would arise.
Wymarc had failed his sister abysmally and his failure would now be published.
Grateful to be allowed to leave, the doctor paused at the door to offer some parting advice to the grieving brother.
‘There is someone we have forgotten, my lord,’ he said.
‘Who is that?’
‘The man who fathered the child. If, as it seems, Helene took her young life to escape the shame of bearing a child out of wedlock, then the man must take some responsibility.’
The Stallions of Woodstock Page 17