some holdings in the area but they were not under investigation by the commissioners. When the Sheriff of Essex finally came to Maldon, therefore, it would be to investigate the murder of a prominent Norman and not to quibble over property rights in the shire hall.
The major landowners who put in an appearance did so with a
show of defiance, sweeping into the hall with a clutch of manorial officials around them and lowering themselves onto the front benches with muted truculence. During the visit of the first commissioners, the shire hall had echoed with accusation and counteraccusation and the barons were clearly prepared for further acrimony. Gilbert Champeney was one of the few people present untouched by the prevailing mood of suspicion. Although not called before the commissioners, he nevertheless came to the meeting out of interest and tossed amiable greetings to all and sundry as he made his way to a seat. He was accompanied by his son, Miles, a young man who seemed to have inherited all his father’s good qualities while being spared some of his physical shortcomings. Miles Chanpeney was tall, slim, and poised with a quiet handsomeness that was enhanced by a shock of curly fair hair. His tunic and mantle were very much those of a Norman but, like his father, he seemed at ease among the largely Saxon gathering.
“That has to be Gilbert’s son,” whispered Ralph.
“He was away on business last night,” said Gervase.
“If I was that young and that good-looking, I would be away on business every night!” said the other with an envious chuckle. “So that is Miles Champeney, is it? He seems a fine, upstanding fellow. I judge him to be a fit companion for you, Gervase.”
“For me?”
“He can take you out wenching in the long evenings.” “Ralph!”
“I was like that once, you know. Young and lusty.”
“You still are,” said Gervase. “That is the trouble.”
Ralph let out a peal of laughter that gained everyone’s attention. He waved happily in acknowledgement then looked across at the doorway as a newcomer arrived. It was the man for whom they had all been waiting. Jocelyn FitzCorbucion was only the second son of the fearsome Hamo but he still sent a rustle through the entire hall when he stepped into it. With Fulk at his elbow, he stalked to the front of the hall and took a seat directly in front of the table. When Gilbert gave him a smile of welcome, he replied with a pleasant nod but his manner altered dramatically when he saw Miles Champeney. The two young men glared at each other for a second as if engaged in a private tussle, then Jocelyn turned his head away with the faint leer of someone who felt he had won the encounter. Gervase Bret took particular note of their open antipathy.
Ralph did not need to be told that a FitzCorbucion had answered their summons. It was time to begin. He slapped the table and the heavy murmur died instantly.
“Gentlemen,” he said in a voice at once friendly and admonitory, “let me thank you all for giving us your time this afternoon. We are royal commissioners who have been sent from Winchester on a most important errand. You have a right to know what that errand is and what manner of men have been dispatched to this pleasant town of yours. My name is Ralph Delchard,” he said, “and I am here to judge the fairness of all proceedings that take place. On my right is Canon Hubert of Winchester, a most learned scholar and a most just man. On my left is Gervase Bret, an astute lawyer who will guide us through any disputes with due respect for legality. And at the end of the table is Brother Simon who is our scribe and our touchstone of righteousness.” Gilbert Champeney laughed and Simon blinked in meek astonishment. “We are here to perform a vital task,” continued Ralph. “If you are honest in your answers and straight in your dealings with us, we will not need to remain here too long. Canon Hubert will explain.”
Ralph turned to the prelate, who shuffled his papers. “I will be brief,” he said.
“Praise the Lord for that!” muttered Ralph.
“You will all remember the visit of the first team of royal commissioners.” There was a mutinous growl from the body of the hall and he raised his voice to smother it at birth. “Our predecessors were industrious men who laboured hard to produce the returns for the county of Essex. Those returns were sent to the Treasury in Winchester where they will, in the course of time, be transcribed.” He increased the volume of his address even more. “When certain irregularities have been dealt with. I speak of the illegal acquisition of land.”
More rumblings broke out and Ralph had to thump the table to restore calm. He glanced meaningfully at his men to remind his audience that he had the strength of his knights to enforce order upon the proceedings. When a surly silence fell once more on the hall, Canon Hubert resumed.
“The county of Essex is a quarrelsome place,” he said with unconcealed distaste. “Shire juries and Hundred juries have heard endless cases of invasions, occupations, ablations, and general misappropriations. The work of our predecessors confirmed this distressing picture. An examination of the returns that they made to Winchester has revealed a pattern of random annexation and nowhere is this more evident than in Maldon.” Murmurs of agreement started, but he rode over them like a ship cresting a wave. “King William has sent us here to right any injustices that have come to light. When we have
done that, the returns can be amended before being transcribed by the Exchequer clerks to take their place alongside the records of other shires.”
Ralph let him speak for another ten minutes before he interrupted the garrulous canon. “We are empowered to call any witnesses,” he warned sternly. “No man is too mean to be ignored in our deliberations and no lord too great to refuse our summons.” To emphasise the point, his eye rested for a moment on Jocelyn FitzCorbucion and there was a crackle of enmity between the two of them. “We will begin taking the evidence tomorrow. The following persons will be summoned.”
Gervase Bret took charge and read a list of names from the document in front of him. The burgesses listened with gathering fascination. Every person mentioned was a Saxon whose land had been forcibly annexed by Hamo FitzCorbucion. The lord of the manor of Blackwater had seen off the first commissioners with an amalgam of bluster and easy duplicity. Could four men with a bundle of documents really uphold the rights of dispossessed Saxons against such a mighty Norman presence? Hamo was omnipotent. Hope nevertheless stirred in the shire hall. Ralph Delchard’s force of character, Canon Hubert’s open denunciation of illegality, and Gervase Bret’s steady litany of injured parties served at least to inspire a guarded confidence. Blackwater Hall was no longer the irresistible force it had been for the last twenty years. Hamo FitzCorbucion was in Normandy, his elder son lay dead, and Jocelyn was as yet unproven in a role of authority. Saxons were encouraged to take heart.
“That concludes our business for the afternoon,” said Ralph when the list of witnesses was finally completed. “We start here tomorrow at ten o’clock and we insist on punctuality.”
The meeting broke up in an excited babble and the burgesses streamed into the street to compare their reactions to what they had just heard. Some of the Norman landholders and subtenants also departed, peeved that they had been summoned to the hall for such a perfunctory meeting, but reassured by the fact that the investigations were not directed at their property. A few barons stayed to complain and bicker, but Ralph Delchard waved them away with brisk unconcern. Jocelyn FitzCorbucion was not so easily sent on his way. He stood up to confront the commissioners and he spoke with glacial composure.
“I am here on behalf of my father, Hamo FitzCorbucion,” he said. “When will we have to appear in person before you?”
“When you are called,” said Ralph. “We require ample notice.”
“It is up to us to decide any requirements.”
Jocelyn was unruffled. “Do not try to bully us, my lord. We are not
mindless Saxons who can be herded like sheep. If you wish for cooperation, you will have to ask for it with sufficient courtesy or your request will be denied. We are not at your beck and call.”
“Indeed, you are!” asserted Ralph, rising to his feet. “If you do not come before us when summoned, I will send my men to demand the reason.”
Jocelyn raised a mocking eyebrow. “Eight bold knights? Really, my lord! What can you hope to achieve? If your eight dare to venture near Blackwater Hall, they will find ten times that number asking them their business in round terms. You will need a whole army if you intend to offer force.”
“We are here by royal warrant!”
“Why so are we, my lord. My father sailed from Normandy in the Conqueror’s own ship. He fought at Hastings and he was granted his estates in Maldon as part of his reward. We have charters with the King’s seal upon them.” He gave a shrug. “They are a form of royal warrant, are they not?”
Ralph was taken aback by the bland assurance of the reply and Jocelyn preened himself. He could see that he had put the commissioner on the defensive and, in the process, he had gained the admiration of his steward. Fulk was pleasantly surprised at the lordly tone that Jocelyn was taking. He had always thought him rather weak and ineffective in the past because he was so easily overshad-owed by Guy, but he had clearly underestimated him. Jocelyn might not be as intimidating as his father or as contemptuous of opposition as his brother, yet he had the FitzCorbucion pugnacity, albeit it in a more civilised form.
Gervase Bret came quickly to Ralph’s assistance.
“We are not concerned with land that was granted to your father in
1066,” he said to Jocelyn. “Our interest is in the frequent annexations that have taken place in the past twenty years.”
“They, too, can be supported by charter,” said Jocelyn. “We will put that claim to the test.”
“When we decide to call you,” added Ralph firmly.
“We will vindicate ourselves,” came the confident reply. “If, that is, we decide to answer your summons.”
“Would you offer an insult to the King!” growled Ralph.
“He is not here to be insulted, my lord.” “We speak for him!”
“I think you exceed your authority somewhat.” Jocelyn was almost taunting them now. “Your predecessors did the same and my father had to teach them some geography. Maldon is a very long way from Winchester.”
Ralph went puce with indignation. “Do you dare to flout royal commissioners?” he roared.
“God forbid!” exclaimed the other. “I simply remind you that you are in FitzCorbucion territory here. If I summon our men, they will come running in their dozens: If you call for the Conqueror’s soldiers, your voice will not reach all the way to Winchester.”
“Do not threaten me-boy!” said Ralph vehemently.
“I merely suggest that you treat us with respect.” “And I warn you to do the same to us.”
“Of course.”
Jocelyn gave him a thin smile and a gentle bow. He was relishing his taste of power and felt completely in control of the situation. Before Ralph could upbraid the young man for his impudence, Gervase intervened to deflect them. An argument with the FitzCorbucion family at this stage was pointless and it would not advance their cause in any way. He therefore introduced a more diplomatic note.
“We are sorry to learn of the tragedy at Blackwater Hall, my lord,”
he said. “That will be borne in mind.”
“Why, yes,” said Jocelyn, reminded of something that had gone completely from his mind. “It weighs heavily upon us.”
“Then we will try not to add to your burden. You have our sympathy
and we will show some forbearance.” Ralph gurgled at his elbow. “Has the sheriff been informed?”
“Word was sent yesterday to Colchester.” “Is he on his way to the town?”
“Alas, no,” said Jocelyn uneasily. “Peter de Valognes is in the middle of Hertfordshire at this time, over three days’ ride from here. We cannot look for his assistance yet. We may not, in any case, need it.”
“Why?” asked Gervase.
“Because we have identified the killer.” “Is he in custody?”
“He soon will be,” said Jocelyn, anxious to discard a topic that had subtly robbed him of the initiative. “But this is a private matter for our family and does not concern you in any way. Excuse us.” He mustered his dignity and strode away with Fulk at his heels, pausing in the doorway to deliver a final comment. “We will not obstruct your work here in Maldon as long as you do not, in any way, intrude upon our grief.”
They went swiftly out and left Ralph Delchard fuming.
“I’ll intrude upon his grief!” he vowed. “Give me a sword and I’ll add to it. Who does this young upstart think he is? Damnation! He’s barely old enough to shave his chin.”
“You were wrong to bandy words with him,” said Canon Hubert censoriously. “It is Hamo FitzCorbucion that we must stalk and not this whelp. Why waste time on a cub when we need to kill the lion itself?”
“I’ll take no lectures on hunting from you, Hubert,” said Ralph with
asperity. “When did you ever track down an animal? This boy had to be put in his place.”
“Then it is a pity you did not do it.”
Ralph simmered and Gervase stepped in to prevent yet another argument between the two commissioners from getting out of hand. A few inquisitive burgesses still lingered near the door and the town reeve was hovering with a document in his hand. It was important to present a united front to the people of Maldon and not to squabble in front of them. Canon Hubert allowed the tactful intervention but his reproaches were only postponed. When he and Ralph were next alone, he would tax him with his shortcomings. Hubert rose to his feet with a disapproving smile and swept off towards the door with Brother Simon scurrying after him and trying to poke the last of the documents hastily into his leather satchel.
Gervase beckoned the reeve and took the document from him before dismissing him with polite thanks. The soldiers cleared the strag-glers out of the hall so that only the two commissioners remained there.
The becalmed Ralph Delchard was rueful.
“It pains me to admit this but-Hubert was right.”
His friend nodded. “You should not have lost your temper with that young man.”
“He annoyed me, Gervase.”
“Deliberately.”
“I had to respond.” “Not in that way.”
“God’s tits, I’ll not let anyone dictate terms to me!”
“That is why he tried to do so.”
“Jocelyn FitzCorbucion threw open defiance at me.”
“Couched in moderate language,” noted Gervase. “He is a clever advocate who knows the value of keeping a cool head. I look forward to meeting him in legal argument.”
“If he will deign to grace us with his presence,” said Ralph with heavy sarcasm. “Did you hear what that verminous rogue actually dared to do? He threatened us.”
“No, he gave himself away.” “What do you mean?”
“He used his weapon of last resort first, Ralph. If he was that secure in argument, he would not need to thrust his superior numbers at us.”
“That is true enough.”
“I think he was simply aping his father.”
“Yes, Hamo FitzCorbucion is the real malefactor here.”
“He is expected back very soon,” said Gervase, “so we will be able to take on father and son together. When they have buried another
member of the family.” His face puckered in thought for a moment. “That was another curious thing. When I asked him about his brother, he needed a second to remember that Guy FitzCorbucion was dead. Would you so easily forget a brother who had been cruelly murdered?” “I’d not shake off the loss of any loved one,” said Ralph soulfully. “When my wife died trying to bring our son into this world, I mourned for a year or more. Nothing could console me, Gervase. I was destroyed.” “You could not say the same of this Jocelyn. He warned us not to intrude upon a grief that did not exist until I jogged his memory about
it. What does that tell you?” “He hated
his brother.”
“It may go deeper even than that.” “In what way?”
“I have this feeling …” “You are missing Alys!”
Gervase ignored the affectionate gibe. “We must look into this murder very closely,” he said. “It will tell us a great deal about the FitzCorbucion family and it may-if my instinct is sound-have a direct bearing on our work here.”
“How?”
“Wait and see.”
“But Jocelyn told us he had already solved the murder.” “He was at pains to make us think he had, Ralph.” “Why?”
“So that he could brush the subject aside,” reasoned Gervase. “Put yourself in his position, Ralph. Would you have attended a meeting such as this when a brother had recently been killed?”
“I’d have sent my steward to represent me.” “Then why did Jocelyn turn up?”
“To show off his claws and threaten to scratch.”
“To prove himself,” said Gervase. “Guy’s death is not the source of grief it would be for any other brother. It is just a convenient excuse that can be used against us.”
“I take your point. There is matter here.” “We must probe it to the full.”
“We will,” said Ralph with a hollow laugh. “When they have the funeral for Guy FitzCorbucion, I will wait until the gravedigger has done his office and then borrow his spade.”
“His spade?”
“To dig up all the other bodies that Hamo has buried.” “There will be enough of them, Ralph, I promise you.”
They made to leave and Gervase glanced at the document that the town reeve had given him. It was the list of all the people who had attended the meeting in the shire hall and he ran his eye quickly over it. Disappointment made him purse his lips and shake his head sadly.
“What is the matter?” said Ralph. “He did not come to the meeting.” “Who?”
“Tovild the Haunted.”
“You are obsessed with this man, Gervase.”
“A passing interest, no more.” He handed the list to his companion. “Your friend, however, was here.”
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