Mindred let out a cry of alarm and crossed herself.
“There was a slight complication,” said Gervase softly. “She was carrying his child. I do not know what happened to it, but I suspect that she lost it. You spoke earlier of her physical collapse and of her spiritual deterioration. I believe that came in the wake of the baby’s death.”
“Go on,” she murmured.
“The chalice had been a ring to confirm her betrothal but Guy had forsaken her. It then became the baby she had lost. She pined for it at Barking Abbey. When you took the chalice to her, she was like a child with a doll.”
Tears formed in the prioress’s eyes. She did not sob with anguish on her own account but wept quietly for the pain of another. She stood up and crossed to the window to gaze into the garden. After a moment she beckoned them across with a gesture and they came to stand beside her. The picture that they saw supplied its own explanation. Sister Tecla was in the far corner of the garden. It was the place where Sister Gunnhild had found her sleeping one night and where Wistan had watched the young nun kiss the ground. Tecla
was kneeling at the same spot again now and watering it gently with a can.
“The child miscarried,” explained Mindred. “We buried it where
Sister Tecla now kneels. It was a difficult time.” She turned to face them. “We saved her life. If she had not come to us, Tecla would have died of grief. She told me about the child but she would never admit who the father was. I accepted that chalice in the belief that it was her own.” She glanced through the window again. “In a sense, it was. I see now why Tecla revered it so much. She clung to it so desperately because it was the only proof she had that he had once loved her. When he was killed, the chalice took on even more significance for her. Sister Tecla has been desolate since it was sent back to Blackwater.”
“It had great significance for Guy FitzCorbucion as well,” said Gervase. “His mother bequeathed it to him. He knew how angry his father would be if it was found to be missing. He sent his men to ambush you and steal that chalice. Before they returned, he was murdered.” “I do not understand,” she said with a shrug. “How did he know that I was travelling with that chalice?”
“Someone told him,” explained Ralph. “It was the same person who arranged to meet him in the marshes. She felt there was only one way to rid Sister Tecla of the menace of Guy FitzCorbucion. She killed him.”
The prioress shuddered. “She?”
“Sister Gunnhild,” said Gervase. “With this.”
He produced the knife, winch had been given to him by Tovild, and held it out to her. Mindred started. It looked very much like one of the priory’s own kitchen utensils. She fought hard to rebut the idea that one of the holy sisters could actually commit a murder, but the evidence was too strong and it could be buttressed by things that she herself had noticed about Sister Gunnhild-not least the Danish nun’s obsessive attachment to Sister Tecla. Shame would descend on the convent if it were known to harbour a murderer but Prioress Mindred did not hesitate. She snatched up a little silver bell from the table and opened the door. When she shook the bell hard, the urgent noise brought Sister Lewinna hurtling along the passageway.
“Go and fetch Sister Gunnhild!” ordered Mindred.
“She is not here, Reverend Mother,” said Lewinna. “When I told her who your guests were, she ran straight out through the door. It was most unseemly behaviour for someone who has always criticised me.”
The two men came quickly across to her. “Which way did she go?” asked Ralph.
“I do not know, my lord.”
“She cannot hope to outrun you,” said Mindred.
“I’ll get my men and start a search,” said Ralph. “She is very distinctive and they will soon track her down.”
“No,” said Gervase, thinking. “She is not trying to escape.”
“Then where has she gone?” asked Ralph. “I will show you.”
Sister Gunnhild was on the point of exhaustion by the time that she reached the marshes. She felt no contrition for what she had done and even had a momentary sensation of triumph when she came to the place where it had happened. Sister Tecla was a young and vulnerable woman who had been yet another victim of Guy FitzCorbucion’s lust. The young nun would refuse to name the father of her child but Gunnhild had discovered who it was. She was in charge of the convent while the prioress was travelling to Barking Abbey where Sister Tecla had been taken to recover from her traumas. Guy FitzCorbucion had arrived at the priory and demanded the return of his chalice, threatening to ransack the place if it were not handed over. She was forced to tell him where it was and her resentment had boiled over. It was not the first time she had suffered at the hands of an aggressive man.
Gunnhild walked to the bank of the river estuary. It was there that she had arranged to meet Guy FitzCorbucion. She knew that he would have to come. Her letter had been explicit. If he did not obey her summons, she would tell his father about the use to which the precious family heirloom had been put. Guy responded at once to the threat of blackmail, intending either to bully her out of it or buy her off. The last thing he was expecting was a murderous attack. Gunnhild smiled as she looked at the place where she had thrown him in.
A harsh sound shattered through her reverie. Two horses were galloping towards her. Sister Gunnhild jumped into the river and waded through the reed beds before flinging herself forward into the deeper water. Weighed down by her sodden habit, she sank quickly beneath the surface. Ralph Delchard was the first to reach the scene, reining in his horse and leaping from the saddle to run to the bank. Overcoming his hatred of water, he plunged straight into the river and threshed his way towards her. In an emergency, Ralph could indeed swim. The nun had already swallowed a lot of water and was failing fast but she still had one last reserve of strength left. As Ralph came splashing up in an attempt to save her, she lashed out an arm to fight him off. He tried to overpower her but he was encumbered by his attire and could not master her sudden ferocity.
In the hectic struggle to subdue her, Ralph grabbed hold of her wimple but she twisted her head violently away from him. Hood and wimple came away in his hands and her whole head was exposed to view. Ralph let go of her in surprise. Sister Gunnhild was almost totally bald. Tufts of grey hair ran down the sides of her head but they could not hide the ugly wounds where both ears had been cut completely away. She sank beneath the water again and he tried to pull her back to the surface. Gervase had now swum out to assist him but their efforts were too late. When the mutilated head reappeared above the water again, Sister Gunnhild had the smile of a woman who had finally escaped from the ordeal of men.
Epilogue
Canon Hubert was sad to leave the town of Maldon. He had eaten so well at Champeney Hall, and with such wanton self-indulgence, that his donkey brayed in protest whenever he mounted it. But his regrets were not confined to the kitchen of his genial host. Their visit had been almost wholly satisfactory. They came to attack the rank injustices that had been exposed by their predecessors and they had done so in the most signal way. All was now concluded. A decent interval had been left for the family to bury Hamo FitzCorbucion but two deaths at Blackwater Hall did not absolve it of its crimes. It was Jocelyn who had been arraigned in the shire hall and who had been destroyed there by the commissioners, and Hubert felt that his personal contribution in that arena had been vital. Large amounts of land had been restored to their rightful owners or tenants. Compensation on a massive scale was to be paid out by the new lord of a much-depleted manor of Blackwater.
Brother Simon’s memories of the town were more mixed. His bril-liant forging of the documents had been a decisive element in their campaign-even though he still had doubts about its moral validity- and he could look back on it with some pleasure. He looked back with less enjoyment on discussions of mutilation and the nickname of a local magnate, and he was praying that their homeward journey would not oblige them to enter a house of nuns again. The revelation that it
was a holy sister who had butchered Guy FitzCorbucion confirmed his most deep-seated fears about the opposite sex. On balance, he was relieved when they finally took their leave of Champeney Hall and wended their way towards Chelmsford. Chastity was a comforting thing.
Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret led the cavalcade. It was a bright day and the open road beckoned. They were moving at a rising trot through sporadic woodland.
“Our stay was much longer than we anticipated,” said Ralph. “But our efforts were very worthwhile. If it had not been for us, Hamo’s reign of terror would still be continuing.”
“Yes,” said Gervase. “Jocelyn will be a much more amenable lord of the manor now that we have cut him and his demesne right down to size. His sister will profit as well.”
“How so?”
“The marriage in Coutances will be called off,” he predicted. “When it was arranged, she was the daughter of the mighty Hamo and brought a rich dowry. That situation has been altered dramatically. Her elected husband will think twice before allying his family to that of the FitzCorbucions now.”
“Miles Champeney may yet come into favour, then.”
“In time, Ralph. In time. My guess is that Jocelyn will warm to the idea eventually. Now that his wings have been clipped, he needs friends in Maldon.”
“Gilbert will soon mellow as well, I think.”
Matilda FitzCorbucion’s escape from her house had not led to the idyllic reunion she had hoped. Miles Champeney had been delighted to see her and immediately saddled up his horse to ride off with her, but the news of her father’s death arrived before they could depart. It changed everything. Overcome with remorse, she went back to Blackwater Hall. It was her father’s domineering personality that had held the whole demesne together and that quickly became clear, even to Jocelyn. He would never exercise the power or the influence of Hamo and he would need all his energies to administer a demoralised estate. Jocelyn and his sister had reasons to hate each other but they were reconciled by the adverse circumstances. By the same token, Gilbert and his son came to a deeper level of understanding. With the death of his rival, Gilbert was able to take a slightly more accommodating view of the FitzCorbucion family. Miles, too, had learned the importance of blood ties. As the son of a prominent lord, he would now have something to offer Matilda. Hard reality had made a romantic elopement impossible but the passage of time would bring the lovers ineluctably together.
“Did you see who else was waving us off?” said Ralph.
“Wistan.”
“Gilbert has taken the lad under his own wing.” “There is no place for him at Blackwater now.”
“Wistan had the courage to take on Hamo in single combat,” recalled Ralph. “The boy is lucky to be alive. He has Tovild the Haunted to thank for that.”
“And his own father, Ralph.” “His father?”
“Wistan was named after a brave warrior who fought in the Battle of Maldon.” He smiled wryly. “That was what brought Tovild to his aid. If the lad had been called Ralph or Gervase, he would now be lying dead in his grave.”
“Too true.”
“He will now have a kinder lord to serve.”
“Yes!” said Ralph with mock horror. “Gilbert is half-Saxon.” “There is nothing wrong with that,” said Gervase.
Ralph started to rhapsodize about the virtues of Sister Tecla and to wonder if he could not have rescued her from the strictures of convent life. Cold fact then intruded. Hers was indeed a sad condition but Maldon Priory would be a more secure and loving environment for her now that its darker element had been purged. He could never offer her the peace and spiritual companionship that she needed to help her to recover from all she endured. Whatever his faults, she had loved Guy FitzCorbucion once and cherished the gift that he had given her. His murder was a blow to her. The fact that it had been committed by one of her holy sisters was even more devastating.
These thoughts steered him around to a question.
“Tell me, Gervase,” he said. “What first gave you the idea that Sister
Gunnhild might be the killer?” “Canon Hubert.”
“He suggested it?”
“No,” said Gervase, “but he did start that argument we had over crime and punishment. Hubert seemed to have a soft spot for mutilation, even though he was indignant when I pointed out that he shared the same attitude as King Cnut.”
“Well?”
“Sister Gunnhild was a Dane.”
“And old enough to have lived under Cnut’s reign.” “I remembered the mutilation of Guy FitzCorbucion.” “That’s something I choose to forget!”
“Why should someone castrate him?” said Gervase. “You thought it might be a vengeful husband whose wife had been seduced by Guy, but I wondered if it might not be something else. Cnut enforced his legal code rigorously, and when he died, its spirit lived on. Especially among the Danish communities that remained here. Gunnhild was the victim of those laws. They cut her ears off.”
“The punishment for adultery.”
“She was fortunate not to lose her nose as well,” said Gervase. “You can understand why she wanted to hide her disfigurement. Even Prioress Mindred knew nothing about it until she discovered Gunnhild taking a bath one night. The truth finally came out. The prioress confided it to me.”
“That fat old woman committed adultery? Never!”
“She was young and thin once, Ralph,” he said, “and was even betrothed. Then a trusted neighbour came to see her and forced himself upon her. He was a married man. They were caught in the act. The man fled but Gunnhild was left behind to face me judgement of her elders. Nobody believed her when she told the truth, not even the man to whom she was betrothed. He spurned her along with all the others. She had committed adultery, it was said, and they mutilated her. Where else could she turn but to a convent?”
“No wonder she hated men so much!” observed Ralph.
“She inflicted the punishment on Guy FitzCorbucion that she felt the man who defiled her should have suffered. She saw herself and Sister Tecla as fellow victims of lust.”
“Yes,” said Ralph soulfully. “I sometimes think that you Saxons are primitive enough but the Danes could be barbaric.”
“Hamo was both,” reminded Gervase, “and he was Norman.”
Ralph conceded the point with a grin then swung around in the saddle to take a valedictory look at Maldon. The hill was no more than a distant mound on the horizon now and it aroused a welter of memories for him. One dominated.
“I was thinking of Humphrey Goldenbollocks.” “At least, you know the truth about him now.”
“I wish that I had not asked,” said Ralph bitterly. “I was much happier believing that his overweening desire had earned him the name of Aureis testiculi.”
Gervase smirked. “In a sense, it did.”
“Before I was told, I envied the man. Not any more.” “Does it not make you want to keep bees?”
“I’ll never eat honey again as long as I live!” vowed Ralph. “A man is entitled to his pleasures, is he not? All that Humphrey did was to take a fair fat wench into the long grass on a summer’s afternoon. I have done the same myself a score of times but I will be more careful in the future.”
“You do not have beehives, Ralph.”
“That was his undoing. They resented him stealing their honey. The bees did all the work and Humphrey came along to take the fruits of their labour.” Ralph gave a shudder as he recounted the tale, which Gilbert Champeney had told him. “When they found him lying naked in the grass, they took their revenge. Did they attack his arms, his legs, or his back? Did they concentrate their venom on his bare but-tocks? No! They stung the poor fellow where it would hurt most. No wonder he was dubbed Aureis testiculi. By the time the bees had finished with him, his bollocks were as big and golden as two oranges.” He gave a groan of sympathy. “What a grotesque punishment!”
“Do not mention it to Canon Hubert,” joked Gervase, “or he will incorporate it into his own le
gal code. It sounds painful enough to have great appeal for him.”
“Testicular torture! The monastic ideal.”
They shared a laugh, then kicked their horses into a gentle canter. Maldon was behind them but other assignments awaited in Winchester.
So did Alys. Gervase was lifted by the thought that he would see her again before too long. Ralph was still having wistful longings about Sister Tecla. Brother Simon was meditating on a passage from the Gospels. Canon Hubert was speculating on the quality of his next meal. The men-at-arms were chatting happily.
A lone raven came out of the sky ahead of them and landed right in their path. It put its head to one side and peered at them impudently. They cantered towards it. The bird soon repented of its audacity and flapped its wings noisily before flying out of their way and into the trees.
They liked to think that it had recognised them.
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