The Foxes of Warwick (Domesday Series Book 9)

by Edward Marston

  ‘You are not wanted here.’

  ‘But I needed to speak with you on a related matter.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Martin Reynard.’

  ‘The poor man lies dead and buried,’ said Henry sadly.

  ‘I am not surprised that you speak so kindly of him, my lord,’ said Thorkell with a knowing glint. ‘Though he was dismissed in apparent disgrace from your household, he never really left it, did he? I have reliable information to the effect that he paid regular visits to your castle while he was supposed to be working for me.’

  ‘Whoever told you that is lying!’ howled Henry.

  ‘I had it indirectly from your own wife, the lady Adela. You will surely not tell me that you are married to a liar.’

  Henry bit his lip and turned away. Thorkell continued to bait him and his victim could do nothing but wince and bluster. A shout brought an end to their exchange. Both men looked towards the soldier who had called them but the man was already waving them back.

  ‘I was deceived, my lord!’ he shouted. ‘A false alarm!’

  Henry looked past him and saw what he meant. Two figures had emerged from a side door to the abbey and were being gathered up by the darkness as they walked away. Henry was just in time to recognise the dwarf, leading his bear by a chain along the street. The sound of the bolts being drawn distracted him and he turned to see the abbey gate swinging open. Hoping to be offered an abject apology by the bishop and to have the fugitive delivered up to him, he was disappointed to see a shabby old man coming out of the building. The gate was shut behind the departing visitor and the bolts were put in place. Neither Henry nor Thorkell took any notice of the old man and they were unaware that he lurked nearby to watch them with curiosity.

  Henry turned back without relish to face Thorkell's questions again. Throbbing with indignation, the thegn would not let him off the hook.

  ‘Why did you do it, my lord?’ he asked. ‘It was not the action of a decent man. I know that you are not capable of graciousness but I thought you reasonably just until now. I took Martin Reynard into my service in good faith as my reeve. Why did you set him to spy on me?’ He jabbed a finger. ‘What did you get him to steal?’

  Henry Beaumont was soon wallowing in embarrassment. He shifted uneasily in his saddle as the full extent of his reckoning was ruthlessly exposed by Thorkell.

  * * *

  Rain was beginning to spit as Ralph Delchard and his men rode towards Brinklow Castle. They did not have to make the full journey. Having established his credentials with the Count of Meulan, the eager Trouville wanted to get back to the abbey so that he did not miss out on any of the action.

  Ralph saw the commissioner and his escort being conjured out of the darkness ahead of him. His own escort, swelled by the additional men whom Henry had sent, outnumbered the approaching riders. Ralph called a halt and they fanned out in a line.

  Trouville was twenty yards away before he recognised them.

  ‘Well met, my lord!’ he called, raising a hand.

  ‘We heard that you visited Brinklow Castle.’

  ‘Only to pay my respects to the lord Henry's brother. If I am to be Sheriff of Northamptonshire one day–as I have cause to expect–I want to be on friendly terms with everyone of importance in the neighbouring counties.’ He gave a complacent grin. ‘The Count of Meulan has just returned from Derbyshire. He and I got on well. We turned out to have much in common.’

  ‘Why?’ said Ralph. ‘Does he murder helpless victims as well?’

  Trouville scowled. ‘Your jest is in very bad taste.’

  ‘So were your lies to me at Grimketel's house.’

  ‘What lies?’

  ‘Boio did not kill that man.’

  ‘He did. The signs were obvious.’

  ‘Too obvious,’ said Ralph coldly. ‘Explain this, my lord. How did Boio manage to commit murder, evade a large posse and travel several miles to Coventry in order to be at the abbey before vespers? A bird would have had difficulty flying there in so short a space of time. Boio could not have killed Grimketel. Even the lord Henry accepts that.’

  ‘Then someone else did the deed,’ agreed Trouville, ignoring the implication in Ralph's black stare. ‘We must go back to the house tomorrow to look for clues and organise a more careful search.’

  Ralph looked at him with utter disgust and Trouville wilted.

  ‘The trail ends here, my lord.’

  ‘No!’ protested the other.

  ‘The lord Henry has sent me to arrest you in his name.’

  ‘You have no proof.’

  ‘We will get it from your men,’ said Ralph. ‘They will know if Grimketel was alive when you went to his house because his door would have been barred and you would have needed him to open it.’ He looked around Trouville's escort. ‘I am sure you have sworn them to secrecy,’ he said, ‘but they may change their minds when they have to choose between telling the truth and submitting to the lord Henry's torture. He is not a man who appreciates being deceived.’ He saw unease spreading across the men's faces and signalled to his own escort. ‘Seize their weapons!’

  Trouville's men were quickly surrounded and disarmed but their lord did not wait to endure the same fate. Pulling savagely on the reins to turn his horse, he kicked it into a gallop and went off across the field. Ralph was after him at once before he disappeared completely into the darkness. Rain now began to fall in earnest, lashing their faces as they hurtled through open country. Trouville was a good horseman but his mount was no match for Ralph's destrier, which slowly gained on him.

  Ralph had no fear. He was younger, stronger and more skilled in the arts of combat than the other. He was also impelled by a deep rage that a fellow commissioner would stoop to murder.

  Realising that he could not outrun his pursuer, the fugitive decided to fight instead and suddenly reined in his horse. Before he could draw his sword from its sheath, he was knocked bodily from the saddle as Ralph drew level and flung himself into the air. They landed with a thud on the ground. Trouville was winded but he still had the strength to punch and grapple. The two of them rolled over and over on grass that was quickly becoming sodden. With a massive effort, Trouville managed to throw Ralph off and got to his feet to run. Ralph caught him up immediately and they wrestled more violently than ever. With a deft move, Ralph used his adversary's own weight against him and flung him to the ground again.

  He straddled his chest and held a dagger to Trouville's throat.

  ‘A forester taught me that fall,’ said Ralph, still panting.

  ‘Get off me!’

  ‘Not until you tell the truth.’

  ‘You heard it. I did not kill Grimketel.’

  ‘I fancy that your men will sing a different song.’

  ‘Look,’ pleaded Trouville, breathing stertorously, ‘we sit in commission together. I expect help from you. All that happened was this, I swear. When I got to the house, Grimketel was locked up inside. He let me in when he saw that I brought a warning and he begged me to leave men to guard him. He was terrified of Boio. When I refused to help him, he grabbed me and began to yell at me. I tried to push him off, that is all, the merest shove. Then his head struck the floor.’

  ‘Tell the same lie to the lord Henry at your trial.’

  ‘If you help me, there will be no trial. Please, my lord. We can work out a story between us. What is the death of an insect like Grimketel? It is nothing. Forget it. I look to be a sheriff soon. I can be a valuable friend to you. Help me out of this situation and you can call on me for anything. What do you say?’

  ‘Good night, my lord!’

  Ralph's punch landed on his chin and knocked him senseless.

  There was no sign of her when they reached Roundshill and neither her father nor her neighbours had any idea where Asmoth might be. Gervase and Golde searched the immediate vicinity, then gave up. They were about to head back towards Warwick when Gervase remembered the first time he had met the woman.r />
  ‘I know where she might be, Golde.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I will show you.’

  The overhanging trees managed to shield them from most of the rain but they still got thoroughly wet before they reached the forge. A light was flickering in the half-dark. Someone had lit a fire.

  Asmoth was there, sitting in the forge where she had sat so often to talk with Boio and simply enjoy his company. The flames gave her light but nothing like the surging warmth of the blacksmith's fire when he made it roar. Lost in reverie, she did not hear the horses. When Gervase stepped in with Golde, Asmoth jumped up with a start. He calmed her and introduced his companion whose smile immediately helped to melt some of the woman's reserve.

  ‘Is there any more word of Boio?’ said Asmoth.

  ‘He will be fine,’ Gervase assured her. ‘I have seen to that.’

  ‘The abbey will not hand him over to the lord Henry?’

  ‘No, Asmoth. We called on Thorkell of Warwick. He has gone to Coventry in person to make sure that no harm comes to his blacksmith.’

  ‘Does that mean Boio will come home?’

  ‘Probably not. Too much has happened.’

  ‘I know,’ said Asmoth, head drooping in resignation.

  All three of them talked on but Gervase slowly dropped out of the conversation, leaving Golde to win the other woman over with her mixture of concern and soft questioning. It was a lengthy process. Every time that Asmoth got to the verge of a confession, she drew back out of fear. Golde did not hurry her. Complete trust had to be established before the truth came out. When she judged that the moment had arrived, Golde reached out to touch the woman's arm.

  ‘You saved Boio's life. Do you realise that?’ she said.

  ‘He would have done the same for me.’

  ‘I know. He loves you, Asmoth.’ The words brought a rare smile out of the woman. ‘What did he tell you? When you met him yesterday what did you talk about?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Was he an honest man?’

  ‘Very honest.’

  ‘He held nothing back?’

  ‘No, my lady.’

  ‘What did he say?’ whispered Golde. ‘It will not get either of you into trouble, whatever it was. Boio is safe and nobody but a few of us know that you were the friend who helped him to escape. But we, too, have laboured hard to help him, as you know. We have done all we can. We would like to think that we may be entitled to the truth.’ She looked into the woman's eyes. ‘Are we?’

  Asmoth gazed from one to the other, assailed by last-minute doubts yet clearly distressed by the burden of the knowledge she carried. She wrestled in silence for a long while before coming to a decision and blurting out her story. There was mingled guilt and pride in her voice.

  ‘Boio is my friend,’ she said. ‘When others laughed at me, he was kind. That is why I came here so often to see him. Boio liked me. He wanted me here. We told each other secrets.’ She winced at a memory. ‘Everything was fine until this man came along.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘Was it Martin Reynard?’ guessed Gervase.

  Asmoth nodded. ‘He treated Boio like dirt. He thought he was so stupid that he would not understand anything. This man was reeve to Thorkell but he came to the forge to meet someone from the castle. One of the men-at-arms. Boio could see who he was. They used the forge because it was halfway between Thorkell's manor house and the castle. Boio was always thrown out while they talked but he was not stupid, my lady. He could not understand them when they spoke French but he guessed what they were doing and he saw the reeve giving things to the man from the castle.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ asked Golde.

  ‘Documents?’ suggested Gervase.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Boio did not know what to do. He was certain that the reeve was betraying Thorkell in some way but it was only his word against the other's. And the man was clever. It upset Boio. It was not right, what the reeve was doing. Boio wanted to stop him but he did not know how. And then …’ She buried her face in both hands.

  Golde slipped a consoling arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Take your time, Asmoth. There is no hurry.’

  ‘And then,’ resumed the girl through a sob, ‘something else happened with the man. The reeve was not very nice. He was cruel and hard. Everyone disliked him.’

  ‘Why was that? Did he bother them?’ Asmoth nodded. ‘Did he bother you as well?’ The woman nodded again and sobbed more loudly. ‘Did he do more than bother you?’

  Asmoth could not look at them. Her eye remained on the fire.

  ‘I was bathing in the stream. The man came up behind me. He did not see my face or it would have turned him away as it turned away every other man but Boio. I know I am ugly; I have got used to it. But the reeve grabbed me from behind and dragged me into the bushes …’

  They waited until she had cried her fill. Golde held her throughout and asked for no details. Gervase realised why the woman had been quite unable to confide in him earlier and felt uneasy at being there now. Golde helped her to dry her eyes.

  ‘Did you tell Boio?’

  ‘Not at first.’

  ‘But you did in the end?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He went to see the reeve. They had an argument. People overheard them. The man was angry because Boio had shown no respect. He got drunk that night and came to the forge to teach Boio a lesson. He brought a club. He hit Boio with it.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘Boio had to defend himself. He struck out. The man taunted him about me and hit him harder. Boio took the club off him and they began to wrestle. The man was saying foul things and Boio just squeezed …’

  There was a long pause. Golde glanced over at Gervase.

  ‘Did he carry the body to the forest that night?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Asmoth.

  ‘Did he go back again next morning at dawn?’

  ‘No. Grimketel was lying.’

  ‘Did you know any of this when I came to the forge with Brother Benedict and you swore to us that Boio was innocent?’

  ‘He is innocent. He did not intend to kill anyone. He was forced to it.’

  ‘Did you know, Asmoth?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Would you have helped him escape if you had?’

  ‘Yes!’ she said defiantly. ‘The man was horrible to me. Boio cared. The reeve goaded him about me. That was why Boio got angry.’ There was another pause. ‘He did not go looking for the man. The reeve came here to attack him. He only defended himself.’ A sudden fear engulfed her and made her shake all over. ‘You will not turn him over to the lord Henry, will you? Please! Please!’

  ‘No,’ said Gervase gently, ‘I think that he has already suffered enough for what he did. He was imprisoned and tortured before he escaped. Then he was hounded across the county like a wild animal before he threw himself on the mercy of the abbey.’ He stood up. ‘He is safe from us, Asmoth. Boio has suffered the worst punishment of all.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Being forced to leave you.’

  The girl smiled. In the half-light, she looked almost beautiful.

  It was an incongruous gathering. An old man, a donkey, a dwarf, a performing bear and a Saxon thegn were there to wave their farewells. Boio mounted the horse which Thorkell had brought for him and took the letter which the latter handed over.

  ‘Show it to my kinsman,’ instructed the old man. ‘He will take care of you. Ride hard along the Fosse Way and you will reach him well before midnight. Rest there but leave before dawn tomorrow. My kinsman will teach you the next stage of your journey.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. And thanks to all of you.’

  ‘Huna deserves most of the thanks,’ said the dwarf. ‘It was he who devised the way to get you out of the abbey. I am sorry that you had to pretend to be my bear. You made Ursa very jealous.’

  ‘Waste no more time!’ urged Thorkell. ‘Be of
f!’

  He slapped the rump of the horse and it trotted off in the darkness. Boio was on his way to freedom. The men relaxed, the donkey brayed and the bear gave a yawn. Right of sanctuary was no longer needed.

  ‘The wonder of it is,’ said Thorkell, turning to Huna, ‘that you saw me when you came out of the abbey earlier.’

  ‘Boio had talked so much about you, my lord. I recognised you at once by his description. There are not many thegns of your standing left.’

  ‘Two of us in the whole realm.’

  ‘I wish there were more overlords like you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the dwarf. ‘You came here to help Boio.’

  ‘That was why I was so delighted when Huna took me aside. I came to help Boio and you two had already contrived his escape. There could not have been a happier coincidence.’

  ‘It was an accident which heaven provided,’ said Huna.

  ‘It was another miracle,’ declared the dwarf.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the old man. ‘One day, I will tell you how I did it.’

  Epilogue

  The dispute which they had expected to take longest to resolve was settled in the shortest time. Events outside the shire hall simplified the decision taken within it. Instead of having to listen to the competing claims of three people, the commissioners only sat in judgement on two. Locked in a castle dungeon, Adam Reynard had to forego his participation in the legal battle over coveted holdings, preoccupied as he was with a legal battle to escape a hideous punishment for poaching. What also speeded up the process for the tribunal was that they were already well acquainted with the two contenders before them and were thus able to anticipate their lines of argument. Robert de Limesey was in direct contention with Thorkell of Warwick. It was another confrontation between Church and State as a Norman bishop tried to oust a Saxon thegn from land which he had owned and occupied for several decades.

  There was another paradox. The man on whom the bishop relied to help him most gave him least assistance. Indeed, it was Archdeacon Theobald, chafing at the idleness imposed on him by the suspension of the commissioners' work, who brought most passion to the shire hall when the sessions there resumed. He showed due respect for the bishop's eminence but very little for his claim.