The Ravens of Blackwater

by Edward Marston

  “Tovild.”

  “Who?”

  “Tovild,” said Gervase. “He is mentioned in the returns a number of times. Tovild the Haunted.”

  “What is it that haunts the man?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Could it be Humphrey Goldenbollocks?”

  “He is too busy haunting Ralph Delchard!”

  They traded a laugh and took their seats as Canon Hubert and Brother Simon made their way towards them. The town reeve had been busy. He had not only summoned all interested parties to the meeting, he had arranged for the shire hall to be prepared in readiness for the event. Trestle tables had been set up at one end of the room for the commissioners and chairs had been placed behind them. Ralph took up a central position to reflect his status as leader of the quartet. Gervase sat to one side of him and Hubert to the other. Simon was on the fringe of it all with parchment and writing materials in front of him. Acting as the scribe to the proceedings, he was trying to make himself as invisible as possible. Canon Hubert, by contrast, was more rotundly self-important than ever after another delicious meal at Champeney Hall. He bulked large.

  The four of them arrived well before the meeting was due to start so that they could settle in and study once more the various documents relating to the ownership of property in the region. Ralph Delchard also took care with the disposition of his knights. Two of them were stationed outside the main door while the other six stood guard just inside it. Their chain mail had been cleaned, their helmets polished, and their swords freshly sharpened. They made an imposing sight and every visitor would be able to read the message that was implicit in their presence. The royal commissioners were there on serious business.

  “Are we ready to receive them?” said Ralph, looking from one colleague to another and receiving affirmative nods from each. “Very well. Let us fight the Battle of Maldon.”

  He gave a signal to the captain of his guard and the man stepped out into the street. The townspeople then began to drift in. A clerk had been positioned near the entrance so that he could record the name of everyone who attended. First came the burgesses, local men who owned a house, land, or both and thus had a recognised status in the borough. Only a proportionate number had been invited by the town reeve but others came along out of curiosity and apprehension. Royal commissioners were always bad news. The earlier team had caused immense upset in the town with the vigour of their enquiries and the threat of higher taxation. Saxon burgesses were justifiably resentful. Norman overlords had already seized their property and bled them dry. They wished to know what new impositions this second group of royal officials brought with them.

  Benches had been set out and the burgesses took those near the rear of the hall, leaving the ones at the front for persons of greater rank. Many of the Norman magnates were absentee landlords and men like Ranulf Peverel, Hugh de Montfort, and Richard FitzGilbert were represented by their subtenants. Peter de Valognes also had 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 e
vident 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 overshadowed 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.�
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  “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 stragglers 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.”