The Stallions of Woodstock (Domesday Series Book 6)

by Edward Marston

  ‘Take no notice of that,’ said Edith smoothly. ‘Robert sometimes has to let his feelings show through. He is a most able sheriff and keeps a firm grip on the shire.’

  ‘I have seen that for myself, my lady.’

  ‘Oxford is fortunate to have such a man.’

  ‘And he is fortunate to have such a wife,’ said Golde with admiration. ‘I do not know how you preserved your calm in there. If Ralph rounded on me like that, I could never be as poised and supportive as you were.’

  ‘How would you respond, Golde?’

  ‘I'm not sure. I'd be tempted to box his ears, I expect.’

  Edith laughed. ‘That might be the best remedy of all.’

  They moved out of earshot of the continued protests.

  ‘I did feel a twinge of guilt, though,’ said Golde.

  ‘Guilt?’

  ‘Your husband is overburdened. We are part of his load.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘The strain would be eased if we were not here.’

  ‘The opposite is true,’ said Edith with a smile. ‘You have helped to ease the strain on us. It has been a joy to have such interesting guests at the castle. You have reminded us how to relax and enjoy good company again. There has been a separate blessing for me. The preparations for the banquet have been half the trouble with you beside me.’

  ‘I have been glad to help.’

  ‘Then no more of this foolish talk about being a burden.’

  Golde nodded and was about to go off for a walk in the bailey in search of fresh air. Listening to the sheriff's moans had left her jangled. Then she remembered something.

  ‘My lady?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is it true what they say? About this poor girl?’

  ‘Helene?’

  ‘Yes. Was she with child?’

  Edith sighed. ‘I believe so!’

  ‘Then the situation is more terrible than I imagined.’

  ‘It does not bear thinking about.’

  ‘What on earth could drive someone to that pitch of desperation?’ Edith shook her head. ‘You knew the girl, I believe. Was there anything in her character which could have given the slightest hint of this?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said the other. ‘Nothing whatsoever. Helene was a charming creature. She sang both in the choir and during any banquets we held here. I spoke with her often and found her honest, respectful and conscientious. She was the last person in the world I would have expected to take her own life.’

  ‘The decision was forced upon her, my lady.’

  ‘So it appears.’

  ‘Someone's attentions may have been forced upon her as well,’ said Golde. ‘Most people will rush to condemn the girl but there is another culprit.’

  ‘The father.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. Who is he?’

  Bertrand Gamberell took his horse at a brisk trot through the crowd in the High Street, buffeting anyone who got in his way and treating anyone who dared to complain to a burst of vituperation. The six knights who trailed behind him in single file were equally inconsiderate. A long, hard, fruitless day in the saddle had deprived them all of even the most basic courtesies. Several bruised shoulders and outraged faces were left behind them. They did not care.

  When he led his men through the castle gates, Gamberell was in determined mood. Dismounting in the bailey, he marched towards the keep and was gratified to see that Robert d'Oilly was in residence. The sheriff was standing with Gervase Bret on the flight of stone steps that were set in the mound. The fact that they were engaged in private conversation did not hold back the impetuous Gamberell. He barged straight in.

  ‘I demand more assistance, my lord sheriff!’ he said.

  Robert d'Oilly turned a jaundiced eye upon the interloper.

  ‘I never respond to demands,’ he said.

  ‘We have been searching for Hyperion all day.’

  ‘Without success, by the look of you.’

  ‘It is your duty to help me.’

  ‘A troop of men has been combing the countryside.’

  ‘I need more.’

  ‘You have all that I can spare,’ said the sheriff. ‘Now, please excuse me. Master Bret and I have a more important topic to discuss.’

  ‘Nothing is more important to me than Hyperion,’ returned Gamberell. ‘You do not seem to appreciate what a remarkable animal he is. He has been stolen. That is a crime.’

  ‘I have sent men out in search of the criminal.’

  ‘Not enough of them.’

  ‘The theft of a horse is not a priority, Bertrand.’

  ‘It is for me.’

  ‘Have you forgotten the murder of your knight?’ scolded d'Oilly. ‘The killer is my main target. I would much rather catch an assassin than a mere horse thief. That is where I have assigned most of my men. To the murder hunt.’

  ‘I want Hyperion back!’

  ‘Excuse me, my lord,’ said Gervase, intervening to prevent the violent row that was about to break out. ‘You have clearly not heard the sad tidings. My lord sheriff and I were talking about the tragedy when you stole upon us.’

  ‘The only tragedy I know is the theft of my horse.’

  ‘And the murder of Walter Payne,’ said the sheriff.

  ‘Yes. That, too, of course.’

  ‘Let me add a third misfortune,’ said Gervase politely. ‘You are, I am sure, familiar with my lord Wymarc's family.’

  ‘I have met his cold fish of a wife, if that is what you mean. Mean, maggoty, thin-faced lady who twitches all over you. What about her?’

  ‘I am referring to his sister.’

  ‘Helene?’ A confiding chuckle. ‘Now she is a different proposition altogether. A truly gorgeous young creature. I have waited outside the church for her more than once, I can tell you. Helene is a girl to be cultivated.’

  ‘Not any more, my lord.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Helene is dead.’

  Gamberell gaped at him then turned to the sheriff. The latter gave a nod of confirmation. Gamberell reeled.

  ‘Dead? Helene? She was so full of life.’

  ‘It was not a natural death, my lord.’

  A gasp of incredulity. ‘Someone killed her?’

  ‘Helene took her own life,’ said Gervase softly, ‘and that of the child she was carrying.’

  Bertrand Gamberell was rocked. He looked from Gervase to the sheriff and back again. Then, without another word, he ran down the steps and across the bailey. He was soon spurring his horse out through the gates of the castle as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bristeva was singing quietly and sewing assiduously when she caught a glimpse of the visitor through the window. She gave a little cry of excitement. Abandoning her chore at once, she set it aside and went scurrying out to greet Arnulf the Chaplain. He looked pained and fatigued but he managed a welcoming smile for her. She held the reins of his horse while he dismounted.

  ‘How are you, Bristeva?’ he said.

  ‘Very well, thank you.’

  ‘Have you been practising that song I gave you?’

  ‘I was singing it to myself as I was at my sewing.’

  ‘Good.’ He glanced around. ‘Is your father here?’

  ‘In the lower field.’

  ‘I want to speak to him.’

  ‘Let me fetch him for you,’ she volunteered.

  ‘No need.’

  ‘I will run all the way.’

  ‘You stay here. I will find him myself.’ He looked at her for a moment and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Go back to your sewing and practise that song, Bristeva. It must be perfect. On Saturday, you will sing before a bishop.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Do not let me down.’

  ‘I would never do that, Father Arnulf.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘I give you my word of honour!’

  He was touched by her earnest commitment. Wav
ing a farewell, he started off on the long walk to the lower field. Bristeva ran back into the house and took up a position in the window from which she could keep him in view. Watching the man who had given a meaning to her life, she gathered up her sewing and sang with more pleasure than ever.

  When the chaplain came up, Ordgar was supervising two of his men as they tried to repair a broken plough. Still in their yoke, the oxen bellowed mutinously. At the sight of Arnulf, the old man left the cottagers to struggle on alone with their work. He and his visitor walked a short distance away so that they could converse in privacy.

  ‘What brings you out here, Father Arnulf?’ said Ordgar.

  ‘Sorry news.’

  ‘Not about Bristeva, I hope?’

  ‘Indirectly.’

  Ordgar was alarmed. ‘Her place at the banquet is not in jeopardy, is it? My daughter has set her heart on singing at the castle. It would destroy her if that chance were somehow snatched away from her.’

  ‘That is why I came to see you.’

  ‘What has happened?’

  A considered pause. ‘Let us walk back to the house.’

  They fell in beside each other and trudged up the field.

  ‘I came straight here from my lord Wymarc's home,’ said Arnulf. ‘An appalling tragedy has befallen the family.’

  ‘Someone has died?’

  ‘It is worse than that, Ordgar.’

  ‘Worse? How can that be?’

  ‘His sister, Helene. Suicide.’

  The old man was struck dumb. He had weathered many losses and ordeals in his long life, and witnessed much crime and brutality, but here was something quite outside his experience. The very notion of suicide made him shudder. The fact that it involved a girl, who was younger than his own daughter, gave the blow greater impact. He looked up at the distant house.

  ‘Have you told Bristeva?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She liked Helene. They were friends.’

  ‘That is why she must not know yet, Ordgar,’ said Arnulf. ‘It would upset her too much. Bristeva would never be able to sing at the banquet with this on her mind. I came to beg you to keep this from her until afterwards.’

  ‘That will not be easy.’

  ‘But very necessary. You do see that?’

  Ordgar thought it through. ‘Why, yes. You are right. Tell her now and she would be distraught. I am stunned myself in spite of all my years. A suicide? Dear God! By what means?’

  ‘Poison.’

  ‘What provoked such an act?’

  ‘We do not yet know.’

  ‘Did her brother have no explanation?’

  ‘My lord Wymarc is too distressed to talk about it. I offered what comfort I could in the household but there is a limit to what anyone can do.’

  ‘Taking her own life! This is dire news.’

  ‘It is all around the town by now and will soon spread out to the countryside. I wanted you to hear the truth from me and not some butchered account of it from the local gossips.’

  ‘That was very considerate.’

  ‘Bristeva must be protected from this.’

  ‘She will be, Father Arnulf. Trust me.’

  ‘I do. It is your son and your steward who worry me. Sooner or later, they will surely hear the rumours. I would hate to think of one of them blurting it out to Bristeva.’

  ‘They will not.’

  ‘Should I speak to them?’

  ‘It is my office. I'll not shirk it.’ A long sigh escaped him. ‘There is no love lost between myself and my lord Wymarc but I do pity him. And his wife. They have a terrible burden to bear from now on.’

  ‘The guilt will never leave them.’

  ‘Nor the ignominy. Suicide. It is against Nature.’

  ‘Helene must have been pushed to extremes.’

  ‘How? By whom?’

  ‘That will emerge in time,’ said Arnulf. ‘My immediate concern is to safeguard Bristeva's performance at the banquet. It may be a long time before another chance like this presents itself.’

  ‘I understand that.’

  ‘Keep her close, Ordgar. Tell her nothing. Bring her early to the castle tomorrow.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Bristeva will sleep there overnight,’ said Arnulf. ‘I will ensure that nothing of this tragedy disturbs her. She will be kept in ignorance.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Bristeva is almost a woman yet we must keep her a child. And children must be shielded from such horrors. When it is time to tell her, I will frame it as gently as I can.’

  ‘I would prefer that she heard it from you,’ said Ordgar. ‘My tongue would surely blunder. You would choose the right words and Bristeva has such great admiration for you.’

  ‘I will wait until the banquet is out of the way first. At least, she will not be robbed of that joy. Bristeva will stand in the hall where Helene last stood to sing for the company.’

  The old man came to a sudden halt as a thought intruded.

  ‘I talked to Helene once.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘When I came to pick up Bristeva from a choir rehearsal. My daughter introduced me to her. Helene was a good girl. I remember how polite she was. Even to me.’

  ‘Helene always showed respect.’

  ‘She said how much she loved to sing,’ recalled Ordgar. ‘She was so grateful to you for making that possible. At home, she was enjoined to hold her peace and attend to her work, but in church she was allowed to be herself.’

  ‘It would have been a crime to suppress that talent.’

  ‘Yet that is what happened when she was forced to leave the choir by her brother. My lord Wymarc was the one who suppressed that wonderful voice of hers.’ He looked up questioningly. ‘Could that be her motive? Despair at being taken away from you and the choir?’

  ‘No, Ordgar. I think not.’

  ‘Helene was like Bristeva. She lived to sing.’

  ‘Leaving us no doubt hurt her,’ said Arnulf, wincing at the memory. ‘It certainly caused us pain. But that would not be enough to incite her to such a dreadful act. There are other reasons behind this and I suspect that they are nothing to do with the choir.’

  The two men set off again, walking in step towards the house. When they got close enough, they could see Bristeva waving enthusiastically to them from the window. Ordgar felt a pang of remorse when he saw her. Her joy depended wholly on her innocence. Arnulf nursed his own recriminations. He would have to hide an ugly truth from someone with a right to know it.

  Unaware of the calamity which had struck down her predecessor, Bristeva was singing at the top of her voice.

  Ralph Delchard was overcome by a deep sadness. For a while he was quite dazed. When his head cleared, he grabbed Gervase Bret by the shoulders and sought corroboration.

  ‘Is this true?’ he gasped.

  ‘Unhappily, it is.’

  ‘Suicide? An unborn child?’

  ‘This is what I have been told,’ said Gervase. ‘Arnulf went out to the house in answer to a summons. Before he left, he confirmed to me that Helene had taken her own life.’

  ‘But this other horror? The baby?’

  ‘I had it from our host. The doctor gave a full report to my lord sheriff. The facts are no longer in doubt.’

  Ralph released him and walked away a few paces to grapple with the frightful intelligence. They were alone together in the hall. A meal was set out on the table and others would soon join them. Gervase had been keen to forewarn his friend about the news which would surely dominate the conversation. He was surprised by Ralph's reaction. Close acquaintance with the savagery of war had left Ralph largely impervious to the shocks and setbacks which troubled others. Since he usually treated the Church with a cheerful irreverence, he could hardly be expressing the disgust of a true Christian at the dreadful implications of the act of suicide.

  Walking back to him, Ralph gave an apologetic shrug.

  ‘Forgive me, Gervase. This news unnerved me.’

  ‘But you did not know H
elene.’

  ‘She is a girl,’ said Ralph quietly. ‘That is enough. A young girl and a mother-to-be. Two lives cut hideously short. There is no comparison with my situation, I know, but I was hurled back into it for a moment. I thought of Elinor, my first wife, my first love. It was a happy marriage, Gervase, but it lacked the one thing which we both dreamed about. Children. Time went past but Elinor simply would not conceive. The doctor told me that Nature might be showing kindness.’

  ‘Where is the kindness is keeping a woman barren?’

  ‘That is what I said to him. He pointed out that Elinor was not strong. She had a delicate constitution and was prone to minor ailments. Childbirth held danger for her.’ He bit his lip as the memory took a tighter hold. ‘Then, out of the blue, against all expectation, Elinor conceived our child. We were overjoyed, Gervase. What two people in our predicament would not be? We spurned the doctor's warnings. God had blessed our union and that was paramount. You know the rest.’

  ‘Your wife and child did not survive the delivery.’

  ‘Elinor must have known,’ insisted Ralph. ‘In her heart, she must have known the appalling risk that she was taking. But she was so determined to give me the son I longed for that she bravely accepted that risk. Can you understand what I am saying?’

  ‘I think so, Ralph.’

  ‘Childbirth was a form of suicide for her.’

  ‘That is not true.’

  ‘It seemed so at the time.’

  ‘Then you must rid yourself of that thought,’ said Gervase seriously. ‘Elinor could not have foreseen what would happen. No woman woman would sacrifice her own life and leave her husband with a stillborn child. In any case, your experience is very different from the situation we find here. Your child was conceived with love within the bounds of holy wedlock. Helene's was patently not.’

  ‘I know that, Gervase, and I am sorry to talk of my own sorrow when my sympathy should be given elsewhere. But the news caught me unawares. A mother and child lying dead. It brought back a vivid picture I have tried to wipe from my mind.’ He straightened his back. ‘No more of me. Let us think of the girl and what brought her to such an ignoble end.’

  Gervase looked up as servants brought in more food and wine to set out on the table. He waited until they left.

  ‘There will be time enough to talk of this with the others,’ he said. ‘While we are still alone, I am anxious to hear your news. How did you find Milo Crispin?’