The Elephants of Norwich

by Edward Marston

  He moved in close. ‘You’ll not find a better craftsman than me, Adelaide.’

  ‘You intend to make the pieces yourself?’ she teased.

  ‘No, but I’ll commission them on your behalf. Judicael can do for me what he would have done for the lord Richard. Unless, that is,’ he said, searching her eyes, ‘you prefer to own the originals.’

  ‘I do. Without question.’

  ‘How would you react if they were offered to you now?’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘They belong to the abbey and must be returned.’

  ‘They could belong to you,’ he suggested. ‘Ample recompense can be paid to the abbey. They’d not lose by it. They could purchase some other treasures.’

  Her curiosity was aroused. A flame seemed to be lighted inside her. ‘What are you saying, my lord?’

  ‘That it’s a matter of choice. Before I knew where they came from, I vowed to recover those gold elephants for you and I’m ready to keep that vow. If, on the other hand, you’ll settle for replicas made by Judicael, then I’ll commission them this very afternoon. Which is it to be, Adelaide?’

  ‘Are you suggesting that I accept stolen property?’

  ‘I’m suggesting that you have exactly what you want and nobody will be any the wiser. You saw those elephants, touched them, felt their quality. Could you be happy with something of lesser excellence?’

  ‘No,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘I don’t believe that I could.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Starculf had not been idle. While his pursuers were inspecting his footprints in the ditch and noting the flattened grass behind the tree stump, he was burrowing deeper into the heart of the wheat field, staying very low and doing his best to create as little visible disturbance as possible. As he strained his ears for the noise of hoofbeats, another sound could be heard faintly in the distance. It was the roll of the waves on the shore and it took on a seductive rhythm. Surrounded by stalks of wheat, he was only a mile or more from the coast to which he had been heading. Once there, he proposed to make his way south in search of a boat that would take him to safety. Starculf had money enough to buy his passage and reason enough to quit England for ever. All that stood between him and salvation were the nine men who were tracking him. Unable to outrun them, he had to stay where he was until they had gone past him. Patience was his watchword.

  Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret also had the gift of patience. When they reached the point where the land sloped sharply away from them, they tried to work out how far a man might get on foot, and came to the same conclusion. Ralph waved his men to a halt, then nudged his horse towards Gervase so that he could have a brief conference with him. Jocelyn Vavasour came over to join them. The anchorite’s suspicion coincided exactly with their own.

  ‘I think that he may be in that field of wheat,’ he said, pointing a finger.

  ‘So do I,’ said Ralph, ‘but I don’t want to ruin the harvest by charging in there with my men. There’s an easier way to draw him out.’

  ‘Is there, my lord?’

  ‘We ride on past the field and make for that stand of trees in the distance. Our hoofbeats will have faded by then. He’ll think that we’ve gone.’

  ‘All we have to do is wait,’ said Gervase, surveying the field. ‘If Starculf is in there, he’ll soon come out when he thinks he’s safe. If he isn’t hiding amid the wheat, we’ll not have lost much time and we won’t have trampled over someone’s harvest.’

  ‘True,’ said Jocelyn.

  ‘You agree, then?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  The plan was put into action immediately. Signalling to his men, Ralph brought them all together then led them in formation at a brisk trot. They went down the hill and on past the wheat field, skirting its perimeter without even looking at it and continuing on for over a quarter of a mile until they reached a stand of willows and sycamores. Once they went round the angle of the copse, they were out of sight of any fugitive who might be lurking in the field. They reined in their horses and dismounted. Ralph, Gervase and Jocelyn crept through the trees in search of a vantage point from which they could observe the field. It was a hot afternoon. Cooled by a breeze that came off the sea, they could hear the waves rolling behind them quite clearly. If the fugitive headed for the coast, they had comprehensively cut off his escape route.

  But there was no sign of Starculf. In the field, the wheat danced in the wind and shone in the sunshine. Nobody rose out of it to continue his bid for freedom. As time oozed slowly past, they began to lose faith in their instincts.

  ‘He’s not there,’ Ralph decided.

  ‘Give him more time,’ advised Gervase.

  ‘But he may already have reached the coast. We should be riding along the shore.’

  ‘Only when we’re sure he’s not hiding in that field.’

  ‘I prefer the lord Ralph’s counsel,’ said Jocelyn, worried. ‘Starculf is ahead of us and not behind us. We should mount up and give pursuit.’

  ‘Hold here a little longer,’ said Gervase, restraining him gently.

  ‘It’s a needless delay,’ Ralph complained.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jocelyn. ‘Starculf could be getting away.’

  ‘Not unless he has a horse hidden in that wheat field as well,’ said Gervase, using a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. ‘I can see movement.’

  ‘Where?’ said Ralph, tensing at the promise of action. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Over to the left. Do you see him?’

  Ralph let his gaze drift across to the left of the field and realised that Gervase had seen something that had eluded both him and the anchorite. No head had been lifted above the top of the stalks but a thin dark line was gradually snaking through the wheat. They were too far away to be certain of what they were witnessing. The parting of the wheat might have been caused by a dog or another animal making its way along but Ralph felt otherwise. He sensed that Starculf was about to make an appearance at last.

  The fugitive was circumspect. When he had crawled all the way to the edge of the field, he did not break cover at once. Instead, he waited and watched until he was satisfied that there was nobody in sight. With a suddenness that took them all by surprise, he then rose up and loped off.

  ‘We’ve got him!’ said Ralph.

  ‘He’s mine!’ declared Vavasour.

  ‘There’s no hurry,’ said Gervase. ‘He can’t possibly get away.’

  But his companions were not listening. Engaged in a private race, they mounted their horses and kicked them into a gallop. Ralph’s men were not far behind, spreading out in a semicircle to eliminate any hope of escape for the fugitive. When he saw them coming, Starculf changed the angle of his run, increasing his speed and aiming for the marshland off to his right, but it was a futile exercise. He was trapped. All that remained to be decided was who got to him first. Determined that he would have the pleasure of arresting the man, Ralph spurred his destrier on, but the weight of his hauberk slowed the animal slightly. It was the lighter figure of Jocelyn Vavasour, wearing no mailcoat and carrying no weapon, who surged ahead on his borrowed horse.

  Reaching the edge of the marshes, Starculf zigzagged between the pools until he heard the splash of hooves in water. His flight was soon over. As he turned to see how far behind him they were, he was caught by a well-aimed foot that sent him tumbling to the ground. Vavasour was on him in a flash. Bringing his horse to an abrupt halt, he leaped down from the saddle and ran across to the man who was now struggling to get up, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him vigorously.

  ‘Where are the elephants?’

  ‘First things first,’ said Ralph, dismounting to hurry over. ‘My name is Ralph Delchard,’ he announced, taking hold of the prisoner, ‘and it’s my duty to arrest you on behalf of Roger Bigot, sheriff of Norfolk and Suffolk.’

  Starculf was still too dazed to reply. Ralph misunderstood his silence. ‘Would you r
ather I used your language?’ he said in English.

  ‘No, my lord,’ answered the other, slowly recovering. ‘Given the circumstances, I think I’d prefer to be arrested in French.’

  ‘Then that’s how it’ll be,’ agreed Ralph, reverting to his own tongue.

  ‘Ask him about the elephants, my lord,’ urged Vavasour, impatiently.

  ‘All in good time, Jocelyn.’

  ‘But I want them now. That’s the whole purpose of my mission.’

  ‘There’s the small matter of a homicide to discuss first.’

  ‘I caught him, my lord. I want those holy treasures.’

  ‘You’ll get them,’ said Ralph, firmly, ‘when I’m ready and not before.’

  ‘Search him!’

  ‘I’ll not be rushed,’ warned the other. ‘Starculf is my prisoner.’

  Vavasour glared mutinously. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do say so.’

  Gervase had now arrived and dismounted to join them on the ground. He took a close look at Starculf and matched him to the description they had been given of Richard de Fontenel’s former servant. There could be no question of the prisoner’s identity. He was a tall, handsome, well-built young man. Even in his dishevelled state, Starculf was a striking figure, his features smooth, his beard well trimmed and his eyes glistening with a quiet pride. Gervase discerned another cause for the enmity between him and the steward with whom he worked. The short, stocky Hermer, who had to secure his pleasures by force, was bound to resent a man to whom sexual favours would be freely offered.

  Ralph returned to his interrogation. ‘I’m arresting you on a charge of murder,’ he said, solemnly, ‘in that you did wilfully and maliciously kill one Hermer, steward to the lord Richard.’

  ‘No, my lord!’ protested the other.

  ‘Don’t lie to me!’

  ‘On my oath, I didn’t kill Hermer.’

  ‘Then why are you running away?’

  ‘Because I don’t wish to pay for a crime I didn’t commit.’

  ‘Tell the truth, man!’ ordered Ralph.

  ‘That is the truth, my lord,’ said Starculf, earnestly. ‘I’ll swear on the Holy Bible that I didn’t lay hands on Hermer. The first that I heard about his death was when the lord sheriff’s men started hunting for me.’

  ‘Innocent men don’t need to flee.’

  ‘They do if they have little chance of proving their innocence.’

  ‘What about the elephants?’ demanded Vavasour.

  ‘Let them wait!’ said Ralph, irritably. ‘Pinion him!’

  Two of his men moved in swiftly to tie Starculf’s hands behind his back and to remove his dagger from its sheath. The fugitive had no other weapon on him. Gervase was impressed with the man’s bearing. Starculf was no cringing felon, begging for mercy or hissing defiance. Nor was there anything of a trapped animal about him. Upright and unafraid, he exuded a strange honesty.

  ‘You claim that you’re innocent?’ said Gervase.

  ‘I didn’t murder the lord Richard’s steward,’ Starculf replied.

  ‘Yet you vowed to get revenge on him and his master.’

  ‘I confess it readily.’

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ said Ralph.

  ‘Let him finish,’ suggested Gervase, touching his friend’s arm. ‘Go on, Starculf.’

  ‘Hermer was a brutal man,’ said Starculf, bitterly, ‘and a lustful one at that. I tried to shut my eyes to his behaviour at first but it became too gross to ignore. So I spoke out against him. After what he did, Hermer didn’t deserve to live.’

  ‘So you wanted to kill him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you planned to do so?’

  Starculf hesitated. ‘It was always at the back of my mind,’ he said.

  ‘I think it was at the forefront,’ argued Ralph. ‘If you didn’t have designs on the man’s life, why go to the trouble of getting duplicate keys to the lord Richard’s house?’ The prisoner was startled. ‘Yes, my friend. A locksmith in Wymondham gave the lord sheriff a good description of you. On that occasion, you didn’t use your own name. You called yourself Alstan.’

  ‘That was the name of a slave on the estate, wasn’t it?’ said Gervase.

  ‘You know more than I feared,’ admitted the other. ‘Yes, I did have duplicate keys made and I did use Alstan’s name because I knew the man when I worked on the lord Richard’s estate. Alstan was shamefully treated by Hermer.’

  ‘Yet he didn’t return in order to murder him.’

  ‘Neither did I.’

  ‘Then why did you have those keys made?’

  ‘We’re going round in circles here,’ complained Vavasour, stepping forward. ‘Ask him all you wish but first let me have the elephants so that I can return them to the abbey at once. You owe me that, my lord,’ he said, looking at Ralph. ‘I led you here.’

  ‘That’s so,’ conceded Ralph. ‘Take your treasures, Jocelyn. You’ve earned them.’

  ‘Well?’ said Vavasour to the prisoner. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The gold elephants you took from the lord Richard’s house.’

  ‘I took nothing.’

  ‘Blessed by the Pope himself,’ added Vavasour, ‘and presented by me to the abbey of St Benet at Holme. Now, don’t prevaricate, man. Where are they?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Starculf.

  ‘They’re hidden about you somewhere.’

  ‘Search me, if you wish, but you’ll find no gold elephants about my person. I’ve never laid eyes on such objects and I certainly didn’t take them from the lord Richard’s house. This is the first I’ve ever heard of them.’

  Jocelyn Vavasour refused to believe him. Pulling him close, he subjected the prisoner to a thorough search, even to the extent of tearing off some of his clothing. Starculf bore it all with dignity. Nothing was found on him apart from some money. Ralph and Gervase were the first to accept that the prisoner was telling the truth.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ said Ralph. ‘He didn’t take them.’

  ‘I never went into the lord Richard’s house,’ Starculf insisted.

  ‘You must have!’ shouted Vavasour.

  ‘But I didn’t. I give you my word.’

  Pushed almost to despair, the anchorite grabbed him and shook him violently. ‘I want those elephants!’ he cried. ‘Where are they?’

  Long after Adelaide’s departure, Richard de Fontenel was still fuming with anger. The woman he had planned to marry had just walked decisively out of his life. When he looked around for solace, he found none at all. In the space of a few short days, he had suffered a series of disasters. His steward had been murdered, two valuable gold objects stolen from his strong room, one of his trusted servants unmasked as a spy in the pay of his rival and the lady Adelaide had rejected him outright. What pained him most was that the advantage had now been decisively handed to Mauger Livarot. Not only would the latter be able to rejoice in de Fontenel’s misfortune, he would probably wed the very person over whom the two of them had fought so long. It was intolerable.

  After brooding on the malignancy of Fate, he was jerked into action. Since their origin had been revealed to the lady Adelaide, the recovery of the gold elephants no longer dominated his thinking. He would never get them back. Instead, he turned his attention to the capture of Hermer’s killer. There was more than theft and murder to lay at his door. In exposing the earlier theft from the abbey, the culprit had rendered de Fontenel liable to investigation himself and deprived him of the woman he had been tempted to take as his wife. He had caused acute embarrassment to someone who was accustomed to unquestioning respect. Certain that Starculf was responsible for his downfall, de Fontenel now wanted retribution. He called for his horse to be saddled and summoned his men. They were soon riding towards Norwich castle.

  A mile down the road, they were met by the unlikely sight of an adipose man, panting and perspiring as he struggled to control a small, wayward horse. Richard de Fontene
l brought his troop to a halt and stared in amazement at Judicael the Goldsmith.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I was on my way to see you, my lord,’ said the other, anxiously.

  ‘If it’s about that commission of mine, you’ve made a pointless journey. The items will no longer be needed, Judicael.’

  ‘I know. The order was cancelled earlier today.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The lord Mauger.’

  ‘But it’s nothing to do with him!’

  ‘That’s what I told him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning, my lord,’ said the goldsmith, feeling his throat ruefully. ‘He came to my shop and demanded to know what you had commissioned from me. It seems that you were spotted visiting me yesterday.’

  ‘Mauger has intelligencers everywhere!’ growled the other.

  ‘I refused to divulge any information but he drew his dagger on me. I had to tell him the truth, my lord,’ he bleated, apologetically, ‘or he’d have used the weapon on me.’

  ‘You told him about my commission?’

  ‘Only under duress.’

  ‘You idiot!’ De Fontenel swung an arm and knocked Judicael from the saddle. After rolling in the dust, the man got up on his knees to implore mercy. His horse seized the opportunity to bolt.

  ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘As little as possible, my lord. I swear it.’

  ‘I warned you to keep your mouth shut.’

  ‘The lord Mauger used violence against me.’

  ‘That’s nothing to what I’ll use,’ snarled de Fontenel. ‘And what’s this about the commission to make those replicas being cancelled?’

  ‘It was only your commission that was void,’ said Judicael, scrambling to his feet and clutching at de Fontenel’s leg. ‘The lord Mauger told me that you’d no longer have use for the objects, but there was a chance that he himself might need the replicas. If it proved necessary, he was going to employ me himself.’

  ‘What!’

  Richard de Fontenel’s bellow made the goldsmith jump back in alarm. Spurring his horse into life, he led his men off at speed, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Priorities had now altered. Instead of going to Norwich castle to berate the sheriff for his delay in bringing the killer to justice, de Fontenel concentrated his anger on his rival. He and his companions rode hell-for-leather towards the estate of Mauger Livarot.