Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

Henry was irked by the delay but Ansgot held up a hand to ask for his patience, confident that they would get an answer out of the prisoner in time. As Boio grappled uncertainly with his immediate past, sweat began to pour out of his forehead and his eyes watered. Then, with the elation of someone who has just located treasure, he gave a grin of triumph and held up both hands in excitement.

‘I remember, I remember!’

‘What is the idiot saying?’ demanded Henry.

‘Let me hear him out, my lord,’ said Ansgot.

‘I remember. Two days ago. I did not leave my forge. A man called at dawn. His donkey had cast a shoe and I made a new one for him. That was it, the stranger came with his donkey. He stayed for an hour or more. I was not in the forest that morning. I was with the man. He will vouch for me. He will tell you. I am innocent.’

‘Who was this man?’

‘What?’

‘Tell us his name.’

Boio gaped. ‘I do not know his name.’

‘Who was he? Where was he going?’

‘He was a stranger.’

‘We need to find him, Boio, if he is to confirm your story.’

‘The man with the donkey came to my forge.’

‘Then where is he now?’

Boio looked utterly demoralised and lapsed into a despairing silence. When Henry heard what the prisoner had been saying, he was furious and aimed a vicious kick at him.

‘It is a damnable lie!’ he howled. ‘There was no stranger at the forge that morning. This villain was in the forest, squeezing Martin Reynard to death. I’ll not hear any more of this.’ He turned to the guard. ‘Get this animal cleaned up before I come again so that he does not offend my nostrils. The funeral will be held this afternoon. That will put me in the right mood for a proper interrogation. Warn him, Ansgot,’ he said, pointing at the priest.

‘Warn this vile cur! When I return to this cell, the only interpreter I will bring is a branding iron!’

Philippe Trouville surprised them all. Expecting him to be an awkward pupil, they found him alert and responsive, willing to learn and able quickly to absorb what he was taught. Ralph Delchard helped with the instruction but it was Gervase Bret who took charge, guiding the new commissioner through the documents relating to the first dispute with which they would deal and explaining the background to it. With the twin gifts of clarity and brevity, Gervase baptised Trouville into his role and, at the same time, further educated Archdeacon Theobald and Brother Benedict, both of whom plied him with intelligent questions throughout.

Seated at the table, the five of them worked happily together and Ralph came to see why Trouville had been chosen to join them. He was not the boorish soldier he had at first appeared but a man with an agile mind and a grasp of Latin which was firm. Gervase had no need to translate the words for him in the way that he did for Ralph. At one point, Trouville was so caught up in his studies that he actually conversed with Theobald for a few sentences in Latin. Ralph found himself wondering in what language he had proposed to the lady Marguerite or whether — the idea caused him private amusement — she had proposed to him by the simple means of issuing an edict.

A productive morning left them in a satisfied mood and their pleasure was increased by the arrival of the food, which Ednoth had arranged to be served to them. Benedict refused to touch anything more than bread and water but Theobald had a more liberal appetite and ate with relish. He and the scribe then fell into a long discussion about the importance of the reforms of Pope Gregory. Now that Trouville had become almost sociable, Ralph sought to find out more about him.

He began with what Gervase recognised as an arrant lie.

‘I am glad that you brought the lady Marguerite with you,’ he said.

‘Are you?’ grunted Trouville through a mouthful of cold chicken.

‘Her conversation lit up the table last night.’

‘Oh, yes. Marguerite can certainly talk.’

‘How long have you been married, my lord?’

‘Little above a year.’

‘Then you are still enjoying the first fruits of the experience.’

‘Am I?’

‘You should know.’

‘It is not something I have ever thought about.’

‘The lady Marguerite is a remarkable woman.’

‘That is certainly true,’ said the other without enthusiasm.

‘From where does your wife hail?’ asked Gervase.

‘Falaise.’

‘The King’s own birthplace!’

‘Yes,’ said Trouville, ‘though Marguerite has a more distinguished lineage. She was conceived within the legitimate bounds of marriage. We too easily forget that the King of England and Duke of Normandy was once derided as William the Bastard.’

‘And still is by his enemies,’ noted Ralph with a chuckle.

‘How did you meet the lady Marguerite?’ fished Gervase.

‘I am not here to give an account of my life,’ said Trouville with a show of irritation. ‘When people see a beautiful young woman married to an older man, they are bound to speculate and I know that is what you have both been doing. But I happen to believe in privacy. How and why my wife and I met and married is our own affair and I will not let it become the tittle-tattle of an idle moment.’

‘Of course not, my lord,’ said Ralph.

Gervase nodded. ‘I apologise if my question was intrusive.’

‘Let us hear no more on the subject,’ said Trouville, swallowing his chicken and washing it down with a sip of wine. ‘Did you hear what the lord Henry said when we passed him on the stair this morning?’

‘What was that?’ asked Ralph.

‘He has promised to hold a banquet for us.’

‘That is good news. When?’

‘When this murder investigation has been completed.’

‘In the lord Henry’s mind, it already has,’ observed Gervase drily. ‘He believes that he has the guilty man behind bars. Trial and sentence will soon follow.’

‘Excellent!’ said Trouville. ‘Then we can celebrate the hanging with a banquet. It will give us a chance to get to know the lord Henry better and to make the acquaintance of his brother.’

‘Robert Beaumont?’

‘Yes, the Count of Meulan himself. He and the lord Henry are both members of the King’s council. We will be rubbing shoulders with two men who know the very nerves of state.’ He gave a complacent smile. ‘It will actually make the effort of getting here worthwhile.’

‘The pleasure of my company does that, surely?’ said Ralph jocularly. ‘That is what tore Gervase away from his young bride.

Admit it, Gervase. Even the temptations of the marital couch could not compete with the joy of working alongside me again.

True or false?’

‘Do you really need to ask?’ said Gervase wryly.

‘Where I go, you go. A true partnership.’

‘Do not let Alys hear you saying that. Nor your own dear wife.

They would both contend that a loving marriage is the only true partnership.’ He pushed his platter aside and stood up. ‘I am inclined to agree.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Ralph.

‘Back to the castle. We have finished all we have to do here.’

‘Thanks to the speed with which our new commissioner adapted to his work. I had thought it might take the whole day but we are through in less than half the time.’ Trouville did not acknowledge the compliment.

‘That is why I wish to take the documents back to my chamber.’

‘To study them further?’

‘No,’ said Gervase. ‘To put them in a safe place before I go to church this afternoon for the service.’

‘Service?’ Ralph was puzzled. ‘What service?’

‘The funeral of Martin Reynard.’

‘But you never even knew the man.’