Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

The smell was reassuring.

He put the bottle tentatively to his lips and sipped a small amount of the liquid. Its sharp taste made him grimace and he felt it course through him like molten iron. Then the miracle happened. It soothed him. It seemed to wash over his whole body like a cool wave. It eased his mind, it took the sting from his burns, it made him forget the chafed skin of his wrists and ankles. In return for shoeing a donkey, he had been given the one thing which could help him at that moment. Holding the bottle to his mouth again, he drained its contents in one gulp.

The sharp taste was followed by the coursing heat which in turn gave way to a wonderful feeling of peace and well being.

Boio fell asleep within minutes.

The meal which they shared in the hall that night was delicious but the occasion was a decidedly muted affair. Henry Beaumont excused himself, pleading the cares of office and, not wishing to be drawn yet again into discussions about the way in which he was conducting the murder investigation, and left his wife to preside at the table. Philippe Trouville rid himself of trenchant opinions on almost every subject which came up but nobody cared to challenge him and his diatribes eventually ceased. His wife, the lady Marguerite, outspoken guest and a proven scourge of social gatherings, was strangely quiet, attentive to her hostess and pleasant to everyone else but robbed of her usual need to draw attention to herself and to inflict humiliation on those she considered her inferiors.

Golde was relieved to find the woman in a more palliative frame of mind but Ralph felt cheated, waiting for Marguerite to insult his wife so that he could trade one barbed remark for another, and frustrated when it became clear that his weaponry would not be called into use. Gervase sat beside Archdeacon Theobald and they conversed happily about the influence which Lanfranc had had over the English Church since he became primate. Brother Benedict, wedded to his diet of bread and water, managed to get a conversation of sorts out of Heloise.

It was only when the prisoner was mentioned that tempers flared. Too much wine drew the full arrogance out of Philippe Trouville.

‘The lord Henry should have called for me,’ said Trouville, tapping his chest. ‘I know how to break a man’s spirit. I would have had that blacksmith confessing to his crime within minutes.’

‘That is a fearful boast,’ said Ralph.

‘No boast, my lord. I have had long experience in the trade.’

‘And what trade might that be? Butchery?’

‘Interrogation.’

‘Can you tell the difference between the two?’

‘Mock if you wish,’ said Trouville, ‘but I have reduced the strongest men to piteous wrecks. Shall I tell you how?’

‘No,’ said his wife nastily. ‘This is a barren topic.’

‘It is one on which I am an expert.’

‘A barren expert!’ murmured Ralph.

‘Pass on my offer to your husband, my lady,’ Trouville said to Adela, not even noticing her slight wince. ‘My services are at his command.’

‘I wish that your silence was at my command,’ hissed Marguerite.

‘What is that?’

‘Your speech is too vulgar, Philippe.’

‘I merely offered an opinion.’

‘It is not one we wish to hear.’

‘But this matter affects us all,’ he argued, draining his cup.

‘Our work here is hampered by this murder enquiry. The sooner it can be resolved, the sooner we can discharge our duties. Put the interrogation of the prisoner in my hands and his confession is assured.’

She gave a shudder. ‘You say that with such relish!’

‘And you might be torturing an innocent man,’ said Gervase.

‘A guilty man!’ boomed Trouville. ‘I’d bleed the truth out of him.’

‘I can stand no more of this,’ said his wife, jumping to her feet and turning to her hostess. ‘Excuse me, my lady. I am sorry for my husband’s behaviour. The excellence of your wine has led him astray.’

As her mistress moved away, Heloise rose to follow but a glance from Marguerite made her resume her seat. Trouville did not know whether to go after his wife, repeat his boasts or drink more wine so he did all three simultaneously, vanishing at length through the door with a full cup in his hand, a bloodcurdling threat on his lips and the sudden fear that it might be a frosty night in the marital chamber.

Conversation returned to a gentler and more neutral level until Ralph and Golde took their leave, expressing their profound gratitude to their hostess as they went out. Brother Benedict soon drifted off to the chapel, leaving only four of them at the table. It was Theobald who now came into his own, gently probing the two women for information while appearing to offer mild flattery. Gervase was deeply impressed by the way in which — having drawn Adela into yielding confidences about her husband

— he turned his artless charm on the taciturn Heloise. It was interrogation of a much subtler kind than that described by Trouville. The disfiguring frown slowly melted from the older woman’s face.

‘The lady Marguerite would be lost without you,’ he remarked.

‘That is not so, Archdeacon Theobald,’ she said.

‘I have eyes.’

She almost simpered. ‘I merely do what I have always done.’

‘Attended to your mistress with admirable skill. Even when,’

he said with a glance towards the door, ‘your efforts are not always appreciated. How long have you been in the lady Marguerite’s employ?’

‘Several years. Before that I looked after her mother.’

‘Was she as beautiful as the daughter?’

‘Even more so,’ said Heloise. ‘Beautiful — and gracious.’

‘Tell us something about her. Did she hail from Falaise as well?’

‘Yes, Archdeacon.’

Encouraged by his words and the smiling attention of the others, Heloise talked fondly of her long years in a celebrated household in Normandy. Though she was too discreet to make any criticism of her mistress, she talked so lovingly about the mother that the contrast with the daughter became apparent. Something of her own blighted private life also emerged. Deaths in her family and the tragic loss in battle of a man who proposed marriage to her had deprived her of all hope of any personal happiness yet she was free from any hint of self-pity. In serving her mistress faithfully she felt she could at least provide a degree of happiness for someone else.

‘You are a true Christian!’ observed Theobald.

‘No, no,’ she said almost modestly. ‘I feel so inadequate beside someone like you, Archdeacon Theobald. Or when I see how devout Brother Benedict is. That is Christianity in action, not pandering to the whims of a beautiful woman.’

‘It is a duty you now share with her husband.’

‘At times.’

‘How long have you known the lord Philippe?’

‘Since he and the lady Marguerite first met.’

‘I have the impression that he has been married before.’

‘He has,’ she said.

‘Do you know what happened to his first wife?’

The question came out so easily and naturally that Heloise, relaxed and unguarded, answered it before she even knew what she was doing.

‘She took her own life.’

There was sudden silence. They were absolutely stunned. Adela brought a hand up to her mouth in horror and Gervase felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Theobald blamed himself for asking the question and prayed inwardly for forgiveness. All four of them were throbbing with embarrassment. Heloise let out a little cry. Realising what she had just admitted, she turned white and fled from the room.

The forge was in darkness, its fire long extinguished and its clamour fled. The figure who came trudging along the road was swathed in a sheepskin cloak to keep out the nibble of winter.