Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

‘Let us come back to the evidence against Boio.’

‘It is overwhelming,’ argued the other, legs splayed to take the weight of his body. ‘Even if he had not been seen in the forest that morning, Boio would still stand accused.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of the nature of the injuries.’

‘Go on.’

‘Martin was crushed to death. Can we agree at least on that?’

‘Willingly,’ said Gervase. ‘We saw the corpse.’

‘Ribs broken, spine snapped.’

‘That is correct.’

‘Then the blacksmith is hanged.’

‘Is he?’

‘He has to be, Master Bret. The victim’s back was broken. Boio’s work. No other man would be strong enough to do that.’

When the sun broke through the low clouds it brought a slight cheer to Coventry and lured more of the citizens out from their homes. Extra stalls were set up in the marketplace and more people came to browse and haggle. It was no warmer but it somehow seemed so. A sizeable crowd was soon milling around.

The old man was able to gather a larger audience around him this time and sang the praises of his medicine with more effect than he had managed earlier. People began to finger their purses.

When one man actually purchased a bottle, believing that it would remove the warts on his nose, others were tempted to follow but the traveller’s success was short-lived.

Before he could part with more of his elixir, his audience was diverted by a yell of excitement from the other side of the marketplace. A new source of entertainment lumbered forward.

It was a huge brown bear, wearing a muzzle and being led on a chain by a dwarf clad from head to foot in black. The massive beast and its tiny keeper were a strange sight and everyone flocked to get a closer view of them. Losing his fickle audience in an instant, the old man heaved a resigned sigh and went to watch the performance too.

The dwarf waited until he was ringed with spectators, then he took a flute from his belt and played a simple ditty. To the delight of the crowd the bear responded at once, dancing in a circle and clapping its paws in tune to the music. The people were enthralled.

When the dance was over, the dwarf shouted a command and the bear turned somersaults for a full minute. It went through its whole array of tricks — even scooping the bearward up into its arms at one point — until it was given applause by the spectators.

Doffing his cap, the dwarf held it out so that he could harvest something more meaningful than eager applause. Coins were tossed and one stallholder donated a small cake to the cap.

But another of the vendors was less entranced by the bear. It suddenly abandoned the tricks it had been taught and invented one of its own, ambling to the man’s stall and taking hold of the large barrel of salted herrings which stood beside it. Two sturdy men were needed to lift the barrel but the bear hoisted it up without any strain. While the stallholder protested wildly and the bearward tried to gain control over his animal by beating it with a stick, the crowd urged the creature on. It did not disappoint them.

Holding the barrel in both arms, it squeezed hard until the wood began first to creak, then to splinter, then to split. With a final hug the bear applied so much pressure that the barrel suddenly burst open with a loud crack and spilled the herrings all over the ground in a continuous and irresistible shoal. There was pandemonium. The stallholder howled, the spectators clapped, the bearward denied responsibility and children dived down to grab as many free fish as they could hold. Through it all, as if glorying in the chaos which it had produced, the bear gave a muffled roar and turned more somersaults.

The old man studied its face. It seemed to be laughing.

‘I have already given an account of what I saw,’ complained Grimketel.

‘Give it again,’ ordered Ralph.

‘Why, my lord?’

‘Because Gervase and I wish to hear it.’

‘Do you come with the authority of the lord Henry?’

‘No,’ said Ralph, holding up a fist. ‘I come with the authority of this and I will use it to box your ears if you do not speak up.’

‘Do not threaten him,’ intervened Adam Reynard.

‘Would you rather I threatened you ?’

‘The lord Henry will learn of your behaviour.’

‘I will be the first to tell him about it.’ Ralph turned back to Grimketel. ‘We are still waiting to hear what you claim you saw.’

The four of them were in the parlour of Reynard’s house. The servant sent to fetch Grimketel had clearly given him a message of warning because the latter arrived in a defensive mood. Ralph quickly tired of his evasion and pressed him for an answer.

‘Tell us your tale, man!’ he snapped. ‘Now!’

Grimketel backed away slightly and glanced at his master before recounting his evidence. Ralph and Gervase listened intently.

‘That morning,’ said Grimketel, ‘not long after dawn, I was walking towards the forest when I saw Boio coming out of the trees. I waved to him but he did not seem to see me and hurried off before I could get close enough to talk to him. Later on that same morning, the lord Henry found the dead body of Martin Reynard. It was no more than a hundred yards from the place where I saw the blacksmith. That is it, sirs.’

‘Do you swear that it is the truth?’ said Ralph.

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Shortly after dawn,’ said Gervase, taking over the questioning.

‘Light must have been poor when you caught sight of Boio.’

‘It was,’ admitted the other. ‘The sky was overcast.’

‘How far away were you from him?’

‘Thirty or forty yards.’

‘On a gloomy morning.’

‘It was Boio,’ insisted the other, wagging a finger. ‘I know the way he holds himself, the way he moves. It had to be him.’

‘Why did he not see you?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Could it be that you were too far away to be picked out?’

‘I saw him clearly enough.’

‘So you tell us.’

‘It may be that Boio saw me but pretended not to.’ He shot another glance at Reynard. ‘If he had just killed a man he would not wish to meet up with anyone. I think he wanted to get away from the place as fast as he could.’

‘Was he carrying any weapon?’

‘A man that powerful does not need a weapon.’

‘Answer the question,’ said Ralph.

Grimketel shrugged. ‘I saw no weapon.’

‘Because you were too far away?’ probed Gervase.

‘Who knows?’

‘What sort of expression did he wear?’

‘Expression?’

‘On his face. Did he seem pleased, anxious, amused, frightened?’

‘I could not tell, Master Bret.’

‘In any case,’ said Reynard impatiently, ‘it is immaterial. The very fact that Boio was hurrying away from the murder scene is enough in itself to throw suspicion.’

‘Except that we are not sure that it was the murder scene.’

‘But the body was found there,’ argued Grimketel.

‘There is a possibility that the reeve was killed elsewhere.’

The third glance which Grimketel aimed at his master was far more eloquent than the others. He was momentarily bemused and seemed to be seeking guidance from Reynard. The latter replied with a reproving glare then turned his back on Grimketel.

‘You say that Boio was coming out of the trees,’ resumed Gervase.

‘Does that mean he was trespassing in the Forest of Arden?’

‘Yes,’ said Grimketel.

‘Are forest laws enforced here?’

‘Savagely.’

‘What is the penalty for trespass?’

‘A fine at the very least. Poachers are mutilated or hanged.’

‘But you do not think Boio had been poaching.’

‘No, Master Bret.’