Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

‘You must have a stronger reason than that.’

‘There is no need for any search. As soon as I heard of the escape, I sent out patrols of my own. I know the law against harbouring a fugitive. No sighting of Boio has been made. Nor did I expect one. Listen, my lords,’ he counselled, ‘you have wasted your time coming here. When Boio fled, his sole aim was to get free. There are two obvious places where he would run for cover.’

‘Where are they?’

‘To his forge,’ said Thorkell, ‘or to his overlord.’

‘My men have searched the forge,’ grunted Henry.

‘I am sure it was the first place you looked, my lord. I am surprised that it has taken you so long to come here. Do you really imagine that Boio would go to one of the two places where you would be bound to find him? That would be tantamount to giving himself up.’

‘There is something in what he says,’ admitted Trouville.

‘Boio would not come near me,’ said Thorkell.

‘Maybe not,’ said Henry, caught in two minds. ‘But we will take the precaution of searching just to make sure.’

‘You will not, my lord.’

‘Who can stop us?’

‘We can,’ said Thorkell quietly. ‘I have fifty more men within hailing distance. Even you would not be foolish enough to make me call them.’

Trouville tried to draw his sword but Henry reached across to hold his wrist. They were outnumbered. A skirmish would be a mistake.

‘I will return tomorrow with more men,’ said the constable.

Thorkell met his gaze. ‘So will I. Now please ride off.’

‘Do not give orders to me!’

‘This is my land.’

Henry’s anger slowly disappeared behind a gloating smile.

‘Yes, Thorkell,’ he said. ‘It is your land. At the moment.’

Darkness was falling fast by the time that Ralph Delchard and his men reached Warwick. Gervase Bret was waiting anxiously for him at the gate of the castle. The two friends adjourned swiftly to the keep. Golde joined them in Gervase’s chamber and the three of them shared what they had each discovered. Ralph was bubbling to pass on his news but he held it back so that Golde could speak first. When she related the details of her conversation with the lady Adela, both men were intrigued.

‘Let me hear that again,’ said Ralph. ‘Martin Reynard left the household in disgrace yet came back here time after time?’

‘Yes,’ said Golde.

‘Why?’

‘The lady Adela did not know.’

‘Her husband would hardly want to see him. Henry Beaumont is the sort of man who bears grudges. Once someone crosses him, Henry will never forgive him.’

‘Yet he seems to have forgiven the reeve.’

‘Does he, my love?’

‘Yes, Ralph. According to the lady Adela, the man who replaced him here has nothing like Martin Reynard’s skill. Her husband moaned to her about it. He expressed regret that he had let the fellow go.’

‘Then why did he?’

‘Apparently the man exceeded his authority.’

‘How?’

‘The lady Adela could not say.’

Ralph was puzzled. ‘Martin Reynard exceeded his authority and the constable merely dismissed him? The lord Henry keeps the strictest discipline here. I am surprised that he did not have the man whipped and turned out of the castle naked.’

‘Something else is odd,’ observed Gervase. ‘The lord Henry not only dispensed with a valuable man, he saw him go into Thorkell’s service. That must have galled him. He has no love for Thorkell and must have hated to see his reeve lending his skills to the old Saxon. Unless,’ he added as a thought nudged him, ‘we are missing something here.’

‘We are, Gervase,’ said Ralph, ‘and I think I know what it may be. But let me give you my tidings now. What Golde has learned has been of great interest but I will burst if I hold back my own tale any longer.’

‘Speak out,’ said his wife.

‘The first thing you must know is that Grimketel is dead.’

‘How?’ asked Gervase.

‘Murdered in his own house.’

‘By whom?’

‘Judge for yourself.’

Ralph told them about his visit to Grimketel’s house and about his abrasive encounter with Adam Reynard, explaining that it had been too late for him to go in search of Warin the Forester but that he intended to do so on the following day. The revelations about poaching did not surprise Gervase in the least. What he was most interested in, however, was the murder of Grimketel.

‘Did you believe the lord Philippe’s story?’ he asked.

‘At first, Gervase.’

‘But not now?’

‘No, I doubt if Boio went near the place.’

‘Why do you think that?’ said Golde.

‘Because of what I knew of Grimketel and because of what Adam Reynard told me about him. Grimketel was a short, skinny man with no more muscle on him than on a broomstick. We met him, my love. He was a sly devil, by the look of him, and liable to shake in his shoes at the first hint of danger. Fearing that Boio was on the rampage, he would have barricaded himself into his house. Indeed,’ said Ralph, ‘that is exactly what his master urged him to do — after he’d made sure their poached deer were well hidden, of course. If the blacksmith did kill Grimketel, how did he get into the house?’

‘By battering down the door.’

‘It was untouched, Golde. I checked. You see my point? The lord Philippe would have us believe that Grimketel left his door unlocked even though he felt he was in peril. No, I think that what we have here is another crime being laid unfairly at Boio’s feet. I do not believe that he had anything to do with Grimketel’s death.’

‘I know it for certain,’ affirmed Gervase.

‘How?’

‘Hear my tale first.’

Gervase described his visit to Roundshill and his brief talk with Asmoth’s father. When they heard about the borrowed horse and cart, both his listeners reached the same conclusion that he had done and both were struck by the woman’s daring.

‘Boio could not possibly have done it,’ said Gervase confidently.

‘He was miles away at the time. When Grimketel was killed in his house, the blacksmith was climbing into the cart which Asmoth borrowed for him. Now, that being the case, it raises two very important questions. First, who did murder Grimketel?’

‘I have one suspect already in mind,’ said Ralph.

‘So have I.’

‘Does he know that you have guessed his secret?’

‘Not yet.’

‘What is the second question, Gervase?’ asked Golde.

‘Asmoth procured the horse and cart to drive Boio to safety.’

‘Well?’

‘Where did she take him?’

He was in a sorry state when he reached Coventry. A night without sleep and a headlong charge through field and forest had left their marks on Boio. His clothing was torn, his face and arms were crisscrossed with scratches and he was covered in filth from head to toe. His hair was matted with grime. Fear added its own vivid signature. Even when the monks washed most of the dirt off him, his odour was still pungent. Robert de Limesey kept a protective palm around his nose while he questioned the blacksmith, irritated that he had to use Brother Reginald as an interpreter and further peeved by the grinding slowness of Boio’s responses. Swaying with exhaustion, the fugitive was having difficulty understanding the simplest of questions.

‘Why do you seek sanctuary?’ Reginald asked.

‘It is my only hope.’

‘What was your crime?’

‘They say that I murdered a man.’

‘Did you?’

‘No.’

‘Is that the truth? You stand before a bishop on consecrated ground. Tell lies and you will roast in hell. We want the truth.

Take care how you answer now. Did you commit this crime?’