Edward Marston - The Foxes of Warwick

‘Well met, my lord!’ he called, raising a hand.

‘We heard that you visited Brinklow Castle.’

‘Only to pay my respects to the lord Henry’s brother. If I am to be Sheriff of Northamptonshire one day — as I have cause to expect — I want to be on friendly terms with everyone of importance in the neighbouring counties.’ He gave a complacent grin. ‘The Count of Meulan has just returned from Derbyshire. He and I got on well. We turned out to have much in common.’

‘Why?’ said Ralph. ‘Does he murder helpless victims as well?’

Trouville scowled. ‘Your jest is in very bad taste.’

‘So were your lies to me at Grimketel’s house.’

‘What lies?’

‘Boio did not kill that man.’

‘He did. The signs were obvious.’

‘Too obvious,’ said Ralph coldly. ‘Explain this, my lord. How did Boio manage to commit murder, evade a large posse and travel several miles to Coventry in order to be at the abbey before vespers? A bird would have had difficulty flying there in so short a space of time. Boio could not have killed Grimketel. Even the lord Henry accepts that.’

‘Then someone else did the deed,’ agreed Trouville, ignoring the implication in Ralph’s black stare. ‘We must go back to the house tomorrow to look for clues and organise a more careful search.’

Ralph looked at him with utter disgust and Trouville wilted.

‘The trail ends here, my lord.’

‘No!’ protested the other.

‘The lord Henry has sent me to arrest you in his name.’

‘You have no proof.’

‘We will get it from your men,’ said Ralph. ‘They will know if Grimketel was alive when you went to his house because his door would have been barred and you would have needed him to open it.’ He looked around Trouville’s escort. ‘I am sure you have sworn them to secrecy,’ he said, ‘but they may change their minds when they have to choose between telling the truth and submitting to the lord Henry’s torture. He is not a man who appreciates being deceived.’ He saw unease spreading across the men’s faces and signalled to his own escort. ‘Seize their weapons!’

Trouville’s men were quickly surrounded and disarmed but their lord did not wait to endure the same fate. Pulling savagely on the reins to turn his horse, he kicked it into a gallop and went off across the field. Ralph was after him at once before he disappeared completely into the darkness. Rain now began to fall in earnest, lashing their faces as they hurtled through open country. Trouville was a good horseman but his mount was no match for Ralph’s destrier, which slowly gained on him.

Ralph had no fear. He was younger, stronger and more skilled in the arts of combat than the other. He was also impelled by a deep rage that a fellow commissioner would stoop to murder.

Realising that he could not outrun his pursuer, the fugitive decided to fight instead and suddenly reined in his horse. Before he could draw his sword from its sheath, he was knocked bodily from the saddle as Ralph drew level and flung himself into the air. They landed with a thud on the ground. Trouville was winded but he still had the strength to punch and grapple. The two of them rolled over and over on grass that was quickly becoming sodden. With a massive effort, Trouville managed to throw Ralph off and got to his feet to run. Ralph caught him up immediately and they wrestled more violently than ever. With a deft move, Ralph used his adversary’s own weight against him and flung him to the ground again.

He straddled his chest and held a dagger to Trouville’s throat.

‘A forester taught me that fall,’ said Ralph, still panting.

‘Get off me!’

‘Not until you tell the truth.’

‘You heard it. I did not kill Grimketel.’

‘I fancy that your men will sing a different song.’

‘Look,’ pleaded Trouville, breathing stertorously, ‘we sit in commission together. I expect help from you. All that happened was this, I swear. When I got to the house, Grimketel was locked up inside. He let me in when he saw that I brought a warning and he begged me to leave men to guard him. He was terrified of Boio. When I refused to help him, he grabbed me and began to yell at me. I tried to push him off, that is all, the merest shove.

Then his head struck the floor.’

‘Tell the same lie to the lord Henry at your trial.’

‘If you help me, there will be no trial. Please, my lord. We can work out a story between us. What is the death of an insect like Grimketel? It is nothing. Forget it. I look to be a sheriff soon. I can be a valuable friend to you. Help me out of this situation and you can call on me for anything. What do you say?’

‘Good night, my lord!’

Ralph’s punch landed on his chin and knocked him senseless.

There was no sign of her when they reached Roundshill and neither her father nor her neighbours had any idea where Asmoth might be. Gervase and Golde searched the immediate vicinity, then gave up. They were about to head back towards Warwick when Gervase remembered the first time he had met the woman.

‘I know where she might be, Golde.’

‘Where?’

‘I will show you.’

The overhanging trees managed to shield them from most of the rain but they still got thoroughly wet before they reached the forge. A light was flickering in the half-dark. Someone had lit a fire.

Asmoth was there, sitting in the forge where she had sat so often to talk with Boio and simply enjoy his company. The flames gave her light but nothing like the surging warmth of the blacksmith’s fire when he made it roar. Lost in reverie, she did not hear the horses. When Gervase stepped in with Golde, Asmoth jumped up with a start. He calmed her and introduced his companion whose smile immediately helped to melt some of the woman’s reserve.

‘Is there any more word of Boio?’ said Asmoth.

‘He will be fine,’ Gervase assured her. ‘I have seen to that.’

‘The abbey will not hand him over to the lord Henry?’

‘No, Asmoth. We called on Thorkell of Warwick. He has gone to Coventry in person to make sure that no harm comes to his blacksmith.’

‘Does that mean Boio will come home?’

‘Probably not. Too much has happened.’

‘I know,’ said Asmoth, head drooping in resignation.

All three of them talked on but Gervase slowly dropped out of the conversation, leaving Golde to win the other woman over with her mixture of concern and soft questioning. It was a lengthy process. Every time that Asmoth got to the verge of a confession, she drew back out of fear. Golde did not hurry her. Complete trust had to be established before the truth came out. When she judged that the moment had arrived, Golde reached out to touch the woman’s arm.

‘You saved Boio’s life. Do you realise that?’ she said.

‘He would have done the same for me.’

‘I know. He loves you, Asmoth.’ The words brought a rare smile out of the woman. ‘What did he tell you? When you met him yesterday what did you talk about?’

‘Everything.’

‘Was he an honest man?’

‘Very honest.’

‘He held nothing back?’

‘No, my lady.’

‘What did he say?’ whispered Golde. ‘It will not get either of you into trouble, whatever it was. Boio is safe and nobody but a few of us know that you were the friend who helped him to escape.

But we, too, have laboured hard to help him, as you know. We have done all we can. We would like to think that we may be entitled to the truth.’ She looked into the woman’s eyes. ‘Are we?’

Asmoth gazed from one to the other, assailed by last-minute doubts yet clearly distressed by the burden of the knowledge she carried. She wrestled in silence for a long while before coming to a decision and blurting out her story. There was mingled guilt and pride in her voice.