Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

The robbers were dozing beside the fire when they heard the crack of a twig beneath a hoof. It brought them awake at once and both reached for their daggers. They were far too late. The clearing was suddenly boiling with the sheriff’s officers. The robbers were knocked to the ground by lances, disarmed and pinioned. Dismounting from his horse, the captain searched their purses and found them bulging with money. He also found some gold rings which had once adorned the fingers of Nicholas Picard.

When the men tried to protest, he beat each of them into silence with a mailed first.

‘Tie them to their horses!’ he ordered. ‘The lord sheriff wants them taken back to Exeter to face his wrath.’

Asa sat beside the window in her bedchamber and stared sadly out through the shutters. Perched on a low hill, the house gave her a clear view over the thatched roofs of the city to the twin peaks of castle and cathedral, but she was impervious to both.

Though her eyes looked out, her gaze was turned inward.

Memories surged through her mind in a confusing mix of nostalgia and remorse. She was a short, slender young woman in fine apparel more suited to a Norman lady than to a Saxon. Her chemise and gown were of white linen, her girdle a long silken rope with tasselled ends. Coiled at the back, her long black hair fell in curls at the front. Her face had a quiet loveliness in repose and a vivacity that was captivating when she was animated, but there was no sign of it now. As her mind dwelt on the past, a deep frown bit its way into her brow.

The knock on her door brought her out of her daze.

‘Yes?’ she called. Her servant entered. ‘What is it, girl?’

‘The town reeve has sent word.’

‘What is the message?’

‘You are to appear at the shire hall tomorrow.’

‘So soon?’

‘That is what I have been told.’

‘But the funeral is tomorrow. I must attend that.’

‘I am only passing on the message I was given.’

‘Why did you not call me to hear it in person?’

‘You warned me not to disturb you.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes,’ said the servant softly. ‘You told me to turn away any visitors.’

‘Why, so I did,’ remembered Asa, trying to gather her thoughts.

‘You were right, Goda. Had you tried to call me downstairs, you would have been given a flea in you ear for your pains. I am sorry to be so vague. My mind is elsewhere today.’

‘I understand.’

Goda was a plump woman in her thirties with bright green eyes and a large nose which turned a pleasant face into an unattractive one. As she studied her mistress, her expression bordered on maternal concern.

‘Is there anything that I can fetch you?’ she offered.

‘No, Goda.’

‘Some food perhaps? You must eat.’

‘I am not hungry.’

‘You have touched almost nothing for days.’

‘I will eat when I wish to and not before.’

‘Yes,’ said the other deferentially.

‘But I thank you for worrying about me.’

Goda gave a wan smile and turned to leave the room. Asa fell back into her reverie. Stirring herself out of it once more, she walked to the stairs and descended to the kitchen. Goda was about to fill a cooking pot with water from a wooden pail. She looked up inquisitively.

‘You are ready to eat something?

‘Not yet, Goda. I have an errand for you.’

‘I will do it at once.’

‘Run to Saewin’s house,’ ordered Asa. ‘Explain my situation.

Tell him that, whatever happens, I must not miss the funeral tomorrow. That takes priority over all else. I will gladly appear before the commissioners after the funeral.’

‘What if they call you for the morning?’

‘I will not go.’

‘That will not help your cause,’ warned Goda.

‘I shall put myself in Saewin’s hands,’ said Asa. ‘He must contrive it so that I can attend both the funeral and the shire hall. A town reeve has some influence in these matters. Ask him to use it on my behalf.’

‘I will.’

‘And Goda …’

‘Yes?’

Asa gave a distant smile which brightened the whole of her face. ‘Tell him that I will be most grateful.’

‘What makes this case so unusual, Ralph?’ she asked. ‘You have talked of nothing else since you returned.’

‘I am sorry, my love,’ he said, giving her an apologetic kiss. ‘I did not mean to bore you with my problems.’

‘They do not bore me at all.’

‘Tell me about your day.’

‘When you have satisfied my curiosity,’ said Golde. ‘I know that the lord Nicholas’s death has given this dispute more intensity, but I do not understand why it rates above all the others.’

‘Two reasons.’

‘What is the first?’

‘Money,’ said Ralph. ‘The holdings in question run to several hides and contain some of the richest farmland in the county.

Whoever inherits that property from Nicholas Picard will become quite wealthy.’

‘And the second reason?’

‘Women, my love.’

‘I do not follow.’

‘Five claimants are involved here,’ he explained, ‘and three of them are ladies. That is not only unusual, Golde, it is unprecedented in my experience. You can expect a wife or a daughter to lay claim to an inheritance, as the lord Nicholas’s widow will do in this instance, but it is rare to have two other women hurling themselves into the fight.’

‘Do they have legitimate claims?’

‘So they believe.’

‘Who are they?’

‘One is a Saxon woman, Asa, who lives here in the city. What her relationship with the lord Nicholas is I can only guess, but she purports to have a letter from him which bequeaths those holdings to her. In other words,’ he observed drily, ‘she only has a claim on the property now that he is dead. While he was alive, this Asa could only sit and wait.’

‘Is that what you think she did?’

‘I do not know, Golde. I have not met her and may be maligning her unfairly. But let me put it no higher than this,’ he said. ‘The death of Nicholas Picard is highly convenient. If we find in favour of Asa, she will be a woman of property.’

‘Who is the other claimant?’

‘One lady Loretta, widow of Roger de Marmoutier. She came out of the blue this morning to attest her right to that property.

I can only surmise how powerful an advocate she will be, but it means that we will be hard put to it to sift out the truth. Three women and two men.’ He gave a wry chuckle. ‘There will be a fierce battle in that shire hall.’

‘Who are the men?’

Ralph pulled a face. ‘The abbot of Tavistock is one of them. You can always rely on the Benedictine Order to make a grab for any property that comes into dispute. Abbots have greedy fingers.’

‘Do not be so irreverent.’

‘Nor so prejudiced,’ he said, chiding himself. ‘I am sorry, my love. I condemn this prelate before I have even set eyes on him.

He may yet turn out to have the strongest claim of all.’

‘You said that there was a fifth contender.’

‘Ignore him, Golde. He is of no account.’

‘Then why does he register a claim?’

‘Out of sheer folly. He will not detain us long.’

‘What is his name?’

‘Engelric’

‘A Saxon, then?’

‘Yes,’ said Ralph dismissively. ‘We only hear him out of courtesy.

He has a claim of sorts, but it has no real worth. The struggle will be between the abbot and the three ladies. Engelric will not figure very much.’

Golde understood why. She also realised why her husband was so reluctant to talk about the man’s claim. Evidently, he was the Saxon thegn who owned the property before the Conquest and had it taken forcibly from him. Engelric’s fate mirrored that of her own father. Out of concern for her feelings, Ralph did not wish to remind her of her lost status. Born into a noble family, Golde was practising her trade as a brewer when he met her in Hereford. It had been a long and painful fall from the position she once occupied. Ralph was glad that marriage to him had elevated her once more to the rank he felt she deserved.