Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

Recollections of her past brought a more immediate memory to mind.

‘I spoke with the lady Albreda today,’ she said.

‘Was she meek and mild or cold and supercilious?’

‘Neither, Ralph. She was polite and almost friendly.’

‘Almost?’

‘I had the feeling that she was trying to apologise to me without quite knowing how to do it. Apology is not something which the lady Albreda has much experience of, I should imagine. But at least she did not patronise me.’

‘I am relieved to hear it.’

‘How she will behave in front of her husband is another matter.

I am not looking forward to sitting beside her at table again.’

‘You will not have to, my love. Leave it to me.’

They were alone in their chamber in the keep, enjoying the pleasure of being together again after a long day apart. Ralph reflected how much more practical and loving his marriage was than that of their hosts. After a tiring session in the shire hall, he could come back to a cordial welcome and a sympathetic ear.

However weary or jaded he might be, Golde had the capacity to revive him. It was one of the things he treasured most about her. He was about to tell her so when there was a tap on the door.

‘Who is it?’ called Ralph.

‘Me,’ said Hervey de Marigny. ‘With glad tidings.’

‘Then bring them in.’ He opened the door to admit his colleague who acknowledged Golde with a smile. ‘Well, Hervey? Do not keep me in suspense. What are these glad tidings? Has Canon Hubert decided to resign his place on the commission? Was Brother Simon caught naked in a brothel? Put me out of my misery.’

‘I have just come from my lord sheriff.’

‘And?’

‘His messenger arrived as we were talking.’

‘And?’ pressed Ralph. ‘And? And? And?’

‘They have been taken,’ said de Marigny. ‘Arrested by the sheriff’s officers. The men who murdered Nicholas Picard will be hurled into the castle dungeons before this night is out.’

Patience did not come easily to Baldwin of Moeles. He was a man of action who chafed at idleness and loathed delay. Instead of waiting for his men to bring the prisoners to him, he took an escort and rode north to meet the returning posse. He was almost five miles away from Exeter when he heard them coming, the hooves of their horses clacking on the hard track. Baldwin, reined in his horse and his escort came to a halt around him. There was enough moonlight to cast a ghostly pallor on the road ahead.

Phantom figures soon came into view. The sheriff waited until they were within earshot.

‘Bring them to me!’ he yelled. ‘Show me these foul villains!’

‘Yes, my lord sheriff!’ replied the captain of the posse.

They were soon drawing up in front of Baldwin. Dropping from the saddle, he went to a horse across which one of the robbers had been tied. The man was exhausted by the pummelling he had taken and was running with sweat. The sheriff grabbed his hair and lifted up the head so that he could stare into the prisoner’s face.

‘Do you know who I am?’ he growled.

The man spoke no French but he clearly recognised the sheriff.

He began to gibber with fear. Baldwin struck him across the face, drawing blood from his nose.

‘Why did you kill Nicholas Picard?’ he demanded.

‘We found money upon them,’ said the captain. ‘Far more than two wretches like this should be carrying.’

‘And rings?’ asked Baldwin.

‘Three of them, my lord sheriff. I believe we will find that they were taken from the fingers of their victim.’

‘Animals!’ howled the other, striking the captive again. ‘Wild animals!’ He strode across to the horse which bore the other robber. ‘You will pay dearly for this, you rogue! I’ll make you suffer so much that you will beg me to hang you and put an an end to your ordeal.’

He lifted the man’s head to peer into his face, but found the eyes closed tight. When he shook him violently by the shoulder, Baldwin saw that his body was limp and unresponsive. The captain shifted uneasily in his saddle.

‘We obeyed your orders, my lord sheriff,’ he explained, ‘and travelled as fast as we could. His ropes were not secure enough.

As we galloped along, he was thrown from his horse and his head hit a stone.’

Baldwin fumed. ‘Dead! He has escaped my revenge?’

‘It was an accident. We tried to revive him but his brains were dashed out. That is why we slowed down. To make sure that his accomplice came back alive.’

The sheriff took out a dagger and cut the ropes which held the corpse in place. Taking him by the neck, he heaved the man off the horse and on to the ground, kicking him over with his foot so that the face was upturned. Baldwin spat contemptuously at the prostrate body.

‘Leave him there,’ he decreed. ‘Someone from the nearest village can bury him in the morning. I want no offal coming into my castle.’ He pointed to the other prisoner. ‘Guard him well and bring him safely back to Exeter. I’ll burn the truth out of him with a hot poker!’

It was Gervase Bret’s idea. He volunteered to attend the funeral of Nicholas Picard in order to pay his respects to a man whom he had come to know well through his perusal of the Domesday returns and in the hope of learning something about those closest to the deceased. Ralph Delchard was happy to concur. The first person to be examined that day was the abbot of Tavistock and Ralph felt confident that he, Hervey de Marigny and Canon Hubert could cope without their young colleague for a morning. He anticipated resistance from Hubert, who had not been consulted about the decision to release Gervase, but he was prepared to ride out the other’s displeasure in the way which had become second nature to him.

The funeral service was held at the cathedral. Osbern, bishop of Exeter, was himself officiating, a mark of Picard’s status in the county. The cathedral had the ancient right to bury its citizens in its own cemetery, and Nicholas Picard was also accorded the privilege of lying within the precincts. Where he might have lain in the churchyard of the humble village church on his estates, he was instead translated to the cathedral. The hideous nature of his death provoked widespread shock and sympathy, bringing a large congregation to the funeral service.

People came in from all over the country of Devon to watch the last remains of Nicholas Picard being consigned to an untimely grave.

Gervase stationed himself near the main entrance so that he could take note of visitors as they arrived. He had no difficulty in identifying the widow. She led the procession which followed the coffin. Flanked by Dean Jerome and Tetbald the Steward, she walked slowly with her head down in meditation. For all her apparent grief, Gervase did not get the impression of a woman who was disabled by her husband’s murder. Her gait was steady, her manner dignified. Even in the brief glimpse he had of her, Gervase caught something of her strength of character. Directly behind her were family members and behind them came Baldwin the Sheriff with his wife.

While the procession was making its way down the nave, he slipped into the cathedral and found a place to stand at the rear.

It was a moving occasion. Osbern was faultless. He made a public event seem very private, reaching out with voice and gesture to everyone in the congregation and delivering a eulogy which brought murmurs of agreement time and again. Mass was sung, then the coffin was carried out to the cemetery. The mourners filed out after it and stood around the grave in a wide circle.

Gervase was both participant and observer, touched by the solemnity of the occasion yet trying to glean something from it.

He had noticed Saewin when the town reeve first appeared and he now worked his way around to him. The latter stood respectfully on the fringe of the gathering and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Gervase waited until the coffin was lowered reverentially into the ground. He was grateful that Nicholas Picard’s widow had not seen her husband at the mortuary. Simply remembering the savage injuries made his stomach turn.