Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

‘A handsome woman of good repute.’

‘Am I not a sorry spectacle?’

‘No, my lady!’

‘I have heard them sniggering at me. I have seen them shooting glances in my direction. They think me a ridiculous woman, neglected and unloved. Drifting through my days in a dream.’

‘That is unfair.’

‘Yet it contains a grain of truth.’ Albreda sat forward and grasped both of Golde’s hands. She stared deep into her eyes, simultaneously appraising and appealing to her, searching for a reassurance which would allow her to proceed. ‘I sense that you are discreet,’ she said. ‘Are you?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Nothing of what I tell you must leave this room.’

‘You have my solemn oath.’

‘I am letting you see my weakness, Golde. I would not have others see it and mock it. They would not understand. You will.’

She bit her lip before she continued. ‘Do you begin to guess what I am saying?’

‘I think so, my lady.’

‘Today has been a dreadful ordeal for me. I tried to think of others but I kept feeling my own sense of loss. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes, my lady. The lord Nicholas was a friend.’

‘He was more than that to me, Golde.’

‘I see.’

‘It was not as you may think,’ said Albreda seriously. ‘I have been a devoted wife. I have kept my marriage vows and never looked at another man. But a little flame has always burned away inside me. Until today. When Nicholas was lowered into his grave, the flame went out for ever.’

‘Did you love him so much?’

‘Yes, Golde. That was the irremediable error of which I spoke.’

‘What was?’

‘Nicholas Picard once asked me to marry him. I declined his offer.’

Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret rode out of the city to inspect the scene of the crime. Trapped in a musty shire hall for most of the day, Ralph found the fresh air bracing, and after the grim visits to a funeral and a castle dungeon Gervase was also glad to exchange Exeter for the refreshing tranquillity of the countryside.

When they reached the wood on the road north, it did not take them long to find the place where the ambush occurred. There were several beech trees but few grew alongside the meandering track and overhung it. They dismounted to examine what they felt certain was the correct spot. Dried blood still clung to the grass and there were signs of a struggle. Twigs were snapped off from a bush, wild flowers had been unceremoniously flattened and the earth was heavily scored.

Ralph knelt down to run an exploratory hand over the ground.

‘This was definitely the place,’ he decided. ‘Ideal for an ambush.’

‘Yes,’ said Gervase, glancing around. ‘Where would the killer have lurked? Every tree could have hidden him.’

‘You are standing beneath the one that did, Gervase.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Look upwards.’

Gervase raised his eyes to the overhanging bough. It was thick enough to support the weight of a man, and the abundant foliage would have provided concealment, but the branch was high above the track.

‘I know what you are thinking,’ said Ralph, rising to his feet.

‘How did the murderer get up there?’

‘Exactly.’

‘There is only one way to find out, Gervase.’

‘Is there?’

‘You or me?’

‘I do not understand.’

‘One of us has to climb the tree,’ said Ralph with a smile.

‘Since you are younger and more agile, I accept your offer to tackle it.’

‘But I did not make an offer.’

‘Surely you wish to spare my old bones?’

Gervase grinned. ‘No,’ he said with a nudge. ‘What I will promise to do is to catch you if you fall.’

‘Get up there, man!’

‘Is that a request or an order?’

‘Common sense. I would climb up it like a bear whereas you can run up it like a squirrel. Go on, Gervase. I’ll warrant you will find something of interest once you work your way out on to the bough.’ He walked to the trunk and linked his hands together.

‘Come, I’ll help you.’

Gervase appraised the tree. It was a fully grown beech, now in full leaf and with boughs reaching out in all directions. There was an air of solidity and permanence about it. After rubbing his palms together in preparation, he steeled himself then put a foot into the cradle made by Ralph’s hands. His friend hoisted him effortlessly up to the first branch. Gervase got a firm grip before swinging a leg up and hooking it over the bough. He made slow progress. Gervase was lithe enough but his work at the Chancery in Winchester gave him little opportunity to develop his tree-climbing skills. Ralph directed him from below, telling him which branch to move to next and urging him on.

Eventually, Gervase was sitting astride the bough which overhung the track. He moved himself carefully along it, making the whole branch genuflect gracefully and rustle its leaves. When he reached a point directly above the track, he was screened from view by the foliage.

‘What can you see?’ called Ralph.

‘Everything.’

‘A good view of the road from Exeter?’

‘A perfect one, Ralph.’

‘Could you jump on to a passing traveller from there?’

‘It would be a long drop.’

‘Long but not impossible.’

‘Not impossible for some,’ said Gervase. ‘Inadvisable for me.’

‘Can you see anything else up there?’

‘Yes.’

Gervase looked at the marks along the bough. The bark had been scratched by sharp claws but there was also a much thicker souvenir, an inch or more in width, running, it seemed, over the whole circumference of the branch. Pale, shiny wood showed through the stripped bark. He ran a meditative finger over it.

‘Are you still up there?’ said Ralph impatiently.

‘Yes.’

‘Well?’

‘I think that someone tied a rope up here and swung down. A fairly heavy man, judging by the marks he left. He may have practised a few times,’ he concluded. ‘That would explain why the bark is worn through.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Scratches made by claws.’

‘What sort of claws?’

‘Come up and see for yourself, Ralph,’ he teased.

‘No thank you.’

‘You’ll get a fine view.’

‘I prefer the one from down here.’

‘The scratches are very deep.’

‘Can you guess what sort of animal put them there?’

‘No,’ said Gervase. ‘Not a big one, I suspect.’

‘There we are, then,’ said Ralph with light sarcasm. ‘All we need to look for is a small creature who uses his claws to climb the tree and a rope to get down from it. Would that description fit the man you saw in the castle dungeon?’

‘No, Ralph. He was not the killer.’

‘How can you be certain?’

‘Only a determined man would take the risk of climbing up here and hurling himself on someone passing below. Two robbers would find a much easier way to stop their victim and, as we both know, they would never let his horse get away. Apart from being a valuable prize, it might return to the man’s stables and alert the household.’

‘Which is exactly what it did.’

‘The prisoner at the castle was telling the truth.’

‘So who was our woodland assassin?’

‘Someone who was strong, fit and daring.’

‘With claws instead of fingernails.’

‘I just can’t explain these scratch marks,’ said Gervase. ‘Unless they were made by some animal at a different time and are unrelated to the ambush. But we have established one thing, Ralph.’

‘What’s that?’

‘How a single attacker gained the advantage over Nicholas Picard.’

‘The element of surprise?’

‘And the force of his descent.’