Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

Gervase lifted a leg over the bough and hung with his arms at full stretch. Without warning, he suddenly dropped to the ground, missing Ralph by a matter of inches and sending the latter scrambling backwards in alarm. Gervase bent his knees to lessen the impact of the landing.

Ralph was indignant. ‘You almost hit me!’

‘That is how he did it.’

‘Putting the fear of death into a friend like that?’

‘No, Ralph,’ said Gervase, dusting himself off. ‘I think that he used that rope to swing down and knock the lord Nicholas from the saddle, then stunned him before slitting his throat.’

‘How did he know that his victim would ride this way?’

‘It is the only road that leads to his manor house.’

‘But how could he be sure that Nicholas Picard would be alone?’

‘Because he saw him enter the city,’ said Gervase. ‘Without an armed escort. Knowing that his victim would have to ride back through the wood on his own, he set up the ambush. We are looking for someone who is well acquainted with the lord Nicholas and his habits. This was no random attack, Ralph. Too much preparation was involved.’

‘What about the claw marks up there?’

Gervase rubbed his smoothly shaven chin while he ruminated.

‘They still puzzle me,’ he admitted.

It was an occasion for a gentler approach. Hervey de Marigny knew that there were times when subtlety achieved far better results than threat and abuse. Those were the weapons for which Baldwin the Sheriff first reached and they were not always the most effective ones against a seasoned knight like Walter Baderon. Softer words were needed.

‘Good even, friend,’ said de Marigny.

‘My lord.’

‘You have a long night ahead of you.’

‘Do not remind us!’ moaned Baderon. ‘While others may sleep in their beds, we have to stay on sentry duty here at the North Gate.’

‘I am surprised you do not fall asleep through boredom.’

‘It is an unwelcome duty.’

‘Whom do you serve?’

‘The abbot of Tavistock.’

‘A churlish gentlemen, I hear.’

‘But a good master,’ said the other loyally.

‘How long have you been with him?’

‘Nigh on fifteen years, my lord.’

‘Yet you still have to mount a guard here?’ said de Marigny.

‘After all that time, I would have thought you might have earned sufficient thanks from the abbot to be excused such onerous duty.’

‘We all have to take our turn.’

‘Is there nothing to liven up the long night hours?’

‘Liven them up, my lord?’

‘Come, sir,’ said de Marigny with a confiding chuckle. ‘I have done my share of standing on guard in the darkness. On cold nights, we had drink brought out to warm us up. In summer, we had a woman or two to help us pass the time. There is good sport to be had up against a wall.’

Walter Baderon sniggered. ‘We learned that long ago, my lord.’

‘Are the ladies of Exeter obliging?’

‘Very obliging.’

‘And not too costly?’

‘They will always do favours for a soldier.’

‘Especially a captain of the guard like yourself.’

‘I always have first pick.’

Hervey de Marigny laughed. He had sauntered out to the North Gate shortly after Baderon and his men relieved their predecessors on sentry duty. Before their stint even began, they looked jaded. Conversation with a visitor to the city was a pleasant relief. Walter Baderon fell into it without realising to whom he was talking.

‘You have my sympathy, friend,’ de Marigny went on, drawing attention once again to the common ground between the two of them.

‘Why, my lord?’

‘Exeter is not the most hospitable city for Normans.’

‘That is true!’

‘I was part of the army which besieged the place. These men of Devon are hostile and unforgiving. I would not turn my back on any of them.’

‘Nor me.’

‘Are you still resented and sneered at?’

‘Daily.’

‘We had more than harsh words hurled at us.’

‘We, too, have incidents from time to time,’ said Baderon, hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘It is usually when some Saxon youths have drunk too much of that foul ale they brew. They taunt us to build up their courage then draw their weapons.’

‘What do you do?’

‘Bang their heads together and send them home.’

‘No bloodshed?’

‘Not unless they really annoy me.’

They chatted on amiably, both of them keeping one eye on the traffic coming in and out of the gate. There was no hurry. The commissioner took time to win the man’s confidence. It would be worth it. They had been together for half an hour when de Marigny came round to the subject which brought him there.

‘Have they caught the villain yet?’ he asked.

‘What villain?’

‘The one who ambushed the lord Nicholas,’ he said casually. ‘I have only been in the city a few days but people talk of nothing else. They are certain that the victim was murdered by Saxons out of revenge.’

‘That may be so, my lord.’

‘Have any arrests been made?’

‘Word has it that two men were taken. One was killed but the other is being held in the castle dungeon.’

‘That is good to hear. Who was this Nicholas Picard?’

‘A baron of some substance.’

‘Buried here at the cathedral, I believe.’

‘That is so, my lord.’ His lip curled. ‘I dare swear that there was much weeping among the ladies at the graveside.’

‘Why so?’

‘The lord Nicholas was a very popular man.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Ladies came running and he did not turn them away.’

‘A man after my own heart!’

‘And mine, too!’

‘Yet struck down before his time.’

‘Alas, yes.’

‘When was this?’

‘A few days ago, my lord,’ said the other, ready to reveal his own part in the story. ‘He rode out past us that evening without noticing that we were here. I hailed him but got no reply. I remember thinking how wrapped up in his own thoughts he was.’

He gave a shrug. ‘Twenty minutes later, he was dead.’

‘Twenty minutes?’

‘It could not have taken him much longer to reach that wood.’

‘Unless he stopped on the way.’

‘He did not do that, my lord,’ said the other. ‘He was riding home.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’

‘By the route that he took. I walked through the gate and watched him ride off until he was out of sight. From the moment he left the city, the lord Nicholas was doomed.’

‘Did anyone trail him?’

‘Nobody whom I saw.’

‘Then someone must have been lying in wait.’

‘So it seems.’

‘Resentful Saxons?’

‘Most like.’

‘Who else could have a reason to murder him?’

Baderon checked his reply at the moment it was about to leave his mouth, resorting instead to a shake of the head, but de Marigny did not let the matter go. He lifted an artless eyebrow.

‘So you recognised him when he left the city that night?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘How?’

‘Everyone knows — or knew — the lord Nicholas.’

‘Including the abbot of Tavistock? Did he know him?’

‘Only too well!’ came the rueful reply.

‘Oh?’

‘That is all I can tell you,’ said the other brusquely. ‘Except that the name of Nicholas Picard was not spoken with any affection in Tavistock.’

‘Abbots are famed for their generosity of spirit, are they not?

Why is your master an exception to the rule?’ When there was no answer, de Marigny shifted his ground slightly. ‘What of the lord Nicholas’s wife?’ he asked. ‘How did she view her husband?’

‘Lovingly.’

‘Yet you suggest that he was unfaithful to her.’