Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

At that moment, Brother Simon emerged furtively from the bushes. Hoping to attract no attention, he was horrified to find every pair of eyes in the whole party turned upon him. Some faces were merely curious but others bore a knowing leer. Simon was mortified. His cheeks turned crimson, prickly heat broke out all over his body and he fled back into the bushes as if pursued by the hounds of hell.

Baldwin the Sheriff was in a testy mood. Instead of being able to enjoy a day’s hunting, he was forced to remain in the castle to lead the inquiry into the murder of Nicholas Picard. He was curt with the first witness he examined.

‘What is your name?’ he asked.

‘Walter Baderon, my lord sheriff.’

‘You were on duty in the city last evening?’

‘I was.’

‘At the North Gate?’

‘Yes, my lord sheriff.’

‘Then you must have seen the murder victim leave.’

‘I believe that I did.’

‘Believe!’ snapped Baldwin. ‘You only believe? Give me no beliefs, sir. I want the facts of the case, quickly and honestly. Did you or did you not observe Nicholas Picard when he left Exeter by the North Gate?’

‘Yes, my lord sheriff.’

‘At what time was this?’

‘I am not sure.’

‘Why not?’ roared the sheriff, slapping the table with an angry palm for emphasis. ‘Were you drunk? Had you fallen asleep? Did you desert your post? What excuse do you have to offer for your incompetence?’

Walter Baderon took a deep breath before answering. He had been hauled out of bed to face the interrogation and was still not fully awake when he arrived. The sheriff’s ire concentrated his mind. Baderon was a stocky man of middle height in the helm and hauberk of a Norman knight. Even though he was seated, the intimidating figure of the sheriff seemed to loom over the man who stood before him.

‘Well?’ prompted Baldwin.

‘I was at my post, my lord sheriff, alert and watchful.’

‘Then tell me when the lord Nicholas went past you.’

‘Light was fading,’ recalled the other. ‘I waved to him as he rode out through the gate but he was too deep in thought to acknowledge my greeting. The bell for Compline soon began to ring.’

‘Now we are getting somewhere!’

‘But that is all I can tell you.’

‘There is more to be squeezed out of you yet,’ said Baldwin grimly. ‘You say that he was deep in thought. Could you discern the nature of those thoughts from his expression? Did he seem worried? Afraid? Rueful? Was he in a hurry to quit the city?’

‘No, my lord sheriff. He seemed pleased about something.’

‘Pleased?’

‘He was smiling to himself.’

Baldwin sat back and pondered, drumming his fingers on the table.

‘Do you know why I sent for you?’ he said at length.

‘I think so, my lord sheriff.’

‘If you watched Nicholas Picard ride out through North Gate, you may well have been the last person who saw him alive. Apart from his killer, that is. Was anyone following him?’

‘No, he was quite alone.’

‘Did anyone leave the city soon afterwards?’

‘Not by the North Gate.’

‘Let us go through it once more,’ said Baldwin, sensing that the man might be holding something back. ‘When did you come on duty?’

‘When the bell was ringing for Vespers.’

‘Describe what happened between then and the time when Nicholas Picard rode past you with a smile on his face. And, Walter Baderon …’

‘Yes, my lord sheriff?’

‘Tell me the truth.’

The warning was accompanied by a long, searching stare.

Baderon remained calm. He told the sheriff most of what he could remember and embellished the bare facts with a few significant details. Baldwin listened intently and frequently interrupted.

When the interrogation was over, he dismissed his witness with a brief nod, then reviewed the evidence he had gathered. He was not left alone for long. There was a tap on the door and his steward entered.

‘My apologies for disturbing you, my lord sheriff,’ he said.

‘What is it, Joscelin?’

‘The royal commissioners.’

‘They have arrived already?’

‘No, my lord sheriff, but they may be here at any moment. Their apartments are ready and the town reeve is standing by to await their orders. I wondered if there had been any change of plan.’

‘Change of plan?’

‘Yes,’ said Joscelin smoothly. ‘You bade me organise a feast here at the castle to welcome them to Exeter. I have set everything in motion. But this murder investigation now claims your attention. Do you wish me to postpone the banquet? Or shall we hold it and apologise to them for your absence?’

‘Neither. I will be at the head of my table to welcome my guests.’

‘Yes, my lord sheriff.’

‘This murder is an unfortunate business but it should not delay me long. I have every confidence that the killer can be tracked down with due celerity. With luck,’ he continued, ‘I may even have the villain behind bars before Ralph Delchard and his colleagues reach Exeter. I want them to see what a law-abiding city we have here. That is why the stain of murder must be removed as swiftly as possible. Prepare the feast!’

‘Everything is in hand, my lord sheriff.’

Joscelin the Steward gave a faint bow and withdrew.

They made good time and came within first sight of the city sooner than they expected. Ralph Delchard and Hervey de Marigny rode at the head of the cavalcade, exchanging memories of battles in which they had fought and mutual friends whom they had lost in combat. Canon Hubert and the suffering Brother Simon were at the rear of the column as it wended its way along, grateful that the soldiers in front of them had at last tired of making ribald comments about Simon’s disappearance into the bushes. Golde rode behind her husband and alongside Gervase Bret. She was keen to discuss his forthcoming wedding.

‘It has been a long betrothal,’ she noted.

‘Far too long!’ he sighed. ‘Had it been my decision, we should have been married six months or more ago.’

‘Did Alys resist that suggestion?’

‘She did not but her parents did. They felt that we needed more time to get to know each other properly.’

‘That is sound advice,’ said Golde. ‘Not that I heeded it myself.

Ralph and I were too impatient to wait until we knew each other better. We married as soon as we could, but then we had no parents to hold us in check. Your case is different, Gervase. You will not be as reckless as we were.’

‘More’s the pity!’ he said. ‘If recklessness leads to the kind of marriage that you and Ralph enjoy, then I wish that I had taken Alys to the altar within a week of meeting her.’

‘Ralph and I were fortunate.’

‘And well-suited. Like Alys and me.’

‘Not exactly, Gervase,’ she said with a wistful smile. ‘We had both been married before, remember. We have a past. You and Alys still have the freshness of youth and the joy of innocence.’

He raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘That is not what I would call it.’

They shared a laugh. Golde was strongly drawn to Gervase.

Conversations with him were not only a pleasure, they were usually conducted in her native tongue. Born of a Saxon mother and a Breton father, Gervase was able to speak both languages fluently and he had been a patient tutor to Golde as she tried to master the Norman French spoken by her husband.

‘What do you hope from your marriage?’ she wondered.

‘What everyone hopes for, Golde — love, happiness and children.’

‘Ralph and I have found two of those. The third, alas, eludes us. But that is God’s will and we accept it. Besides,’ she added, glancing at her husband, ‘Ralph is like a big child at times so I am able to mother him.’