Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

‘No,’ said Ralph. ‘Obey the orders I have given you.’

Saewin nodded. ‘I will detain you from the festivities no longer.’

‘It sounds more like a siege than a banquet. What are they doing in there?’ Ralph asked as a grating sound jarred on his ears. ‘Using a battering ram on the venison? Or are they knocking down a wall in order to bring in a fatted calf or two?’ Saewin smiled and made to withdraw, but the other plucked at his sleeve.

‘One moment, my friend. I wanted to ask you about this foul murder that has been committed.’

‘A sad business, my lord.’

‘And a highly inconvenient one. The lord Nicholas was to have been called before us to contest the ownership of several manors.’

‘I know,’ said Saewin. ‘It was at the forefront of his mind.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘He mentioned it to me as he left my house.’

‘When was this?’

‘Yesterday evening, my lord.’

Ralph’s interest quickened. ‘You saw Nicholas Picard yesterday?’

‘Yes, he came to discuss some business with me.’

‘Not connected with the property under dispute, I hope.’

‘No, no,’ said the reeve. ‘It was a separate matter, a small favour which I was able to grant. But he was looking forward to your visit so that he could attest his right to the land in question and put an end to the hostility which it has provoked.’

‘Hostility?’

‘There are other claimants, I understand.’

‘Two at least.’

‘I think you may find that there is another, my lord.’

‘You seem remarkably well informed.’

‘I only repeat what the lord Nicholas told me,’ said Saewin. ‘He was very bitter about it. This new claimant made no appearance before the first commissioners who visited the county. He only announced his intention to enter the fray a few days ago.’

‘Then you know more than we ourselves. Who is the fellow?’

‘The abbot of Tavistock.’

‘Saints preserve us!’ moaned Ralph. ‘Do I have to endure another pompous prelate? I will have to set Hubert on to him.’

‘Hubert, my lord?’

‘Ignore what I said. I was talking to myself.’

‘I see.’

‘Let us come back to the lord Nicholas. At what time did he leave you?’

‘Not long before Compline, my lord,’ said the other. ‘He told me that he would ride straight home to his manor house.

Unfortunately, he had to go through a wood on the way. That is where they attacked him.’

‘They?’

‘His killers.’

‘There was more than one of them?’

‘That would be my guess,’ ventured Saewin. ‘The lord Nicholas was a strong man, an experienced soldier with many campaigns behind him. I do not think that a solitary attacker could easily overpower him.’

‘Have you put that argument to Baldwin the Sheriff?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘What was his reply?’

‘That he would reserve his judgement until he had more evidence.’

‘A sensible course of action,’ said Ralph, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ‘So you were the last person to see the lord Nicholas in Exeter?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Then who was?’

‘The guards at the North Gate.’

‘The exit by which he left the city? Who was the captain of the guard?’

‘A certain Walter Baderon.’

‘What does he remember?’

‘You will have to ask him that yourself, my lord. I know only his name and that of his master.’

‘His master?’

‘Yes,’ said the reeve. ‘The guard is provided by a succession of barons and other notables. The knights who were on duty last evening came from some distance away to stand vigil at the city gates.’

‘Whom do they serve?’ asked Ralph.

‘The abbot of Tavistock.’

Overshadowed by an unsolved murder, the banquet that night was a strangely muted affair. The food was rich, the wine plentiful and the entertainment lively but a pall still hung over the event.

It was not a large gathering. Some twenty or more guests had come to the castle to join the sheriff in welcoming the visitors.

At the head of the table, Ralph and Golde sat either side of their host and his wife, Albreda, a gaunt beauty who did little beyond smiling her approval at everything her husband said. Even the smooth tongue of Hervey de Marigny was unable to entice more than a few words from the mouth of their hostess. Gervase Bret was also present and Canon Hubert had been lured from the cathedral by the promise of a feast, but Brother Simon felt unequal to the challenge of such a gathering and spent the time instead in restorative meditation.

Gervase found himself sitting next to de Marigny. The latter was an agreeable companion and diverted his young colleague with endless stories of his military career.

‘Have you seen much of the city?’ said Gervase.

‘I have not yet had time to do so. A walk along the battlements is all I have been able to manage, though that taught me much and revived many memories. But,’ said de Marigny, ‘I have already seen what I hoped to find in Exeter.’

‘What is that?’

‘One of our tunnels, Gervase.’

‘Tunnels?’

‘Yes,’ said the other with enthusiasm. ‘I noticed it when we entered through East Gate. When our siege failed to bring the city to its knees, the King ordered tunnels to be built under the walls. The intention was to weaken the foundations and — with the aid of a fire in the tunnel — to bring about a collapse of the stonework. In the event, they were not needed. Exeter surrendered and work on the tunnels was abandoned. A sad moment for those who had laboured so hard to dig it,’ he observed. ‘They spilled blood and poured sweat while clawing their way through the earth.’

‘Was the tunnel you saw not filled in?’

‘Apparently not, Gervase. It did not undermine the walls so it is not a potential danger. Besides, there has been enough damage and decay within the city to repair. That is where all the efforts have been directed. That hole in the ground is exactly where it was almost twenty years ago.’

‘A bleak memento for Exonians.’

‘Perhaps that is why they have retained it,’ suggested de Marigny, sipping his wine. ‘To remind themselves of the fateful day when they finally accepted Norman overlordship. My lord sheriff would be able to tell us,’ he said, nodding towards the head of the table, ‘but I fear that he is not in the mood for conversation tonight.’

Gervase looked across at their host. Baldwin de Moeles, sheriff of Devon and castellan of the fortress in Exeter, was clearly not enjoying the occasion. Chewing his meat disconsolately, he was gazing into space with an expression of severe disappointment.

Ralph Delchard was trying to talk to him, but his words were going unheard. Angered by his inability to bring the murder investigation to a swift conclusion, Baldwin was caught up in bitter self-recrimination. It took a nudge from his wife to bring him out of his fierce reverie.

‘What is it?’ he said, rounding on her.

‘Our guests are being ignored,’ she whispered.

‘Guests?’ He made an effort to pull himself together. ‘Why, so they are,’ he said with forced joviality. ‘What kind of host forgets such important visitors? More wine, ho! Let it flow more freely.’

‘It has flowed freely enough, my lord sheriff,’ said Ralph with a grin. ‘We have had both wine and ale in abundance.’

Baldwin was startled. ‘Ale? Someone is drinking ale at my table?’

‘I am, my lord sheriff,’ admitted Golde. ‘From choice.’

‘You choose English ale over French wine? That is perverse.’

‘Not if you appreciate the quality of the ale.’

‘Golde is an expert on the subject,’ boasted Ralph. ‘I have tried to coax her into drinking wine but her fidelity to ale is impossible to breach. When we first met, she was in the trade.