Edward Marston - The Wildcats of Exeter

You will find it hard to believe, but this beautiful creature beside me was once the finest brewer in the city of Hereford.’

Baldwin was amused enough to smile but his wife curled her lip in distaste. Albreda’s only trade consisted of being wife to the sheriff. The smells and toil involved in brewing would be anathema to her. Golde was upset by her reaction and by the supercilious lift of her chin which followed. She sensed that Albreda would not be the most affable hostess during their stay at the castle.

‘It is a fine banquet!’ continued Ralph. ‘Thank you, my lord sheriff.’

Baldwin scowled. ‘It would be a more lively occasion if the spectre of Nicholas Picard was not sitting at the table with us. I have spent a whole day on the trail of his killer without picking up a whiff of his scent.’

‘In what state was the body found?’

‘Too gruesome to discuss here, my lord.’

‘Where does the corpse lie?’

‘In the mortuary.’

‘Here at the castle?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I see it?’

‘Not if you wish to keep any food in your stomach,’ said Baldwin with a grimace. ‘I have looked on death a hundred times but never seen anything quite as hideous as this. Whoever murdered Nicholas Picard did so out of a hatred too deep to comprehend.’

‘I would still like to view the body, my lord sheriff.’

‘This murder need not concern you.’

‘But it does,’ argued Ralph. ‘We have already made the acquaintance of the lord Nicholas in the returns for this county.

It is a name which recurs, often. He was due to appear before us.

We are anxious to know why he was prevented from doing so -

and by whom.’

‘So am I,’ grunted the other.

‘Where was the body found?’

‘In a wood not far from the city.’

‘Could someone take me to the place?’

‘I am the sheriff, my lord,’ said Baldwin with a proprietorial glint in his eye. ‘Let me deal with this crime. I will soon track down the villain and I will brook no interference. Look to your own affairs.’

‘I will,’ said Ralph, backing off at once. ‘I sought to help rather than to interfere. But you are right, my lord sheriff. My nose has no place in this inquiry. I will sniff elsewhere.’

‘Please do.’ He turned to Golde and forced another smile. ‘You hail from Hereford, I hear?’

‘That is so, my lord sheriff,’ she said.

‘Then you must meet Bishop Osbern.’

‘It would be an honour to do so.’

‘It is, it is, I assure you,’ said Canon Hubert, seizing a chance to get into the conversation. ‘We spent an hour with the bishop ourselves. It is a privilege to be in the company of such an exalted being.’

‘His brother, William FitzOsbern, was earl of Hereford,’ said Baldwin.

Golde smiled. ‘I remember him well as a just and upright man.’

‘Osbern has spoken of happy visits to the city. He will be interested to hear that we have a guest from Hereford.’

‘From Hereford by way of Hampshire,’ Ralph corrected him. ‘I tempted her away from her native city to live with me. Not that we have spent much time on my estate. But Golde and I are together and that is the main thing.’

She squeezed his hand under the table and caught another unfriendly glance from Albreda. It was proving to be an uncomfortable feast. Their host was distracted and his wife either meek or disdainful. Golde began to question her wisdom in travelling with the commissioners. Exeter Castle looked to be a cold and friendless establishment.

Joscelin the Steward tried to introduce some vitality into the scene. Watching from the edge of the hall, he saw with dismay the dull faces and lacklustre gestures of the guests. The long silences which fell on them were all too eloquent. Since the tumblers, the musicians and the conjurer had failed to hold the interest of the assembly, Joscelin turned to a novel form of entertainment. Clapping his hands to attract the attention of the whole room, he gave a signal to the musicians who began to play their instruments with more gusto than they had hitherto shown. A door opened and four dancers came whirling into view, spinning nimbly on their toes and drawing a momentary applause for their colourful attire and spirited performance.

Three of the dancers were men, but it was the sole woman who caught the eye. Short and plump, she was yet remarkably lithe and led her partners in a merry jig up and down the hall. She had long fair hair that hung down her back and a thick veil which hid the lower half of her face. While the three male dancers had great vigour, she had both grace and effervescence, eluding them as they tried in turn to grab at her and jumping up on to the table at one point before stealing a cup of wine and leaping high into the air.

The listless atmosphere was completely dispelled. Within a short space of time, the four dancers had reminded the guests that they were there to enjoy themselves and even enticed the sheriff into pounding on the table in appreciation. When the music reached its height, the three men converged on the woman and formed such a close ring around her that she disappeared from sight. As the applause rang out, the men sprang suddenly apart, but there was no sign of the woman. Her wig, dress and veil had been shed in an instant to reveal a weird creature with a bulbous head, a bushy beard and a mischievous grin.

Cries of astonishment went up as the guests realised how cunningly they had been fooled. The woman who led the dancing with such verve and femininity was none other than Berold the Jester. He dropped a curtsey to his audience then held his arms wide in acknowledgement of the gale of laughter which ensued.

Even his master was sharing in the general hilarity. Berold had banished all thought of Nicholas Picard.

Golde stood open-mouthed in amazement and clapped her hands.

‘Is he really a man?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Ralph. ‘He is a magician.’

Catherine sat in her accustomed position with the tapestry across her knees. What had once been an art in which she excelled had now become a chore which did not bring any pleasure. Her needle was plied without any sense of purpose and her mind was drifting.

It was almost twenty-four hours since they brought news of her husband’s death on the road home from Exeter and she was only just beginning to feel the full impact. Unable to grieve for a man she never truly loved, she instead mourned the wasted years she had spent as the wife of Nicholas Picard.

As she worked on, she grew careless and the needle jabbed her thumb. She sat up with a sharp intake of breath and sucked the blood which oozed from the tiny wound. Her companion, an old servant who had been with her since she first married, looked up from her seat in alarm.

‘Are you hurt, my lady?’

‘No,’ said Catherine. ‘It was only a prick.’

‘You are too tired to work at that tapestry.’

‘I must have something to do.’

‘Would you like me to sew it for you, my lady?’

‘No,’ said her mistress firmly. ‘It is mine and only mine. Nobody else must ever touch it. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘You asked me to sit with you.’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said the other softly. ‘You felt the need for company.’

‘Well, I no longer do so,’ announced Catherine in a tone which brought the servant instantly to her feet. ‘You may go and attend to your duties.’

‘Is there anything I can fetch you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then I will leave you here alone.’

After a moment’s hesitation, the servant headed for the door, her face etched with concern. A household which was known for its calm was suddenly in turmoil. Anxious for her mistress, the woman was also fearful about her own future. When she opened the door to quit the room, she was stopped by a sudden call.