Edward Marston - The Stallions of Woodstock

‘Gervase,’ he whispered, ‘I sincerely hope that this will not rob me of your friendship.’

‘There is no chance of that.’

‘I value it highly. I would hate to lose your respect.’

‘Have no fear on that score, Brother Columbanus.’

‘You have my firm promise that I will endeavour to make amends for my conduct in the hall last night. You and your colleagues will have no further cause for complaint.’

‘We have none now,’ Gervase reassured him. ‘You are being far too hard on yourself. Put the whole matter behind you.’

‘That is what I will strive to do.’

‘Good.’

‘And you will not mention this incident to Canon Hubert?’

‘I would not dream of it.’

Columbanus brightened. ‘A thousand thanks, Gervase. I knew that you would show compassion. I said as much to Arnulf. You have lifted a huge weight from me. I am ever in your debt.’

After another burst of apologies, he excused himself and set off across the bailey. There was far more colour in his cheeks now and something of the old spring in his stride. Gervase was glad to observe these early signs of recovery. Contrition had taken all the ebullience out of Columbanus and crushed his spirit. Gervase preferred the animated companion of the previous two days.

He was just about to go into the church when a familiar voice hailed him. Gervase turned to see Arnulf the Chaplain sailing towards him.

They exchanged a warm greeting.

‘Did you sleep well, my friend?’ asked Arnulf.

‘Very soundly.’

‘And your fellows?’

‘They seemed well rested when we shared breakfast.’

‘Brother Columbanus had a more troubled night.’

‘So I hear.’

‘I saw nothing in his behaviour to condemn,’ said the chaplain with a wry smile, ‘but he seems to feel that he committed seven deadly sins and danced naked with the devil. He was terrified that he would be given a sharp reprimand.’

‘I put his mind at rest about that,’ said Gervase. ‘But I was hoping to see you before we left for the shire hall. I wanted to find out more about the prisoner.’

‘Then you could not have come at a better time.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘I have just visited him in his dungeon.’

‘Ebbi?’

‘He asked to see the priest from his parish church but my lord sheriff denied that request. Ebbi had to make do with me instead. My command of his language is uncertain but we did manage to have a conversation of sorts.’

‘What did he want?’

‘What anyone in his predicament wants, Gervase. Help. Kindness.

Reassurance. Even a glimmer of hope.’

‘Were you able to give him that hope?’

‘Alas, no. His prospects are grim. He knows that.’

‘Only if he was guilty of the murder.’

‘Yes,’ said Arnulf uneasily. ‘Only then.’

‘And that guilt has yet to be proved. From what you told me about this Ebbi, he seems an unlikely assassin. Was that the impression you formed when you spoke to him?’

‘I did not discuss his crime with him.’

‘His alleged crime,’ corrected Gervase.

‘Ebbi neither confessed his guilt nor pleaded innocence. And even if he had, I would not be at liberty to reveal to you what he said. He called for a priest for a particular reason.’

‘What was that?’

‘To ask a favour,’ said the other softly. ‘In the event of his being convicted — and he is fitting his mind to that dreadful probability — he begged me to carry a message to his family and friends. I could not refuse such an entreaty.’

‘He must be in despair.’

‘Completely.’

‘What kind of man is he?’

‘Old before his time, Gervase. Tired, scrawny, ragged.’

‘Yet capable of this murder?’

‘That is not for me to say.’

‘Where does Ebbi dwell?’

‘Close by the forest of Woodstock.’

‘Who owns that land?’

‘My lord Wymarc.’

‘Has Ebbi fallen foul of the law before?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Did you learn nothing of his past history?’

‘Nothing,’ said Arnulf with a shrug. ‘It was a very short conversation.

I have told you all that passed between us.’

Gervase studied him carefully. He could not decide if the chaplain was being totally honest or politely obstructive. Arnulf met his gaze without flinching.

‘It is my turn to ask a favour,’ said Gervase.

‘What is it?’

‘If you visit Ebbi again, take me with you.’

‘But why?’

‘I am curious to meet him.’

Arnulf stiffened. ‘He is not a wild animal to be peered at through the bars of his cage. Curiosity is an insufficient excuse, my friend.’

‘My interest goes well beyond that. May I come?’

‘Only my lord sheriff could sanction such a visit.’

‘Will you speak to him on my behalf?’

Arnulf took a long time to consider the request.

‘If you wish,’ he agreed at length, ‘but he is bound to question your motives.’

‘Tell him that I wish to help his chaplain.’

‘Help me?’

‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘You had difficulty holding a proper conversation with Ebbi. I would not. My mother was a Saxon and I am fluent in the language. Ebbi will be able to speak more freely to you through me.

That is what you can tell my lord sheriff. You need my assistance.’ He flicked a glance towards the dungeons. ‘Gervase Bret is your interpreter.’

Robert d’Oilly was giving instructions to his steward when Ralph Delchard came down the staircase in the keep. The sheriff dismissed his man at once and gave the newcomer a guarded smile of welcome.

‘Well met!’ he said with false affability. ‘I am sorry to have been such an indifferent host thus far but you came upon us at a particularly awkward time.’

‘So I observed.’

‘A murder was committed at Woodstock yesterday.’

‘We have heard the bare facts of the case.’

‘A miserable slave had the sheer audacity to kill one of Bertrand Gamberell’s men. A verminous Saxon killing a Norman knight. That makes the crime doubly heinous.’

‘If the prisoner is indeed guilty,’ noted Ralph.

‘There is no doubt of that.’

‘He has confessed?’

‘Confession was not needed,’ said d’Oilly irritably. ‘He was found hiding close by the scene of the crime with a weapon about him identical to that used in the murder.’

‘Identical, my lord sheriff? Or similar?’

‘It amounts to the same thing.’

‘Not quite.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you examined the two daggers side by side?’

The sheriff bridled. ‘Who is in charge of this inquiry?’ he snarled.

‘You or me?’

‘You, of course.’

‘Then I will thank you to let me get on with it. I need no prompting from you or from any other man. I speak for the King in Oxford. You would do well to remember that.’

‘I am sure that I will have little opportunity to forget.’

The tart rejoinder made his host redden with anger. Ralph was a sturdy man but Robert d’Oilly towered over him. Their eyes engaged in a brief battle of wills and Ralph did not cede an inch of ground under the other’s intimidating glare. The sheriff eventually calmed and tried to dispel the tension with a throaty chuckle.

‘A host should not be arguing with his guest,’ he said.

‘I take my share of the blame.’

‘Let us start afresh, shall we not? As true friends.’

‘We are honoured by your hospitality, my lord sheriff.’

‘I am delighted to offer it to you. The reputation of Ralph Delchard is not unknown here. It has gone before you. I have heard how sedulous you have been in your high office.’

‘It is onerous work at times but someone has to do it.’