Edward Marston - The Stallions of Woodstock

‘The sheriff clearly does not,’ said Ralph, recalling the scene he had witnessed. ‘It will be a short trial, I fancy. All that we can do is await its outcome.’

‘That is the last thing we must do,’ argued Gervase.

‘Why?’

‘Because we are involved here, Ralph. Look at those who entered a horse in that race. Wymarc. Gamberell. Milo Crispin. All three are at the heart of our investigations here. They are contesting ownership of the same property near Wallingford. Could it not be that this murder is in some strange way linked to our business in Oxford?’

‘That had not occurred to me.’

‘Weigh the notion in the balance.’

Ralph pondered. ‘Yes,’ he said at length. ‘It could be, Gervase. I am at a loss to see quite how. But it could be.’

‘That would rule out Ebbi completely, unless he was hired by one of the others. It’s conceivable, Ralph, but it seems unlikely. He has no place in our considerations. Put him aside for a moment.’

‘Then you would have to find another assassin.’

‘Consider what happened. Who stood to gain most by the death of Gamberell’s rider?’

‘Everyone else in the race.’

‘That gives us five suspects immediately.’

Ralph was incredulous. ‘One of the other riders was the assassin?

Are you insane, Gervase? That is arrant nonsense.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes — and plainly so!’

‘Six men rode into that copse: only five rode out. Why?’

‘Someone hurled a dagger at one of them in the trees.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘It is the only explanation.’

‘I think not,’ said Gervase, rising to his feet as he thought it through.

‘A dagger can be used to stab as well as to throw. When a horse is running alongside you, it is more than possible to thrust a blade into its rider’s back.’

‘But according to you, most of the other horses were ahead of Gamberell’s stallion at that point.’

‘Most but not all.’

‘It is a ludicrous idea.’

‘Not if you are Wymarc or Milo Crispin. Not if you have placed a heavy wager on your own horses. Not if you are resolved that the black stallion will not beat them yet again.’ Gervase spread his palms.

‘Is it really so ludicrous?’

Ralph pondered afresh. ‘No,’ he conceded after a long pause. ‘Not ludicrous, perhaps. But highly unlikely. How could the assassin know that he would be alongside the black stallion as they plunged into those trees? How could he be sure that the other riders would be ahead of him and thus blind to his villainy?’

‘He could not.’

‘Then your argument must be discarded.’

‘Must it? Could not this other rider simply have seized the opportunity when it offered itself? In a hectic race like that, his rivals would have no time to look back at him. Their eyes would have been fixed on the course ahead of them. I still contend that Gamberell’s man may have been stabbed.’

‘Then we must agree to differ.’

‘Very well,’ said Gervase. ‘Let us move on.’

‘To what?’

‘The winner of the race. The chestnut colt.’

‘That belonged to Milo’s subtenant.’

‘Ordgar. Once a proud thegn in this county. Reduced from his former glory. He might have the strongest reason of all to take the black stallion out of the race.’

‘You surely cannot accuse him,’ said Ralph with a mocking laugh as he got up from the bench. ‘By all accounts, his horse was vying for the lead when they came out of that copse. Are you seriously suggesting that Ordgar’s son tossed a dagger over his shoulder and that it somehow landed conveniently in the back of Gamberell’s man?’

‘Of course not.’

‘It was a race. The son needed both hands on the reins.’

‘All I am saying is that Ordgar may somehow be implicated. He stood to forfeit a lot of money if Gamberell won the race. Money which he could ill afford to lose. And he has twenty years of resentment against his Norman overlord to assuage. I think we should look closely at this Ordgar.’

‘That brings us back to Ebbi then.’

‘Does it?’

‘Yes,’ said Ralph. ‘Perhaps he really did commit the murder. Perhaps we have been too quick to absolve him of guilt. Ebbi may have been Ordgar’s hired assassin. Wymarc and Milo Crispin would hardly employ a creature like that to serve their ends. Besides,’ he added, ‘we should not be maligning respected men with our suspicions. On the evidence we have so far — and I know that it is patchy — there is no reason whatsoever to accuse either Wymarc or Milo. If they were ready to stoop to villainy in order to win that race at Woodstock, they would somehow have disabled Gamberell’s black stallion instead of killing its rider. I rely on my instinct here, Gervase.’

‘And what does it tell you?’

‘Ordgar paid Ebbi to do the deed. That is my guess.’

‘It would not be mine.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Ebbi was caught too easily,’ said Gervase. ‘If you can plot such a cunning murder, you will also plan your escape with equal care. I do not believe that the man locked up in that dungeon is the assassin.’

‘We shall see,’ said Ralph wearily. ‘We shall see. One thing is certain. We will not solve this crime by staying up all night and talking about it. We have shot enough arrows in the dark for now. Let us get some sleep. All may become clearer in the morning.’

‘I hope so. But I doubt it.’

His companion gave a soulful nod.

‘So do I,’ he sighed.

‘Still here?’ gasped Milo Crispin. ‘Did the man not go home?’

‘He stayed here all night, my lord.’

‘Where did he sleep?’

‘We found him huddled on the staircase.’

‘Old fool!’

‘He is determined to see you, my lord.’

‘I am far too busy to listen to his ramblings.’

‘Ordgar will not be sent away.’

‘Then he must be thrown out by force.’

‘Is that your order?’

The steward waited patiently while his master took time to reflect.

Milo Crispin had no wish to start the day by arguing with one of his subtenants. Ordgar was a nuisance and deserved to be turned away without compunction. At the same time, the problem which had brought the Saxon to Wallingford Castle had to be resolved sooner or later. Ordgar was persistent. He would lurk and harry until he was granted an audience with his overlord. One short discussion now might obviate a lot of irritation in the future.

‘Very well,’ said Milo, relenting. ‘Send him in.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘But warn him to expect no more than a few minutes.’

‘That is all he craves.’

The steward went out and Milo pored over the accounts on the table in front of him. He was in the hall, a long, low room whose timbered floor creaked beneath any footsteps. He did not look up when Ordgar shuffled into the room. An uncomfortable night had left the old man aching all over but he bore himself with as much dignity as he could muster. To remind him of his subordinate place, Milo kept him waiting for a long time.

‘Well?’ he said, finally turning his gaze on his visitor. ‘Why have you come to bother me so early in the morning?’

‘You refused to talk to me yesterday, my lord.’

‘We had nothing to talk about.’

‘But we did,’ insisted the other. ‘The race.’

‘It has been declared void.’

‘On whose authority?’

‘Mine.’

‘I ask you to think again, my lord.’

‘There is no need.’

‘But my colt won that race.’

‘Only because Hyperion lost his rider.’

‘We might still have beaten him,’ urged Ordgar. ‘Even if there had been no mishap, my colt might still have won. You saw the way he edged out your own horse. I think he would have beaten Hyperion as well.’