Edward Marston - The Lions of the North

“Fetch the woman in at once!”

They obeyed instantly. Voices were raised in protest, then the witness was more or less hustled in by two of the soldiers. She was a tall, graceful woman in her forties, with a nobility in her bearing that even her unceremonious entrance could not entirely obscure. At her heels, arguing noisily and struggling with the other two soldiers, were a younger woman and a man in the garb of a parish priest. All three of them stood before the table and complained simultaneously.

Ralph’s voice smothered them into a hurt silence.

“Enough of this caterwauling!” he yelled. “We are servants of the King and we demand full respect!”

A flick of his hand sent his men back to their post at the rear of the room. The visitors studied him warily. Ralph lowered himself into his chair and deliberately made them wait before he was ready to speak.

“Now,” he said sternly, “which of you is the person for whom I sent?”

“I am,” said Sunnifa, taking a step forward.

“Then who are these other people?”

“They are here to support my claim.”

“When I call for one witness, I do not need three.”

“But they are witnesses in their own right, my lord.”

“Let them wait outside.”

As the soldiers moved in once more, protest resumed in earnest.

Sunnifa took another step forward.

“No, my lord,” she pleaded. “They must stay.”

“Hear us out!” implored the priest.

“We demand it!” asserted the third member of the group. “If Norman justice consists in laying rough hands upon a priest and a woman, then it is a despicable instrument and does not deserve our respect. I am Inga, daughter of Sunnifa, and I insist on remaining with my mother.” She indicated the man beside her. “This is Brunn the Priest, who will confirm our testimony. All three of us must be heard together. We have come to report a heinous crime and will not leave this place until we have done so.”

Inga was fearless. There was such passion in her voice that the three men behind the table were stunned and the soldiers hesitated to take hold of her. Here was someone, nineteen years old at most, daring to challenge the authority of royal commissioners and doing so, not in the rudimentary Norman French employed by Sunnifa and by Brunn the Priest, but with a fluent control of the language of her masters. Inga was clearly an extraordinary young woman. Gervase was struck by the vehement loveliness of the face beneath the wimple and by the sharp intelligence in her eyes.

Ralph consulted the document before him once more.

“Seventeen witnesses have been called,” he said to Inga. “Your name and that of Brunn are among them. The pair of you will have to wait your turn with the other fourteen.”

“The other fourteen are not here, my lord.”

“They must be. I issued a summons for each one myself.”

“It was ignored,” said Inga bluntly. “Send for any of those witnesses and you will find that they are not here. They are too frightened to present their evidence. We are not. That is why we have made the long journey here.” She took a firm hold of her mother’s hand. “Now, my lord. May we stay to seek justice or will you have us thrown out?”

Ralph turned first to Gervase, who gave a gentle nod, and then to Brother Francis, who offered a philosophical smile. Little could be gained by separating the three witnesses and much by keeping them together. Inga was patently their spokesperson and her control of Norman French would be an undoubted asset. Ralph did not like to have his decisions questioned but, in Inga’s case, he was prepared to make allowances for the rashness of youth. It had brought a pleasing colour to her cheeks.

Sunnifa did not have her daughter’s throbbing energy and Brunn the Priest was an old man worn down by the cares of his ministry in a county that had suffered the most terrible afflictions. It was easy to see why they preferred to let Inga represent them. Ralph switched to a gruff courtesy.

“If you have travelled far,” he said, “you will be weary. Please take a seat so that you may give your evidence in some degree of comfort.”

“Be careful!” warned Aubrey Maminot. “Don’t touch it!”

“Why not?” said Golde.

“It may be some sort of trap.”

“No, my lord. It’s the pack that contains my apparel.”

“If it was left by Olaf Evil Child, it may well contain something else.

I know him. He would not scruple to conceal a poisonous snake or a wildcat inside there. Open it without due caution and you may regret it.”

They were in the solar, where the three packs found outside the castle gates had now been taken. Thrilled to see that her clothes had been returned, Golde was being stopped from unpacking them by her host. He jabbed at the first bundle with his sword.

“Stay, my lord,” she said with concern. “You may damage the fabric within.”

“It may already have been damaged beyond repair. I do not believe that Olaf would return any of your possessions without first mutilating them in some way. There is no telling what outrage we may find within.”

He prodded at the bundle with more conviction, moving around it in a circle to attack it from all angles. Putting the safety of her apparel first, Golde jumped in to stop him.

“Let me open it, my lord.”

“It is too dangerous.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

Golde undid the leather straps and began to sort through the contents of the pack, examining each garment with care before laying it aside. None of them were damaged in any way. She looked up at Aubrey.

“This Olaf has turned Good Samaritan.”

“Never!”

“He stole my attire, now he returns it unharmed.”

“It is a ruse, I tell you,” said Aubrey. “One pack may be untouched but the others may still hold an ugly surprise. Olaf Evil Child does nothing without a purpose.”

“Could this not be a gesture of friendship?”

“Towards royal commissioners? Impossible! Besides, if he wishes to show amity, why has he not sent back the remainder of your cargo?”

“That contained food. He and his men needed that.”

“What about the horses that were stolen? There is no sign of them.

With respect to you, they are worth far more than your wardrobe. Had Olaf restored the horses to you, even I would begin to think more favourably of him.”

“I am just grateful to have my attire back,” she said as she undid the straps on the next pack. “My lord Ralph will be pleased to see that his is returned as well.”

“Open it with caution!” he advised.

“I sense no trap here.”

“I do.”

Aubrey stood over her with his sword still drawn but Golde was unworried. She emptied the second pack with brisk confidence and lay Ralph’s attire beside her own. The third pack belonged to Gervase, and its contents, too, had been left unharmed. Three bundles of clothes and other possessions now lay on the floor of the solar. Aubrey walked around them with evident distrust.

“There has to be a trick involved,” he said.

“It does not lie here, my lord.”

“Why did he send all this back?”

“Because he has no use for it himself.”

“He has stolen sumpter-horses from other travellers before now and they have had nothing handed back to them. Why make this gesture towards you?”

“I do not know.”

“More to the point,” said Aubrey, crossing to the window to glare down into the courtyard, “how was he able to do so? Olaf Evil Child or some of his men gained entry to the city and stood at the very gates of my castle without being seen or heard. Someone will pay heavily for this!” He turned back to Golde and his manner softened. “Forgive my anger. It is directed at the failings of my men. I am annoyed with them but glad for you. It is a relief to know that someone in this castle has gained from last night’s escapade.”