Edward Marston - The Elephants of Norwich

‘I doubt very much that he was in league with the lord Mauger.’

‘Why?’

‘What motive could he have to instigate the theft of those elephants?’

‘Spite, my lord sheriff.’

‘Concerning this property dispute?’

‘And property of a different nature.’

‘Ah,’ said Bigot with a knowing smile. ‘I begin to understand.’

‘The gold elephants were to be a wedding gift.’

‘The lady Adelaide has accepted you, then?’

‘Unhappily, no. But she will,’ added de Fontenel, defensively. ‘The lady Adelaide was enchanted by my gift. Once those elephants are back in my possession, she’ll not be able to refuse me. That’s why they must be found immediately.’

‘My deputy will do his best, Richard.’

‘Order him to arrest Mauger.’

‘On what evidence?’

‘Search his house. I’ll wager that you find the stolen property there.’

‘A foolish wager,’ argued Bigot. ‘Even if those gold elephants were taken on Mauger’s instructions — and I refuse to countenance that notion — he would never be stupid enough to conceal them in his own home where they might be found by a search. As you know better than anyone, Mauger is as cunning as a fox. My advice is to forget him altogether, Richard. He has no place at all in this investigation.’

‘But he has. He’s trying to lure the lady Adelaide away from me.’

‘That’s a personal matter between the two of you. What concerns me is the crime that’s been committed. If your steward is responsible for the theft, you should be looking at yourself rather than at the lord Mauger.’

‘At myself?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘You said a moment ago that Hermer was very loyal to you.’

‘He was, my lord sheriff. Unswervingly so.’

‘Then what happened to undermine that loyalty?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘Nothing?’ said Bigot levelly. ‘Be honest with yourself, Richard. You’re a hard man with a rough edge to your tongue. You like your own way and you make sure that you get it, no matter how many toes you may have to trample on in the process. What did you do or say to upset your steward?’ He looked his visitor in the eye. ‘Has it never occurred to you that you may actually have provoked this crime?’

The last few miles began to tell on the travellers. Weary from so much time in the saddle, they were finding the heat more oppressive and the terrain less diverting. When their destination finally came within sight, they heaved a collective sigh of relief.

Gervase Bret was riding beside his wife, who was bearing up bravely.

‘Take heart, Alys,’ he said. ‘We’re almost there.’

‘Good.’

‘I’m sorry that the journey has been so tiring.’

‘I was enjoying the ride until we met that poor man. He was all skin and bone.’

‘At least we were able to give him one good meal today.’

‘It was distressing to see someone in that terrible state,’ she said. ‘Did I hear Ralph tell you that he’d been turned out to fend for himself?’

‘Yes, my love.’

‘What kind of master could be so cruel?’

Gervase did not answer. The name of Richard de Fontenel was already known to him because the man was involved in one of the property disputes they had come to settle. Alys was upset enough already. Her husband did not wish to alarm her by telling her that he would soon be locking horns with the very Norman lord who had treated the old man so callously. Gervase had promised himself to keep his work and his domestic life rigidly apart. His wife would hear nothing of his deliberations with his colleagues.

He glanced across at her and was disturbed by what he saw. ‘Are you unwell?’ he said with concern.

‘No, Gervase.’

‘But you look pale.’

‘This heat is bothering me.’

‘Do you wish to stop for another rest?’

‘I can hold out until we reach the castle.’

‘It’s not very far to go.’

‘I long for a cool drink and a place in the shade.’

Gervase reached out a consoling hand. ‘You’ll have both very soon.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I hope that you don’t regret coming with us.’

‘No,’ she said, rallying slightly. ‘For the most part, it’s been very exciting. I am simply in need of a long rest now. I shall sleep very soundly tonight.’

‘So will we all.’

The closer they got to Norwich, the more able they were to appreciate its size and character. It was the principal town in one of the most populous counties in the entire kingdom. The soil was rich, the harvest plentiful and the rivers stocked with fish. Larger boats ventured out to sea in search of even bigger catches. Extensive deposits of salt supported a flourishing trade and there were dozens of other occupations in what was the fourth largest county in England. Much of the country was plagued with drought that summer, but Norfolk seemed to have suffered less from its effects than some of the other areas through which they had travelled. Sheep and cows grazed in the fields. Pigs could be heard in patches of woodland. There was an abiding sense of contentment.

It disappeared the moment they rode into Norwich. Eustace Coureton’s description of the place was accurate. It bore the scars of war as blatantly as Alstan bore the mementoes of his whipping. Almost ninety buildings had been destroyed to make way for the castle, creating a huge hole in the fabric of the city. Of those that remained, the best part of two hundred houses were unoccupied, abandoned by owners who had fled for a variety of reasons. The streets were full and the market was busy, but there was no zest about Norwich. Its indigenous population had yet fully to accept that it was now under Norman control. When Ralph Delchard led his party towards the castle, they gathered the usual mixture of hostile stares and muttered resentment.

Riding beside her husband, Golde was grateful for their safe arrival. ‘The journey didn’t take as long as I’d feared,’ she said.

Ralph grimaced. ‘The best road in Norfolk is the one that takes us out of it.’

‘Aren’t you looking forward to our stay here?’

‘No, Golde. I’d rather be at home with my lovely wife.’

‘Travel adds body to a marriage.’

‘You sound like the brewer you once were,’ he remarked with a grin. ‘What did you add to your ale to give it some sparkle?’

‘That’s a closely guarded secret.’

‘Even from your loving husband?’

‘Especially from you, Ralph,’ she pointed out. ‘When you were in Hereford, you refused to touch my ale. You’re a true Norman. Wine is all that you’ll drink.’

‘I’m glad you mention Hereford, my love.’

‘Why is that?’

‘Do you recall your ill-fated earl?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, this is where he sacrificed his earldom,’ said Ralph, pointing to the castle ahead of them. ‘My namesake, Ralph Guader, was earl of Norfolk, a man of mixed parentage and uncertain temper. He decided to marry Emma, sister of Roger, earl of Hereford.’

‘You don’t need to remind me of that. It was the talk of the town. We could not understand why the wedding was not held in Hereford cathedral. Had the ceremony occurred there, I might have been engaged to provide ale for the table. Not all the guests were as fond of wine as you are.’

‘It was not only drink that flowed at the wedding, Golde. Blood was up and passions ran high. The noble earl of Hereford conspired with Ralph Guader and with Waltheof, earl of Northumberland, to overthrow the King with the help of Danish invaders. A doomed enterprise from the start,’ he said with contempt. ‘It robbed Waltheof of his life and both Norfolk and Herefordshire of an earldom. This is where the plot was first hatched. Norwich has much to answer for.’