Edward Marston - The Elephants of Norwich

‘StarGulf. When you came for the second time. Starculf was close by. I didn’t know it at the time, so I wasn’t lying to you. Skalp was hiding him. I only discovered that afterwards.’

‘They were accomplices, Olova.’

‘In a sense, we all were,’ she said, harshly. ‘We all wanted Hermer dead. But not at this cost. I’ve lost everyone now. My husband, my children and now my grandson. They’ve all gone. What’s to become of me?’

She went off into another fit of sobbing. Gervase put a consoling arm around her. ‘I’m sorry that it had to end this way,’ he said.

‘But it hasn’t ended yet,’ Ralph reminded him. ‘There’s unfinished business.’

‘I know.’

‘Leave us,’ said Olova, making an effort to compose herself. ‘Leave us alone to grieve in peace. You’ve done what you had to do. There’s nothing left for you to take from me now. Please go.’

After muttered farewells, Ralph and Gervase walked slowly back to their horses.

Jocelyn Vavasour did not become aware of them until he was well on his way. He was far too preoccupied, his mind grappling with the horror of Skalp’s suicide. He could not understand how the precious gifts he had given to the abbey had ended up in the hands of the young Saxon. Still, they had been rescued now. Vavasour could give them back to Abbot Alfwold and return to his solitary existence on the coast. Riding at a steady canter, he covered some distance before he decided to give his tired horse a rest. When they reached an expanse of marshland, he slowed the animal to a gentle trot. It was then that he heard the pummelling of hooves behind him. He swung his horse round, expecting to see Ralph and Gervase coming towards him, but it was a larger troop of men that was approaching. They were a hundred yards away when he recognised Mauger Livarot. The instinct that had saved him from one ambush now warned him of another.

He looked over his shoulder. The abbey was still a long way off. His horse could never outrun the fresher animals on his tail. Vavasour had no cover to use and no weapon beyond that of prayer. Sitting bolt upright in the saddle, he faced the newcomers without fear. Livarot barked an order and his men drew up in a wide circle around the anchorite.

Social niceties were brushed crudely aside. ‘Give them to me, Jocelyn,’ demanded Livarot, holding out his hand.

‘What?’

‘The gold elephants.’

‘They’re holy treasures, my lord,’ said the other with righteous indignation.

‘I want them nevertheless.’

‘They belong to the abbey of St Benet.’

‘Not any more.’

‘Would you dare to steal them?’

‘I’d dare to do much more than that,’ boasted Livarot, drawing his sword. ‘Hand them over now or I’ll cut them out of that ragged tunic of yours.’

Vavasour thought quickly. His fate was sealed. He was certain that, when he surrendered the two elephants, he would be killed on the spot. If Livarot wanted to keep the stolen property, he could not possibly leave the anchorite alive to accuse him of theft. The marshes offered countless places where a dead body could be hidden, but they also gave him an idea. As his appointed executioner moved closer, Vavasour reached inside his tunic to take out two small objects that he held up in the air. Burnished by the sun, they glowed proudly in his hands.

‘Is this what you’re after, my lord?’ he asked.

‘Those are the elephants!’ exclaimed Drogo. ‘Those are the ones I saw!’

‘Give them to me!’ yelled Livarot.

‘How much do you want them?’

‘Enough to kill.’

‘You still won’t get them,’ taunted Vavasour.

Putting both animals into the palm of one hand, he flung them as far into the marshes as he could. Mauger Livarot went berserk. What he saw disappearing into the water was his one chance of marrying the lady Adelaide. Emitting a howl of rage, he dropped from the saddle and went lumbering after the elephants, splashing through water and kicking his way through beds of reeds. Single-mindedness was his downfall. He lurched towards the spot where he had seen the objects fall, oblivious of the dangers, and water suddenly gave way to quicksand. Instead of moving forward at speed, he was sucked inexorably downwards, the weight of his hauberk working against him. His men looked on in horror as their master was suddenly waist deep and sinking.

‘Help!’ shouted Livarot, threshing impotently. ‘Get me out!’

Jocelyn Vavasour was the first to go to his rescue. Spurning his own safety, he ran to the edge of the pool and stretched out a hand. But the stricken man was tantalisingly out of reach. When one of the soldiers tried to grab Livarot’s hand, he fell into the quicksand himself and had to be dragged out by the others.

‘Do something!’ begged Livarot. ‘Quickly!’

There was no salvation. The more he struggled, the firmer hold the quicksand took on him, pulling him slowly and relentlessly down until only his head and hands were visible. After one last deafening cry, Livarot vanished from sight for ever beneath the loose, wet, treacherous pool of sand. His men were stunned. They stood there in grim silence until Drogo looked for revenge. Swinging round, he pointed accusingly at Vavasour.

‘There’s the man responsible!’ he said. ‘Throw him in there as well.’

Before the order could be obeyed, however, eight riders could be seen coming towards them. Livarot’s men hesitated. They did not want witnesses to an act of cold-blooded murder. Vavasour was relieved and grateful to see Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret coming to his rescue. Detaching himself from the others, he waved an arm in welcome. The newcomers brought their horses to a halt. Ralph sensed the tense atmosphere. He recognised Drogo.

‘Where’s the lord Mauger?’ he asked.

The steward looked despondently across at the quicksand.

‘He’s still searching for two gold elephants,’ said Vavasour.

Brother Joseph was in the abbey church when he was summoned. Fearing a reprimand and still writhing with self-reproach, the sacristan hurried off across the cloister garth. When he was admitted to Abbot Alfwold’s lodging, he was surprised to find three visitors there. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had escorted Jocelyn Vavasour to make sure that he arrived without further mishap. The anchorite exchanged warm greetings with Joseph then raised his eyebrows hopefully.

‘I’ve just heard the most remarkable story,’ said the abbot, soulfully. ‘It seems that our holy treasures were taken by a man called Hermer, steward to Richard de Fontenel. When he stayed at the abbey, Hermer gave us the false name of Starculf. This same Hermer was murdered and the treasures stolen by someone else. Earlier today, they were reclaimed from the thief by our courageous visitors.

The sacristan gurgled with joy. ‘We have them back, Father Abbot?’

‘Not exactly, Brother Joseph.’

‘But you said that they’d been recovered.’

‘Recovered then lost again, I fear.’

‘Employed to save a life,’ explained Ralph. ‘When someone tried to take them from Jocelyn by force, he flung them into the marshes. Two gold elephants are at the bottom of some quicksand with Mauger Livarot.’

Joseph paled. ‘The lord Mauger?’

‘You’ll hear a full account later,’ promised the abbot. ‘Suffice it to say that the Lord has saved a good man and punished an evil one.’

‘Yet we’ve lost our treasures, Father Abbot.’

‘Not exactly,’ said Vavasour, stepping forward. ‘There’s something that I haven’t mentioned so far because I wanted you to be here when I did, Brother Joseph. You know what significance those gold elephants held for me and I was touched by the way in which you and the holy brothers revered them.’