Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Some years now,’ said Caradoc.

‘And you say that you liked him?’

‘Very much. Brother Nicholas was such a jolly fellow.’

Gervase looked at Ralph. ‘ Jolly? ’ he repeated.

‘For a monk. They are often such solemn individuals.’

‘Jollity does not sit easily inside a monastery,’ said Gervase. ‘I was reared in one so I know it to be a fact. Yet a certain amount of merriment did break out even there from time to time.

However, I would not have thought that your rent collector would ever be party to harmless fun.’

‘He made me laugh, Master Bret.’

‘That is extraordinary.’

‘And my wife. Ask her.’

‘Do you have a family, Caradoc?’

‘Four boys. If you ride across my land, you are sure to see them.’

‘How did they get on with Brother Nicholas?’

‘Very well. They poked fun at him, but you expect that from lads of that age. Underneath, they thought him a likeable fellow.’

‘This description does not match other reports of him.’

‘I care nothing about that,’ said Caradoc cheerily. ‘All that I can talk about is our own experience. Brother Nicholas could not have been more pleasant while doing an unpleasant task. Nobody likes to part with money but it was far less painful to part with rent when he called.’

‘Would you call him trustworthy?’

‘I’d stake my life on it.’

Gervase translated the last remark so that Ralph understood its full force. Caradoc was a friendly man. Born of a Welsh mother and a Saxon father, he spoke the guttural language of the latter with the melodious voice of the former. Dark, bearded and swarthy, he had a face of appealing ugliness with twinkling eyes set too far apart and a nose which inclined first one way and then the other with almost grotesque uncertainty. His affable manner more than compensated for his facial deficiencies. On guard when he first saw them approach with an armed escort, Caradoc relaxed when he realised that they merely wished to talk about the rent collector.

‘When did you last see him?’ asked Gervase.

‘Three or four weeks ago.’

‘And was he in a jolly mood then?’

‘He always was, Master Bret.’

‘Where did he go when he left here?’

‘Towards the river. It’s only a couple of miles away.’

‘Why there?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Caradoc, his face crumpling. ‘And it is too late to ask him now. I cannot believe that he has been murdered in the way that you tell me. My wife will be very upset.’

‘What about your sons?’

‘They will shed a tear or two.’

Gervase was puzzled. Caradoc’s remarks were at variance with everything he had ever heard about the monk. He probed deeper.

‘Did they find nothing odd about Brother Nicholas?’ he said.

‘Odd?’

‘Strange. Unusual. Unsettling in some way.’

‘No, Master Bret. We farm abbey lands. That means we are bound to pay rent to the monk assigned to the task. It’s in our interests to befriend the man so that he’ll give a good report of us to the abbot. We would certainly give him a good report of Brother Nicholas.’

Gervase translated again and Ralph nodded his head pensively.

‘Ask him about the others, Gervase.’

‘I was about to,’ said his friend, turning back to Caradoc. ‘This is one of the abbey’s outliers. You are not far from Westbury Hundred.’

‘Not if you have a swift horse.’

‘Who holds that land?’

‘Everyone knows that. The lord Hamelin.’

‘Hamelin of Lisieux?’

‘Yes,’ said Caradoc, choosing his words with more care. ‘He is a mighty man in these parts and much respected by all of us.

Respected and envied, I may say, for he has the most beautiful wife. Or so it is rumoured, for I have not had the pleasure of seeing her.’

‘We have,’ said Ralph, understanding him this time.

‘And is she the angel of report, my lord?’

‘I think so. Gervase?’

‘The lady Emma is indeed well favoured,’ he agreed, ‘but that is not the point at issue. You say that her husband holds the land, Caradoc. Has it always been so?’

‘Oh, no. Strang the Dane used to hold sway over it.’

‘Did you ever meet him?’

‘Several times.’

‘What opinion did you form?’

‘Not a very high one, Master Bret. He was too bellicose.’

‘That’s what we found.’

‘Nobody dared to trespass on his land when Strang was there.

He guarded it jealously and employed a creeping reeve called Balki. I only came across the fellow once but that was enough.

He treated us like dirt and I’ll not let any man do that to me.’

‘How did he come to lose the land?’

‘You will have to ask the lord Hamelin,’ he said evasively.

‘Was it taken away from him?’

‘It is not for me to say.’

‘But you must have heard rumours.’

‘My whole life consists of hearing rumours,’ said Caradoc with a grin. ‘Rumours and snores, to be exact. For my wife works as hard as we do and she is so tired that she snores her way to heaven every night.’

‘Tell me about these rumours.’

‘I pay no heed to them.’

‘Do they paint the lord Hamelin in a favourable light?’

‘No, Master Bret.’

‘How does he deal with trespassers?’

‘Harshly, I think.’

‘Have you ever heard of one Querengar the Breton?’

‘Yes,’ replied the other. ‘A decent man, by all accounts. He holds land near a kinsman of mine in one of the commotes. Unlike most of the others, he has tried to adapt to Welsh customs.’

‘Did you know that he has an interest in the Westbury Hundred?’

‘No, Master Bret.’

‘So he has never held land there?’

‘Not to my knowledge, but that is very limited. Querengar may have held it in the past but I doubt that he does so now.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of the lord Hamelin. He rules the roost.’

‘By force of arms?’

‘There have been stories. How true they are, I have no notion.

For my own part, I will not say a word against the lord Hamelin.’

Another grin. ‘And certainly not against this fabled wife of his. She came from France, they tell me. Her beauty holds everyone in thrall.’

‘I see that you do pay heed to rumours, after all.’

‘Only pleasant ones.’

‘Are all the others unpleasant, Caradoc?’

‘We must move on,’ said Ralph with a nudge. ‘Hurry, Gervase.’

‘A last question, then. Tell me, my friend, is the name of Abraham the Priest known to you?’

‘Why, yes. Known and respected. A wonderful man.’

‘Yet you are not part of his diocese here.’

‘That does not stop him visiting this area. Abraham is a kind man. I have met him a number of times and always enjoyed his company.’

‘What brings him this far afield?’

‘The spirit of friendship.’

‘There must be something else.’

‘Not to my mind.’

‘Does he ever talk about the others I’ve mentioned? Hamelin of Lisieux? Querengar the Breton?’

‘Neither, but Strang’s name sometimes passes his lips.’

‘With some distaste, I fancy.’

‘Yes, Master Bret, though I cannot say why.’

‘Gervase,’ called Ralph. ‘We must away.’

‘One second, please.’

‘You’ve asked a dozen last questions already.’

‘It must take the archdeacon a long time to get here,’ said Gervase, ignoring Ralph’s impatience. ‘He would have to ride in a loop around lord Hamelin’s holdings. Unless, of course, he rides across them.’

‘He would be a brave man if he did that.’

‘Too hazardous?’

‘According to the rumours,’ said Caradoc. ‘I am also sure that neither Strang nor Querengar would dare to venture on to that land. In fact, there is only one man I know who rode into Westbury Hundred without the slightest sign of fear.’