Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

Left alone with the commissioners, however, Durand became a different person. The smile was replaced by a scowl, the pleasant manner by a preoccupied air. Instead of actually wanting them there, he was plainly exasperated by their presence. The sheriff’s mind was on something else. When he told them what it was, he elicited a variety of reactions. Brother Simon fell to his knees in alarm and began to pray for deliverance. Ralph listened grimly then flung Gervase a look of sharp reproof. After answering it with a shrug of apology, Gervase made a mental note of all the details of the crime. Canon Hubert, quivering all over, needed everything repeated at least three times before he could accept it.Durand the Sheriff forced himself to sound hospitable.

‘It may be better if you and the scribe were to stay here.’

‘We will not hear of it,’ said Hubert, grabbing Simon by the arm to haul him upright. ‘It sounds to me as if the abbey has need of us.’

‘It will be a mean lodging at such a time as this.’

‘Nevertheless, my lord sheriff, we will seek it out.’

‘Will we?’ asked Simon, stricken with doubt.

‘Most certainly!’ asserted Hubert.

The monks took their leave and headed for the abbey. Ralph was pleased to see them go. It enabled him to press the sheriff for more detail about the murder, but Durand had no time for further conversation.

‘A crime has been committed, my lord,’ he said peremptorily. ‘It is my duty to investigate it as quickly and thoroughly as I may.’

‘Where will you start?’ wondered Ralph.

‘In the place where the body was found.’

‘The bell tower? How on earth did the victim come to be there?’

‘It is too late to ask him.’

‘Tell us more, my lord sheriff,’ said Gervase. ‘We bring fresh minds to this problem. We may be able to help you.’

‘I have all the help I need, Master Bret.’

‘You have a suspect, then?’

‘Dozens of them.’

‘How have you identified so many in so short a time?’

‘By accepting the obvious solution.’

‘What obvious solution?’ asked Ralph.

The sheriff spoke with conviction. ‘Brother Nicholas was killed by one or more of the other monks,’ he declared. ‘He was, it transpires, always something of an outsider. Nobody really liked him, not even the sanctimonious Abbot Serlo who purports to like everyone. Brother Nicholas was the rent collector for the abbey, a task which kept him away from it for most of the time. It was no accident. They deliberately wanted him out of the way.’

‘Why was he so disliked?’

‘That is what I am trying to find out, my lord.’

‘I am not convinced by this,’ said Gervase. ‘I was raised in an abbey myself and almost took the cowl. I know the strong currents of feeling that can run in such places. But I find it very hard to believe that a Benedictine monk could be guilty of murder.’

‘Look at the facts,’ said Durand coldly. ‘The victim’s throat was slit within the abbey precincts and his body stowed in the abbey church. Who else would have had access to him there? Who else would know where to hide the corpse? Who else would have had a motive to kill a monk? No,’ he decided, mounting his horse, ‘there is no shadow of a doubt in my mind. The killer wears the black habit of the Order. Finding him is another matter, however.

It is a labour of Hercules. How do you solve a murder when almost any monk in that abbey might have committed it?’

‘These are holy men,’ argued Gervase. ‘They deserve your respect, my lord sheriff, not your derision.’

‘I speak as I find. Monks are all alike to me. They look the same, talk the same, think the same, and, when they break wind, smell the same. How am I to pick out the man or men I am after?

Monks are trained in deceit. How do I get behind those blank faces and those lying tongues? How do I catch the one who cut the throat of Brother Nicholas?’

He rode off quickly before they could even speak.

From its vantage point in the south-west of the city, the castle controlled not only Gloucester itself, but the river crossing and the whole of the surrounding countryside. This geographical fact served to increase the power of Durand of Pitres, constable of the castle, sheriff of the county and collector of the King’s revenues, offices which his late brother held before him and which made Durand, in effect, the gatekeeper to Wales and the west. The stronghold followed the established Norman pattern of motte and bailey, making use, in this case, of remaining Roman fortifications. Surmounting the high mound of tightly compacted soil was a wooden tower which commanded a superb view in all directions and would be the final point of defence in the event of an attack. The bailey looped out on the eastern side of the motte and was enclosed by a ditch and a timber palisade which boasted a fortified gate and a heavy drawbridge.

Clearly visible from any part of the city, the fortress was a vivid symbol of foreign domination and a reminder that sixteen Saxon dwellings had been demolished to make way for it. A small forest had also been cut down to provide the timber needed for its construction. The Normans were not temporary visitors; they were there to stay.

It was a thought which had often troubled Golde in younger days, and even now, though married to a member of the Norman nobility, she felt the dull resentment of a conquered nation. As she looked out across the city, she remembered the visit she had once made there as a young girl when her father was a thegn in the neighbouring county of Herefordshire and her family had real standing in the Saxon community. Domestic buildings had changed little since then. There were no stone houses in Gloucester; they were either built in the time-honoured fashion with posts hammered into the ground then linked by interwoven wattle, or they were timber-framed. The same sunken floors and thatched roofs predominated.

What differed from her first trip was the fact that the citizens now lived in the shadow of Norman rule as epitomised by its castle. Not for the first time a twinge of guilt unsettled Golde.

Marriage to Ralph Delchard brought many benefits and untold pleasures, but it did not leave her conscience unmolested.

Gloucester was bigger than Hereford but there were many similarities between the two. But for a happy accident, she would still be working in the family brewhouse or haggling in the market like the crowds she could see in the streets below.

Golde turned away from the window. She was in an upper room in the square tower. It was small and cluttered but extremely clean and would be a far more comfortable place to pass the day than on the back of her palfrey. Having shivered in so many draughty Norman castles in wintertime, she was grateful that they were staying at Gloucester during warm weather. It was a great solace.

Footsteps pounded up the steps outside the room, then the door opened and Ralph came bursting in. Golde saw the vexation on his face.

‘What is the matter, Ralph?’

‘Everything.’

‘I thought you would be glad to reach Gloucester.’

‘I was, Golde. The sooner we reach the place, the sooner we can leave. At least, that is what I thought. But it seems as if our stay may be longer than I hoped. Gervase has let me down.’

‘Surely not.’

‘He has, my love. He promised me that we would encounter no problems here. It was a confident prophecy. So much for Gervase Bret’s reputation as a fortune teller! I’ll never trust him again.’

‘Why not?’

‘Two unheralded blows have already struck us.’

‘Blows?’

‘Yes, Golde,’ said Ralph, pacing up and down the little chamber.

‘While you were being conducted up here, the sheriff confided that we have arrived in the middle of a murder investigation.’