Edward Marston - Ravens Of Blackwater

“That has to be Gilbert’s son,” whispered Ralph.

“He was away on business last night,” said Gervase.

“If I was that young and that good-looking, I would be away on business every night!” said the other with an envious chuckle. “So that is Miles Champeney, is it? He seems a fine, upstanding fellow. I judge him to be a fit companion for you, Gervase.”

“For me?”

“He can take you out wenching in the long evenings.” “Ralph!”

“I was like that once, you know. Young and lusty.”

“You still are,” said Gervase. “That is the trouble.”

Ralph let out a peal of laughter that gained everyone’s attention. He waved happily in acknowledgement then looked across at the doorway as a newcomer arrived. It was the man for whom they had all been waiting. Jocelyn FitzCorbucion was only the second son of the fearsome Hamo but he still sent a rustle through the entire hall when he stepped into it. With Fulk at his elbow, he stalked to the front of the hall and took a seat directly in front of the table. When Gilbert gave him a smile of welcome, he replied with a pleasant nod but his manner altered dramatically when he saw Miles Champeney. The two young men glared at each other for a second as if engaged in a private tussle, then Jocelyn turned his head away with the faint leer of someone who felt he had won the encounter. Gervase Bret took particular note of their open antipathy.

Ralph did not need to be told that a FitzCorbucion had answered their summons. It was time to begin. He slapped the table and the heavy murmur died instantly.

“Gentlemen,” he said in a voice at once friendly and admonitory, “let me thank you all for giving us your time this afternoon. We are royal commissioners who have been sent from Winchester on a most important errand. You have a right to know what that errand is and what manner of men have been dispatched to this pleasant town of yours. My name is Ralph Delchard,” he said, “and I am here to judge the fairness of all proceedings that take place. On my right is Canon Hubert of Winchester, a most learned scholar and a most just man. On my left is Gervase Bret, an astute lawyer who will guide us through any disputes with due respect for legality. And at the end of the table is Brother Simon who is our scribe and our touchstone of righteousness.” Gilbert Champeney laughed and Simon blinked in meek astonishment. “We are here to perform a vital task,” continued Ralph. “If you are honest in your answers and straight in your dealings with us, we will not need to remain here too long. Canon Hubert will explain.”

Ralph turned to the prelate, who shuffled his papers. “I will be brief,” he said.

“Praise the Lord for that!” muttered Ralph.

“You will all remember the visit of the first team of royal commissioners.” There was a mutinous growl from the body of the hall and he raised his voice to smother it at birth. “Our predecessors were industrious men who laboured hard to produce the returns for the county of Essex. Those returns were sent to the Treasury in Winchester where they will, in the course of time, be transcribed.” He increased the volume of his address even more. “When certain irregularities have been dealt with. I speak of the illegal acquisition of land.”

More rumblings broke out and Ralph had to thump the table to restore calm. He glanced meaningfully at his men to remind his audience that he had the strength of his knights to enforce order upon the proceedings. When a surly silence fell once more on the hall, Canon Hubert resumed.

“The county of Essex is a quarrelsome place,” he said with unconcealed distaste. “Shire juries and Hundred juries have heard endless cases of invasions, occupations, ablations, and general misappropriations. The work of our predecessors confirmed this distressing picture. An examination of the returns that they made to Winchester has revealed a pattern of random annexation and nowhere is this more evident than in Maldon.” Murmurs of agreement started, but he rode over them like a ship cresting a wave. “King William has sent us here to right any injustices that have come to light. When we have

done that, the returns can be amended before being transcribed by the Exchequer clerks to take their place alongside the records of other shires.”

Ralph let him speak for another ten minutes before he interrupted the garrulous canon. “We are empowered to call any witnesses,” he warned sternly. “No man is too mean to be ignored in our deliberations and no lord too great to refuse our summons.” To emphasise the point, his eye rested for a moment on Jocelyn FitzCorbucion and there was a crackle of enmity between the two of them. “We will begin taking the evidence tomorrow. The following persons will be summoned.”

Gervase Bret took charge and read a list of names from the document in front of him. The burgesses listened with gathering fascination. Every person mentioned was a Saxon whose land had been forcibly annexed by Hamo FitzCorbucion. The lord of the manor of Blackwater had seen off the first commissioners with an amalgam of bluster and easy duplicity. Could four men with a bundle of documents really uphold the rights of dispossessed Saxons against such a mighty Norman presence? Hamo was omnipotent. Hope nevertheless stirred in the shire hall. Ralph Delchard’s force of character, Canon Hubert’s open denunciation of illegality, and Gervase Bret’s steady litany of injured parties served at least to inspire a guarded confidence. Blackwater Hall was no longer the irresistible force it had been for the last twenty years. Hamo FitzCorbucion was in Normandy, his elder son lay dead, and Jocelyn was as yet unproven in a role of authority. Saxons were encouraged to take heart.

“That concludes our business for the afternoon,” said Ralph when the list of witnesses was finally completed. “We start here tomorrow at ten o’clock and we insist on punctuality.”

The meeting broke up in an excited babble and the burgesses streamed into the street to compare their reactions to what they had just heard. Some of the Norman landholders and subtenants also departed, peeved that they had been summoned to the hall for such a perfunctory meeting, but reassured by the fact that the investigations were not directed at their property. A few barons stayed to complain and bicker, but Ralph Delchard waved them away with brisk unconcern. Jocelyn FitzCorbucion was not so easily sent on his way. He stood up to confront the commissioners and he spoke with glacial composure.

“I am here on behalf of my father, Hamo FitzCorbucion,” he said. “When will we have to appear in person before you?”

“When you are called,” said Ralph. “We require ample notice.”

“It is up to us to decide any requirements.”

Jocelyn was unruffled. “Do not try to bully us, my lord. We are not

mindless Saxons who can be herded like sheep. If you wish for cooperation, you will have to ask for it with sufficient courtesy or your request will be denied. We are not at your beck and call.”

“Indeed, you are!” asserted Ralph, rising to his feet. “If you do not come before us when summoned, I will send my men to demand the reason.”

Jocelyn raised a mocking eyebrow. “Eight bold knights? Really, my lord! What can you hope to achieve? If your eight dare to venture near Blackwater Hall, they will find ten times that number asking them their business in round terms. You will need a whole army if you intend to offer force.”

“We are here by royal warrant!”

“Why so are we, my lord. My father sailed from Normandy in the Conqueror’s own ship. He fought at Hastings and he was granted his estates in Maldon as part of his reward. We have charters with the King’s seal upon them.” He gave a shrug. “They are a form of royal warrant, are they not?”