Edward Marston - Ravens Of Blackwater

report it. Miles did not go in search of trouble that day. He went- against my advice-to see Matilda but her brother caught them together. An argument started and a fight developed. They had to be pulled apart.”

“What was it that Guy said?”

“He vowed that Miles would never marry his sister.” “Were those his exact words?”

“No,” admitted Gilbert. “What he actually said to my son was ‘As long as I live, you will never come near Matilda. I would die sooner than let you touch her.’ Now do you see why Miles is so vexed? He had the best reason of all to kill Guy FitzCorbucion.”

They were waiting for him at the quayside and he could read the disaster in their faces. As soon as the ship was sighted from the house, Jocelyn FitzCorbucion and the steward mounted their horses and rode to the harbour to meet it. They could see Hamo in the prow of the ship, waving happily to them and shouting something that was lost in the wind. When he got close enough to see their dour expressions, the waving stopped and the shouting was directed at the captain as Hamo vainly demanded greater speed from the craft. A successful visit to Coutances and a relatively calm voyage back across the channel had put him in a buoyant mood but it turned to black anger before he even set foot again on English soil. Bad tidings awaited him and Guy’s absence alerted him. The favourite son should certainly have been there to meet the returning father. As the stout bulwark rubbed the quayside in greeting, Hamo jumped nimbly ashore before the first rope had even been tied to steady the ship.

There was no point in delaying the news until they were in a more private place. Hamo FitzCorbucion demanded to know the truth there and then. Jocelyn told him. His father was completely dazed. He refused to believe what he had heard. His elder son, who modelled himself so closely on Hamo, who had his energy, his ambition, and his ruthlessness, who shared his vision in every way, and who stood to inherit Blackwater Hall in the fullness of time, this son, Guy, who had been so strong and unquenchable, was now lying dead. Killed by the son of a slave. It was quite inconceivable. All his love and his hope had been placed on Guy. His wife was now dead, his other son less worthy, his daughter less important, so it was Guy who bore the blessing of his pride and affection.

Hamo FitzCorbucion was a stocky man of moderate height with the narrow, hook-nosed face of a predator and yellow eyes that glared from beneath a mop of black hair. As he fought to accept and understand the dreadful news, his head dropped, his shoulders hunched, and his whole body sagged, but he did not stay like that for long. As incredulity gave way to pain, it was in turn replaced by a cold rage that started deep inside him and slowly coursed through his entire being until he was simply pulsing with fury.

“Where is he?” Hamo asked.

“At the mortuary,” said Jocelyn. “Take me to him.”

“You need time to prepare yourself first.” “Take me to him.”

“Father, there’s something I’ve not told you about-”

“I’ve heard enough!” howled Hamo, grabbing him by the throat and shaking him violently. “God’s wounds, Jocelyn! You say that Guy is dead. You tell me my son has been murdered. Take me to him now!” Jocelyn abandoned all hope of further explanation and led his father to the horse, which they had brought for him. All three of them were soon cantering towards the hill. They went past the priory, past the Church of St. Peter’s, and up to the dark shape of the Church of All Souls’. Oslac was taking confession but Hamo’s urgency brooked no delay and he raised his voice to such a pitch of anger inside the nave that the priest had to break off and calm him down. A sinful parishioner was sent on his way only half-shriven so that the lord of the manor of Blackwater could be conducted to the mortuary to view the remains of his son.

Oslac unlocked the heavy door and led the way into the dark, dank, little chamber, which was filled with the stench of decay. Herbs and fresh rushes had been placed around the slab to freshen the atmosphere but they were unable to compete with the reek of rotting flesh. Hamo retched.

“Dear God in heaven!” he exclaimed.

Oslac steadied him with an arm and Jocelyn moved in to support him as well but he soon shook them both away. He needed no help with a father’s duty. The body lay on the cold slab beneath a thin shroud. Candles burned at its head and feet. Oslac had washed the corpse and tended its wounds but blood and filth still oozed out to stain the material. Hamo was overwhelmed with nausea and contempt. A son who had come into the world to such wealth and advantage was ending it in a fetid cavern that smelled of his own corruption. He reached forward to take the edge of the shroud and peeled it back to reveal the face. Guy FitzCorbucion did not rest in peace. His face was contorted with pain and his mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. Hamo let out a low moan and swayed to and fro.

When he steadied himself, he tried to pull back the shroud even further but Oslac the Priest stopped him with gentle firmness.

“You have seen enough, my lord,” he suggested. “Take your hand from me,” hissed the other. “Guy was most cruelly slain.”

“I wish to see my son.”

Oslac gave a little bow and stepped away. Hamo drew back the material and saw the worst. The two candles were throwing an uncertain light and much of the horror was lost in the shadows but Hamo saw enough to appall him even more. Deep gashes covered the muscular torso and the most hideous mutilation had been practised. With a cry of anguish, Hamo pulled the shroud back over the corpse to hide its shame and stormed out of the mortuary towards his horse.

Jocelyn and Fulk could hardly keep up with him. “Has the murderer been caught yet!” he screamed. “He soon will be, Father.”

“Where is he?”

“The search continued at first light.” “Why haven’t you found him, you idiot!” “It is only a question of time.”

“I want him!” growled Hamo.

“We have dozens of men out looking,” said the steward.

“Yes,” said Jocelyn. “The sheriff and his officers will be here to help in a couple of days.”

“I need no sheriff,” sneered Hamo. “I’ll deal with the killer my

way. I want him now. I’ll find that boy if I have to search every corner of the shire for him myself. And when I get my hands on him, I’ll show him what FitzCorbucion vengeance is like.” He was leaping into the saddle now. “I’ll pull off his ears. I’ll gouge out his eyes. I’ll stuff his pizzle down his throat.” He looked back at the morgue. “Nobody does that to my son. I’ll cut the devil into tiny strips and feed them to the ravens!”

Hamo FitzCorbucion galloped off to Blackwater Hall.

The commissioners arrived at the shire hall well before the appointed hour so that they could organise themselves properly for what promised to be a long and exacting day. They were due to hear a series of witnesses whose land had been taken away in a variety of ways by a grasping baron. Their predecessors had identified the abuse without being able to do anything about it and it was up to the second team of royal officers to rectify this situation. The town reeve had prepared everything for them and had even set out some jugs of wine and a plate of honey cakes in case they needed refreshment. Revived by their early-morning exercise, all eight knights were stationed at the rear of the hall. After discussing the broad lines of their approach, the commissioners took their places behind the table as before and set the documentary evidence in front of them. Jostling for position started immediately.

“Introduce me and stand aside,” said Canon Hubert with an imperious flick of the hand. “I will take charge of the business of the day.”