Edward Marston - Ravens Of Blackwater

Fulk reappeared and waited until he got another signal from Hamo then he gestured in turn to somebody inside the building. Through the open door, two sturdy guards brought a dishevelled Miles Champeney, who was squinting in the unaccustomed light. His hands were bound with ropes and the guards had a firm grip on him but he seemed otherwise unhurt. Gilbert started forward towards him but quickly controlled himself. There was more bargaining to do.

“I want the servant as well,” he said. “What servant?”

“The one who carried the message between them. If he stays here,

you will only beat him to death or starve him to a skeleton. Give him to me, Hamo.”

“He is my servant.”

“I will buy him from you.”

Miles had adjusted to the light well enough to see his father. As he tried to lunge forward, the soldiers held him.

“Father!” he called. “Help me.” “Be patient, Miles.”

“They threw me in a dungeon!”

“I have come for you. Hold still a little longer.”

“What is this nonsense about my servant?” said Hamo.

“I am trying to prevent a murder.” Gilbert would not budge on the issue. “No servant, no documents.”

“And no son.”

“Keep him, then,” said the father. “He ran away from me and forfeited my love. I want him back to chastise him as much as anything else, but Miles comes with the servant or you can sling the pair of them back into your dungeon.”

“He is bluffing!” sneered Jocelyn.

“Put me to the test.” Gilbert patted the satchel. “You have seen

what thunderbolts they mean to hurl at you tomorrow. Do you really think you could withstand them without the help that I have brought you?”

“Yes!” insisted Jocelyn. “Be quiet!” said Hamo.

“We don’t need him, Father.” “Stand aside!”

Hamo shoved his son out of the way and walked up to Gilbert until they stood face to face. The visitor had none of the other’s dark ferocity but his gaze did not falter. Hamo stared at him for some minutes before he came to a decision.

“What is a miserable servant between friends?” he said with a grim chuckle. “Take the rogue. He is no use to me now except to provide sport.”

“Give me a price.”

“You pay it with that satchel.”

He tried to grab it but Gilbert drew it back and shook his head. Hamo turned to signal to Fulk once more and the steward went into the building. He soon returned with the servant who was walking stiffly after his confinement and blinking in the glare of the sun. Both prisoners were now brought down into the courtyard by the guards and another voice joined in the bargaining.

“Miles! You’re safe! Thank God!”

Matilda was watching from her window. As her beloved moved away from the building, she caught sight of him for the first time and screamed her anguish and her relief. He lifted his bound hands in a gallant wave.

“I’ll come back for you, Matilda!” “No, you won’t!” shouted Gilbert.

“Help me, Miles! They’ve locked me in!” “Silence that noise!” roared Hamo.

The guard entered the chamber above them and a protesting Matilda was dragged away from the window. When Miles added his own protests and tried to lurch towards the house, his father restrained him and gave him a stark choice.

“Me or her,” he said crisply. “Which is it to be, Miles? Come with me and be free. Or stay here with Matilda and rot in the dungeon. Which is it going to be?”

Miles looked despairingly at the empty window. Then he lowered his head in submission. Only if he were released would he have any hope of saving Matilda. He had to bow to the force of circumstances. “Now it is my turn,” said Hamo gruffly. “You have your son and you

have my servant, Gilbert. Give me my documents.”

With a show of reluctance, Gilbert handed them to him. Jocelyn stepped forward again but his father waved turn aside and instead passed the satchel to Fulk. The steward was swift in his appraisal. Taking everything out, he read the list of charges, then checked to see that he had the documents that related to each of those accusations. Jocelyn, meanwhile, was livid at this public rebuff. His exper-tise was being discarded in favour of the steward’s opinion. Hamo’s blackmail had struck a fatal blow at the commissioners and it had also undermined his son.

“They are all there,” said Gilbert shamefacedly. “What took you so long?” asked Hamo. “Guilt?” “Those people are my guests-my friends!”

“Not any more.”

“You forced me to steal from them.”

“And you did just that,” agreed Hamo. “Bear that in mind, Gilbert. You are a thief. If I showed this satchel to the commissioners and told them who gave it to me, they would call the sheriff and have you arrested.”

Gilbert lowered his head in disgust and Hamo was happy. He had made his enemy do something that caused him the greatest pain of all. A generous host had been forced to rob and betray his distinguished guests. Gilbert had been humiliated and his son had been taught a painful lesson. The Champeneys would not cause any more trouble at Blackwater Hall. Pulling a dagger from its scabbard, Hamo cut the rope that bound the prisoner’s hands.

“Get off my land!” he said to Miles. “If you come within a mile of my daughter again, nothing will save you.” He glared at the servant. “Take this offal with you! I want no traitors under my roof!”

Gilbert mounted his horse while Miles and the servant pulled themselves up into the saddles of the two horses which had been brought from Champeney Hall during the night. Joined by the two soldiers, they rode abjectly away. Gilbert had rescued his son and the servant but Hamo FitzCorbucion still felt that he had the best of the bargain. His mocking laughter pursued them. Fulk joined in his scornful mirth but Jocelyn remained morose and silent. Everybody seemed to have gained something from the transaction except him.

Oslac the Priest celebrated Mass at the priory with the silver chalice and the paten. Prioress Mindred and her seven holy sisters received Communion in the tiny chapel and were greatly sustained. The prioress herself knelt in an attitude of total self-abnegation. Sister Gunnhild felt a quiet exultation as she took the wafer of unleavened bread upon her tongue. Sister Lewinna expunged all thought of Aesop and brought her utmost concentration to the ceremony. Sister Tecla listened to the Latin words and translated them into a more familiar and comforting language.

“The Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ, which was shed for thee,

preserve thy body and soul unto everlasting life. Drink this in remembrance that Christ’s blood was shed for thee, and be thankful.” Oslac gave her the chalice and she peered at her reflection in the dark red wine before sipping it. When he tried to take the chalice from her so that he could wipe its rim with a cloth and hand it to the next person, she kept her fingers locked tightly around its base. The priest put a hand on the top of her head in blessing, then detached the cup very gently from her grip. Sister Tecla did not try to resist his pull. She simply folded her hands in prayer but kept her eyes on the

chalice as it made its way along the line of communicants. “What else has happened, Father Oslac?”

“Peter de Valognes is in the town, my lady prioress.” “Has he joined the hunt for the boy?”

“He is conducting his own investigations into the murder. My lord, Hamo, is not pleased to have him here but a sheriff has duties that cannot be shirked.”

“What else?”

Prioress Mindred was alone in her quarters with Oslac. Like the two other priests who came to celebrate Mass, he was her window on the town of Maldon and she enjoyed the chance to gaze through it and keep abreast of affairs in the wider community. Although her vocation encouraged her to look inwards, she had particular reason to look outwards as well. When Oslac hesitated, she searched his face with shrewd eyes.