Edward Marston - Ravens Of Blackwater

“What else?” she repeated. “I can see that you have something important to tell me and I would like to know what it is. Do not try to soften the tidings because we are friends. Speak bluntly. You have come to warn me, I think.”

“Yes, my lady prioress.”

“The royal commissioners?” “They are astute men.”

“What have they found out?”

“Enough to make them extremely curious.” “Will they come here?”

“In time, they may. You must be ready for them.”

“I am under no obligation to receive them,” she said with a lift of her chin. “They have no right to intrude here. I will invoke the privileges of my station. They will be turned away.”

“That would only increase their suspicion.” “How, then, may we allay it?”

“I do not know, my lady prioress,” he admitted. “I seek only to alert you. These men are like terriers. They will not give up their search. They will find their way here.”

Prioress Mindred felt a mild sensation of fear but she mastered it at once and drew herself up into a posture of dignity. “I am not ashamed of anything I have done,” she said proudly. “If I were in that position again, I would act in precisely the same way. I made a stand for Christian love and righteousness. God himself guided me.”

Oslac gave a nod of acquiescence but remained anxious. “We may need His guidance even more now,” he said.

Gervase Bret sat at the table where the documents still lay scattered. Brother Simon had used up nearly all the fresh parchment, but his colleague found one small scroll on which he could write and draw. He cudgelled his brain for an hour or more with only moderate success. When Ralph came sweeping into the hall, Gervase was still crouched over his conundrum.

“They have arrived back!” announced Ralph.

“Miles is safely returned?”

“He is returned, I know that, but his safety is very much in question. Gilbert is lashing him even now. Our kindly host has a most blistering tongue.”

“But the exchange was effected?”

“It worked like a charm,” said Ralph. “Hamo took the documents and released both Miles and that servant. Gilbert took me aside to tell me how delighted he was. He has not told his son that we were involved in the deception and that the documents are forgeries. Miles still believes that his reckless behaviour turned his father into a thief.” He walked to the table and began to sift idly through the documents. “It will not hurt to maintain that illusion for a short while. Gilbert wants to make him suffer the pangs of remorse before he tells him the truth.”

“What of Matilda FitzCorbucion?”

“She is still under lock and key.”

“Will not Miles try to rescue her once again?”

“He will not get the chance. Gilbert will hover over him like a falcon and swoop at the first sign of movement.” Ralph heaved a sigh. “In some ways, it is a pity.”

“Why?”

“Because he would have a much better chance now.”

“Of reaching Matilda?”

“Yes,” explained Ralph. “They would never expect a second attempt.

Last time they were waiting for Miles and he was a sitting target. They are off guard now and the girl will be watched with less vigilance. In addition to that, Miles has a valuable accomplice.”

“Accomplice?”

“The servant who was released with him. That man would have died in Hamo’s dungeon if Gilbert’s kind heart had not pried him loose. He will be more than happy to strike back at his old master.”

“And he knows the inner workings of the household.”

“Exactly, Gervase. If I were the lover and she were my lady, I’d have Matilda out of Blackwater Hall within a day.”

“How?”

“There is always a way. Every problem has a solution.”

“This one does not!” said Gervase, looking down at the parchment in front of him. “I have been at it since you left me here and I am none the wiser.”

“Are you still struggling with Tovild’s riddle?”

“Yes. I have remembered all I can and set it down.”

“Show me.” Ralph looked over his shoulder at the paper. “What are these weird creatures?”

“They are drawings of the things Tovild mentioned.” He pointed a finger. “Is this a swallow?”

“It is supposed to be an eagle.” “This one looks like a bullock.”

“It is a goat, Ralph.”

“Now, this one I do recognise,” said Ralph, jabbing his finger at another sketch. “It is a mouse.”

“A dog.”

“I can see why you are in difficulty, Gervase.”

“This is all that I can recall of the riddle,” admitted Gervase, indicating each drawing as he spoke. “Dog, goat, and grey eagle. Then goose, hawk, and gull. He also mentioned a warbird but I am not sure what he meant.”

“What are these letters?’ asked Ralph, pointing to them.

“Another clue. He said they formed the name.” “G,A,R,I. An Anglo-Saxon name? Gari?”

“No, there were other letters but these are the only ones of which I am certain. I was playing around with others when you came in just now.”

“G,A,R,I …”

“Gar is a Saxon word,” said Gervase. “It means spear.”

“That would point to Tovild himself as the killer.”

“How would a spear sing like a bird?”

“When it whistles through the air.”

“How would it produce the noise of a goose?”

“When it is thrust through the body of an enemy,” said Ralph. “He will squawk just like a goose, I can assure you.”

“There were two or three other letters. Was H one of them?”

“Could it give us another word?” “Garholt, perhaps. If we lost the I.”

“What does it mean?”

“Spear-shaft.”

“That weapon again. It must be Tovild himself.”

“He certainly sings the song of gull.”

“And he is an old goat who can bark like a dog.”

“No, Ralph,” said Gervase, writing the letters in a different order with gaps between them. “Raig? Argi? Grai? They are meaningless.”

“Try that H once more. Change the letters round.”

“Harig … gahir … rihag …?”

“What else did Tovild the Haunted say? Apart from the riddle? The clue we are missing may lie elsewhere.”

“I do not think so. I have been over it time and again. Tovild said that the raven was killed in the marshes. The name I want is locked in the riddle.”

“Who would kill a raven?”

“Anyone who farms the land.”

“Someone on the Blackwater demesne?”

Gervase stared hard at the letters on the paper, then back at the drawings. He thought of Tovild the Haunted and of the glee with which he had told his riddles. A grey eagle. A goose, a hawk, a gull. A warbird. And was there not also a mention of a kite? He dipped his quill into the inkwell and scribbled some new letters before sitting back with a shout of triumph.

“I have solved the riddle!”

“How?”

“Who would kill a raven?”

“That was my question.”

“I have the answer, Ralph. Another bird.”

“A bird?”

“If I put an O with these letters, what do I get?”

“God knows!”

“Higora!”

“Who?”

“Higora!” Gervase thrust the paper at him. “Take a look. The letters all fit. That must be right. Higora! He has given us the name of our killer, Ralph.”

“And where do we find this Higora?”

“With the rest of its kind.”

“Stop it!” yelled Ralph. “You’ve solved one riddle. Do not couch the answer in yet another one.”

“Higora is the Saxon word for a magpie or a jay.”

“Guy FitzCorbucion was killed by a bird?”

“Tovild was a witness. He told me exactly what he saw in the marshes. A raven killed by a magpie.”