Edward Marston - Ravens Of Blackwater

Moving with a stealth that had now become natural, he crept up to the back of the house and walked its full length in search of a mode of entry. The one door was securely locked and the windows were barred. Those on the first floor were well beyond his reach. He came furtively around the side of the house but that offered no possibility either. He was about to double back and try the other side of the building when he heard a resounding clatter as a troop of men came riding into the courtyard to rein their mounts. Wistan got down on his knees and inched his way to the angle of the house so that he could peer around it and watch.

A few torches had been lit to welcome the latecomers and a few grooms came running. Hounds, which had been used to track down Wistan on Northey Island, barked in their kennels or poked out inquisitive heads. The stone trough where Algar had met his death was clearly visible. Everything about the scene stirred the boy’s loathing. Fulk the Steward came out of the house and down the stone steps. He addressed the captain of the troop.

“You are very late.”

“My lord, Hamo, sent us as far north as Kelvedon.” “But with no success?”

“None, Fulk. Nobody has seen a glimpse of the boy.”

“We’ll search again tomorrow.”

“What is the point?” said the captain. “The lad must be far away from here by now. He’s had days on the run.”

“That is my feeling but he will not listen to me.” Fulk raised his voice so that all could hear. “My lord, Hamo, will lead you tomorrow. He and his son have to visit the shire hall at ten o’clock. Some paltry business that will not take long. Be ready to leave soon after that.”

Moans of protest were mixed with sighs of relief that they would not have to be out again at first light. It was a minor blessing but a welcome one for men who had been in the saddle for the best part of a day. Fulk had delivered his message and went back into the house. Wistan had heard him clearly. Hamo and Jocelyn FitzCorbucion would be going to the shire hall in the morning. The boy might not have to find a way to get into the house, after all. If he was in the right place at the right time, his enemies would come to him.

He climbed back over the wall and trotted happily away.

Canon Hubert knew how to put a man right off his breakfast.

“I am all in favour of branding and mutilation,” he said airily as he slurped his frumenty. “A brand marks a man for life and a missing ear or nose is a reminder that he is never allowed to forget. Be just but merciless, I say. One must make the punishment commensurate with the crime.”

“Could we talk about something else?” asked Brother Simon queasily. “The subject distresses me.”

“It must be discussed.”

“Why, Canon Hubert?” “Because I have chosen it.”

“Of course, of course …”

“And because it is germane.”

“So how would you punish Hamo?” asked Ralph Delchard.

“Most severely,” said Hubert.

“Branding or mutilation?”

“Both, my lord. I’d brand him a criminal and cut whole pieces of his demesne away to give back to their rightful owners.” Hubert was vindictive. “I’d also throw the rogue into prison to cool his heels. Nobody is above the law. Not even Hamo FitzCorbucion.”

“Nor even the King’s own brother,” noted Gilbert Champeney. “Odo has been behind bars for years now and he was Earl of Kent.”

“He is also Bishop of Bayeux,” added Gervase Bret.

“Yes,” said Ralph brightly. “That fact delights me most. A reverend Bishop thrown into prison. The Church must bow down to the law of the land.”

He beamed at Hubert. “How would you sentence Odo? To the branding iron or the knife?”

“We are wandering from the point, my lord.”

It was early morning and the six of them were having breakfast together. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were preparing themselves for the encounter with Hamo at the shire hall, Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret were taken up with the related problem of the murder, and Gilbert Champeney was trying to make amends for his near-betrayal of his guests by an even more excessive show of hospitality. He had cajoled his son to come along and Miles was far more ready to join in the banter. He had now been told about the deception practiced on Hamo and it had given him a degree of consolation. But the woman he loved was still locked away in Blackwater Hall, so he had a personal interest in the outcome of the morning’s session at the shire hall.

“No punishment could match Hamo’s crimes,” he asserted. “I think he should be tried and executed for what he has done.”

“Come now,” teased Ralph. “You are being very harsh on your future father-in-law.”

“He has held this town to ransom for too long.”

“We will put a stop to that,” said Hubert. “He will be dealt with accordingly. We can unleash the full rigour of the law upon him.”

“But it is Norman law,” reminded Gervase, “and it falls short of your own preference, Canon Hubert. A moment ago, you were advocating the use of branding and mutilation. That is nearer to the Danish code. King Cnut also favoured such savage law.”

“Do not compare me with the Danes!” said Hubert querulously. “They were heathens!”

“Cnut became a devout Christian,” returned Gervase. “Like you. That is what surprises me about your attitude. The Christian ethic surely has no place in judicial castration or the blinding of felons. King Cnut even prescribed mutilation for women taken in adultery.”

“God save us!”

Brother Simon had heard enough. Clutching his stomach, he ran into the courtyard to spew up what little food he had managed to eat that morning. The idea of taking a knife to a woman by way of punishment was too revolting to contemplate. He began to pray for an early return to the bosom of his monastery where the only thing likely to offend his sensibilities was an overheated debate about a passage from the Scriptures.

Ralph Delchard was amused by the monk’s sudden exit.

“Brother Simon is too easily upset,” he observed. “It has been a bad morning for him so far. He had a fit when I suggested to him that a more appropriate manor for Humphrey Aureis testiculi would be that of Goldhanger.”

Gilbert hooted with laughter, Gervase smiled, and even Miles cracked his face, but Canon Hubert pretended not to have heard and returned to the fray. Even over breakfast, he refused to be beaten in argument. “Law must be fair but firm,” he insisted. “A visible justice is the most effective of all. Every thief who has his hand cut off is a warning to others. Every traitor who is hanged helps to keep the rest of the subjects loyal. Crimes committed in private must meet with public retribution.”

“Your retribution is legal vengeance,” said Gervase.

“Yes,” agreed Gilbert. “Look to the Saxons. They can teach us in this as in so many other ways. Their law was based on compensation rather than on mutilation. The only crimes carrying a death sentence were treason, cowardice, and desertion.” He gave a nervous laugh. “And unnatural vice.”

“They were a warrior people,” said Ralph. “Every soldier was a valued asset. Why kill him or cut him up when he can be used to fight for you?”

“That is my contention,” resumed Gilbert. “Examine the laws of King Ethelbert of Kent and you will see a list of fines for everything from murder to fornication. Thieves did not lose a hand that could be used in battle. They paid compensation for their crime.”

“Compensation is not enough,” said Miles hotly. “To fine a man like Hamo FitzCorbucion would be to fly in the face of every principle of justice.”

The dispute continued for a few more minutes before Canon Hubert shifted its basis in order to assert himself.