Edward Marston - Ravens Of Blackwater

In the hectic struggle to subdue her, Ralph grabbed hold of her wimple but she twisted her head violently away from him. Hood and wimple came away in his hands and her whole head was exposed to view. Ralph let go of her in surprise. Sister Gunnhild was almost totally bald. Tufts of grey hair ran down the sides of her head but they could not hide the ugly wounds where both ears had been cut completely away. She sank beneath the water again and he tried to pull her back to the surface. Gervase had now swum out to assist him but their efforts were too late. When the mutilated head reappeared above the water again, Sister Gunnhild had the smile of a woman who had finally escaped from the ordeal of men.

Canon Hubert was sad to leave the town of Maldon. He had eaten so well at Champeney Hall, and with such wanton self-indulgence, that his donkey brayed in protest whenever he mounted it. But his regrets were not confined to the kitchen of his genial host. Their visit had been almost wholly satisfactory. They came to attack the rank injustices that had been exposed by their predecessors and they had done so in the most signal way. All was now concluded. A decent interval had been left for the family to bury Hamo FitzCorbucion but two deaths at Blackwater Hall did not absolve it of its crimes. It was Jocelyn who had been arraigned in the shire hall and who had been destroyed there by the commissioners, and Hubert felt that his personal contribution in that arena had been vital. Large amounts of land had been restored to their rightful owners or tenants. Compensation on a massive scale was to be paid out by the new lord of a much-depleted manor of Blackwater.

Brother Simon’s memories of the town were more mixed. His bril-liant forging of the documents had been a decisive element in their campaign-even though he still had doubts about its moral validity- and he could look back on it with some pleasure. He looked back with less enjoyment on discussions of mutilation and the nickname of a local magnate, and he was praying that their homeward journey would not oblige them to enter a house of nuns again. The revelation that it was a holy sister who had butchered Guy FitzCorbucion confirmed his most deep-seated fears about the opposite sex. On balance, he was relieved when they finally took their leave of Champeney Hall and wended their way towards Chelmsford. Chastity was a comforting thing.

Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret led the cavalcade. It was a bright day and the open road beckoned. They were moving at a rising trot through sporadic woodland.

“Our stay was much longer than we anticipated,” said Ralph. “But our efforts were very worthwhile. If it had not been for us, Hamo’s reign of terror would still be continuing.”

“Yes,” said Gervase. “Jocelyn will be a much more amenable lord of the manor now that we have cut him and his demesne right down to size. His sister will profit as well.”

“How so?”

“The marriage in Coutances will be called off,” he predicted. “When it was arranged, she was the daughter of the mighty Hamo and brought a rich dowry. That situation has been altered dramatically. Her elected husband will think twice before allying his family to that of the FitzCorbucions now.”

“Miles Champeney may yet come into favour, then.”

“In time, Ralph. In time. My guess is that Jocelyn will warm to the idea eventually. Now that his wings have been clipped, he needs friends in Maldon.”

“Gilbert will soon mellow as well, I think.”

Matilda FitzCorbucion’s escape from her house had not led to the idyllic reunion she had hoped. Miles Champeney had been delighted to see her and immediately saddled up his horse to ride off with her, but the news of her father’s death arrived before they could depart. It changed everything. Overcome with remorse, she went back to Blackwater Hall. It was her father’s domineering personality that had held the whole demesne together and that quickly became clear, even to Jocelyn. He would never exercise the power or the influence of Hamo and he would need all his energies to administer a demoralised estate. Jocelyn and his sister had reasons to hate each other but they were reconciled by the adverse circumstances. By the same token, Gilbert and his son came to a deeper level of understanding. With the death of his rival, Gilbert was able to take a slightly more accommodating view of the FitzCorbucion family. Miles, too, had learned the importance of blood ties. As the son of a prominent lord, he would now have something to offer Matilda. Hard reality had made a romantic elopement impossible but the passage of time would bring the lovers ineluctably together.

“Did you see who else was waving us off?” said Ralph.

“Wistan.”

“Gilbert has taken the lad under his own wing.” “There is no place for him at Blackwater now.”

“Wistan had the courage to take on Hamo in single combat,” recalled Ralph. “The boy is lucky to be alive. He has Tovild the Haunted to thank for that.”

“And his own father, Ralph.” “His father?”

“Wistan was named after a brave warrior who fought in the Battle of Maldon.” He smiled wryly. “That was what brought Tovild to his aid. If the lad had been called Ralph or Gervase, he would now be lying dead in his grave.”

“Too true.”

“He will now have a kinder lord to serve.”

“Yes!” said Ralph with mock horror. “Gilbert is half-Saxon.” “There is nothing wrong with that,” said Gervase.

Ralph started to rhapsodize about the virtues of Sister Tecla and to wonder if he could not have rescued her from the strictures of convent life. Cold fact then intruded. Hers was indeed a sad condition but Maldon Priory would be a more secure and loving environment for her now that its darker element had been purged. He could never offer her the peace and spiritual companionship that she needed to help her to recover from all she endured. Whatever his faults, she had loved Guy FitzCorbucion once and cherished the gift that he had given her. His murder was a blow to her. The fact that it had been committed by one of her holy sisters was even more devastating.

These thoughts steered him around to a question.

“Tell me, Gervase,” he said. “What first gave you the idea that Sister

Gunnhild might be the killer?” “Canon Hubert.”

“He suggested it?”

“No,” said Gervase, “but he did start that argument we had over crime and punishment. Hubert seemed to have a soft spot for mutilation, even though he was indignant when I pointed out that he shared the same attitude as King Cnut.”

“Well?”

“Sister Gunnhild was a Dane.”

“And old enough to have lived under Cnut’s reign.” “I remembered the mutilation of Guy FitzCorbucion.” “That’s something I choose to forget!”

“Why should someone castrate him?” said Gervase. “You thought it might be a vengeful husband whose wife had been seduced by Guy, but I wondered if it might not be something else. Cnut enforced his legal code rigorously, and when he died, its spirit lived on. Especially among the Danish communities that remained here. Gunnhild was the victim of those laws. They cut her ears off.”

“The punishment for adultery.”

“She was fortunate not to lose her nose as well,” said Gervase. “You can understand why she wanted to hide her disfigurement. Even Prioress Mindred knew nothing about it until she discovered Gunnhild taking a bath one night. The truth finally came out. The prioress confided it to me.”

“That fat old woman committed adultery? Never!”

“She was young and thin once, Ralph,” he said, “and was even betrothed. Then a trusted neighbour came to see her and forced himself upon her. He was a married man. They were caught in the act. The man fled but Gunnhild was left behind to face me judgement of her elders. Nobody believed her when she told the truth, not even the man to whom she was betrothed. He spurned her along with all the others. She had committed adultery, it was said, and they mutilated her. Where else could she turn but to a convent?”