Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

The afternoon session at the shire hall was the most lively and contentious so far. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had barely resumed their seats alongside their colleagues when the abbey delegation sailed in with a new buoyancy. Prior Baldwin had the unassailable self-assurance of the truly blessed and the doleful Brother Matthew, weighed down though he was with a large satchel of documents, had found a sombre smile to wear upon his face. Beaten men when they last left the hall, they were returning as smug conquerors. Without being invited, Baldwin lowered himself into his chair; without being asked, Matthew flung the satchel down upon the table as if delivering the Ten Commandments to a wayward people. He, too, sat back with unruffled calm. For a few minutes, the commissioners were quite dumbfounded.

Ralph Delchard was the first to locate his voice.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“You have our documents,” said Baldwin, flicking an eye at the satchel. “Show us yours.”

Matthew continued. “Every charter before you is legal and binding.

It will stand the closest scrutiny. We must now examine your evidence of a counter-claim. Let us see it.”

“Let us see it,” asserted the prior, “or let us go. We have played your little games far too long as it is.”

“They are not games,” rumbled Canon Hubert. “The abbey is under suspicion because of an irregularity. The charter relating to a specific piece of land is a forgery.”

Baldwin preened himself. “We are told that it is a forgery by our young friend here, but the only person who could weigh the document fairly in the balance is the scribe who wrote it out, and Drogo, alas, is no longer among us. We rest our case on custom and usage. The terms of this charter reflect what has happened to those two hides over the last twenty years. Those terms will stand in any court of law unless you can produce a counter-claim which negates them.”

“We have such a counter-claim,” said Ralph.

“It predates yours and is genuine,” added Hubert.

“Then where is it?” said Matthew tonelessly.

“We have a right to see it,” said Baldwin. “If our abbey is accused, we wish to see the face of the accuser. Give us this charter so that we may peruse it with care and answer its monstrous impudence. Our integrity has been put in question and we demand the opportunity to vindicate ourselves.” His eyes blazed. “Where is your charter?”

Ralph’s temper flared. “It is we who are empowered to call for evidence and not you, Prior Baldwin. The abbey is on trial because it has overreached itself out of sheer greed. We have taken statements from many witnesses and all attest that the abbey seized that land shortly after Abbot Serlo was brought here from Caen.”

“You dare to impugn the name of Abbot Serlo!” exclaimed the prior.

“He is a saint.”

“Then others have done his dirty work for him.”

“God will punish you for such blasphemy!”

“He has already done so,” moaned Ralph, “by making me sit on this commission and listen to such holy nonsense as you keep thrusting upon me.”

Canon Hubert intervened. “Abbot Serlo is above reproach,” he said.

“Nobody can meet such a man without being aware that they are in the presence of someone who has been touched by the hand of God.

But that does not exonerate his abbey. All that we have learned from witnesses supports the claim that brought us to Bedwyn in the first place.”

“What witnesses?” hissed Baldwin.

“Subtenants on the land in question.”

“Ignorant men with a grudge against the abbey.”

“They have long memories.”

“Long and unforgiving, Canon Hubert. This is not just a battle between abbey and town. It is a feud between Norman and Saxon.

Subtenants have no rights of ownership. They merely till the land and pay rent for that privilege. If they can find a way to flail at their landlords, then they will take it out of Saxon malice. Times are hard and that spreads even more bitterness. The abbey has become its natural target.”

He turned to his subprior for endorsement and Matthew cleared his throat to make way for a sepulchral comment.

“The subtenants bite the hand that feeds them. Their word has no merit in a dispute of this kind. We hold that land from the king. No worthy voice contests that.”

“Yes, it does,” said Gervase.

“To whom does it belong?” asked Matthew.

“Brother John.”

There was mild consternation in the two chairs opposite him, but prior and subprior recovered with impressive speed. Baldwin sighed and gave an indulgent smile.

“Brother John is very old.”

“It is the reason I spoke at length to him.”

“His memory is no longer sound.”

“I found it as sharp as a razor,” said Gervase.

“Brother John is close to death.”

“That is why he values truth so highly.”

“You misled him, I think.”

“I merely asked him about his days as the abbey rent-collector. Before you and Abbot Serlo arrived. Ten minutes with Brother John were most revealing. His account was full of detail to support the counter-claim.”

“Canon Hubert,” said the prior, turning rudely away from Gervase.

“You will best understand our position here. An ancient monk is being asked to betray the house which has nurtured him. Brother John is a dying man who wastes away on his bed at the infirmary. His mind wanders and he does not always know what he says. Explain to your colleague here, if you will, that an obedientiary is not able to bear witness against his abbey. He would never be permitted to come into such a place as this to make a sworn statement.” He threw a disdainful glance at Gervase before he continued. “I appeal to you as a man of God. Insist on just practices here. We must set an example to the laity.

Judge us if you must, but do so by fair means.”

Canon Hubert ran a tongue over dry lips as he heard the plea.

Much as he disliked the prior, he had to concede that there was some truth in what had been said, and he had his own reservations about Gervase’s methods of gathering evidence. Baldwin was encouraged. His plan to create a rift between the lay and clerical members of the commission was working. He tried to open that rift still further.

“You have tested us in this hall, Canon Hubert, but you have done so with scrupulous fairness. We have no criticism to make of your conduct.” His eye moved to Gervase Bret and then on to Ralph Delchard.

“But we have been treated with less respect by others. How has your young colleague sought to overthrow us? By means that are honest, open, and legal? No, Canon Hubert. He has gone behind our backs to speak with the youngest and the oldest members of our house. He has listened to the gossip of a novice and to the ramblings of a vener-able monk. Traduce us, if you must. Bring down the full majesty of the law upon us, if you so desire. But do not insult us and the whole Benedictine order by calling the fledgling Brother Luke and the failing Brother John as your witnesses. They fit into no definition of justice.” He rose imperiously to his feet and addressed his final taunt to Gervase. “Where is your charter?”

“We do not have it here,” admitted the other.

“Call us back when you do,” said Baldwin with a polite sneer, gathering up the satchel of documents and handing it to Subprior Matthew. “We will then return with our written evidence. Your accusations are wild and hurtful, but they carry no substance. Without a charter, you have no case.”

He nudged Matthew to his feet and they made to leave.

Ralph bridled. “Who gave you permission to withdraw?”

“God,” said Baldwin.

He swept out with his subprior and left the commission in turmoil.