The Elephants of Norwich (2 page)

Love had finally won the battle against caution. Protracted absences from home made Gervase Bret miss his young wife so much that he eventually decided to take her with him when he next ventured out of Winchester on royal business. Hitherto, he had always persuaded himself that Alys was too delicate to undertake a long journey and that it was wrong to expose her to the potential dangers of travelling through open country. Gervase was also concerned that his wife’s presence would be a distraction, taking his attention away from the important judicial work that he and the other commissioners had to complete in each designated county. Long nights in a lonely bed made such arguments less convincing. Setting aside his reservations, therefore, he invited Alys to join him on the trip to Norfolk and was delighted at the alacrity of her response.
    Early fears were soon confounded. Though small and slight, she had an innate strength that kept fatigue at bay. No additional periods of rest were necessary on her account. Alys proved herself a competent horsewoman and revelled in the opportunity of leaving her native Hampshire and seeing something of the rest of the country. What was an onerous assignment for her husband was a wonderful adventure to her. After only one day, Gervase realised that he did not, after all, have to watch over her so anxiously. Alys was well able to take care of herself and she was an ideal companion for Ralph Delchard’s wife, Golde, a seasoned traveller with the commissioners. They might come from different backgrounds but the beautiful young Norman lady and the Saxon thegn’s daughter showed a sisterly affection for each other. Gervase was able to relax. The decision to bring his wife was already yielding up more than one bonus.
    Her value to the expedition had not gone unnoticed by Brother Daniel.
    ‘You are a fortunate man to possess such a wife,’ he observed, fondly.
    ‘I know,’ said Gervase.
    ‘Anyone can see that you bring each other great joy. Your good lady also helps to cleanse the minds and mouths of the company.’
    ‘In what way, Brother Daniel?’
    ‘Soldiers can be very coarse when they’re alone together. Yet I’ve not heard an offensive word from them since we left Winchester almost a week ago. They’ve been becalmed by our two charming female companions.’
    ‘I’m glad of that.’
    ‘So am I. Obscenity offends me.’
    ‘I’d hate it if Alys were forced to listen to warm words from our escort.’
    ‘She’s subdued them, Master Bret,’ said the other with a grin. ‘And given them something far more interesting than my tonsure to stare at as we move along.’
    Gervase was riding beside the Benedictine monk and directly behind Alys and Golde. He was finding Brother Daniel a talkative companion. Brother Simon, their usual scribe, had many virtues but his undisguised fear of the female sex and his hatred of soldierly banter ensured that every journey with the commissioners was an extended ordeal for him. Brother Daniel, by contrast, was a much more worldly man with a twinkle in his eye that suggested he was not unacquainted with physical pleasure before he took the cowl. Devout and learned he might be, but the lean, wiry, sharp-featured monk with the greying circle of hair was a red-blooded human being as well. His gaze was fixed admiringly on the two women in front of him.
    ‘I hope that I’ll not let you down,’ he said.
    ‘There’s no question of that, Brother Daniel,’ replied Gervase. ‘You come with the highest recommendation. I’m sorry that Brother Simon is indisposed but you’ll be an able deputy, I’m sure.’
    ‘Simon instructed me with meticulous care.’
    ‘Did he tell you what to expect?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Daniel, turning to him with amusement. ‘But I’ve so far encountered none of the things I was warned about. Simon spoke well of you, Master Bret, though he was less complimentary about the lord Ralph.’
    ‘Only because Ralph enjoyed poking fun at him.’
    ‘I take such teasing in my stride. It’s always good-humoured.’
    ‘What else did Brother Simon say?’
    Daniel was discreet. ‘Enough to show that he didn’t appreciate the privilege he was being given. I do appreciate it, Master Bret. Very much.’
    ‘Let’s see if you still feel that way at the end of our visit.’
    ‘I’ve no doubts at all on that score.’
    He returned to his contemplation of the two graceful figures in front of him.
    They were eighteen in number, wending their way at a steady trot through the Norfolk countryside. Six knights from Ralph Delchard’s own retinue provided half of the escort, the remainder belonging to the new commissioner, Eustace Coureton. Like their men, Ralph and Coureton wore helm and hauberk and carried weapons. Gervase, too, though wearing the attire of a Chancery clerk, had a sword in his scabbard and a dagger at his belt. Such a show of force was necessary on a journey that took them through six separate counties. Outlaws would think twice about trying to ambush such a well-defended group of travellers. Alert and disciplined, the soldiers rode in pairs. Sumpter horses followed on lead reins at the rear of the column.
    Leading the cavalcade were Ralph Delchard and Eustace Coureton. Ralph had been pleased when his habitual colleague, Canon Hubert, was replaced by a veteran soldier, but Coureton was not turning out to be the hardy warrior he had anticipated. A solid man of medium height, the newcomer had a vigour that was surprising in someone who was approaching his sixtieth year. He also had a scholarly turn of mind. Instead of wanting to discuss the finer points of military strategy or past battles in which he had fought, Coureton preferred to enthuse about Greek and Roman authors whose work he was reading in their original language. Ralph liked him immensely but was quite unable to follow his colleague through the thickets of Classical literature.
    ‘My favourite author is Horace,’ Coureton observed.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Quintus Horatius Flaccus.’
    ‘Another noble Roman?’ said Ralph without enthusiasm.
    ‘A poet and a satirist.’
    ‘The only Romans I know are soldiers.’
    ‘Oh, Horace did his share of fighting,’ explained the other. ‘When Julius Caesar was assassinated, Brutus fled to Greece. Horace joined his army and fought at the battle of Philippi. Unfortunately, he chose the losing side. Horace had to obtain a pardon before he was allowed to return to Rome.’
    ‘I’ve never been on the losing side,’ said Ralph, proudly.
    ‘Then you’re too young to have borne arms when King William was merely the Duke of Normandy. They were desperate days, my lord. Feuds broke out from time to time in every part of the duchy. Unlicensed castles were built all over the place. Fighting never ceased. None of us won all the skirmishes in which we were forced to take part.’ He gave a shrug. ‘Perhaps it’s just as well.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Too much success can lead an overweening arrogance. Failure in battle tempers a man’s character. It did so in my case. I learned the value of humility.’
    Ralph laughed. ‘Humility is only fit for monks.’
    ‘Monks and beaten armies.’
    ‘Victory sharpens the edge of ambition.’
    ‘That’s why I came to distrust it.’
    ‘Would you rather we had lost at Hastings?’
    ‘Of course not.’
    ‘Then why not enjoy the spoils of war?’
    ‘Because war is not always something that we should enjoy.’
    They argued happily for a couple of miles. Ralph then lifted an arm to call a halt so that they could have a rest, water the horses and see to the wants of nature. The place he had chosen met all three needs. A fallen tree offered seating to the women while verdant grass welcomed the rest of them. Water rippled invitingly in a twisting stream and the nearby copse supplied enough privacy for those wishing to relieve themselves. Everyone was grateful for the break in the journey. It was a warm day and the sun kept peeping through a veil of wispy white cloud to test its strength on them. Soldiers in heavy mail shirts were eager to dismount and find some shade. Horses whinnied in approval.
    Ralph helped his wife down from her palfrey and escorted her across to the fallen tree. Gervase was equally attentive to Alys, taking her by the waist to swing her gently to the ground. She gave him a dazzling smile of thanks.
    ‘I’m enjoying this so much, Gervase,’ she said.
    ‘You’re not bored, my love?’
    ‘How can I be when there is so much to see and so many things to talk about with Golde? She really is the perfect travelling companion.’
    He pretended to be hurt. ‘What about me?’
    ‘You’re perfect in other ways.’
    ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
    ‘Where are we?’ she asked, moving across to sit beside Golde.
    ‘I’m not sure,’ he replied. ‘But it can’t be more than ten miles to Norwich.’
    ‘That’s my reckoning as well,’ agreed Ralph.
    ‘What sort of a town is it?’
    ‘Who knows, Gervase? I’ve never been there. And if it were left to me, I’d not be going anywhere near the place now. Norwich holds no appeal for me.’
    ‘It will, my lord,’ promised Coureton.
    ‘You’ve visited the place?’
    ‘Once or twice. I was impressed and saddened at the same time.’
    ‘Saddened?’
    ‘War has been unkind to it.’
    Ralph was wary. ‘Are you going to lecture me again about the defects of victory?’
    ‘Only if you’re prepared to listen,’ said Coureton with a chuckle.
    ‘Removing his helm, he settled down on the grass and explained his remark about Norwich. Though it was ten years since he last visited the city, it remained a vivid memory. He talked with affection and regret, holding their interest and sparking off a flurry of questions. The two women wanted to know about the castle where they would be staying, Brother Daniel enquired about the spiritual life of the community and Gervase asked about the trade in the area. Ralph’s attention soon wandered. It was not from lack of curiosity. He was as eager as any of them to learn something of the city, but another development took priority. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement in the bushes and let a hand drift at once to his sword. Having drunk their fill in the stream, the horses had been tethered nearby. To give the animals a rest, packs and leather satchels had been removed from the backs of the sumpters who now grazed contentedly.
    What alerted Ralph was the sight of a hand reaching out slowly from behind a bush to grab one of the satchels and drag it away. Hauling himself up, Ralph drew his sword and gave a signal to his men. Three of them immediately leaped to their feet to support him as he strode quickly towards the bushes. The rest of the escort also got up and drew their weapons. Coureton broke off his narrative and Gervase, fearing an attack, got up to stand protectively in front of the two women. There was, however, no danger. When Ralph and his men plunged into the undergrowth, they met with no opposition. All they saw was a bedraggled figure limping off into the copse with the satchel under his arm. Even in their hauberks, the soldiers had no difficulty in overhauling the man. He was old, grizzled and close to exhaustion. Tripping over the exposed roots of a tree, he fell full length and let out a cry of pain.
    Ralph turned him over with a foot and held a swordpoint at his throat.
    ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded.
    ‘Spare me, my lord!’ pleaded the other.
    ‘Why should I spare a thief?’
    ‘I was only after food.’
    ‘You and who else?’ said Ralph, eyes combing the trees around them.
    ‘Nobody else, my lord.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘I swear it.’
    Ralph nodded to his men and they fanned out to search the copse. Eustace Coureton joined Ralph to see what quarry he had run down. The man at their feet was a pitiful sight, cadaverous, hollow-eyed and caked in filth. His tunic was badly torn, his gartered trousers ripped in several places to expose skeletal legs. He was trembling violently, fearing for his life and wondering how a Norman lord could speak his language so fluently. Coureton looked down with sympathy at the bearded captive.
    ‘Is this all you found?’ he said.
    ‘He stole one of our satchels,’ explained Ralph, reclaiming it from the ground. ‘The rogue claims that he was only searching for food.’
    ‘Then I’d say he was telling the truth, my lord. I’d also suggest that you take your weapon from his neck or he’ll die of fright. Let him be. He’s hardly likely to outrun mounted pursuit, and he’s not armed.’
    Ralph relented and sheathed his sword. The remainder of the escort was now picking its way through the copse, searching in vain for any confederates. The old man was patently alone.
    Golde had instructed her husband well. His mastery of the Saxon tongue enabled him to speak to the captive on his own terms.
    ‘What’s your name?’ he said.
    ‘Alstan, my lord.’
    ‘Where are you from?’
    ‘Taverham hundred.’
    ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘I was driven out,’ whimpered the other. ‘When King Edward sat on the throne, I was a villein and happy to work the land for my master. Times have changed. Under the new king, I became a mere bordar, then my master treated me as a slave. When I tried to protest, he had me whipped and driven out.’
    ‘Whipped?’
    ‘Yes, my lord. I still bear the scars.’
    Alstan struggled up into a kneeling position so that he could peel off his tunic. When he turned his bare back to them, they saw the livid wounds across the pale torso. It was surprising that the old man had survived the punishment. Coureton was shocked and Ralph felt a surge of sympathy.
    ‘We’ll give you food, then you can tell us the full story.’
    ‘Thank you, my lord,’ said Alstan, weeping with gratitude.
    ‘That doesn’t mean I condone theft,’ warned Ralph. ‘On the other hand, I don’t condone savage punishment such as you’ve endured. Taverham hundred, you say?’
    ‘Yes, my lord.’
    ‘Who is this cruel master of yours?’
    ‘The lord Richard.’
    ‘Richard de Fontenel?’
    ‘He drove me out to starve in the wilderness.’
    ‘For what offence?’
    ‘Old age.’

‘Do something!’ insisted Richard de Fontenel. ‘Summon your men and do something!’
    ‘My deputy is already looking into the matter.’
    ‘I don’t want a mere deputy. I want the sheriff himself in charge of the case.’
    ‘I have more important things to do than to go searching for missing trinkets.’
    ‘Trinkets!’
    ‘And you’ll not endear yourself to my deputy by insulting him. Why not calm down, Richard? Nothing will be gained by trying to browbeat me.’
    De Fontenel held back a tart rejoinder. Roger Bigot, sheriff of Norfolk, was not a man to be intimidated by a loud voice and a threatening manner. While his visitor ranted at him, he remained icily calm. Bigot was a power in the land, a man who had the King’s trust and a place at his Council table. Constable of the castle, he had recently been elevated to the shrievalty of Norfolk and of its southern neighbour, Suffolk, two large counties with a healthy respect for the name and reputation of Roger Bigot. He was a tall, slim man of middle years with a sagacity and imperturbability rare in a soldier. When de Fontenel came riding angrily into the castle to harangue him, he was given short shrift.
    ‘Return home,’ advised Bigot. ‘Let justice take its course.’
    ‘How can it when you stand idle here, my lord sheriff?’
    ‘I’m never idle, Richard. In addition to affairs of state that require my attention, I have to welcome the commissioners who’ll soon arrive in Norwich.’
    ‘Not before time!’ grumbled the other. ‘They can oust Mauger from my land.’
    Bigot was amused. ‘Mauger is hoping that they’ll shift you from what he claims is his property. Don’t expect too much from the commissioners. They’ll be quite impartial.’
    ‘In that case, I’m bound to win.’
    ‘Mauger feels the same.’
    ‘I don’t care what he feels. Mauger is a sly rogue. An unscrupulous cheat.’
    They were standing in the bailey of the castle, a timber fortress that had been erected soon after the Conquest to attest Norman supremacy and to act as a bulwark against any Danish incursions along the eastern seaboard. The conversation between the two men could be clearly heard by the guards on the battlements. Richard de Fontenel was not a man to lower his voice in a public arena.
    ‘I’d not put it past him to be involved here,’ he declared.
    ‘Mauger?’
    ‘The crime has his mark upon it.’
    ‘You told me that the gold elephants were stolen by your steward.’
    ‘They were. Hermer made off with them.’
    ‘Then how does Mauger come into it?’
    ‘Hermer was acting at his behest,’ decided the other. ‘He must have been. My steward gave me very loyal service for years. Only someone like Mauger could corrupt him and turn him against me.’
    ‘Are you quite sure that your steward
was
the thief?’
    ‘Completely, my lord sheriff.’
    ‘How can you be so certain?’
    ‘Apart from myself, he was the only person with a key to the chest in which they were locked. Nobody else could even have got into the room where my valuables are stored. Or, indeed, into my house. Besides, the man has vanished into thin air. The facts are irrefutable. It
has
to be Hermer.’
    ‘I doubt very much that he was in league with the lord Mauger.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘What motive could he have to instigate the theft of those elephants?’
    ‘Spite, my lord sheriff.’
    ‘Concerning this property dispute?’
    ‘And property of a different nature.’
    ‘Ah,’ said Bigot with a knowing smile. ‘I begin to understand.’
    ‘The gold elephants were to be a wedding gift.’
    ‘The lady Adelaide has accepted you, then?’
    ‘Unhappily, no. But she will,’ added de Fontenel, defensively. ‘The lady Adelaide was enchanted by my gift. Once those elephants are back in my possession, she’ll not be able to refuse me. That’s why they must be found immediately.’
    ‘My deputy will do his best, Richard.’
    ‘Order him to arrest Mauger.’
    ‘On what evidence?’
    ‘Search his house. I’ll wager that you find the stolen property there.’
    ‘A foolish wager,’ argued Bigot. ‘Even if those gold elephants were taken on Mauger’s instructions – and I refuse to countenance that notion – he would never be stupid enough to conceal them in his own home where they might be found by a search. As you know better than anyone, Mauger is as cunning as a fox. My advice is to forget him altogether, Richard. He has no place at all in this investigation.’
    ‘But he has. He’s trying to lure the lady Adelaide away from me.’
    ‘That’s a personal matter between the two of you. What concerns me is the crime that’s been committed. If your steward is responsible for the theft, you should be looking at yourself rather than at the lord Mauger.’
    ‘At myself?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You said a moment ago that Hermer was very loyal to you.’
    ‘He was, my lord sheriff. Unswervingly so.’
    ‘Then what happened to undermine that loyalty?’
    ‘Nothing at all.’
    ‘Nothing?’ said Bigot levelly. ‘Be honest with yourself, Richard. You’re a hard man with a rough edge to your tongue. You like your own way and you make sure that you get it, no matter how many toes you may have to trample on in the process. What did you do or say to upset your steward?’ He looked his visitor in the eye. ‘Has it never occurred to you that you may actually have provoked this crime?’