“I am in too merry a mood.”
“We are here on urgent business.”
“Granted,” said Ralph, “but we must discharge our duties in the right place and at the right time. We must not bore our host with our petty squabbles.” He emptied the wine in his cup. “If you want an argument to round off a splendid evening, then I have just the subject for you.”
“What is it?” said Gilbert eagerly. “I adore argument.” “Marriage.”
“Marriage?” echoed the canon. “Clerical marriage.”
“It is an abomination!”
“Yet there are married priests,” said Gervase. “A vice peculiar to the Saxons.”
“That’s why I find them so endearing,” said Gilbert.
“Norman clerks have married,” resumed Ralph, determined to get his colleague on the run. “Many have had mistresses. Some have had wives and mistresses.”
“Archbishop Lanfranc has expressly forbidden it!”
“I know, Hubert. But the good archbishop cannot stand by the bed of every priest and monk in England to make sure that they get into it alone.”
Gilbert sniggered. “Were you never tempted by female flesh, Canon Hubert?”
“Never, sir!”
“What about male flesh?” said Ralph, chuckling at the prelate’s apoplectic reaction.
“A pity!” he said. “You could otherwise have married Gilbert’s wondrous cook and dined on grilled quail for the rest of your life.”
“I’ll not hear any more of this!” yelled Hubert.
“But you have not given us your view on marriage.”
“I embody it!”
He manoeuvered his bulk into a vertical position and then lurched
off towards the chamber, which he shared with Brother Simon. There, at least he could be assured of the total respect to which he felt his position entitled him and spend a chaste night in the company of an ascetic man who viewed the whole concept of marriage as anathema.
Gervase was conscious of the testing day ahead of them. “Perhaps it is time we all retired,” he suggested.
“I could sleep for a week,” said Ralph, succumbing to fatigue. “That was a magnificent feast, Gilbert. If Hubert does not marry your cook, then I may!”
“He is already married.”
“Do not tell that to our testy canon.”
They got up from the table and walked towards the door in the flickering candlelight. Champeney Hall was unlike any Norman dwelling they had been in before and its atmosphere was curiously inviting. Ralph Delchard was drowsy but he was determined to ask one last question before he collapsed into his bed. He put an arm around Gilbert’s shoulders.
“You must know every man in Maldon, dear friend.”
“In person.”
“So who is this Humphrey?”
“Humphrey?”
“Aureis testiculi,” said Gervase.
“Goldenbollocks,” translated Ralph.
“Ah, that Humphrey!” Gilbert went off into a paroxysm of giggling, then he waved Ralph away. “I am sorry, sir. I cannot tell you how he acquired the nickname. It is a secret.”
“But it torments me,” said Ralph. “How do you think Humphrey feels?”
Their host giggled afresh and leaned against a beam for support.
Ralph pressed him for an explanation but in vain. On this topic, if on no other, Gilbert was discreet. Ralph gave up. After thanking him once more for his hospitality, he rolled off towards his chamber. Gervase was about to go with him when he was detained by a hand. Gilbert Champeney was not giggling now. His face was dark and his manner suddenly quite serious. Gervase thought that he had been caught up in the jollity of the occasion but his host had missed nothing of what went on around his table.
“You must forgive my son,” he said. “There is nothing to forgive.”
“You touched a raw spot, I fear.”
“I merely asked him about Jocelyn FitzCorbucion,” said Gervase. “They obviously did not like each other.”
“With good cause.” Gilbert sighed. “A sad business.”
“Why?”
“One of the perils of fatherhood.” “Perils?”
“Raising a son who does not take your advice.”
“You lose me here,” said Gervase. “Miles is not to blame-they are.”
“They?”
“Hamo and his monstrous brood.” Gilbert sighed again. “Jocelyn has two reasons for hating my son. Miles fought with his brother, Guy.”
“Fought? With weapons?”
“Hot words and fists, that is all. But I am told that my son got the better of it before the two of them were dragged apart.” He became remorseful. “Miles was a fool! I warned him not to go there. I told him to stay away from Blackwater Hall. It was bound to lead to trouble.”
“What was?”
“The situation, the situation. It’s hopeless!”
Gilbert broke away and paced up and down in the narrow corridor. The bibulous host was now an anxious parent. His hands flapped about in gestures of despair. Gervase stepped in to confront him.
“Jocelyn had two reasons, you said …”
“It was the other one that took him there.” “To Blackwater Hall?”
“Jocelyn has a sister. Matilda.” “I begin to understand.”
“That is more than I do, Gervase,” said the other. “It is a cruelty practised on a loving father. Why Matilda? Of all people-why her? My son could have any woman in the county, if he wanted, but he chooses a FitzCorbucion.”
“Does the lady feel the same about him?”
“She does, alas!”
“You are obviously against the match.”
“Everyone is,” wailed Gilbert. “I am against it, Hamo is against it, Guy was against it-that is why he came to blows with my son-and Jocelyn is against it. Common sense is against it. Sanity is against it. Nature is against it.”
“But Miles is still determined?”
“They have exchanged vows.”
“How do they contrive to see each other?”
“They do not,” said Gilbert. “Hamo has left orders that my son is not to be allowed near Blackwater Hall. But that does not deter him. He swears that he will wed Matilda.”
Sorrow had finally taken its toll of Matilda FitzCorbucion. After another day of anger at her brother’s death, its full impact hit her at last and she spent a sleepless night crying into her pillow or walking across the wooden floor of her bedchamber in her bare feet. The tears came less from love than from pity, because even a brother as disagreeable as Guy deserved that. As her grief deepened into a physical pain such as she had never known, Matilda came to see that she was mourning two brothers and not just one. Jocelyn was lost to her almost as much as Guy. When he was alive, Guy had either ignored or baited her and she had learned to avoid him whenever possible. Jocelyn had been her protector even when it landed him in trouble and she could always turn to him for help. That was all in the past. The moment the dead body of his brother had been found, Jocelyn changed irrevocably. He was no longer Matilda’s friend but simply a more refined and calculating version of Guy.
In the long reaches of the night, other thoughts came to stick hot needles of doubt into her brain. They were vulnerable. The most powerful family in Maldon was not the impregnable force she had supposed. Blackwater Hall might have the sombre solidity of a castle but its defences had been breached. Guy FitzCorbucion, a virile soldier with great skill in arms, had been cruelly murdered and the alleged killer was a boy of fifteen. What surging hatred must have built up inside the lad for him to commit such a heinous crime? Would such blood-lust be satiated with one death or would he turn to strike at other members of the family? The name that she had carried with such pride now seemed like a badge of doom and fear for her own life sent her racing to the heavy door to make sure that it was bolted. Fresh tears moistened her haggard face. She was grieving over the loss of her safety. Matilda was terrified.
Searching for comfort, she found none within Blackwater Hall. Jocelyn was dead to her and Hamo would be so furious when he discovered what had happened that she would not even be able to speak to him. After her mother’s death, the person who had consoled her least was her father. Hamo was a hard and ambitious man who took what he wanted by force of character and expressed affection only by means of gifts. Matilda’s plight was helpless. A home that was already fraught with tensions would now become unbearable and there would be nobody to whom she could turn. Except perhaps one man. But even as she envisioned the kind face of Miles Champeney, she knew that he could not save her either. The murder of Guy FitzCorbucion had somehow put him forever beyond her reach. Miles was one more casualty of the killer’s knife.