Oslac steadied him with an arm and Jocelyn moved in to support him as well but he soon shook them both away. He needed no help with a father’s duty. The body lay on the cold slab beneath a thin shroud. Candles burned at its head and feet. Oslac had washed the corpse and tended its wounds but blood and filth still oozed out to stain the material. Hamo was overwhelmed with nausea and contempt. A son who had come into the world to such wealth and advantage was ending it in a fetid cavern that smelled of his own corruption. He reached forward to take the edge of the shroud and peeled it back to reveal the face. Guy FitzCorbucion did not rest in peace. His face was contorted with pain and his mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. Hamo let out a low moan and swayed to and fro.
When he steadied himself, he tried to pull back the shroud even further but Oslac the Priest stopped him with gentle firmness.
“You have seen enough, my lord,” he suggested. “Take your hand from me,” hissed the other. “Guy was most cruelly slain.”
“I wish to see my son.”
Oslac gave a little bow and stepped away. Hamo drew back the material and saw the worst. The two candles were throwing an uncertain light and much of the horror was lost in the shadows but Hamo saw enough to appall him even more. Deep gashes covered the muscular torso and the most hideous mutilation had been practised. With a cry of anguish, Hamo pulled the shroud back over the corpse to hide its shame and stormed out of the mortuary towards his horse.
Jocelyn and Fulk could hardly keep up with him. “Has the murderer been caught yet!” he screamed. “He soon will be, Father.”
“Where is he?”
“The search continued at first light.” “Why haven’t you found him, you idiot!” “It is only a question of time.”
“I want him!” growled Hamo.
“We have dozens of men out looking,” said the steward.
“Yes,” said Jocelyn. “The sheriff and his officers will be here to help in a couple of days.”
“I need no sheriff,” sneered Hamo. “I’ll deal with the killer my
way. I want him now. I’ll find that boy if I have to search every corner of the shire for him myself. And when I get my hands on him, I’ll show him what FitzCorbucion vengeance is like.” He was leaping into the saddle now. “I’ll pull off his ears. I’ll gouge out his eyes. I’ll stuff his pizzle down his throat.” He looked back at the morgue. “Nobody does that to my son. I’ll cut the devil into tiny strips and feed them to the ravens!”
Hamo FitzCorbucion galloped off to Blackwater Hall.
The commissioners arrived at the shire hall well before the appointed hour so that they could organise themselves properly for what promised to be a long and exacting day. They were due to hear a series of witnesses whose land had been taken away in a variety of ways by a grasping baron. Their predecessors had identified the abuse without being able to do anything about it and it was up to the second team of royal officers to rectify this situation. The town reeve had prepared everything for them and had even set out some jugs of wine and a plate of honey cakes in case they needed refreshment. Revived by their early-morning exercise, all eight knights were stationed at the rear of the hall. After discussing the broad lines of their approach, the commissioners took their places behind the table as before and set the documentary evidence in front of them. Jostling for position started immediately.
“Introduce me and stand aside,” said Canon Hubert with an imperious flick of the hand. “I will take charge of the business of the day.”
“You will wait your turn, Hubert,” insisted Ralph. “I preside here.” “But I will speed up the whole process.”
“Haste would be an injustice,” said Gervase reasonably. “The people we have called deserve a full hearing and an impartial judgement. We can give neither if we are trying to hurry them along. Law is a tortoise and not a hare.”
“That is very well put,” said Brother Simon. “Be quiet, man,” said Hubert.
“Tortoise and hare.”
“Who sought your opinion?”
“We are delighted to hear it, Simon,” said Ralph. “And we are glad that you side with us for a change. Were we to take a vote on this matter, three of us would outweigh one of Hubert. Although if he eats his way through any more meals at Champeney Hall, he’ll outweigh the whole household.”
“I merely draw attention to my superior abilities,” said Hubert with a supercilious air. “I bring the power of the Church to bear on the proceedings.”
“That is my fear,” said Ralph. “God will hear your blasphemy.”
“I am relieved to know that he still listens to me.”
“My presence here is crucial.”
“It is certainly welcome, Canon Hubert,” said Gervase without irony. “You were rightly chosen for your legal acumen and you lend a gravity to this tribunal that is only proper, but I would remind you that we are engaged in a civil dispute and not an ecclesiastical one.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Not again!” groaned Ralph.
“We are about to move into a spiritual sphere.”
“How can a civil action have spiritual connotations?” said Gervase with curiosity. “I have read all the relevant charters and I perceive no sign of them.”
“Then you have not seen the wood for the trees.” “Please explain,” said Gervase.
“In a single sentence,” pleaded Ralph.
“I may do it in a single phrase, my lord, and it is one that you yourself used only yesterday in this very hall.”
“What was it?”
“The Battle of Maldon.”
“Yes,” agreed Ralph. “Invaders versus Saxons.”
“Look closer,” said Hubert with booming condescension. “The bulk of our work involves annexations made by one particular person. We have set aside the whole of today to hear Saxon witnesses contesting with a Norman lord.”
“The town of Maldon against Hamo FitzCorbucion.”
“No!” said Hubert, clapping his hands suddenly together for effect and making Brother Simon sit up in alarm. “What you see is merely the civil action-Maldon against Hamo: What I see is the spiritual- good against evil.”
“Stop playing with words, Hubert,” said Ralph.
“Good against evil,” he reiterated. “They are abstracts,” said Gervase.
“Wait until you meet him,” warned Hubert. “We only saw the younger son in this hall yesterday but even he exuded a sense of natural wickedness. When his father appears before us, you will not think him an abstraction.”
“Perhaps not,” said Ralph with light sarcasm. “It is as well that we have you on hand to exorcise any demons.”
“Do not mock, sir. You will need a force for goodness.”
“We have one,” argued Gervase. “It is called the rule of law.” Brother Simon piped up. ‘It is named Canon Hubert.”
“It is a combination of both,” announced the prelate. “That is why I
am your chief weapon in this trial of strength. No man here could question my goodness. When Hamo FitzCorbucion enters this hall, you will be in the presence of evil made manifest.”
“Save your sermons for another day, Hubert,” said Ralph dismissively. “The people of Maldon need practical help, not windy moralising from you. Let us get on with our work.”
He gave a signal to one of the soldiers at the rear of the hall and the man went smartly out through the door. The commissioners readied themselves. Ralph Delchard sat bolt upright in his chair, Gervase Bret looked through the list of names, Canon Hubert inflated himself to his full pomposity, and Brother Simon lifted his quill pen in anticipation. But nothing happened. They were expecting over twenty witnesses to come flooding into the hall with their claims but not one appeared. Minutes elapsed and there was still no surge. Ralph grew impatient. His command had the power of royal warrant behind it and he had ordered a prompt start. He was about to dispatch a second man in search of the witnesses when the first came back rather shamefacedly.
“Where are they?” demanded Ralph. “They are not here, my lord.”
“Twenty-four were summoned for ten o’clock.” “They have not come.”