When the visitors took their seats, Ralph outlined the problem which they were addressing. A thousand acres of land was caught between rival claims. Damville’s jaw tightened at the mention of Richard Orbec, but he said nothing. Schooled by Huegon on the journey to Hereford, he left the argument to his steward. The old man had a more persuasive touch.
“I am glad to know that royal commissioners can admit their mistakes,” he said, pleasantly. “Some sharp-eyed clerk at the Exchequer has clearly been through the evidence collected by your predecessors and found it wanting. You have come here to repair that deficiency.”
“That is precisely our task,” agreed Ralph.
“Then you will need to peruse our documents.”
“All in good time, my friend. Gervase is our lawyer. He will need to examine your claim word by word.”
“Before I do that,” said Gervase, taking his cue, “it is only fair to warn you that the case is altered since your first appearance in this hall.”
Huegon smiled. “You are ready to tear up Richard Orbec’s fraudu-lent charter?”
“We are obliged to consider a third claimant.”
“A third? ”
“Warnod of Llanwarne.”
Huegon remained impassive, but Maurice Damville’s mouth twitched with irritation. The two men conversed briefly in whispers. There was much shaking of heads before the steward answered for both of them.
“We do not know the man.”
“His father was a wealthy thegn before the Conquest.”
“A familiar story,” said Huegon, easily. “On our arrival here, he was dispossessed. Like most of the other Saxon nobles.”
“Not entirely, it seems,” said Gervase. “These manors in Archenfield were confirmed in his name and yet his son did not inherit them. We would know the reason why.”
“Start your questioning with Warnod.”
“That may be difficult,” said Gervase.
“He was murdered two days ago,” explained Ralph. “We have many talents in our armoury but communing with spirits is, I fear, not one of them.”
“If the man is dead, his claim is void,” said Huegon.
“That is what his killer would like us to believe.”
Damville bridled. “You dare to suggest that I was involved in the murder of this man?”
“No, my lord,” said Ralph. “I merely remark that his absence is of signal benefit to you at this moment.”
“That is equally true of Richard Orbec,” said Huegon.
“The point was not lost on us.”
Canon Hubert had been watching Damville throughout. He was hiding behind the smooth and plausible tongue of his steward. Nothing of value would be elicited in a formal debate. Huegon was too practised at throwing a defensive ring of words around his master. It was important to lure Damville himself into the conversation. Hubert touched Ralph’s sleeve for permission to intervene. The latter gestured for him to speak.
“One thing puzzles me, my lord,” said Hubert. “You seem to me to be a strong-willed and sensible man. When you see what is in your own best interests, you doubtless pursue that course remorselessly.”
“I will not deny it,” said Damville.
“Then why quarrel so bitterly with your neighbour?”
“What neighbour?”
“Richard Orbec.”
“I do not consider him as such,” said Damville, crisply. “His land adjoins mine, it is true, but that is a circumstance to drive us apart rather than bring us together.”
“Even though amity would advantage you?”
“Amity?”
“Richard Orbec is a fellow Norman to the east,” said Hubert. “I need hardly remind you that a hostile country lies directly to the west of your castle at Ewyas Harold.”
“Wales has been quiescent for years,” said Huegon.
“That situation could change. Perhaps it already has. In that event, would it not be more sensible for you to make common cause with your strongest neighbour?” Hubert studied Damville’s reaction.
“Adversity can unite the worst of enemies.”
Damville scowled. “Orbec is more than my worst enemy.”
“Do you dispute his title to this land out of hatred?”
“We have a charter,” resumed Huegon, trying to shift the debate back to legalities. “You will see that it predates the counterclaim made by Richard Orbec.”
“But not the one made by Warnod,” said Gervase.
“He is no longer in the reckoning.”
“Perhaps he is,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. “While we sit haggling over charters in a musty shire hall, the man who is the key to this dispute lies in Archenfield. Or, at least, his ashes do. I submit that we suspend our enquiries here and move them to the place where they will have more meaning.”
“Is that wise, my lord?” said Hubert, uneasily.
“It is practical.”
“Yes,” agreed Gervase. “We would have an opportunity to view the land and see for ourselves what makes it so attractive to rival claimants.”
“It is settled,” said Ralph. “We go to Archenfield.”
“You will be able to meet the sheriff there,” said Corbin, helpfully.
“Ilbert sent word that he would need to spend at least a day or two more in the area.”
“An additional reason to make the journey,” decided Ralph. “The sheriff can not only give us fuller details of the murder itself. He can act as a witness in our investigation.”
“In what way?” asked Huegon. “Ilbert Malvoisin has no connection with the disputed land.”
“We believe that he may,” said Gervase.
Ralph wound up the proceedings with an apology to the two men for bringing them so far for such a short session. He asked Huegon to surrender the relevant charter so that Gervase could study it at his leisure and pronounce upon its authenticity. The steward looked for approval from his master, but was instead taken aside for an animated discussion. The two men walked afew yards away. Corbin inched forward to try to catch their whispers, but the commissioners waited patiently.
After several minutes, Huegon came back to the table.
“Our charter is no longer valid,” he announced.
Ralph was astonished. “You admit it is a forgery?”
“We withdraw it unconditionally.”
“On what grounds?”
“We do not wish to contest Richard Orbec’s claim.”
“Give us your reason, man.”
“My decision is reason enough,” said Damville, coming forward to look from one man to another. “We have wasted each other’s time.
Your work is done. I cede the land to Orbec. If he wishes to dispute it with a dead man, that is his business. Keep the name of Maurice Damville out of all future deliberations.”
He stalked towards the door with Huegon at the rear.
“You cannot yield up a thousand acres on impulse,” said Ralph.
“That is rank stupidity.”
“It is what I choose to do,” said Damville, pausing in the doorway.
“It may seem rash to you, but I have learned to trust my impulses.
They have never betrayed me yet.”
“You cannot just walk away like this!”
“I can and I will. I am weary of the whole affair!”
Before Ralph could protest, Maurice Damville and Huegon went out through the door. The session was definitively over.
It was market day and the streets were thronged with people as Golde made her way towards the shire hall. Brewing ale in such large quantities was a demanding business, but she had to leave it to her assistants that morning. Blood was thicker than alcohol. Her sister’s needs took priority over the fermentation of the ale. Aelgar was not the most robust girl at the best of times. Recent events had made her almost frail and defenceless. Golde had to be both mother and sister to her.
When she reached the shire hall, they were just coming out. Corbin the Reeve was talking airily with four men. She recognised Ralph Delchard at once and guessed the others to be his fellow commissioners. Two of them set off in the direction of the cathedral and a third-the youngest of them-towards the castle. Golde stepped in to accost the others.