‘And is that the height of your pretence?’
‘My pretence?’
‘Yes,’ said the bishop sourly. ‘When you spoke in the marketplace yesterday you claimed to be more than a servant.
You compared yourself with the Lord Jesus. Do you deny it?’
‘No, my lord bishop.’
‘That was both a sin and a crime.’
‘Then every Christian is both sinful and criminal,’ replied Huna with a bland smile. ‘On whom else should we pattern our lives but on Jesus Christ? He was the Son of God who was sent down from heaven to earth to act as our guide. We all strive to follow His example. When I compared myself to Christ, it was only to show that I was trying to follow where He led, to help those most in need with whatever gifts we have. Mine are poor indeed beside those of which we hear in the scriptures but that does not stop me comparing myself with Jesus. I aspire to walk in His footsteps, that is all. Does not any God-fearing man? If that is blasphemy, then we are all guilty of it, even you and Brother Reginald.’
The speed and coherence of the old man’s words made Robert de Limesey gape in astonishment. Recovering his poise, he brought the accusatory finger back into action. His voice reached a whole new octave of controlled indignation.
‘Be silent!’ he ordered. ‘Do you have the effrontery to preach a sermon to me? Do you know who I am? And what I am?’
‘Yes, my lord bishop.’
‘I could have you whipped for insolence.’
‘I know.’
‘Or thrown into the town gaol.’
‘That would be no worse a place than most I inhabit,’ said Huna wryly. ‘When you spent last night — as I did — sleeping in a stable with a donkey and a performing bear, you do not fear the town gaol.’
‘You will fear what follows it, Huna.’
‘What is that, my lord bishop?’
‘Trial and conviction for sorcery.’
‘On what evidence?’
‘We will produce witnesses,’ said the bishop. ‘They will include the boy you claim to have cured and his father. They are being questioned by the abbot even as we speak.’
‘They will not say anything against me.’
‘We shall see.’
‘I promised I could cure the boy and I did.’
‘By means of witchcraft!’
‘By using healing gifts which come from God.’
‘I have heard enough,’ said the bishop with a flick of his hand.
‘Have him locked up until he can answer my questions more honestly. Mark this, old man,’ he warned. ‘Your age will not save you. The Devil comes in many forms to beguile us. If it is proved that you are his creature, you will be burned at the stake as a warning to others. And I will light the faggots myself.’
Hunting was one of the ruling passions in the life of Philippe Trouville and he was never happier than when pursuing deer or wild boar. The excitement was even greater, he now discovered, when the quarry was human and marked for slaughter. Trouville soon joined up with the search party led by Henry Beaumont, and the thrill of the chase helped him to forget all about his marital disquiet and his tiresome duties as a commissioner.
Riding through the Forest of Arden, he was able to enjoy good sport and ingratiate himself with his host at the same time. The lord Henry was a valuable friend with a seat on the King’s council.
If Trouville was to become sherrif of the neighbouring county, he would need to be on good terms with the constable of Warwick Castle.
‘Are you sure that he came in this direction, my lord?’ he said.
‘No,’ replied Henry, ‘but it is the most likely route to take.’
‘Would he not strike south to get out of the county itself?’
‘He will get short shrift from Robert d’Oilly if he does. The Sheriff of Oxfordshire will hunt him with as much zeal as ourselves. But I do not want the prize to fall to him. Boio is mine!’
‘I hear that he presents a large target.’
‘Very large.’
‘Slower than deer and bigger than wild boar. We should not have much difficulty in finding prey of this nature. He has no hope at all of outrunning us.’
They emerged from the trees into one of the many clearings which speckled the forest. Henry raised an arm to call a halt.
While he talked to his companion, Trouville’s concentration did not slacken. His keen eye roved in every direction. Vigilance was eventually rewarded. Seeing a movement among the bushes on the other side of the clearing, he did not pause for a second.
‘There he is!’ he yelled and spurred his horse.
The rest of the posse gave chase but Trouville was twenty yards ahead of them, his sword drawn and his voice raised in a battle cry. He caught sight of the fleeing man and kicked more speed from his horse. Overhauling his quarry with ease, he used the flat of his sword to knock the man to the ground, then reined in his destrier, dismounted in one fluent move and ran back to place a foot on the captive’s chest. He looked up at Henry with a grin of triumph but his host was crestfallen when he saw the dishevelled little man squirming on the ground.
‘That is not Boio,’ he said.
‘Is it not?’
‘It is some miserable poacher half his size.’ He turned to one of his men. ‘Arrest him and hand him over to a forester. I’ll have the wretch’s eyes for poaching and his balls for giving us false hope. Away with him!’
Coventry was much smaller than Warwick, with nothing like its scope or presence, but it was a pleasant place which had made a steady journey from village to town since the endowment of its Benedictine Abbey. Situated on the River Sherbourne, its mills were able to make full use of the rushing waters. Abbey and churches dominated but there was no castle and no perimeter wall. A motte-and-bailey fortress had been raised in Brinklow to the north-east, close enough to Coventry for the Count of Meulan, who resided in the castle, to visit the town with ease but far enough away to keep him unimpeded by its civic activity. Ralph was agreeably surprised by the size and appearance of the town.
The returns from the earlier commissioners gave the impression that Coventry was no more than a large agricultural estate, but Gervase had been able to read between the lines of the abbreviated Latin in the Great Survey and thus saw exactly what he expected.
The newcomers rode along the busy main street of the town.
‘A lively place,’ said Ralph. ‘I looked for something sleepier.’
‘The Bishop of Lichfield would not move to a village,’ argued Gervase. ‘Coventry is well placed. Come back in ten years and we may find it twice the size that it is.’
‘One visit is enough for me. That was only by force.’
‘We are on an errand of mercy, Ralph.’
‘Is that what it is?’ He stared around him. ‘I can see no old man with a donkey.’
‘Let someone else find him for us.’
‘Who?’
‘The monks at the abbey. Nothing will escape their notice.’
They steered their horses towards the huge stone edifice which they had seen from miles away. When they’d announced themselves to the porter they waited while word was sent directly to the abbot. Visitors as important as royal commissioners did not call every day and the two friends were not kept waiting for long. Instead of being taken to the abbot, however, they were instead shepherded along by Brother Reginald to meet the bishop.
Robert de Limesey rose graciously from his chair and gave an ethereal smile as the introductions were performed.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ he said, waving them to seats and indicating that Reginald should lurk in the background.
‘I take it that this visit concerns my claim to certain holdings in the county and I appreciate your kindness in coming here instead of forcing me to make the journey to Warwick. Litigation can be so wearing. Is there no way that this dispute can be settled without recourse to endless haggling in the shire hall?’
‘I fear not, my lord bishop,’ said Ralph. ‘We are not here to discuss your claim with you. Our business in Coventry does not concern our judicial duties at all.’