“Fear.”
“But he was the mildest and most pleasant of men. How could anyone be afraid of Tanchelm of Ghent?”
“Look at his papers, Ralph. There is our clue.”
Scattered across the table were the various charters that had been in Tanchelm’s satchel. Some were torn, some were deliberately mutilated, all had been tampered with in some way.
“I’ll wager some were taken,” said Gervase. “That is why they were afraid of him. My lord Tanchelm found out something that they did not wish him to know.”
The commotion outside the shire hall drew a small crowd. Soldiers came from the castle, monks hurried from the minster and the sheriff’s deputy hastened to the scene. Passers-by were being questioned by Ralph’s men-at-arms and the purpose soon became clear. Someone lay murdered within the building. Excited by rumour, those who swelled the knot of on-lookers speculated on who had died and by what means.
No details were released, no guesswork confirmed.
It was an hour before the body was brought out. Laid on a bier and covered by a large blanket, it was carried by six of Tanchelm’s men and lifted into the back of a cart. As it trundled off in the direction of the castle, some followed but most lingered to discuss and surmise. The presence of so many soldiers attested the importance of the murder victim. Several hopeful suggestions were made about his identity.
In the fever of speculation, only one man remained silent. He kept to the back of the crowd and made sure that a swift departure was always possible. With his cap pulled down to conceal part of his face, he wore nondescript apparel and carried a staff. When soldiers started to disperse the crowd, he was the first to leave. Unlike the others, he did not need to ask who the murdered man was.
Olaf Evil Child stole quietly into the shadows.
Canon Hubert had many faults, and Ralph Delchard never tired of enumerating them, but even he was impressed by the way that his colleague reacted to the crisis. Snatched from Vespers and brought back to the shire hall, Brother Simon all but collapsed at the sight of the dead body. Hubert was quick to console him. With a blend of quiet dignity and maternal concern, he took Simon in his arms and rocked him gently to and fro, singing to him in Latin and soothing his troubled spirit. By the time the deputy sheriff arrived, the canon and the scribe were kneeling side by side on the hard floor, chanting the Lord’s Prayer in unison.
Ralph was grateful. The last thing he needed on his hands while he was trying to set an official investigation in motion was an hysterical monk, weeping and wailing. With Brother Simon quiescent, Ralph was able to give his statement to the deputy sheriff and pass on what evidence he felt that they had detected. Gervase Bret, too, gave a statement relating to the discovery of the corpse. The murder of a royal official was no small matter and all the resources at the sheriff’s command would be brought to bear on the pursuit of the killer. The sheriff himself, absent from York on business, would be sent for so that he could lead the investigation.
The removal of Tanchelm of Ghent served to restore Brother Simon’s stability. He was still shocked and consumed with grief but he no longer burst into floods of tears. Left alone with Ralph, Gervase and Hubert, he was relatively calm. The canon himself maintained a rock-like equanimity throughout.
Ralph, too, showed that he had a compassionate side.
“Why not sit on the bench, Brother Simon?” he said.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I can see that this tragedy has hit you hard.”
“It has destroyed me. He was such a good man.”
Hubert helped him up and the two of them sat on the bench. Gervase settled on a stool but Ralph stayed on his feet so that he could pace up and down during the conversation. The candles had now been lighted again and bright pools of yellow dappled the floor. Ralph bent solici-tously over the monk.
“How do you feel now, Brother Simon?” asked Ralph.
“A little better, my lord.”
“Able to answer some questions?”
“I believe so.”
“Good. I will come to you in a moment.” He turned to Canon Hubert.
“At what time did you leave the shire hall?”
“As the bell for Vespers was ringing,” said Hubert.
“And was my lord Tanchelm alone in the room?”
“Completely.”
“What of the men-at-arms on duty here?”
“They acted as our escort.”
“Did he say anything as you parted from him?”
“Nothing beyond a farewell.”
“No mention of a meeting?”
“None.”
“No name of a friend?”
Hubert shook his head. “But that does not mean some meeting had not been arranged. My lord Tanchelm was a strange compound. Open in many ways, he was very private in others. Last evening, for instance, he paid a visit to the Abbey of St. Mary without even raising the matter with us. We would never have known about it had Brother Francis not let slip the details after Compline.”
“And there were other meetings about which we were not informed,”
said Simon. “My lord Tanchelm was ubiquitous.”
“I put it down to his fascination with this city,” continued Hubert.
“When he ceased to be a commissioner, he became a curious traveller intent on seeing all the sights of York.”
“How did you find him when he sat beside you?” said Ralph.
“Extremely able.”
“Brother Simon?”
“Astute and fair-minded,” said Simon.
“Did he upset any of the witnesses?”
“All the time,” said Hubert, “but that is what we are here for, my lord.
You will not get the truth out of people unless you press down on them and that is bound to lead to antagonism. My lord Tanchelm aroused his share of that.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“Not that I recall.”
“One man threw foul abuse at Canon Hubert,” said Simon, “but I do not remember harsh words against my lord Tanchelm. Scowls and muttering, yes. But no threats of any kind.”
“Why do you ask?” said Hubert.
“Gervase believes that the murder may be linked to one of the disputes that came or will come before you.”
“It is only a theory,” explained Gervase. “I have this feeling that the killer is either a vengeful litigant who took offence when judgement was given against him, or a ruthless landowner who is trying to disable the commission because he fears that we may dispossess him.”
“The first possibility can straightway be ruled out,” said Hubert fussily.
“I was senior to my lord Tanchelm and it was from my lips that the judicial pronouncements were made. If anyone had resented a verdict sufficiently to contemplate murder, then I would certainly have been the victim.”
“Do not say that, Canon Hubert!” cried Simon.
“It is the plain truth.”
“I could not bear the thought of losing you.”
“Nor will you, Brother Simon.”
“If you are at risk, none of our lives is safe!”
“Calm down, calm down,” said Ralph. “You are not in the slightest danger. Armed guards will attend you at all times.”
Simon jumped up. “My lord Tanchelm had ten armed guards and yet he was killed under their very noses.”
“Sit down,” said Hubert, reinforcing his advice with a sharp tug on Simon’s cowl. “This is needless panic.”
Simon was contrite and nodded apologetically. Gervase had been re-examining his hypothesis in the light of Hubert’s comments. The canon’s argument was compelling.
“You are right,” he said to Hubert. “This is no litigant with whom you have already dealt. It is most likely a witness yet to enter the fray.
Someone who has been summoned by you to the shire hall and not requested to present himself before us next door. He knew which of the two tribunals to attack.”
“Ours!” whispered Simon, eyes shut in terror.
“Do you agree, Canon Hubert?” asked Gervase.
“It lies within the bounds of possibility.”
“I think it is highly probable,” said Ralph. “And it is the only real signpost we have. My men found no trail by which to follow the killer.