“Go on.”
“I was in the mortuary, removing his apparel so that I could wash and prepare the body for tomorrow.”
“And?”
“I found something concealed in his tunic.”
“What was it?”
“You must see for yourself, Master Bret.”
The chaplain handed over the letter clasped in his hand. He seemed relieved to get rid of it and shifted his feet uneasily. Gervase looked down at the missive.
“Did you read it?”
“I gave it the merest glance,” said Philip defensively. “That was enough to tell me that it belonged more properly in your keeping. My lord Tanchelm was a colleague of yours. His personal effects will travel back with him to Lincolnshire but this letter, I think, must remain here with you.”
“Why?”
“Read it and you will understand.”
“Very well,” agreed Gervase. “You said a moment ago that I was a more appropriate person.”
“Yes, Master Bret.”
“In what way?”
“I can trust you.”
“My lord Ralph is also trustworthy, I can assure you.”
“That may be,” said the chaplain, “but he would never grant me the favour that I must ask of you.”
“Favour?”
“Say nothing of my part in this. You have the letter. Nobody needs to know how it came into your possession. I would not be involved in this in any way.”
“I respect that wish.”
“Thank you, Master Bret. I knew that you would. My lord Ralph might not. The pull of loyalty might prove too strong for him. He is a friend of my lord Aubrey and might feel obliged to confide in him. That would embarrass me.”
“Your name will be kept out of this.”
The chaplain gave a nervous smile of gratitude and left the room.
Gervase found his behavior quite baffling and sought an explanation in the letter. Crouching beside the candle, he unfolded it to read it through. When he saw the seal properly for the first time, his mind raced. The words on the obverse side were extremely familiar to him.
HOC NORMANNORUM WILLELMUM NOSCE PATRONEM SI
It was a personal letter from King William himself.
Romulus and Remus were in a mutinous state the next morning. Having been liberated from their cage for the night, they showed little enthusiasm for returning to it and not even Ludovico’s harsh commands could quell them at first. They roared their defiance, then paced around the perimeter of the ditch with calm unconcern. When Ludovico came right down to them, they even dared to run away from him. He was livid.
Aubrey Maminot watched with exasperation. He was anxious to see his pets incarcerated again so that the body of Tanchelm of Ghent could be carried down the steps from the keep. As long as the animals were loose, nobody could leave the building. With a combination of threat and blandishment, the keeper of the beasts eventually managed to coax Remus back into the cage but his brother remained at large. It was only when Ludovico approached him with his whip that Romulus finally succumbed. He bounded up the incline to join Remus and to snarl for food.
Ludovico waved to his master. Aubrey went off to apologise to his guests. Minutes later, Tanchelm was brought out in a wooden casket and carried down to the courtyard before being placed in a cart. Philip the Chaplain led the little procession in its wake. Ralph Delchard, Golde, Gervase Bret, Aubrey and Herleve had risen early to see the body leave. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon had come from the minster to add their blessing. Brother Francis also wanted to share a valedic-tory moment with Tanchelm.
When the casket was tied in position and covered with a thick cloth, the chaplain led the tiny congregation in a small prayer. The cart then rolled on out of the castle to begin its sad journey to Lincolnshire. Tanchelm’s horse was towed along behind it. Still numbed by the murder, his men-at-arms fell in behind the body of their erst-while master. It was clear from their stricken faces that they had held him in the highest regard.
Shedding remorse, Aubrey thought only of retribution.
“Now we can begin the hunt for the killer!” he said.
“It will not be easy,” sighed Ralph.
“He is out there somewhere. We will find him.”
Aubrey went off to marshal his men. The chaplain took the two women back into the keep and Canon Hubert led his companions quickly out of the castle. Gervase was left alone with Ralph. It was the first chance they had had to speak alone that morning and Gervase seized it at once.
“We have been looking in the wrong direction,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“My lord Tanchelm’s death had nothing to do with his office as a commissioner. That was a false trail.”
“How do you know?”
“Intelligence has come into my hands that points us along another path altogether. A letter was found upon the body. It was sent by King William himself.”
“To Tanchelm?”
“Yes, Ralph,” he said. “He was formally instructed to sit in commission with us and to discharge that duty with zeal. But it was only a cloak for his real purpose in coming to York.”
Ralph frowned. “Real purpose?”
“My lord Tanchelm was a spy.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Inga was stunned. When she arrived the next morning, she found both the shire hall and the adjoining building locked. There was no sign of the tribunal and no trace of their men-at-arms. Having come to hear judgement, with Sunnifa and Brunn the Priest beside her, she was baffled by the disappearance of the commissioners. Reminded of their earlier setback, her mother began to weep.
“They have gone,” she said. “They have left York.”
“That is impossible, Mother.”
“It is the same as before. We have come too late.”
“You heard them as well as I. We were told to report here first thing this morning.”
“Then where are they, Inga?”
“I do not know.”
“They have washed their hands of us and ridden away.”
“No,” insisted her daughter. “They would not do that. Master Bret is an honourable man. I talked with him alone. He is kind and thoughtful. He would never do anything as cruel as that.” She turned to the priest. “Would he?”
“I think not,” said Brunn. “Keep faith, Sunnifa.”
“This was my only chance,” sobbed the older woman. “If we fail here, we will never regain our inheritance.”
“Take heart, Mother,” said Inga. “We’ll not fail.”
“Watch and pray,” advised the priest.
“I have been doing that for years,” said Sunnifa.
Inga was decisive. “There is no point in standing out here in the middle of a busy street. If the commissioners are not here, it is because they are not coming. Go back to the lodging while I try to find out what has happened.”
“Will you be safe on your own?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Where will you go?”
“To the castle.”
After giving her mother a reassuring hug, Inga set off down the 104
street, deafened by the noise and buffeted by the shoulders of the swarming citizens. She had almost reached the bridge when she felt something press hard against her arm. She stopped to look up at Nigel Arbarbonel, seated astride his horse. His sword touched her to gain her attention.
“Where are you running to, Inga?” he teased.
“That is my business.”
“It is no use going to the castle. The commissioners will not see you.
They have suspended their tribunal.”
“Why?”
“Because of the murder.”
“Murder!” she said in alarm.
“Have you not heard about it?”
“Not a word.”
“The whole city is buzzing with the news.”
“We have kept close to our lodging and only stirred from it this morning. When was this murder?”
“Yesterday evening. One of the commissioners was killed.”
“Dear God!” she exclaimed. “Not Master Bret!”
“No, Inga,” said Nigel. “Not him. Nor, alas, was it Ralph Delchard. I could willingly have spared either of them.”