“But why keep the letter at all?”
“For our benefit.”
Ralph started. “Tanchelm deceives us and it is for our benefit? What kind of logic is that?”
“The letter had a double purpose.”
“I cannot even see a single one.”
“You had your reservations about him,” said Gervase. “You found him too obliging. Supposing you had caught him out and demanded the truth from him. With his back to the wall-but only then, only as a last resort-he would have shown you his credentials.”
“The letter from the King.”
“Yes, Ralph.”
“You mentioned a double purpose.”
“Credentials and warning.”
“Of course,” said Ralph admiringly. “That letter was kept in case anything untoward happened to him. It would explain why and point us towards his killer.” He grinned at his friend. “You should have been a spy yourself, Gervase.”
“I have just become one. So have you.”
The sound of approaching footsteps made them react swiftly. Ralph moved quickly to the door while Gervase obliterated the last of the charred remains with his foot. As the footsteps halted, Ralph pulled open the door to reveal a startled young servant.
“What do you want?” said Ralph sharply.
“I have a message for Master Bret.”
“He stands beside me. Deliver it.”
“Yes, my lord.” The boy swallowed hard before turning to Gervase.
“A visitor waits for you at the gate.”
“A visitor?”
“A young woman. Most anxious to speak with you.”
“Did she give her name?”
“Inga.”
Gervase saw the twinkle of mischief in Ralph’s eye.
“I will come at once,” he said.
Herleve was profoundly upset by the murder of their guest. Even after she saw the body sent home to Lincolnshire, she found it hard to accept that Tanchelm of Ghent had really been killed. It was an outrage too great to assimilate.
“I do not believe it,” she said quietly.
“My lady?”
“I do not believe that he is gone. I hear his voice, I see him sitting beside me. My lord Tanchelm is still here.”
In some sense, he always will be.”
Golde was perched on a chair in the solar, keeping Herleve company and trying to help her confront the horror of what had occurred. The latter spoke movingly.
“He was such a gentle person,” remembered Herleve. “He listened to me as no man has ever listened before. He was interested in me, Golde.
We talked and talked.”
“I found him a most pleasant companion.”
“Soldierly in bearing, courteous in manner.”
“That sums him up perfectly.”
“There have been few such men in my life.”
Herleve drifted off into a private reverie, which Golde did not try to interrupt. The older woman had a faraway smile on her face. Golde had a moment to consult her own memories of Tanchelm and to feel a deep pang of regret at his death. Her real sympathy went out to the wife and family who would be waiting at home for the return of his corpse. Theirs was the true grief.
Herleve gave a shudder and came out of her daydream.
“He is dead,” she said levelly. “I must not deny it.”
“No, my lady.”
“Who could have wanted to kill such a kind man?”
“I do not know.”
“Death is so indiscriminate.” The faraway smile came back. “I liked him. He took me seriously.”
“Everyone does that, my lady,” said Golde.
“No, Golde. They only pretend to do so. I can read it in their eyes.
Most people only humour me. That is why I keep my own counsel most of the time, as I told you. But my lord Tanchelm was different. He cared.”
“What did you talk about with him?”
“Anything and everything. He wanted to know what kind of life I led here in the castle, who came, who went, what it was like in the depths of winter. And Yorkshire. He was intrigued by the countryside around here.” She pursed her lips. “Most men can only talk about themselves and their ambitions. Not him. He said so little about himself.”
“That was his hallmark, my lady.”
“Self-effacement.”
“We rode from Lincoln to York in his company but I cannot say that I knew him all that much better when we arrived. He never pushed himself forward.”
“Find me another man like that.”
“They are not plentiful, my lady.”
“I would settle for one.”
She put her head to one side and scrutinised Golde.
“Are you content to be here?”
“Now that we are friends, I am.”
“Good.”
“I did appreciate what you said to me.”
“Will you sit with me for a while?”
“As long as you wish, my lady.”
“Thank you. I feel the need to talk.”
“I am your audience.”
“You will find me ready to listen as well. Tell me about Ralph Delchard. Tell me how you came to meet.”
“It is a lengthy tale.”
Herleve smiled. “I insist on hearing it in full.”
The grave was no more than a mound of earth on which a raven was strutting as they walked up. The last remains of the nameless intruder had been buried in the churchyard closest to the castle. Aubrey Maminot had wanted to toss the body into the cesspit at first but his conscience guided him back towards a token Christianity. Romulus and Remus had already acted on their master’s behalf. No further humiliation of the body was required.
The raven began pecking at the earth. When it saw them coming, it flapped its wings and took to the air.
“Is this it?” said Inga softly.
“I believe so.”
“Are you not sure?”
“It is exactly as Philip the Chaplain described,” said Gervase, looking around to check his bearings. “There is no mistake, Inga. Your friend lies here.”
“Thank you.”
“Would you like me to leave you alone?”
“No. Please stay.”
“I never knew Toki. I feel out of place.”
“I will not keep you long.”
Inga knelt down beside the grave and smoothed the earth with her bare hands. Her eyes then closed as she offered up a silent prayer.
After a few moments, she flung herself full length on the ground as if trying to embrace Toki. She made no sound and lay there quite motionless. When she finally began to get up, Gervase put out a hand to help her.
“Thank you, Master Bret.”
“I kept my word.”
“Yes.”
Holding back tears, she turned away and walked towards the gate.
Gervase was glad when they were back in the lane at the side of the church. He did not wish to be seen at the graveside with Inga in case awkward questions were asked. Aubrey Maminot was still seeking the name of the intruder.
Inga was lost in her thoughts for several minutes. When she realised that he was still beside her, she reached out a hand to touch him with gratitude.
“Now you can understand,” she said.
“Understand?”
“What it is like to lose a friend. Toki has been snatched from me, and you, too, have suffered a loss.”
“Yes,” he said. “We will miss my lord Tanchelm. He died a harsh death. That makes it harder to bear.”
“I know. I think of Toki and those lions.”
“Do not dwell on it, Inga.”
“I will not. It hurts me so.” She straightened up and tried to master her emotions but there was still a deep sadness in her voice. “When will we hear the judgement in our dispute?”
“When the tribunal reconvenes.”
“Have you come to a decision yet?”
“You know that I cannot tell you that.”
“Is it worth waiting in York?”
“That is up to you.”
“My lord Nigel has already left,” she said bitterly. “He told me the argument has been settled in his favour and that he is done with your interference.”
“We may need to enlighten him on that score.”
“Is there nothing you can tell me, Master Bret?”
“No, Inga.”
“Must our suffering go on?”