It was a long while before the novices were released from their lesson. Elaf used their brief freedom to visit the abbey garden.
Kenelm trotted after him, desperate for a moment alone with his friend. Together they reached the cover of some shrubs.
‘How can you keep so calm, Elaf?’ asked Kenelm.
‘I am not calm underneath.’
‘My mind gives me no rest. I cannot stop thinking of what we found in the bell tower. Nor can I get rid of that awful smell of death.’
‘I still catch a whiff of that,’ confessed Elaf. ‘And at night, lying in the dark, I still remember that I touched poor Brother Nicholas.’
‘That is something else which plagues me.’
‘What is?’
‘He is poor Brother Nicholas now but he was loathsome Brother Nicholas while he was alive. I despised him as much as anyone.
I writhe with guilt about it. He was not the hateful man I took him for, Elaf. His murder has made me see him afresh.’
‘It is so with me, Kenelm. I feel nothing but sympathy.’
‘Sympathy and fear.’
‘Yes, terrible fear. It makes my stomach turn.’
‘I have not been able to eat a morsel since that night.’
‘Find solace in prayer.’
‘I have tried,’ said Kenelm. ‘I have even sought Brother Owl’s advice but he has not been able to help me shake these terrible thoughts from my head. How have you done so, Elaf?’
‘By prayer and meditation.’
‘All that I can meditate on is that dead body.’
‘Our pain will ease in time.’
‘Not while we stay here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There are too many reminders,’ said Kenelm morosely. ‘Every time I see the church, I think of what we found there. Every time one of the brothers walks across the cloister garth, I think it is Brother Nicholas. We will never escape those memories as long as we stay here.’
‘We have to stay, Kenelm.’
‘Do we?’
A dangerous notion began to form but Kenelm had no chance to discuss it with Elaf. A sudden rustling sound alerted them to the presence of an eavesdropper. Frightened that it was Brother Paul, they were rooted to the spot, but it was not the Master of the Novices who stepped from behind a bush. It was the diminutive figure of Owen, the youngest of the novices, teased by the others for his innocence and persecuted for his rosy-cheeked prettiness.
Owen seemed to be on the point of speaking to them but he lost his nerve and turned tail, scurrying off as fast as his little legs would take him.
‘Was he listening?’ said Elaf in alarm.
‘I hope not.’
‘Do you think Owen will tell on us?’
‘Not if he has any sense,’ warned Kenelm, bunching a fist and recovering some of his former bravado. ‘Or he’ll answer to me.’
The first case which animated the shire hall concerned misappropriation of land in the Bisley Hundred. A Saxon thegn, formerly the owner of the property, alleged that it had been steadily encroached upon by his Norman neighbour until it was all but swallowed up in the latter’s estate. The dispute soon moved from reasoned argument to bellowed assertion and Ralph Delchard had to step in to subdue the two men and caution them against any further descent into a verbal brawl. What made the issue slightly more complicated was the fact that a third person, Alfwold, presented himself to the commissioners and claimed that he had the right to the land in question on account of a bequest made over fifty years earlier when a Danish king ruled the country.
It was left to Gervase Bret to study the last will and testament of a certain Leofhelm the Anchorite before translating the Anglo-Saxon aloud.
‘Leofhelm the Anchorite, God’s exile, greets King Cnut and Queen Emma very joyfully with God’s joy. And I make it known to you that I have entrusted our charitable gift to Christ and all his saints where it shall remain for the comfort and happiness of our soul. First, the estate near Frampton Mansell to the Abbey of St Peter in Gloucester, where our bones shall lie; the remainder of our property, the manors of Sapperton and Westwood, to our heirs in perpetuity …’
Cries of outrage from the other two disputants greeted this new claim and Ralph had to impose himself even more strongly.
He had grave doubts about the validity of the document and was supported by Canon Hubert, who, knowing that Sapperton was firmly in the possession of the powerful Robert de Tosny, did not wish to draw in a fourth person to further enliven the debate. It was Gervase who eventually ruled out the will of Leofhelm, finding inaccuracies in the wording and the calligraphy which confirmed his suspicion that the document was a blatant forgery. The bold Alfwold tried first to bluster then to bluff his way out of the situation but Ralph was merciless. Summoning his men, he had the supposed descendant of Leofhelm the Anchorite placed under arrest and hauled off to cool his heels in a dungeon at the castle.
With one claimant out of the way, the commissioners swiftly disposed of another, restoring it to the thegn from whom it had been illegally taken and chastising his rapacious neighbour in round terms. When the shire hall was cleared of witnesses, the four men were able to relax in the knowledge that it was only mid-afternoon yet their work was done for the day. Ralph wanted to make good use of their leisure time.
‘We must go to the abbey, Gervase,’ he announced, gathering up his documents, ‘and inspect the scene of the crime in the hope of picking up clues which others may have missed.’
‘I was about to urge that idea on you,’ said Gervase.
‘It may not be altogether welcome,’ warned Hubert.
‘Why not?’ said Ralph.
‘Because the abbot is already unhappy about the way that the sheriff and his men are trampling all over the abbey. It is very unsettling. The last thing he wants is more lay people intruding.’
‘Intruding? Did I hear you aright, Hubert? You call us intruders?
Doesn’t the abbot want this dreadful crime to be solved?’
‘It is his dearest wish, my lord.’
‘Then he must endure the curiosity of those who wish to help.’
‘You would need to secure his permission first.’
‘Perhaps you could be our ambassador there, Canon Hubert,’
said Gervase politely. ‘Since you have privileged access to Abbot Serlo, you would be the ideal person to put our request before him. And while we are in the abbey, of course, I could find a moment to question the two novices with you. Could that be arranged as well?’
Hubert was persuaded. ‘It will be, Gervase.’
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ said Ralph impatiently. ‘Lead the way, Hubert. I long to see this bell tower and, if possible, to view the body of the deceased.’
‘That is something I am not able to guarantee, my lord.’
‘At least, get us inside the church.’
Canon Hubert nodded confidently and left the hall, picking his way through the crowd with surprising nimbleness and towing Brother Simon behind him. Ralph went out to the sentries and sent them back to the castle with the satchels which he and Gervase had brought. The two of them then mounted their horses and ambled off in pursuit of their colleagues, noting that the streets were busier than ever and that the city smells had taken on a greater pungency. When they reached the abbey, they did not have long to wait. Hubert appeared to confirm that the abbot’s permission had been granted, and he conducted them to the church as if he were a long-standing member of the community and not merely a recent visitor. Ralph and Gervase easily tolerated his customary self-importance. Compared to Nigel the Reeve, the canon was modest and unassuming.
Shafts of sunlight shone through the windows to pierce the gloomy interior of the church and illumine the way to the bell tower. Hubert was hovering at Ralph’s elbow. Gervase could see that his friend was becoming increasingly annoyed by their colleague’s presence and he moved in tactfully before Ralph resorted to language unfit to be heard on consecrated ground.