‘Of course,’ grunted d’Oilly.
‘It would have laid us open to charges of favouritism.’
‘I accept that.’
‘Then my advice is this. Refrain from giving any more yourself, my lord sheriff. If I thought you were trying to affect our decision in any way, I would quit the castle with the other commissioners and seek out a lodging in the town. Is that what you wish us to do?’
Robert d’Oilly accorded him a grudging smile.
‘I wish you to carry out your duties unimpeded,’ he said. ‘I am sorry that you choose to misunderstand me. Just bear in mind that I will still be here when you leave the shire. I will have to live with the consequences of your judgements.’
‘Do I hear a threat in that remark?’
The sheriff gave an elaborate shrug of the shoulders.
‘What could I hope to gain by threatening Ralph Delchard?’
The question hung in the air between them.
When Ordgar returned to his house, his son was grooming the chestnut colt outside the stable. The horse’s coat shone in the morning sunshine. Amalric began to comb his mane with meticulous care. As he heard the approach of footsteps, he broke off and turned to see his father.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked with concern.
‘Wallingford.’
‘All night?’
‘He refused to see me until this morning.’
‘Refused!’ Amalric smarted at the insult. ‘Milo Crispin kept you waiting that long? Did you not protest?’
‘Several times,’ said Ordgar. ‘And with vehemence. But all to no avail. And so I refused to leave the castle until I had talked to him. My lord Milo owes me some respect. I was not going to be shrugged off by him.’
‘You should have taken me with you. I would have hammered on his door until he consented to speak to us.’
‘That would only have annoyed him even more.’
‘But we have right on our side, father.’
‘It is not enough, Amalric.’
Ordgar lowered himself down on to the edge of the stone water trough. The ride from Wallingford had taxed his already depleted strength and the sad tidings he bore weighed heavily upon him.
Amalric, on the other hand, was young, alert and bursting with energy.
Ordgar thought wistfully of a time when he had had his son’s zest.
The old man also had rank, property and influence in the shire in those days. So much had changed for the worse in the intervening years.
‘Did you get the purse?’ asked Amalric.
‘No, son.’
‘But it was ours. I won that race.’
‘It has been declared void.’
‘They cannot do this to us!’
‘They can, Amalric.’
‘It is sheer spite!’ fumed the other. ‘They are peeved because we beat the very best of their Norman horses.’
‘All except Hyperion.’
‘Had he stayed in the race, I’d have beaten him as well.’
‘But he did not, Amalric, and that alters everything. It was not a fair race, they say, so the purse will not be awarded.’
‘Did you not at least reclaim our share of it?’
‘I tried,’ said Ordgar with a sigh. ‘I tried.’
‘Then where is it?’
‘My lord Milo would not yield it up.’
‘But that money came from many hands. They expect it back. Our friends supported us. Are we to tell them that we won the race but lost their stake?’
‘We have harsher news than that to pass on.’
Amalric started. ‘Harsher, you say?’
‘I fear so,’ said the old man, shuddering at the memory of his ill-fated visit to Wallingford Castle. ‘I was wrong to press my lord Milo so soon after the event. I should have let time elapse. He might not have been so vindictive then.’
‘What did he say? What has he done?’
‘Held on to the purse until the race is run again with a new rider in Hyperion’s saddle.’
‘This news is not so harsh,’ said Amalric confidently. ‘It gives us a second chance to win what is already rightly ours. Let me race again.
We will beat Hyperion and any other horse they care to set against us.’ He patted the colt’s neck with a proud hand. ‘Cempan is a match for anyone. When I am riding him, there is no way that we can lose.’
‘But you will not be riding him in the race.’
‘Why not?’
‘Milo Crispin wishes to buy Cempan from us.’
Amalric was stunned. ‘Buy him?’ he echoed. ‘Buy Cempan?’
‘I fear so.’
‘He is ours. We will never part with him.’
‘We may be forced to, Amalric.’
‘I’d sooner destroy the colt than sell him. Whatever price we are offered, we will turn it down. Cempan belongs to us.’ He saw the pain in his father’s eyes. ‘You surely did not agree to this sale? That would be a betrayal.’
‘I betrayed nobody,’ said Ordgar with a flash of defiance. ‘When I left Wallingford, I refused to take the money that was offered in exchange for Cempan. That was the worst outrage of all. Do you know what my lord Milo offered to pay? Nothing!’ He spat contemptuously on the ground. ‘Nothing, Amalric!’
‘But you talked of refusing money.’
‘That was only our wager in the race. Milo Crispin wishes to buy Cempan from us with money that is already our own. We would be letting him have the colt free.’
‘He is robbing us!’
‘That is why I stormed out of the castle.’
‘He will not touch Cempan,’ vowed Amalric, putting a protective arm around the animal’s neck. ‘Whatever happens, he will not steal our horse. Milo Crispin and his men will have to get past me first.’
‘That is not the answer,’ said a forlorn Ordgar. ‘They are many, we are few. They have force on their side. We will have to find another solution.’ He clutched at a last straw. ‘Let us wait until Edric returns.
He will know what to do. We must ask for Edric’s help. He will be back any day now.’
Amalric was about to agree when a voice interrupted them.
‘Father!’
Holding up the hem of her kirtle, the girl came bounding across to him from the house. Bristeva was only fifteen but she had the shapely figure of a woman allied to the bloom of youth. Long, lustrous, flaxen hair trailed down her back. Ordgar rose to take his daughter into a warm embrace.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked, tears in her eyes.
‘To Wallingford.’
‘We have been worried sick about you.’
‘I am safely back home now, Bristeva.’
‘Thank God! I did not sleep at all last night. I was afraid that something dreadful must have happened to you.’
Ordgar pulled her closer and stroked her hair.
‘It did,’ he whispered to himself.
Whatever reservations he might have about their host, Ralph Delchard had none about the town reeve. The man had acted with commendable efficiency. Warned in advance by letters of their arrival and their particular needs, the reeve had everything in readiness for them at the appointed time. The shire hall had been swept clean and four chairs had been set behind a table at one end of the room. Benches had been arranged in front of the table. There were even cushions on the front bench.
A pitcher of water and four cups awaited the commissioners as they trooped into the hall. A flagon of wine and a jug of beer had also been provided for their refreshment. Maurice Pagnal was especially pleased to see the wine but Brother Columbanus was dismayed by the sight of the beer. Gervase Bret moved it well away from him. The monk poured water into his cup and drained it at a gulp. His spirits revived.
The shire hall was a nondescript room with a low ceiling held up by thick beams and only limited natural light coming in through the windows, but it was more than adequate for their purposes. Even the musty atmosphere did not irritate them. Four soldiers stood at the rear of the hall and another four were on sentry duty outside.
When they took their seats with their documents in front of them, the commissioners were an imposing trio. Resplendent in a white tunic and red mantle, Ralph sat between Maurice, ever the soldier, in his hauberk, and Gervase in the sober attire of a Chancery clerk.