Ebbi was unpersuaded. ‘You are trying to trick me.’
‘Why should I do that?’
‘The sheriff has set you on me.’
‘I answer to the King and not to Robert d’Oilly. I am here of my own accord, I do assure you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I am a lawyer by training. I value justice.’
A low grunt. ‘What kind of justice will I get?’
‘That will depend on what you tell me.’ He leaned in closer to the prisoner. ‘Did you kill that man in Woodstock?’
‘What is it to you?’
‘I would not see an innocent man condemned.’
‘Fine words!’ sneered the other.
‘I must know the true facts, Ebbi.’
‘That is what the sheriff said.’
‘Why did he beat you?’
‘Because I did not tell him what he wanted to hear.’
‘Then you must be a brave man,’ said Gervase. ‘To hold out against my lord sheriff took great courage. And it confirms me in my opinion.
You are not the assassin, are you?’
‘Do not pester me so.’
‘Are you?’
‘No,’ said Ebbi with rancour, ‘but I begin to wish that I had been. I wish I had killed all the Norman knights who plague our countryside!’
The outburst taxed his strength. It was a minute before he could speak again. ‘I am not the assassin. I would swear it on the Holy Bible.’
Gervase believed him but there were unresolved issues.
‘Why did you run from those who searched the forest?’
‘I thought they would accuse me of poaching. Do you know the penalty which that carries, Master Bret? Poachers either have their eyes put out or they are castrated. Of course I ran from them. Would not you?’
‘What were you doing in the forest?’
‘I was not poaching. I give you my word.’
‘Something must have taken you there, Ebbi.’
A shake of the head. ‘I am not able to tell you.’
‘If you wish to come out of this alive, you must.’
The key was heard in the lock. Their conference was over.
‘Tell me,’ urged Gervase. ‘It is your last hope.’
Panic descended on Ebbi and nudged him into a quick decision.
Raising himself up on his arm, he whispered into his visitor’s ear.
Gervase heard all that was necessary before he was hustled out by the guard.
Bristeva knew that something was seriously amiss and she was hurt that they would not tell her what it was. Her father soothed her with gentle lies and her brother refused to answer any of her questions.
Ordgar and Amalric were determined to keep the truth from her for some reason and she wished that she knew what it was. Since the death of her mother, Bristeva had become the lady of the house and that brought many responsibilities with it. She believed that it also entitled her to know everything that was going on.
The sound of an approaching horse took her to the window. Through the open shutters, she watched until a familiar face came into view.
Edric the Cripple, steward to her father’s depleted estate, had returned from his travels. Ordgar and Amalric went out to greet him warmly.
All three were soon deep in animated conversation. Seeing her opportunity, Bristeva crept out of the house and ran to the rear of the stables. She inched along the wall until she came within earshot.
‘We expected you back yesterday,’ Ordgar was saying.
‘I was held up in Warwick,’ said Edric.
‘We are so glad that you are home again.’
‘Yes,’ said Amalric. ‘We need you, Edric.’
‘Why? What has been happening while I was away?’
Edric the Cripple dropped from the saddle and balanced on one leg while he sought to untie the crutch which had been lashed behind the saddle. He was a tall, wiry man of middle years with a weathered face. Even with one leg cut off below the knee, he retained something of the swagger of a soldier. Edric was a capable and experienced steward, unswervingly loyal and with an instinct for making correct decisions. Both Ordgar and his son placed great faith in him.
With the crutch tucked under his arm, Edric was ready.
‘Tell me all,’ he encouraged.
Ordgar told the bulk of the tale but Amalric added frequent comments and embellishments. Hearing the story for the first time, Bristeva was shocked that they should keep something as important as this from her. When she learned of her father’s excruciating night on the cold stairs at Wallingford Castle, she suffered his humiliation with him.
Edric listened in stony silence. He heard much which distressed him but little which actually surprised him. He scratched at a straggly beard before making any observation.
‘There is one consolation,’ he said at length.
‘What is that?’ asked Ordgar.
‘Cempan won the race. Our belief in the colt was not misplaced. He was obviously the best horse on the day.’
‘And I was the best rider,’ reminded Amalric.
‘Indeed you were. But your success was your undoing. Milo Crispin has seen that this famous Hyperion can actually be beaten. That matters a great deal to him.’
‘I know!’ said Ordgar ruefully.
‘He wants Cempan for his own stable.’
‘Never!’ insisted Amalric. ‘We will not part with him.’
‘Suppose my lord Milo comes to take him?’ asked his father. ‘He will bring a troop of men to enforce his purpose. What then?’ He turned to Edric. ‘What then, old friend?’
Edric the Cripple hobbled to the water trough and perched on the edge of it. He thought long and hard. Unable to see the steward from her hiding place, Bristeva wondered what was going on. She mastered the urge to burst in on the discussion and claim her right to offer an opinion. More could be learned by staying where she was and listening.
‘Well, Edric?’ prompted Ordgar. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think we have one less Norman knight in Woodstock and that is a certain gain. Whoever killed the man is our benefactor.’ He scratched his beard again. ‘Unfortunately, he also landed us with a worrying possibility. The loss of Cempan. Stolen from us by Milo Crispin.’
‘Is there no remedy?’ said Amalric.
‘I spy only one.’ He turned to Ordgar. ‘Has the time for the next race been set?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘Then we must delay it as long as possible.’
‘Delay it?’
‘Until the race is run, they will not need Cempan. We may be able to hold on to our colt a little longer.’
‘But my lord Milo wants another contest soon.’
‘So will Bertrand Gamberell,’ said Amalric. ‘His pride has been sorely wounded. He cursed me for winning a race that he thought belonged to Hyperion. He will want revenge.’
‘In another race.’
‘Yes, Edric.’
‘Then there is our remedy.’
‘Delay the race?’
‘Make sure that it never happens.’
Ordgar and Amalric were completely baffled. They looked across at Cempan, grazing in the nearby field, then turned to look at each other. Both shook their heads in puzzlement. When they faced Edric again, they saw him chuckling to himself.
‘Stop the race altogether?’ asked Ordgar.
‘That is my advice.’
‘But how do we do that, Edric?’
The steward hoisted himself back up on his crutch.
‘Leave it to me.’
Chapter Five
As soon as she returned that evening, the whole atmosphere at the castle underwent a subtle change. Edith, wife to Robert d’Oilly, was a rather plump woman with a fading beauty but she was treated with the utmost respect by the whole garrison. The guards greeted her with a polite wave, the soldiers in the bailey cut short their crude banter, the ostlers ran to take charge of the horses from the little cavalcade and the servants in the keep, from the humblest to the most exalted, went about their chores with a new zest. With Edith in residence, the castle was a different place.
But the most striking alteration was in Robert d’Oilly himself. A warmth came into his manner and the visitors noted a first spontaneous smile. Affectionate to his wife, he showed far more courtesy to his guests and invited them to feast in the hall with him that night. It was not a lavish occasion but Ralph and the others did not mind. They were delighted to be able to meet Edith and to watch the effect she had on those around her. The cooks excelled themselves under her direction and the meal was served with more alacrity.