‘I knew nothing of this link with Roger d’lvry.’
‘You did not need to,’ reprimanded Ralph. ‘Impartiality is our touchstone. If someone tries to influence you in any way, you should give them a dusty answer and report them to me.’
‘I am sure that the sheriff meant no harm.’
‘He tried to affect your judgement.’
‘It was no more than a casual remark.’
‘I heard one of those from him myself, Maurice.’
‘Robert d’Oilly is not a reliable witness,’ said Gervase. ‘That is why we did not call him before us. It is not simply because he has sworn brotherhood to Roger d’Ivry. He is also the father-in-law of Milo Crispin.’
Maurice shrugged. ‘Milo Crispin does not figure here.’
‘Indirectly, he does. He is kinsman to Gilbert Crispin, abbot of Westminster and the other claimant of this land. Whom does my lord Robert support? Church or State? The kinsman of his son-in-law or the wife of his sworn brother? He is bound to be prejudiced in one direction.’
‘And we know what it is,’ said Ralph.
‘This is far too confusing for me!’ groaned Maurice.
‘I am as mystified as you. I never thought to hear myself say this but I actually miss Canon Hubert’s advice. Whenever there is a conflict between Church and State, he always seems to know how to settle it.
Canon Hubert has insight.’
‘I will pass on that compliment,’ said Columbanus.
‘He may choose to disbelieve it.’ Ralph slapped a palm on the table.
‘Enough of this bickering! We will hear both sides once more, then confer on our verdict.’
A guard was dispatched and soon reappeared with Azelina and Brother Timothy. Both were given a polite greeting and invited to sit on the cushions. There was an even greater contrast between them this time. The stately Azelina was glowing with confidence while the shuffling Timothy had a defeatist look about him. It was almost as if the verdict had already been given in her favour.
Ralph moved swiftly to counter that impression.
‘No decision has yet been made by us,’ he said firmly. ‘Nor will it be until you have both had an opportunity to add to what you have already told us. We have examined the documentary evidence and each of you has a legitimate claim. What we need to know from you, my lady, is how Islip first came into your possession. And from you, Brother Timothy, why the abbey seems to have let it slip from its fingers.’
Azelina needed no second invitation to speak and her melodious voice rang around the hall with conviction.
‘My husband, Roger d’Ivry, has been a loyal subject to the King and is held in high regard. When King William sought to reward his service, he granted him the manors of Mixbury, Beckley, Asthall and twenty more besides, now held from my husband by subtenants. At the same time, Islip was granted to me along with three hides and half a virgate of land in Oddington.’ The recital was so smooth it must have been carefully rehearsed. ‘Take note of the value of my holdings, my lords. Islip was worth seven pounds in 1066 and eight when I acquired it from the King. Thanks to my prudent stewardship, it is now worth ten pounds. That is an appreciable increase. The same is true of my land in Oddington.’
The facts poured out of her in a steady stream and her claim appeared unanswerable. When she finished, Brother Timothy looked more subdued than ever. Instead of leaping to the defence of Westminster Abbey as he had done so effectively during the previous session, he brought a hand out from a sleeve in order to signal withdrawal.
‘I have nothing more to add, my lords,’ he said meekly.
‘Nothing?’ echoed Gervase. ‘Can this be so?’
‘You heard him,’ said Maurice, jumping quickly in. ‘We may proceed to judgement without further impediment.’
Ralph agreed. He did not need to ask which way Maurice would vote and a glance from Gervase told him that the abbey was not unsupported. The casting vote lay with Ralph and he agonised for a few minutes before committing himself. All had seemed finely balanced on the previous day but Azelina had stolen the initiative now. After looking from one disputant to the other, he gave his verdict.
‘Islip will remain in the hands of the lady Azelina.’
She gave a quiet smile of triumph but it did not stay on her face for long. Brother Timothy suddenly erupted into life. Jumping to his feet, he waved an accusatory finger at Ralph and issued his thunderbolt.
‘I denounce this commission!’ he yelled with passion. ‘It has not dispensed justice here today. Instead, it has given way to bribery and corruption, making its verdict a travesty and a perversion. Unless the canker is removed from this tribunal, I will entreat Abbot Gilbert of Westminster to protest directly to the King himself to have this verdict overturned.’
The outburst ceased. Brother Timothy resumed his seat with studied calm but the rest of the shire hall was now in a state of consternation.
Chapter Six
Bertrand Gamberell lay on the bed in a state of joyful exhaustion.
Long, luscious hours of exquisite pleasure had left him coated with perspiration and tingling with exhilaration. The woman in his arms was so gloriously sated that she dozed off to sleep. Gamberell ran a hand down her naked back and traced the curve of her fleshy buttocks.
Her skin was like silk. She had a body of generous proportions and she had yielded it up to him unreservedly. It was their first time together and he resolved that there would be many other secret trysts.
She was an eager lover but there was still much that he could teach her before he was done.
The thrill of a new conquest was always something to savour but Gamberell took a special delight from the seduction of a married woman. It added a piquancy and an element of danger. It also gave him an exclusive insight into the most private area of a marriage.
When he took a man’s wife to bed, he could see exactly what kind of lover the husband was and that gave him a perverse gratification.
In this case, the husband was an old, tired, neglectful man who was largely indifferent to his wife’s needs and who had never fully explored the potentialities of her desire. What her husband lacked, Gamberell provided in abundance and she had groaned in ecstasy as he took her on a voyage of discovery. In place of a fumbling and inconsiderate old man, she now had a strong, sensitive, virile young lover who was seasoned in all the arts of pleasure. Her earlier fears and doubts had been burned away in the delicious heat of their adultery. She was a most willing victim.
The woman had provided more than just a few hours of calculated lust for Gamberell. She was his escape. Locked in her embrace, he could forget all about the grim events at Woodstock. The cold-blooded murder of his knight preyed on his mind even though the assassin had apparently been caught. It was no random action. Gamberell felt certain that someone had hired the killer to make sure that Hyperion did not win the race. The murder had been an indirect attack on Gamberell himself and he was determined to root out the villain who had instigated it.
As his excitement cooled, ugly memories began to flood back. Even the warmth of the woman’s body could not block them out now. He recalled with a start that he had to be back in Oxford in good time for the funeral. In the service of his master, Walter Payne had been callously murdered. If he had not ridden Hyperion in the race, he would still be alive. The thought activated Gamberell’s sense of guilt.
He needed to be at the church to lead the mourners as they paid their last respects to a tragic victim.
When he tried to disentangle himself, she opened her eyes.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked dreamily.
‘Back to Oxford, my sweet.’