Gervase had grave misgivings about the venture but it was important to eliminate all the possibilities. Ralph’s strength hoisted him up into the other two trees but neither showed signs of a rope’s bite on their branches and it was impossible wholly to vanish behind the foliage. Descent was somehow more hazardous than climbing and Gervase was glad when he dropped down from the last tree.
Ralph was perplexed. ‘He must have had a hiding place,’ he insisted.
‘Unless he simply changed himself into a bird and flew away. But where? If not up a tree, was it under a bush?’
‘I think not, Ralph. The soldiers would have flushed him out with their swords. From what you told me, there were enough of them searching in here.’
‘Yet the assassin eluded them.’
‘Apparently.’
‘Up a tree or under a bush.’ Ralph gave a low chuckle. ‘There is only one other place it could have been, Gervase.’
‘And where is that?’
‘Beneath the ground.’
The funeral of Walter Payne was held at the parish church of St Peter’s-in-the-East. It was part of a manor which comprised fifty houses, both inside and outside the town wall, owned by Robert d’Oilly. The benefice was in his gift and it had been bestowed on a stout, stooping priest of middle years with a keening voice and eyes which were forever searching the heavens for some kind of inspiration.
The sheriff himself was in the congregation with his steward and some of his knights. Milo Crispin was also present to see the unfortunate rider consigned to his grave. Wymarc was a reluctant mourner but feared that his absence would be noted and wilfully misinterpreted. Ordgar had also felt the need to attend and was accompanied by his son Amalric and by his steward, Edric the Cripple.
What puzzled all of them was that there was no sign of Bertrand Gamberell at the funeral of his own man.
Minutes before the service commenced, there was a mild commotion outside and Gamberell finally appeared. He looked flushed and harassed as he slipped into his place near the front of the nave but his lateness was quickly forgotten by the congregation. Mass was sung and a short sermon about Walter Payne was delivered by a priest who had never really known him but who nevertheless contrived to move the hearts of all but a few. Gamberell was visibly distraught and tears moistened many otherwise hardened eyes.
When the coffin was borne out to the churchyard, a long file of mourners followed and arranged themselves in an arc around the grave. Walter Payne was laid to rest and the priest tossed in a prayer for his soul before the first handful of earth was cast by Gamberell.
He stood there in watchful silence as the mourners gradually dispersed.
Gamberell was surprised to see Ordgar and faintly touched that the old Saxon had come to the funeral. He was annoyed to see Wymarc and relieved when the latter skulked guiltily away. But it was Milo Crispin who really aroused his ire. He sensed a deep complacence behind the poised manner. Milo was among the last to leave and the very act of lingering seemed to Gamberell like a deliberate taunt. Unable to suppress his rising anger, he followed Milo and grabbed his shoulder to spin him round. Gamberell stared accusingly.
Milo was unperturbed. ‘You were late, Bertrand.’
‘And you know why.’
‘Do I?’
‘You stole Hyperion.’
‘Now why should I want to do that?’
‘Out of sheer spite. You could not bear to lose another race to him.
You stole my horse. Where is he, Milo?’
‘I have no idea, my friend. But I hope you find him soon.’
‘Why?’
‘I have a horse of my own to beat him now.’
Turning on his heel, he left Gamberell speechless.
Chapter Seven
It took them the best part of an hour to find it. The hiding place was so carefully chosen and so cunningly disguised that they walked past it a dozen times without ever suspecting that it was there. Gervase Bret eventually stumbled on it by mistake. He noticed the fresh earth which had been scattered over a wide area among the bushes. When he knelt to take up a handful for closer examination, he felt the ground give way slightly beneath his weight.
‘Ralph!’ he called.
‘Have you found something?’
‘I may have.’
‘Where?’ asked Ralph, emerging from the thick shrubbery. ‘I hope that this is not another false trail, Gervase. We’ve had a dozen of those so far.’
‘This time, we may have more fortune.’
With both palms on the ground, he pushed down with his full weight and the turf gave way. Ralph let out a whoop of triumph and knelt beside him, using his dagger to probe further into the cavity. It was less a hole than a natural depression in the ground which had been hollowed out then covered over with the turf which had been lifted from it with such painstaking care. Twigs, bramble and small logs had been stuffed into the cavity to hold the turf in its original position, but they could not withstand the pressure from Gervase.
Overhung by a thick bush, the hiding place was quite impossible to detect with the naked eye. Only a combination of patience and good fortune had finally brought it to light.
After removing the segments of turf, Gervase began to scoop out the wood and bramble which had supported it. The cavity was gradually exposed. Ralph Delchard began to have doubts about the find.
‘Are you quite sure that this is it, Gervase?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not big enough to conceal a man.’
‘Not someone of your size and solidity, perhaps. But a slighter frame could easily be concealed in there.’
‘Ebbi has a slight build.’
‘So do I,’ said Gervase. ‘Let me try it for size.’
Ralph was horrified. ‘You’re going to crawl in there?’
‘Why not?’
‘You will get filthy.’
‘It is in a good cause.’
‘What about all those insects?’
‘Someone who wanted to evade capture would not be troubled by a few ants. Nor even by the odd worm or two. Stand back.’
Gervase lay face down on the edge of the cavity then slowly rolled over until he toppled into it on his back. It was just wide enough and deep enough to accommodate him.
‘Replace some of the turf,’ he said.
‘Are you mad, Gervase?’
‘I want to be absolutely certain.’
‘First, you drop into a hole in the ground. Now you want to be buried alive.’ Ralph was aghast. ‘How will you breathe?’
‘That is what I wish to find out.’
‘Then you are a braver man than I. Give me a sword and I will fight all day against superior odds without a qualm. But you would never get me to rehearse my own funeral like this.’
‘It will not take long.’
‘ Hic iacet Gervase Bret. Requiescat in pace. ’
He collected the segments of turf and replaced them in the order in which they had been lifted off the cavity. Gervase’s legs and body would soon be completely hidden. Ralph picked up the final square of turf and hesitated.
‘You are my dear friend. I cannot do this to you.’
‘You have to, Ralph.’
‘What if you suffocate?’
‘I will not stay down here long enough.’
‘Gervase, I hate this.’
‘Cover my face.’
After further protest, Ralph acceded to his request and Gervase vanished from sight. The turf fitted so neatly that Ralph was astounded.
Had he not known, he would never have guessed that a grown man lay inches beneath the surface.
‘Can you hear me, Gervase?’ he called. ‘Do you want me to dig you out of there? Gervase!’ A long silence. He became alarmed. ‘Are you in trouble down there?’
Before he could grab the first section of turf, the whole patch suddenly erupted into life as Gervase sat up. He was caked in dirt and insects were crawling over him but there was a smile of satisfaction on his face.
‘That was how it was done, Ralph. I have proved it.’
‘All you have proved is that Gervase Bret could have been the assassin. Give me your hand.’ Ralph hauled him upright in one fluent move. ‘Look at the state of yourself.’