‘Leofrun!’ he called. ‘I wish to speak with you.’
The woman was astounded by the sound of her name and the kindness in his voice but it was not enough to draw her out of hiding.
If they had come to arrest her, they would use any trick to ensnare her.
‘My name is Gervase Bret,’ he said. ‘Ebbi has sent me.’
Her curiosity was aroused but she remained cautious.
‘Can you hear me, Leofrun?’
There was a long pause and she hoped that he might have gone away. When he spoke again, his voice came through the shutters directly behind her. She spun round in alarm.
‘We need to talk, Leofrun,’ he said. ‘Come to the window.’
Instead, she backed away and huddled in a corner.
‘Ebbi told me about you,’ he continued. ‘He is in grave danger and only you can help him. He lies in a dungeon at the castle and will soon be tried by my lord sheriff for a murder that he did not commit.
You know that he is innocent and so do I. Will you help him, Leofrun?’
‘Who are you?’ she croaked.
‘A friend.’
‘One of my lord sheriff’s men?’
‘No,’ he explained slowly. ‘We are strangers in the town. We have come to Oxford at the King’s behest on important business. But this murder has interrupted our work and we would see it solved before we can continue.’
‘Ebbi is no killer,’ she averred. ‘He is a good man, a kind man. Ebbi could never kill anybody.’
‘I believe you.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I spoke with him myself. In his dungeon.’
‘Have they hurt him?’
‘He is not in good health.’
‘They were cruel,’ she said with spirit. ‘I saw the way they treated Ebbi. Four soldiers against one man. They bound his hands tight then beat him black and blue. Ebbi had no chance against them.’
‘He will suffer worse if you do not help him.’
‘What can I do?’ she wailed.
‘Open the door and I will tell you.’
She was reluctant even to budge from the corner.
‘Very well,’ he coaxed. ‘Look at me through the crack in the shutters and judge for yourself if I am friend or foe. I will stand a few yards off.
Will that content you, Leofrun?’
It took her a long while to pluck up the courage to respond to his suggestion. Rising to her feet, she crept across to the shutters and applied a wary eye to the crack. Gervase was standing away from the house. His smile was friendly and his manner unthreatening but she wondered why his garb was so covered in dirt. He gave an apologetic shrug.
‘Forgive the state of my apparel,’ he said. ‘We have been searching in the undergrowth and this is the result. We were looking for clues that might help Ebbi.’
She angled her head so that she could appraise Ralph for the first time. A Norman baron was a more disturbing presence. Leofrun was worried that he might have soldiers within call.
Gervase seemed to read her thoughts once more.
‘We have come alone,’ he promised. ‘My lord sheriff’s men would have battered down your door without a second thought but they do not even know that you exist. Ebbi has shielded you once again. It has cost him dear.’
‘What does he want of me?’
‘The truth, Leofrun. That is all.’
‘Who would listen to it?’
‘I would. So will my lord Ralph here. We have influence at the castle and will speak in Ebbi’s defence, but our word is worthless without your testimony. Will you give it?’
The latch was lifted on the shutters and they were flung wide.
Leofrun was framed by the window. She was a short, swarthy, round-shouldered woman whose pleasant features bore the stamp of time and the drudgery that went with it. She wore a kirtle of homespun material and her hair was hidden beneath a torn hood. Smudged with grime, her face was still puckered in suspicion. Words came out slowly and painfully.
‘Why should you wish to help Ebbi?’ she said.
‘Because he is plainly innocent.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The same way that you do, Leofrun,’ said Gervase. ‘When Walter Payne was murdered during a horse race, Ebbi was here with you. No man can be in two places at the same time.’
Ebbi lay in the fetid straw, too weary to move yet unable to reach for the solace of sleep. Since his arrest in the forest of Woodstock, his life had been a continuous torment and he was coming to think that death, however agonising, might be a blessed release. His spirit had been broken. He no longer had the strength to despise Robert d’Oilly and to rail against the rank injustice of his situation. Ebbi had heard all the stories. Few people imprisoned in the castle dungeons ever came out alive again. Why should he fare any better?
The jingle of keys made him turn bloodshot eyes towards the door.
When it creaked back on its hingers, Arnulf the Chaplain stepped into the cell. The door was locked behind him. The visitor knelt beside the wounded man.
‘How do you feel now?’ he asked.
‘No better.’
‘Take heart. All is not yet lost.’
‘I feel that it is.’
‘Have they fed you at all today?’
‘All that I am given is foul water.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ said Arnulf, moving in closer to him. ‘I am not permitted to relieve your hunger or I surely would. You do know that?’
Ebbi felt something being pressed into his hand. When he glanced down, he saw that he was holding a hunk of bread.
‘God bless you!’ he murmured.
Then he took a first desperate bite of the food.
Bristeva watched her brother put the horse through its paces. Bolt upright in the saddle, Amalric took his mount at a steady trot in a wide circle, gradually increasing Cempan’s speed by judicious pressure with his heels. The chestnut colt was mettlesome and needed to be kept on a short rein. Edric the Cripple looked on with satisfaction.
He had taught the boy to ride and was pleased with the skills that were now second nature to him. Horse and rider belonged to each other.
Using his crutch, he moved across to Bristeva. They were in a field at the rear of the stables and the soft ground bore countless examples of Cempan’s signature. As he broke into a canter, the horse left even more clods in his wake.
‘Would you like to ride him?’ asked Edric.
‘No,’ said Bristeva. ‘He is too spirited for me. I am happy enough with my pony.’
‘Your brother is a fine horseman.’
‘Amalric will practise all day.’
‘The only way to improve, Bristeva,’ said the steward. ‘At his age, I was often in the saddle from dawn until dusk. There is no greater pleasure for a man.’
‘I prefer other delights.’
‘So your father has been telling me.’
Bristeva liked the steward but she could never be as close to him as Amalric. Her brother looked upon him as a favourite uncle and often forgot that Edric was not a member of the family. In some ways, he was closer to the steward than he was to his own father. Edric certainly spent more time with him than Ordgar was able or inclined to do.
There could never be the same bonding between Bristeva and Edric.
He was always polite to her but far more at ease in male company and a slight friction had crept into their relationship. It surfaced once again.
‘Why do you bother with this choir?’ he said, keeping his eyes on the circling horse. ‘It is a waste of your time.’
‘I like singing.’
‘Then sing at home so that we may all enjoy your voice.’
‘I only sing at the church.’
‘For the benefit of the garrison.’
‘Some of the townspeople come to hear us. Father Arnulf is always trying to invite more and more of them in.’
‘Who wants to venture into that castle?’
‘I do, Edric. They have been kind to me.’
‘Normans are never kind to us, Bristeva,’ he said with muted hostility.
‘The most they will do is condescend. That is what Arnulf the Chaplain is doing to you.’
‘No, he is not.’
‘I spoke to your father about it.’