When the prisoner was brought in, he could barely stand. Swathed in bandages, Ebbi was dragged across to a stool to the right of the table and forced to sit. His hands were tied behind his back and he was patently in considerable distress. Temples pounding, Gamberell glared with hatred at the man. Wymarc, too, directed a blistering hostility at Ebbi. Milo was more detached from the whole thing and Ordgar, peering over their shoulders for a first proper look at the prisoner, felt a rush of sympathy for him. Guilty or not, the man would get short shrift from Robert d’Oilly. Ordgar had seen too many examples of Norman justice in Oxford to expect either fairness or clemency. Ebbi was doomed.
The sheriff banged a fist on the table to stifle the loud murmur which had started. With the funeral of the victim out of the way, he saw no reason to delay the trial. The sooner retribution was set in motion, the sooner he could shake Bertrand Gamberell from his back.
Robert d’Oilly believed that summary justice was a useful instrument.
It sent out a clear and unequivocal message that crime would be dealt with swiftly and savagely.
On the table in front of the sheriff was a copy of the Holy Bible but it induced no spirit of Christian charity in him. His voice boomed out with rasping authority.
‘This court has been convened to try a man for the foul murder of one Walter Payne, knight, cut down at Woodstock but two days ago.’
He paused while Arnulf translated for the benefit of the prisoner.
Then Robert d’Oilly surged on with his preamble.
‘The slave, Ebbi, from the manor of my lord Wymarc, stands accused of this crime. The law is clear. If anyone breaks the King’s peace, given by his hand or seal, so that he kills a man to whom the peace has been given, his limbs and life shall be in the King’s decision.’
His back straightened and his chest swelled. ‘I represent the King in this shire.’
The chaplain took more time to translate this time and there was no indication that Ebbi even heard what was being said. The sheriff signalled to one of his men.
‘Take the Bible to him so that he may take the oath.’
‘How can he when his wrists are tied, my lord sheriff?’ said Arnulf reasonably. ‘May I suggest that his bonds be loosened so that he may place a hand on the Bible?’
‘If it is held before him,’ snapped the other, ‘that will suffice. Explain to him the significance of the oath. God himself will be his witness here in this hall.’
Arnulf acted as an interpreter once more and Ebbi took the oath in a faltering voice. The Bible was replaced on the table and the sheriff consulted the document in front of him. He did not foresee a long trial. All the witnesses told the same story. He switched his gaze to Ebbi.
‘How does the prisoner plead?
But there was no time for the words to be translated by Arnulf the Chaplain. Voices were heard outside, then the door was flung open and Ralph Delchard burst in. Everyone watched in stunned silence as he took a moment to look around before striding purposefully across the hall. Ralph stationed himself beside the cowering prisoner and put a compassionate hand on his shoulder. He spoke with quiet certitude.
‘This man is innocent, my lord sheriff.’
Chapter Eight
Mild uproar greeted Ralph’s announcement but it was quelled immediately by a peremptory command from the sheriff. Robert d’Oilly mustered all the righteous indignation that he could and directed a withering gaze at the newcomer.
‘How dare you interrupt these proceedings!’ he said. ‘You have no place in this court and I demand that you withdraw.’
Ralph held his ground. ‘I am needed here.’
‘Leave now or I will have you removed by force.’
‘That would be very foolhardy, my lord sheriff.’
‘You are in contempt of court.’
‘I have come to defend the prisoner.’
‘Depart, sir!’
‘Not until you have heard me out.’
‘Away with him!’
He gave a gesture and four guards converged on Ralph but his bold rejoinder made them stop dead in their tracks.
‘Stay!’ he warned. ‘Lay hands on me and you will have to answer to the King himself. He will ask stern questions about the administration of justice in this shire. King William already has cause to be displeased with Oxford. I came to the town bearing a royal warrant and accompanied by two other commissioners.’ He aimed his words directly at the sheriff. ‘One of those colleagues, Maurice Pagnal, whom you entertained as your guest at the castle, and with whom you discussed one of the cases that came before us, has been sent home in disgrace because he succumbed to bribery and tried to influence our verdict to the benefit of his paymaster. Maurice Pagnal will face the wrath of the King. Am I to tell his grace that injustice runs much deeper here in Oxford?’
The four guards looked helplessly across at their master. Ralph Delchard exuded such authority and spoke with such fearlessness that they were reluctant to carry out the sheriff’s order. Robert d’Oilly rescinded it with a flick of his hand and they returned gratefully to their positions.
Ebbi could not understand a word that was said but he sensed that he now had a friend. In a place where he had been treated with such cruelty, it was an unexpected bounty. He looked up at Ralph with pathetic gratitude.
Bertrand Gamberell saw only a mischievous interloper.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘My name is Ralph Delchard and I am a royal commissioner.’
Realising who the newcomer was, Gamberell showed a modicum of respect. ‘That gives you no right to interfere here,’ he said with slight deference. ‘This crime is outside your jurisdiction.’ He rose to his feet to introduce himself. ‘I am Bertrand Gamberell. My name will already have significance for you. Two days ago, one of my men was murdered in Woodstock during a horse race and I am here to make certain that his killer pays dearly for his crime.’
‘First, make certain that you catch the right man.’
‘He sits beside you, my lord.’
‘Ebbi is innocent. We have the proof of it.’
‘You know nothing whatsoever about this case.’
‘That is not true,’ said Ralph. ‘My lord Wymarc showed me the scene of the crime and explained in great detail what happened. Is that not so?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ agreed Wymarc, enjoying a rare chance to dumbfound Gamberell. ‘You expressed great curiosity and I was able to show you all that you needed to see.’
‘Not quite all. There was a vital element missing. I have just returned from a second visit to Woodstock with fresh evidence.’ He touched Ebbi again. ‘And it exonerates this man here, who has been most shamefully abused.’
‘Do not listen to him, my lord sheriff,’ urged Gamberell.
‘I believe that we should,’ countered Wymarc.
‘Your opinion was not sought.’
‘Neither was yours, Bertrand.’
‘Whose knight was killed out there in Woodstock?’
‘On whose land did the murder take place?’
‘Stop this bickering!’ snarled Robert d’Oilly.
‘Let me make a suggestion,’ said Milo Crispin, who had preserved his composure throughout. ‘If there is indeed new evidence, it should be taken into account but not before it has been sifted properly and that is best done in private. My advice is this, my lord sheriff. Adjourn the case until all the facts relating to it have been scrutinised then reconvene the court at your discretion. This answers all.’
‘Well spoken, friend,’ said Ralph.
‘My name is Milo Crispin.’
‘I had a feeling that it might be.’
‘Milo talks sense,’ endorsed Wymarc.
‘We have delayed this trial long enough,’ said Gamberell. I recommend that you proceed with it now, my lord sheriff. We have the guilty man before us. What more do we need?’
‘The truth,’ affirmed Ralph.
All heads turned to Robert d’Oilly. The decision lay with him and a great deal was hanging on it, not least his own reputation. If he let his authority be undermined by Ralph Delchard, then he would lose some of the respect in which he was held by the other barons and knights in the hall. On the other hand, were he to try the case without even examining the alleged new evidence, he would be incurring the displeasure of a royal commissioner and, through him, the anger of the King.