‘Then he spoke wildly out of turn.’
‘It is a relief to hear you say that.’
‘From now on, I will escort Bristeva to the castle. I will not have my son or my steward causing any upset. I am proud of my daughter’s talent and will do all I can to let you develop it.’
‘That brings me to the banquet.’
‘Banquet?’
‘I did not dare to mention this to Bristeva herself until I had first discussed it with you.’ Arnulf glanced across at the keep. ‘A banquet is to be held in the hall on Saturday in honour of an illustrious visitor. Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances is to stay here as a guest and a lavish entertainment has been planned.’
‘How does this affect me?’
‘I want Bristeva to take part in that entertainment.’
Ordgar had immediate doubts. ‘To sing before such a large gathering?
My daughter is surely not ready for that.’
‘She would be with careful rehearsal.’
‘My lord Wymarc’s sister would be a more suitable choice.’
‘Helene is no longer available to us,’ said Arnulf sadly. ‘And I would hate to miss such an opportunity to display one of my choristers.
Bristeva would only have to sing two songs. The bishop is known for his generosity.’
‘The occasion might overwhelm her.’
‘Not with me there to guide her and you to support her.’
‘Me?’
‘You would be invited to the banquet. When such an honour is bestowed on Bristeva, her father must be there to enjoy the moment.
Will this persuade you?’
Ordgar required only a minute to reach his decision. By singing at the banquet, his daughter would not only achieve some personal glory.
There would be a tangible reward at a time when the family was sorely in need of money. A further inducement was the fact that Ordgar would for once be on equal terms with the Norman aristocracy as a guest at the banquet.
‘Bristeva will sing for you.’
Arnulf the Chaplain gave a benevolent smile.
Apology was anathema to Bertrand Gamberell. It was an article of faith with him that he did what he wished and never had to explain or excuse his actions. The need for apology was something which only lesser mortals encountered. Gamberell had always been above it until now but the time had finally come when he himself was obliged to say that he was sorry. He was so unaccustomed to the process that he did not know where to begin. It made his discomfort even more intense.
‘A word in your ear, Milo,’ he said.
‘I have heard enough from you for one day.’
‘That is what I wish to discuss with you.’
‘Save it until another time,’ said Milo Crispin with a foot in the stirrup. ‘I have to ride back to Wallingford.’
‘This will not wait.’
‘It will have to, Bertrand.’
Milo hauled himself up into the saddle but he was not allowed to leave. Gamberell held on to the horse’s bridle. He searched desperately for the words which would assuage his rival without involving his own loss of face.
‘Are you turned ostler now?’ taunted Milo.
‘I spoke too hastily at the funeral.’
‘That is ever your fault, Bertrand. One of them, I should say, for you have many defects. Your words outrun your sense.’
Gamberell cleared his throat and shifted his feet awkwardly. His smile of apology was more like a grimace of pain.
‘I was vexed beyond endurance,’ he explained.
‘That was plain.’
‘Hyperion was stolen from me today. That was a terrible shock. It put me in a choleric mood. When I arrived at the funeral, I was still pulsing with anger.’
‘We all saw that.’
Gamberell clenched his teeth. There was more shifting of his feet and negotiation with his pride before he finally blurted it out.
‘I was wrong to direct my anger at you, Milo. I was under great strain at Walter’s funeral. Losing him in such a tragic way was a vicious blow. When Hyperion was taken from me as well, I could not at first handle my despair. Now I can.’ He released the bridle and lowered his head. ‘I am sorry to have accused you like that.’
‘I would prefer to forget it, Bertrand.’
‘Thank you.’
‘On one condition.’
Gamberell looked up. ‘What is that?’
‘When you have found Hyperion again,’ said Milo, ‘and realised that I had no part in his disappearance, you must let me pit my own horse against your black stallion for double the original stake.’
‘Gladly!’
‘Wymarc, too, will be invited to take part.’
‘What of Ordgar?’
‘He will be unable to compete again, I fancy.’
‘Why is that?’
Milo was impassive. ‘It does not matter,’ he said evenly. ‘The first priority is to find Hyperion. Such a distinctive horse will be difficult to hide. I am sure that your men are already conducting a search. If you need help, I will put some of my own retinue at your disposal.’
‘You take an uncommon interest in Hyperion.’
‘I want him returned so that I may beat him.’
‘You have no hope of doing that,’ said Gamberell with a touch of his old bravado. ‘Nor does Wymarc. You will both be throwing your money away yet again.’
‘We shall see, Bertrand.’
‘Do not delude yourself. You do not have a horse in your stables to touch Hyperion. Wymarc’s stables are even less equipped to compete with my stallion.’ He gave a callous laugh. ‘The only thing Wymarc has worth riding is that comely sister of his. Helene. I would be happy to saddle her myself.’
He was still laughing as Milo Crispin rode away.
Leofrun shook like a leaf throughout the entire interview. She was terrified of the sheriff and humiliated by the position in which she found herself but she knew that she held the key that might unlock Ebbi and she tried desperately hard not to drop it. Robert d’Oilly questioned her closely and Gervase Bret was a deft interpreter. It seemed incredible that such an unprepossessing woman could arouse such ardent love in any man but Leofrun gave a clear testimony.
‘We met in the forest every week,’ she explained in a quavering voice. ‘Always the same place, always the same time. Nobody suspected for a moment. What harm were we doing? In the sight of God, we may not have been man and wife. In our own hearts, we were. And always will be.’
It was a touching act of devotion. Even the sheriff came to accept that she was giving an honest account of what happened. Leofrun had no reason to lie. Her evidence and the discovery of the hiding place in the copse had complicated the murder inquiry. Suspicion was slowly lifting from Ebbi.
‘It is a case of wrongful arrest,’ argued Ralph.
‘He should not have fled from my men,’ said d’Oilly.
‘Ebbi feared being mistaken for a poacher.’
‘He should have stood his ground and explained.’
‘A lady’s honour was at stake.’
The sheriff wrinkled his nose in disgust.
‘That is not what I would have called it,’ he said. ‘She stinks to high heaven. If I had been rolling in the grass with this revolting old Saxon sow, I would have run a mile sooner than own up to such bestiality!’
Although the insult was not translated for her, Leofrun gathered something of its import and looked deeply hurt. Gervase leapt swiftly to her defence.
‘That remark was uncalled for, my lord sheriff,’ he said with controlled anger. ‘Leofrun has shown courage in coming here today and no little dignity. Before you sneer at her again for being what she is, you might remember that both you and my lord Ralph have chosen Saxon ladies as your wives.’
‘And I could not have chosen better!’ attested Ralph.
‘Leave my wife out of this,’ said d’Oilly. ‘There is a world of difference between a gracious lady and a foul slut like this one before us. If she is Ebbi’s woman, his five senses must be sadly lacking for nobody in his right mind would willingly touch, taste, smell, look at or listen to this creature with any hope of pleasure.’
‘That is not the point at issue,’ Gervase reminded him.