Arnulf smiled and took his hands away from her.
‘Is your father looking forward to the banquet?’ he said.
‘Very much.’
‘The hall will be crowded with guests.’
‘I hope I am not too nervous.’
‘You will have no problems.’
‘But there will be so many distinguished guests there,’ she said. ‘I have never performed in front of such a large gathering before. Was Helene ever nervous?’
‘No, Bristeva.’
‘Did she ever let you down?’
‘Never.’
‘I asked father if Helene might be at the banquet but he seemed to think she would not be. Is that right?’
He nodded ruminatively. ‘My lord Wymarc confirmed it. He was here even before you this morning, Bristeva.’
‘What did he say.’
‘Helene is indisposed. She will not be coming.’
‘I am disappointed to hear that.’
‘We all are.’ He became brisk. ‘Now that I have shown you where you will sleep, let me take you to the hall where you will sing. We need to rehearse in there while we may. There will be little opportunity once the guests arrive.’
‘I’m ready,’ she said.
‘Thus far, you have only sung in the church. Your voice will sound very different in the hall. You need to get used to that difference.
Come, Bristeva,’ he said, taking her out into the passage. ‘We will make a start. When we have earned a rest from our rehearsal, I will bring you back here to introduce you to Brother Columbanus.’ He remembered something. ‘If we can actually find him, that is.’
Brother Columbanus opened a preliminary eye in the firm conviction that he would find himself in his chamber. He expected to see a finger of light poking in through the little window and pointing reverentially at the crucifix on the wall above his head. But he saw nothing. No wall, no window and no crucifix. He was in the pitch dark. Could it still be the middle of the night? A second eye joined the first in a vain attempt at probing the gloom. Where was he?
When he shifted his bulk, he felt something hard and uncomfortable beneath him. He was not lying on his mattress. Instead, he seemed to be propped up against a wall in a room that was thick with dust and devoid of any furniture. How had he got there? Columbanus racked his brain to tease out every detail of the meal in the hall. He recalled the vigorous debate about suicide and the words of St Augustine came back to him with reassuring exactness. Beyond that, however, all he could remember was that the food had been delicious.
Had he eaten to excess? Had he so disgraced himself that he had been cast into outer darkness? Or had he wandered off into some remote part of the castle and simply got lost? Brother Columbanus was totally perplexed. He was about to offer up a prayer for guidance when he felt something in his lap. He reached down to discover that he was holding a flagon of wine. It was still half full. Its contents swished around delightfully. He put the flagon to his lips.
Columbanus was soon fast asleep again in the undercroft beneath the church. He no longer cared how he had got there. The wine was as sweet this morning as it had been the previous night. There was another bonus.
St Augustine was waiting in his dreams to welcome him once more.
Ralph Delchard was intrigued to hear what Gervase had gleaned.
‘Wymarc came here?’ he said, raising an eyebrow.
‘He felt the need for spiritual comfort.’
‘Then why not go to the nearest church? Why ride all the way into Oxford before dawn?’
‘Arnulf is here. Wymarc holds the chaplain in high regard.’
‘So does the sheriff,’ noted Ralph. ‘When Wymarc and his men rode in here last night, our host was able to shout them down but it was Arnulf who really subdued the vengeful lord. This chaplain is a useful man to have around the castle.’
‘Much more than useful, Ralph. He is invaluable.’
‘And blessed with astonishing tolerance.’
‘Tolerance?’
‘Yes, Gervase. What other man of God would put up with such a bellicose master as Robert d’Oilly?’
‘Arnulf will hear no criticism of the sheriff. He is blind to the man’s faults.’
Ralph pointed to the river which ran below them.
‘Can one look at the Thames and be blind to the water?’
They shared a wry laugh. They had left the castle to walk down to Grandpont for a combination of exercise and privacy. Resting against the parapet of the stone bridge which Robert d’Oilly had built over the river, they were enjoying a quiet moment together. The drizzle had stopped now and sunshine was giving the water a bright sheen.
Accustomed to spending their days in musty shire halls, Ralph and Gervase were grateful for the enforced respite though still wounded by the disclosures which had prompted it.
‘Do you think that Canon Hubert will come?’ said Gervase.
‘We will know soon enough. The messenger we dispatched to Winchester should return later today. However ill Hubert is, he will not desert us in our hour of need.’ He gave a snort of disgust.
‘As for Maurice Pagnal, he will have the King’s displeasure visited upon him. I look to find him behind bars when we return.’
‘He took me in completely.’
‘I, too, was fooled, Gervase.’
‘But for Brother Timothy of Westminster, we might never have uncovered the deceit. Islip would have been awarded to Roger d’Ivry’s wife, Maurice would have pocketed his bribe and we would have been none the wiser.’
Gervase gave a rueful sigh. ‘Brother Timothy was our salvation.’
‘Alas, yes. I hate to be beholden to a monk.’
‘Would you rather sit alongside a corrupt judge?’
‘You know the answer to that.’
Gervase watched a kingfisher skim over the river.
‘What is our next move to be, Ralph?’
‘We do not make one. Golde agrees with me.’
‘About what?’
‘Biding our time, Gervase,’ he said. ‘We have spoken to the four men whose horses ran in that race. Wymarc, Ordgar, Milo Crispin and Bertrand Gamberell. And let us not forget that three of them are involved in another kind of contest — the dispute over that property near Wallingford. Four men with good reason to hate each other. I have come to believe that one of them has outwitted us.’
‘How?’
‘In the same way as Maurice. By being too plausible. By telling us exactly what we wished to hear at the time we needed to hear it.
Maurice Pagnal stood right in front of us yet we could not discern his villainy. One of those four men has done precisely the same. And I would add a fifth name.’
‘Robert d’Oilly?’
‘He is involved in everything in this town,’ said Ralph. ‘We may yet find that the murder has some connection with him. Five names, Gervase. Which one would you choose?’
‘I am not sure. But I would eliminate one already.’
‘Who is that?’
‘Bertrand Gamberell.’
‘Why?’
‘He would never set up the murder of his own man.’
‘Stranger things have happened in this shire.’
‘It meant that he lost the race,’ said Gervase, ‘and that went hard with him. Besides, what motive would he have?’
‘He and Walter Payne may have fallen out. Over the girl, perhaps.
We know that Gamberell lusted after her as well. If he learned that his own man had seduced Helene in his stead, he would have been enraged.’
‘Then he would have taken revenge in private and not in such a public way. Walter Payne’s involvement with Helene is only speculation.
Even if there had been a relationship between them, Payne would have made certain that his master never found out about it.’ Gervase pursed his lips in thought. ‘No, Ralph,’ he decided. ‘I do not believe that Gamberell fell out with his rider. He was too anguished by the killing.’
‘Gamberell made a lot of noise about it, that is true. But he also led the search for the assassin in the copse. That was the perfect way to turn suspicion away from himself.’ He scratched his head. ‘I know that it seems unlikely but we must keep his name on the list.’