In a convivial setting, he somehow exuded an even greater sense of power. They were highly aware of his standing with the King. He was one of William’s chief advisers and had played a major part in the ecclesiastical reforms which had followed the Conquest. In both Church and State, he was an influential figure. Ralph was acquainted with his military exploits while Gervase remembered him for his judicial role.
The bishop’s smile was shared evenly between them.
‘You are the commissioners, I believe,’ he said, sizing each man up at a glance. ‘Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret.’
‘That is right, your grace,’ said Ralph.
‘Three of you set out from Winchester.’
‘You are well informed,’ noted Gervase.
‘I have to be,’ boasted Geoffrey. ‘My intelligencers are everywhere.
Where is the third member of your tribunal? I wish to meet Maurice Pagnal as well.’
‘You will have to wait until you reach Winchester,’ said Ralph sadly.
‘And you may need to crack the whip over your intelligencers, your grace. They obviously failed to tell you that my lord Maurice was dismissed from his office and sent away in disgrace.’
‘Why?’ demanded Geoffrey, eyes bulging in dismay. ‘What was his offence?’
‘He succumbed to bribery, your grace,’ said Gervase.
‘A corrupt judge! Unforgivable!’
‘His substitute is even now on his way to Oxford.’
‘I am pleased to hear it,’ rumbled the bishop. ‘Nothing is as vital as the incorruptibility of those in a judicial position. Several years ago,’
he recalled, grasping at a memory which could inflate his self-importance, ‘I presided over a land dispute between Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury and Odo, Bishop of Bayeux and Earl of Kent. The trial was held at the shire court in Penenden Heath. As a lawyer, Master Bret, you will know the case. It stands as an example of judicial impartiality. The King’s archbishop or the King’s half-brother? Whom should I have favoured?’ He clenched a fist. ‘Neither!
Had an Emperor and a Pope stood before me, I would have been uninfluenced by their rank. Justice was my only concern.’ He pointed to Ralph. ‘I will see that Maurice Pagnal does not escape lightly for this.’
‘That would please me, your grace,’ said Ralph.
‘It will be done,’ promised Geoffrey, letting a glaucous eye rove around the room. ‘I will have much to report to the King about Oxford. It will not be complimentary.’
Robert d’Oilly descended on his chief guest to lead him to his place.
The steward was meanwhile directing other guests to their seats in strict hierarchical order. Long tables had been arranged in a giant horseshoe so that the central area was left free for the entertainment.
Rushes covered the floor. Herbs sweetened the air. Music played on.
Two hundred candles shed a fluctuating brilliance over the scene.
Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances was in the place of honour in the centre of the main table. Robert d’Oilly sat beside him on his right and Edith was on the bishop’s other flank. Ralph sat next to his hostess with Golde, then Gervase, next to him. It was a good position from which to view the whole room, though Ralph wished that he could keep Milo Crispin under closer surveillance. The latter was seated on the sheriff’s right hand. Maud was between them, separating her husband from her father. She was an arresting figure even in such a glittering array.
Ralph leaned behind Golde to speak to Gervase.
‘They are all here,’ he said.
‘Yes, Ralph.’
‘Milo, Wymarc, Ordgar and the sheriff.’
‘Which one should we watch?’
‘All four.’
His gaze switched to Ordgar. Occupying a humble position at the foot of a side table, the old Saxon was seated between his son and Edric the Cripple. In an almost exclusively Norman gathering, they looked out of place, and their attire was shabby against the bright tunics of the men around them. Ordgar was neither hurt nor insulted by his position at the feast. He was there to enjoy his daughter’s contribution and that put him in a mood of quiet elation.
A fanfare sounded and serving men entered in procession to display some of the dishes that were being served. As they paraded the boar’s head, the side of pork, the salmon, the venison, the spiced rabbits and the other delights around the hall, they drew gasps of pleasure from the women and approving thumps on the table from the men.
There were six choices for the first course alone. Wine flowed plentifully. Ale was set out before the Saxon contingent. The whole assembly was soon drinking heartily and eating their frumenty.
The one person who was holding back from the wine was Brother Columbanus. Seated opposite Ordgar, he tucked into his food with relish but put a hand over his cup whenever someone tried to pour wine into it. Arnulf the Chaplain watched him from the doorway. He had been sitting with Bristeva in an ante-room, trying to still her anxieties and prepare her mind for the test ahead. He now slipped into the hall to check that everything was in order. Walking up behind the monk, he lifted the man’s cup and filled it from a flagon on the table.
‘No, no,’ protested Columbanus. ‘I must not.’
‘Join in the revelry, Brother Columbanus,’ urged the other. ‘You are an honoured guest. No man can come to a banquet such as this and refuse a drink.’
‘Will you lead me astray, my friend?’
‘I wish merely to see you enjoy yourself.’
When the cup was pressed firmly into his hand, Columbanus relented. He beamed at his neighbours.
‘One taste, perhaps.’
Ordgar raised a hand to catch the chaplain’s attention.
‘How is Bristeva?’ he asked.
‘Nervous but confident.’
‘When will she sing?’
‘Not for some while yet.’
‘May I speak to her beforehand?’
‘It might be better if you did not,’ said Arnulf. ‘She needs to settle before she can perform in front of such an assembly. I will get back and help her through the tension of this long wait.’
He poured more wine for Columbanus then withdrew.
Entertainment soon began. The musicians struck up a lively tune and a dozen dancers came gliding into the room, moving with grace and verve as they weaved intricate patterns in front of the spectators.
The applause was long and loud. When the guests looked down at the table again, they saw that a new course had been served. Gloom and despondency had been completely banished. A spirit of joy prevailed.
Tumblers came next, sprinting into the hall and thrilling everyone with their acrobatic feats. They were followed by a man who put a flaming brand into his mouth before blowing fire in the air like a human dragon. The dancers returned for a second display then made way for a magician in a long black robe. His performance imposed a hush on the room. They watched in amazement as he made a bunch of flowers vanish before their eyes, and they gasped in unison when he folded his hands in prayer, then opened them to release a white dove into the air. It flew twice around the room before obeying his whistle and returning to perch on his shoulder.
Bristeva heard the thunderous clapping from the hall. She was in the adjoining room with Arnulf and the delay was telling on her already frayed nerves.
‘When do I go in?’ she asked.
‘You are next, Bristeva.’
‘I will never get applause like that.’
‘They will love you, Bristeva. So will I.’
He embraced her fondly and she felt a glow of pleasure.
Her spirits lifted. ‘Is my father there?’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed, ‘and Amalric.’
‘I so want to please them.’
‘You will please everybody,’ he said. ‘As long as you remember what I told you. Stand still. Keep your head up. Take a deep breath before you start. Then let your voice fill the hall with sweetness. They will be captivated.’