Ordgar backed away at once. By offending his overlord, he only weakened his case still more. In all their dealings, Milo Crispin would hold the upper hand. Nothing would change that. Ordgar’s voice took on a placatory tone.
‘All that I am asking for is fair treatment, my lord.’
‘The race is void.’
‘I accept that now. I was wrong to criticise your decision.’
‘Then why waste my time arguing about it? And why did you spend a night on my stairs?’
‘In order to reclaim my share of the wager,’ said Ordgar, eager to get some recompense for his aching bones. ‘You hold the purse for the race. Please return my stake and I will trouble you no further. Those who helped me to raise the money will want it back now.’
‘Then they will have to be disappointed.’
‘But we are entitled to the amount we wagered.’
‘I will be the judge of any entitlement here, Ordgar. And I will not yield up one solitary coin from that purse. It stays under lock and key here in my castle.’
‘But we need it, my lord,’ pleaded the other, stepping forward.
‘Desperately. We are men of limited means.’
‘Then you should not have made such a rash investment.’
‘It was a risk worth taking. Our horse won the race.’
‘But lost his stake.’
‘That is unjust, my lord!’
‘The real injustice took place in those trees,’ said Milo icily. ‘A man was murdered. Bertrand Gamberell’s knight may have been killed but his black stallion lives on to run another day. If you wish for your money, you will have to win it in the second race.’
‘The second race?’
‘Over the same course. Under the same rules.’
‘We will need to think about that.’
‘Withdraw,’ taunted Milo, ‘if you have no stomach for another contest.
Take your colt out of the race and forfeit your wager.’
‘That is a cruel condition to make.’
‘The choice lies with you.’
‘We will take part,’ said Ordgar bravely.
‘You may not enjoy such good fortune next time.’
‘I have every faith in my horse.’
‘He will certainly press Hyperion to the limit, I grant you. Especially with your son in the saddle. Amalric is a true horseman. He got the best out of his mount.’
‘No other horse will outrun that black stallion.’
‘That may be true. Your colt is fleet of foot.’
‘None faster in the whole county, my lord.’
Milo sat back in his chair and regarded the old man through narrowed lids. He thought of the closing moments of the race when his own horse had been found wanting against the chestnut colt ridden by Amalric. And he remembered the size of the purse awaiting the eventual winner. An idea stirred.
‘There is one way you may reclaim your money at once,’ he said.
‘What is it, my lord?’
‘Take it in exchange for your colt.’
‘In exchange?’
‘I am minded to buy the animal off you.’
‘But he is not for sale.’
‘What use is a horse like that to you, Ordgar?’ said Milo smoothly.
‘He will be far better off in my stables. He will be well fed and properly trained here. I would be doing you a favour by taking him off your hands.’ He gave a smile. ‘Yes, I think the time has come for you to part with him.’
‘He is ours, my lord.’
‘You are getting a fair price for him.’
‘We need him to win that race for us.’
‘I am sure you do, Ordgar. But I, too, have my needs and I think you will agree that they take precedence over yours.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Speak to my steward on the way out. He will give you your money.’
The old man was seized by a quiet terror.
Chapter Three
Brother Columbanus was so consumed by guilt at his overindulgence during the meal that he spent an hour on his knees in the church next morning by way of atonement, vowing to fast throughout the whole day and to forswear ale in perpetuity. He was still chiding himself sternly when he stepped out into the bailey, hoping that the fresh air might bring him fully awake and help to ease his pounding headache. Through bleary eyes, he saw Gervase Bret striding towards the church. The monk’s remorse took an even tighter hold on him.
‘Good morrow. Brother Columbanus,’ said Gervase cheerily. Then he noted the furrowed brow and the pale complexion. ‘What is amiss?
Are you not well?’
‘No, I am not.’
‘Do you need to be tended by a doctor?’
‘Self-denial is the only medicine I require.’
‘What are the symptoms of your illness.’
‘A blinding headache and a deep sense of shame.’
‘Shame?’
‘Yes, Gervase,’ said the other. ‘My behaviour at table last night was quite unforgivable. I ate too much, drank too much and talked your ears off in the most intolerable way. You must all have been relieved to see the back of me.’
‘Not at all. You were congenial company.’
‘Gormandising like that? Gluttony is a sin.’
‘You had earned a good meal after a day in the saddle. We ate and drank as heartily as you, Brother Columbanus.’
‘That is your privilege. You are not bound by the strict rules of the Order.’ He clutched at his breast. ‘Oh, what a poor ambassador I am for Saint Benedict! Half a pint of wine is his prescribed allowance for us yet I drank ten times that amount of ale. The only consolation is that Canon Hubert was not here to witness my derelictions. Had he still been a member of the commission, that holy man would have taken me to task for my gross intemperance.’
Gervase stifled a smile as he recalled the numerous occasions in the course of their travels when he had seen Canon Hubert feasting enthusiastically without ever feeling a twinge of conscience about his greed. Columbanus was a more penitent sinner and this was to his credit. Gervase was glad to hear that the monk had resolved never to touch intoxicating drink again. The scribe would certainly need to be sober and clear-headed while sitting alongside the commissioners.
Columbanus had lost much of his erstwhile liveliness. His head was bowed, his shoulders sagged and his confidence had been badly sapped. His manner was almost tentative now.
‘Gervase,’ he whispered, ‘I sincerely hope that this will not rob me of your friendship.’
‘There is no chance of that.’
‘I value it highly. I would hate to lose your respect.’
‘Have no fear on that score, Brother Columbanus.’
‘You have my firm promise that I will endeavour to make amends for my conduct in the hall last night. You and your colleagues will have no further cause for complaint.’
‘We have none now,’ Gervase reassured him. ‘You are being far too hard on yourself. Put the whole matter behind you.’
‘That is what I will strive to do.’
‘Good.’
‘And you will not mention this incident to Canon Hubert?’
‘I would not dream of it.’
Columbanus brightened. ‘A thousand thanks, Gervase. I knew that you would show compassion. I said as much to Arnulf. You have lifted a huge weight from me. I am ever in your debt.’
After another burst of apologies, he excused himself and set off across the bailey. There was far more colour in his cheeks now and something of the old spring in his stride. Gervase was glad to observe these early signs of recovery. Contrition had taken all the ebullience out of Columbanus and crushed his spirit. Gervase preferred the animated companion of the previous two days.
He was just about to go into the church when a familiar voice hailed him. Gervase turned to see Arnulf the Chaplain sailing towards him.
They exchanged a warm greeting.
‘Did you sleep well, my friend?’ asked Arnulf.
‘Very soundly.’
‘And your fellows?’
‘They seemed well rested when we shared breakfast.’
‘Brother Columbanus had a more troubled night.’