‘Why did you kill Nicholas Picard?’ he demanded.
‘We found money upon them,’ said the captain. ‘Far more than two wretches like this should be carrying.’
‘And rings?’ asked Baldwin.
‘Three of them, my lord sheriff. I believe we will find that they were taken from the fingers of their victim.’
‘Animals!’ howled the other, striking the captive again. ‘Wild animals!’ He strode across to the horse which bore the other robber. ‘You will pay dearly for this, you rogue! I’ll make you suffer so much that you will beg me to hang you and put an an end to your ordeal.’
He lifted the man’s head to peer into his face, but found the eyes closed tight. When he shook him violently by the shoulder, Baldwin saw that his body was limp and unresponsive. The captain shifted uneasily in his saddle.
‘We obeyed your orders, my lord sheriff,’ he explained, ‘and travelled as fast as we could. His ropes were not secure enough.
As we galloped along, he was thrown from his horse and his head hit a stone.’
Baldwin fumed. ‘Dead! He has escaped my revenge?’
‘It was an accident. We tried to revive him but his brains were dashed out. That is why we slowed down. To make sure that his accomplice came back alive.’
The sheriff took out a dagger and cut the ropes which held the corpse in place. Taking him by the neck, he heaved the man off the horse and on to the ground, kicking him over with his foot so that the face was upturned. Baldwin spat contemptuously at the prostrate body.
‘Leave him there,’ he decreed. ‘Someone from the nearest village can bury him in the morning. I want no offal coming into my castle.’ He pointed to the other prisoner. ‘Guard him well and bring him safely back to Exeter. I’ll burn the truth out of him with a hot poker!’
It was Gervase Bret’s idea. He volunteered to attend the funeral of Nicholas Picard in order to pay his respects to a man whom he had come to know well through his perusal of the Domesday returns and in the hope of learning something about those closest to the deceased. Ralph Delchard was happy to concur. The first person to be examined that day was the abbot of Tavistock and Ralph felt confident that he, Hervey de Marigny and Canon Hubert could cope without their young colleague for a morning. He anticipated resistance from Hubert, who had not been consulted about the decision to release Gervase, but he was prepared to ride out the other’s displeasure in the way which had become second nature to him.
The funeral service was held at the cathedral. Osbern, bishop of Exeter, was himself officiating, a mark of Picard’s status in the county. The cathedral had the ancient right to bury its citizens in its own cemetery, and Nicholas Picard was also accorded the privilege of lying within the precincts. Where he might have lain in the churchyard of the humble village church on his estates, he was instead translated to the cathedral. The hideous nature of his death provoked widespread shock and sympathy, bringing a large congregation to the funeral service.
People came in from all over the country of Devon to watch the last remains of Nicholas Picard being consigned to an untimely grave.
Gervase stationed himself near the main entrance so that he could take note of visitors as they arrived. He had no difficulty in identifying the widow. She led the procession which followed the coffin. Flanked by Dean Jerome and Tetbald the Steward, she walked slowly with her head down in meditation. For all her apparent grief, Gervase did not get the impression of a woman who was disabled by her husband’s murder. Her gait was steady, her manner dignified. Even in the brief glimpse he had of her, Gervase caught something of her strength of character. Directly behind her were family members and behind them came Baldwin the Sheriff with his wife.
While the procession was making its way down the nave, he slipped into the cathedral and found a place to stand at the rear.
It was a moving occasion. Osbern was faultless. He made a public event seem very private, reaching out with voice and gesture to everyone in the congregation and delivering a eulogy which brought murmurs of agreement time and again. Mass was sung, then the coffin was carried out to the cemetery. The mourners filed out after it and stood around the grave in a wide circle.
Gervase was both participant and observer, touched by the solemnity of the occasion yet trying to glean something from it.
He had noticed Saewin when the town reeve first appeared and he now worked his way around to him. The latter stood respectfully on the fringe of the gathering and gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Gervase waited until the coffin was lowered reverentially into the ground. He was grateful that Nicholas Picard’s widow had not seen her husband at the mortuary. Simply remembering the savage injuries made his stomach turn.
‘Who is that man with the widow of the deceased?’ he asked.
‘That is Dean Jerome.’
‘On the other side of her, I meant.’
‘Tetbald the Steward,’ said Saewin. ‘You will see a lot of him at the shire hall. He is to represent the lady Catherine. And there is someone else with whom you will become acquainted.’
Gervase followed the direction of his pointed finger and saw a tall, elegant woman accompanied by a stocky individual of middle years whose features, beard and garb confirmed his Saxon origins.
They seemed an unlikely couple and Gervase decided that the man must be her servant. He was too ill favoured to occupy a more intimate station.
‘Who is that?’ he enquired.
‘The lady Loretta, widow of Roger de Marmoutier.’
‘Why is she here?’
‘Everyone knew the lord Nicholas.’
‘Yes,’ said Gervase, ‘but she knew him as the man who, allegedly, took property from her which had formerly been in the hands of her husband and then her son. I would have thought she had reason to despise Nicholas Picard.’
‘She is a compassionate woman. And death can make even the vilest hatred melt away. The lady Loretta would hold no grudge against a man who had been murdered in such a terrible way.’
‘Who is the man with her?’
‘One of her household. Eldred by name.’
Gervase sought the identity of a dozen more people and Saewin was an obliging assistant. Work as the town reeve meant that he knew almost everyone in Exeter. From the looks and nods that his companion was collecting, Gervase could see that Saewin was greatly respected in the community. That boded well. Gervase was about to leave when he found that he himself was under surveillance. A short, slim young woman of quite striking beauty was studying him from the other side of the grave as if she was trying to weigh him up. When their eyes met, she gave him such a look of intense curiosity that he found it impossible to tear his gaze away from her.
‘Who is that young lady?’ he said, nodding his head towards her.
‘That is someone else whom you will come to know.’
‘Why?’
‘She will be involved in the dispute over the lord Nicholas’s property.’
Gervase was intrigued. ‘Is that Asa?’
‘Yes.’
What an extraordinary face! he said to himself. Entrancing!
He was alarmed by his reaction and lowered his eyes. Gervase had never experienced such a feeling of sudden affection at a funeral before. When he dared to look up again, Asa had vanished into the crowd.
Chapter Five
Geoffrey, abbot of Tavistock, turned out to be a peppery individual.
He treated the commissioners less like royal agents to be respected than renegade monks to be brought into line by stern discipline. Attended by his prior, a cadaverous man with piercing eyes, the abbot stormed into the shire hall to advance his claim with unassailable confidence. He was a big man with a hooked nose and a domed forehead which was covered in freckles. Years of study had rounded his shoulders and left his eyes with an irritating blink. His voice seemed almost comically high for a person of his bulk but it was a potent weapon on behalf of his abbey.