‘Those holdings rightly belong to me,’ he asserted boldly. ‘They were granted to the abbey when I replaced Sihtric as father of the house and they should have remained in our possession.’
‘Why did they not do so?’ asked Ralph Delchard.
‘I was disseised of the property.’
‘You were,’ said Hervey de Marigny, ‘or the abbey was?’
‘The two are effectively the same.’
‘Not in law,’ corrected Canon Hubert. ‘The property in question was, in point of fact, once held by the abbey.’
‘For whom I speak, Canon Hubert.’
‘Granted, Father Abbot.’
‘Why, then, do you quibble so? I hold property through the abbey and on my own account as a layman. I have striven to build up the wealth of our house in Tavistock in order to do God’s work the more effectively but I have been baulked along the way by certain people.’ He glared along the faces ranged in front of him. ‘I hope that you will not baulk me as well.’
‘This case will be decided on its merits,’ Ralph assured him.
‘Then the land must be returned to me.’
‘To the abbey, you mean,’ said de Marigny.
‘To both of us. At the earliest opportunity.’
‘Unfortunately, that will not happen,’ said Ralph. ‘Four other people have lodged claims on this property and we must examine them all before we reach a final decision. What puzzles us is this. When our predecessors came to prepare the returns for this county, you did not come forward to contest these holdings.
Why was that?’
‘I was deliberately misinformed about the date of their visit here. By the time I reached Exeter, they had moved on to Totnes.
Do you see what this means?’ he said, eyes widening with anger.
‘I was the victim of a conspiracy. They prevented me from fighting on behalf of Tavistock.’
‘They?’ repeated Ralph. ‘Who might they be?’
‘One of them goes to his grave today.’
‘Nicholas Picard? How did he conspire against you, my lord abbot?’
‘With great cunning. Look how easily he tricked your predecessors. If they had been more diligent, you would not now be here to repair all these holes in their workmanship. I hesitate to speak ill of the dead,’ he continued without the slightest hesitation, ‘but the lord Nicholas was unscrupulous where property was concerned.’
‘Yet he did not take those holdings from you,’ said de Marigny.
‘That, according to your deposition, was the work of Roger de Marmoutier.’
‘Another grasping baron!’
‘Our evidence suggests otherwise.’
‘Then your evidence is false,’ retorted the abbot, eyes blinking rapidly. ‘The land in question was seized illegally by the lord Roger. I protested strongly but my protests were overridden.’
Ralph glanced down at a document in front of him. ‘Roger de Marmoutier had a royal charter to substantiate his claim.’
‘So does the abbey of Tavistock. Mine predates his.’
‘Then it is rendered invalid by the charter which succeeds it.
King William is empowered to give but he is also able to take away. Those holdings were granted to the lord Roger for services rendered on the battlefield.’
The abbot spluttered. ‘They were first given to me for services rendered on the much more important battlefield of missionary Christianity. When I came to Tavistock, the abbey was in a deplorable condition. Sihtric, my predecessor, had the most appalling reputation. He was a disgrace to the Benedictine Order.’
He inflated his chest. ‘I took a moribund house and turned it into a vigorous monastic centre.’
‘This is well known, Father Abbot,’ said Hubert, stepping in to cut him off before his speech became an extended sermon. ‘You have been justly praised for the remarkable work you have done at Tavistock. That is not the point at issue.’
‘It is, Canon Hubert.’
‘I beg to differ.’
‘Those holdings were granted to me by way of reward.’
‘But that reward was in time transferred to Roger de Marmoutier.’
‘And there is another factor to consider here,’ said Ralph. ‘The abbey was not cruelly stripped of that property. When it was taken from you, there was a compensatory grant of land.’
‘That is irrelevant!’
‘No, it is not,’ said de Marigny. ‘It alters the case completely.
This is not an act of disseisin. Fair exchange was involved.’
‘Fair exchange!’ The abbot’s voice soared even higher. ‘Prime land was taken from us and barren land given in return. Do you call that fair exchange, my lord? There is richer soil near Exeter.
As well as producing a regular harvest, the holdings under discussion also support sheep, cattle, pigs and a large herd of unbroken mares.’
‘What would your monks want with unbroken mares?’ asked Ralph mischievously. ‘A herd of unbroken nuns would be more appropriate livestock, would it not?’
There was uproar. The prior leapt to his feet to remonstrate, Canon Hubert added his condemnation, Brother Simon gave a squeal of horror and the abbot of Tavistock howled with righteous fury, pointing a finger of doom at Ralph as if trying to excommunicate him on the spot. Hervey de Marigny burst out laughing but quickly controlled his lapse. The soldiers at the rear of the hall took longer to suppress their mirth. It was fully five minutes before peace returned to the shire hall. Ralph apologised profusely and stroked the ruffled feathers of the monks back into place.
‘Now,’ he said quietly. ‘Let us look more deeply into this claim.’
Gervase Bret left the funeral service with a number of images jostling in his mind. Nicholas Picard’s composed widow and her attentive steward, Tetbald, fought for his attention with the poised Loretta and her Saxon companion, Eldred. Bishop Osbern remained a vivid memory, as did Dean Jerome and Saewin, but it was Asa who finally put her rivals to flight and became sole occupant of the disputed territory. Gervase could not stop thinking about her. The look which they exchanged across the grave had been compound of hope, curiosity and admiration. As he recalled the breathtaking shock of her loveliness, Gervase had to remind himself that someone equally beautiful and very trusting was waiting in Winchester for him to take her as his bride. Nothing and everything had happened during his silent communion with Asa. The encounter left him feeling guiltily exhilarated.
A figure swooped down on him as he was coming out of the cemetery. Baldwin the Sheriff moved from mourning to revenge with chilling speed.
‘One moment, Gervase,’ he said.
‘Yes, my lord sheriff?’
‘I did not expect to see you here, but I am glad that I have done so. It saves me having to enlist the services of the town reeve.’
‘Saewin?’
‘Only a Saxon can understand another Saxon,’ he said peevishly. ‘I have a man in my dungeon who will yield up nothing but gibberish even under torture. May I employ you as an interpreter?’
‘Is this man one of the robbers?’
‘Yes, Gervase. The only one to survive. I want the full story of how and why they murdered Nicholas Picard. I owe it to his widow and his family to beat the truth out of the prisoner’s carcass.
Will you help us?’
‘I am at your service, my lord sheriff.’
‘Let us return to the castle at once.’
It was not an assignment which Gervase accepted with any alacrity and it would keep him away from his duties in the shire hall even longer, but it was an opportunity which could not be refused. He and Ralph were not convinced that the robbers had killed Nicholas Picard before making off with their booty. Gervase hoped to learn if their doubts were justified. Baldwin’s wife had already returned to the castle with an escort, and six soldiers from the garrison accompanied the sheriff and his guest there.
Surrounded by the armed guard, Gervase felt as if he were under arrest.
The dungeons were situated below ground in the outer bailey.
Stone steps led down to a narrow passageway with damp walls.