‘We won’t disturb you any longer,’ said Coureton.
‘I’m very grateful that you came.’
‘We felt that you deserved to know what happened to your generous gift to the abbey. Having met you, we can see why you venerate those gold elephants.’
‘And now,’ said Ralph, ‘we’ll get on with the task of finding them.’
‘Wait, my lord,’ said the anchorite, holding up a hand.
Jocelyn Vavasour was torn between the past and the present, reflecting on the person he once was and the strength he drew from the new life he had chosen to lead. He wrestled with his conscience for some time, searching the heavens for counsel. They could see the anguish in his face and the tension in his body. With great reluctance, he eventually came to a decision. He straightened his shoulders. After taking a nostalgic look around the marshes, he walked swiftly back to his hut.
‘Give me a few moments,’ he said. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Drogo the Steward was not entirely without compassion. When he recovered from the shock of finding Clamahoc in the middle of the copse, he carried the man back to his horse and led it slowly homeward, wondering what he might say to his master and speculating on how it would be received. The message was as vivid as the blood on the servant’s back. Clamahoc had been unmasked as a spy. Retribution had been severe. Richard de Fontenel had ensured that he would never tell tales of any kind again. When they reached the manor house, Drogo took his passenger around to the stables and propped him against some sheaves of hay. After reviving the wounded man with a cup of water, he washed away the blood from around his mouth. When he tried to clean the raw wounds on his back, however, he sent Clamahoc into convulsions. The howls of pain were heard by Mauger Livarot as he returned on horseback from his visit.
Leaping down from the saddle, he came to the stables to investigate. ‘Who’s this?’ he demanded, looking down at the tortured figure.
‘Clamahoc, my lord,’ said his steward.
‘Your man in the lord Richard’s household?’
‘I fear that he’s been discovered.’
‘How?’
‘I’m not quite sure, my lord.’
‘Well, ask him!’ ordered Livarot.
‘He can’t tell us,’ said the steward. ‘His tongue was cut out.’
‘What?’
‘This is how I found him at the place where we arranged to meet. The truth was beaten out of him before he was silenced for ever. Look at the marks on his back, my lord. It’s a wonder that the poor fellow’s still alive.’
‘Why did you bring him here?’
‘He was our man, my lord.’
‘ Your man, Drogo,’ corrected the other harshly. ‘He was never mine. And in that state, he’s no use to either of us.’
‘That’s not his fault.’
‘Of course it is. He was found out.’
‘Only after he’d given us good service.’
‘Horses and dogs give me good service,’ said Livarot with callous indifference, ‘but when they grow old or lame, I nevertheless have them put down at the earliest opportunity. I don’t carry burdens.’
‘Clamahoc is not exactly a burden.’
‘What else is he?’
‘Proof of the lord Richard’s brutality.’
Livarot snorted. ‘As if we needed another example of that!’
‘We should report this to the lord sheriff and have the lord Richard arraigned.’
‘On what charge?’
‘Attempted murder.’
‘Talk sense, man,’ said the other, grabbing his steward to shake him. ‘No murder was attempted here or you’d have found a dead body awaiting you. If everyone who had a servant whipped was reported to Roger Bigot, half the landowners in the county would be held to account. The lord Richard did no more than I’d have done in his place.’
‘But he cut out the man’s tongue!’
‘Can you prove that?’ Livarot pointed at the servant. ‘Can he?’
‘It’s self-evident, my lord.’
‘All that’s evident to me is that this idiot let himself be caught and got his just deserts. Knowing his master, I’d say that Clamahoc got off lightly.’
The servant groaned in agony on the ground. Drogo took pity on him. ‘He needs a doctor, my lord.’
‘Not at my expense!’
‘Those wounds need to be dressed.’
‘Don’t look to me for sympathy, Drogo. You may feel sorry for the wretch but he’s little short of a traitor to me. He betrayed us. Not only have we lost the advantage we had over the lord Richard, he’ll want his revenge. And there’ll be nobody to warn us when he’s coming next time.’ He kicked the servant hard and produced another cry of distress. ‘Get rid of him.’
‘Can’t he stay here until he recovers?’
‘No!’
‘But he’s in no fit state to travel.’
‘That’s not my problem,’ said Livarot coldly. ‘Get rid of him.’ After kicking the wounded man again, he marched out of the stable.
Anxious to hear their news, Gervase Bret was waiting for them in the bailey when they returned late that afternoon. Ralph Delchard and Eustace Coureton dismounted from their horses and removed their iron helms. Both were perspiring freely and their tunics were covered in dust. Their horses were led away by ostlers.
‘Well?’ asked Gervase. ‘Did you find Jocelyn Vavasour?’
‘Unfortunately, no,’ said Ralph.
‘Oh.’
‘What we found instead was Jocelyn the Anchorite. He’s turned his back on everything he stood for and vowed to pass a contemplative life among the birds. He lives in the remotest part of the marshes.’
‘I admire the man,’ said Coureton. ‘What he’s done shows rare courage.’
‘Courage or stupidity?’
‘A little of both, perhaps, but there’s a fine line to be drawn between the two. Be honest, Ralph. Both of us have done impulsive things in battle that were afterwards viewed as acts of bravery. Had they failed, we’d have been condemned for our stupidity.’
‘The lord Jocelyn’s case is surely different,’ said Gervase. ‘What he’s done is no sudden or impulsive move. He must have brooded on it for a long time.’
‘Months, by the sound of it, Gervase.’
‘Then he’s shown the courage of his convictions. There’s no folly involved. Did he seem unhappy or rueful?’
‘Quite the opposite. He was at ease with himself.’
Ralph scratched an itch on his neck. ‘That’s more than I am,’ he complained. ‘This is no weather for a hauberk. I was almost roasted alive. Come with us, Gervase. I need to change. We’ll talk on the way.’
The three of them walked in the direction of the keep, Gervase between his two colleagues. Holding back his own news, he poured out a steady stream of questions.
‘Was the journey worthwhile?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Ralph. ‘It opened our eyes.’
‘In what way?’
‘Jocelyn the Anchorite told us all sorts of interesting things.’
‘About whom?’
‘Almost everyone involved in this inquiry,’ said Coureton. ‘But principally about the lady Adelaide. She’s an intriguing woman.’
‘Alys and Golde discovered a few things about her themselves.’
‘I was hoping they would,’ said Ralph. ‘We must compare our findings.’
‘Was the lord Jocelyn upset to hear about the theft from the abbey?’ said Gervase.
‘Horrified, but glad to be made aware of the crime.’
‘I had a feeling that he might be.’
‘It was the one thing that could have got him out of there, Gervase.’
‘Out of where?’
‘His lonely hut in the marshes,’ explained Ralph, as they ascended the rough timber steps to the keep. ‘He wants to join in the hunt. He came with us.’
‘Then where is he?’
‘We dropped him off on the way back at the house of some friends.’
‘Yes,’ added Coureton. ‘We offered to wait for him but he insisted on travelling alone. He was hoping to borrow a horse from his friends.’
‘Only a horse?’
‘What do you mean, Gervase?’
‘Well, I know that he’s an anchorite who yearns for solitude, but it’s dangerous to ride alone through open country. Might he not also want to borrow some weapons?’
Jocelyn Vavasour made good speed. Unencumbered by armour and riding a fresh horse, he rode south by a different route taken by the two commissioners who had visited him, eager to act on his own without help or supervision. The theft of the holy elephants had stung him badly and spurred him to leave the hut on the marshes where he led his life of self-denial. Since he had brought the gift from Rome in the first place, he felt it his duty to reclaim it on behalf of the abbey and, though he had given Ralph Delchard and Eustace Coureton some guidance, he had not told them everything that might help them. There were lines of inquiry that he wanted to reserve for himself. Riding at a canter throughout the afternoon, he reflected on the details of the theft again, mortified that the treasure he had bestowed on the abbey of St Benet had led to a cruel murder.