‘We ride on past the field and make for that stand of trees in the distance. Our hoofbeats will have faded by then. He’ll think that we’ve gone.’
‘All we have to do is wait,’ said Gervase, surveying the field. ‘If Starculf is in there, he’ll soon come out when he thinks he’s safe. If he isn’t hiding amid the wheat, we’ll not have lost much time and we won’t have trampled over someone’s harvest.’
‘True,’ said Jocelyn.
‘You agree, then?’ asked Ralph.
‘Yes, my lord.’
The plan was put into action immediately. Signalling to his men, Ralph brought them all together then led them in formation at a brisk trot. They went down the hill and on past the wheat field, skirting its perimeter without even looking at it and continuing on for over a quarter of a mile until they reached a stand of willows and sycamores. Once they went round the angle of the copse, they were out of sight of any fugitive who might be lurking in the field. They reined in their horses and dismounted. Ralph, Gervase and Jocelyn crept through the trees in search of a vantage point from which they could observe the field. It was a hot afternoon. Cooled by a breeze that came off the sea, they could hear the waves rolling behind them quite clearly. If the fugitive headed for the coast, they had comprehensively cut off his escape route.
But there was no sign of Starculf. In the field, the wheat danced in the wind and shone in the sunshine. Nobody rose out of it to continue his bid for freedom. As time oozed slowly past, they began to lose faith in their instincts.
‘He’s not there,’ Ralph decided.
‘Give him more time,’ advised Gervase.
‘But he may already have reached the coast. We should be riding along the shore.’
‘Only when we’re sure he’s not hiding in that field.’
‘I prefer the lord Ralph’s counsel,’ said Jocelyn, worried. ‘Starculf is ahead of us and not behind us. We should mount up and give pursuit.’
‘Hold here a little longer,’ said Gervase, restraining him gently.
‘It’s a needless delay,’ Ralph complained.
‘Yes,’ said Jocelyn. ‘Starculf could be getting away.’
‘Not unless he has a horse hidden in that wheat field as well,’ said Gervase, using a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. ‘I can see movement.’
‘Where?’ said Ralph, tensing at the promise of action. ‘Where is he?’
‘Over to the left. Do you see him?’
Ralph let his gaze drift across to the left of the field and realised that Gervase had seen something that had eluded both him and the anchorite. No head had been lifted above the top of the stalks but a thin dark line was gradually snaking through the wheat. They were too far away to be certain of what they were witnessing. The parting of the wheat might have been caused by a dog or another animal making its way along but Ralph felt otherwise. He sensed that Starculf was about to make an appearance at last.
The fugitive was circumspect. When he had crawled all the way to the edge of the field, he did not break cover at once. Instead, he waited and watched until he was satisfied that there was nobody in sight. With a suddenness that took them all by surprise, he then rose up and loped off.
‘We’ve got him!’ said Ralph.
‘He’s mine!’ declared Vavasour.
‘There’s no hurry,’ said Gervase. ‘He can’t possibly get away.’
But his companions were not listening. Engaged in a private race, they mounted their horses and kicked them into a gallop. Ralph’s men were not far behind, spreading out in a semicircle to eliminate any hope of escape for the fugitive. When he saw them coming, Starculf changed the angle of his run, increasing his speed and aiming for the marshland off to his right, but it was a futile exercise. He was trapped. All that remained to be decided was who got to him first. Determined that he would have the pleasure of arresting the man, Ralph spurred his destrier on, but the weight of his hauberk slowed the animal slightly. It was the lighter figure of Jocelyn Vavasour, wearing no mailcoat and carrying no weapon, who surged ahead on his borrowed horse.
Reaching the edge of the marshes, Starculf zigzagged between the pools until he heard the splash of hooves in water. His flight was soon over. As he turned to see how far behind him they were, he was caught by a well-aimed foot that sent him tumbling to the ground. Vavasour was on him in a flash. Bringing his horse to an abrupt halt, he leaped down from the saddle and ran across to the man who was now struggling to get up, grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him vigorously.
‘Where are the elephants?’
‘First things first,’ said Ralph, dismounting to hurry over. ‘My name is Ralph Delchard,’ he announced, taking hold of the prisoner, ‘and it’s my duty to arrest you on behalf of Roger Bigot, sheriff of Norfolk and Suffolk.’
Starculf was still too dazed to reply. Ralph misunderstood his silence. ‘Would you rather I used your language?’ he said in English.
‘No, my lord,’ answered the other, slowly recovering. ‘Given the circumstances, I think I’d prefer to be arrested in French.’
‘Then that’s how it’ll be,’ agreed Ralph, reverting to his own tongue.
‘Ask him about the elephants, my lord,’ urged Vavasour, impatiently.
‘All in good time, Jocelyn.’
‘But I want them now. That’s the whole purpose of my mission.’
‘There’s the small matter of a homicide to discuss first.’
‘I caught him, my lord. I want those holy treasures.’
‘You’ll get them,’ said Ralph, firmly, ‘when I’m ready and not before.’
‘Search him!’
‘I’ll not be rushed,’ warned the other. ‘Starculf is my prisoner.’
Vavasour glared mutinously. ‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so.’
Gervase had now arrived and dismounted to join them on the ground. He took a close look at Starculf and matched him to the description they had been given of Richard de Fontenel’s former servant. There could be no question of the prisoner’s identity. He was a tall, handsome, well-built young man. Even in his dishevelled state, Starculf was a striking figure, his features smooth, his beard well trimmed and his eyes glistening with a quiet pride. Gervase discerned another cause for the enmity between him and the steward with whom he worked. The short, stocky Hermer, who had to secure his pleasures by force, was bound to resent a man to whom sexual favours would be freely offered.
Ralph returned to his interrogation. ‘I’m arresting you on a charge of murder,’ he said, solemnly, ‘in that you did wilfully and maliciously kill one Hermer, steward to the lord Richard.’
‘No, my lord!’ protested the other.
‘Don’t lie to me!’
‘On my oath, I didn’t kill Hermer.’
‘Then why are you running away?’
‘Because I don’t wish to pay for a crime I didn’t commit.’
‘Tell the truth, man!’ ordered Ralph.
‘That is the truth, my lord,’ said Starculf, earnestly. ‘I’ll swear on the Holy Bible that I didn’t lay hands on Hermer. The first that I heard about his death was when the lord sheriff’s men started hunting for me.’
‘Innocent men don’t need to flee.’
‘They do if they have little chance of proving their innocence.’
‘What about the elephants?’ demanded Vavasour.
‘Let them wait!’ said Ralph, irritably. ‘Pinion him!’
Two of his men moved in swiftly to tie Starculf’s hands behind his back and to remove his dagger from its sheath. The fugitive had no other weapon on him. Gervase was impressed with the man’s bearing. Starculf was no cringing felon, begging for mercy or hissing defiance. Nor was there anything of a trapped animal about him. Upright and unafraid, he exuded a strange honesty.
‘You claim that you’re innocent?’ said Gervase.
‘I didn’t murder the lord Richard’s steward,’ Starculf replied.
‘Yet you vowed to get revenge on him and his master.’
‘I confess it readily.’
‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ said Ralph.
‘Let him finish,’ suggested Gervase, touching his friend’s arm. ‘Go on, Starculf.’