‘It’s true,’ admitted Vavasour with a smile. ‘Two elephants did get hurled there but they weren’t made of gold, as these are. They were carved out of wood. I brought them with me when we left my little home. That’s the irony of it,’ he added with a sigh. ‘The lord Mauger didn’t die in pursuit of holy treasures blessed by the Pope. He went into that quicksand after two pieces of driftwood that had dried yellow in the sun.’
Ralph grinned. ‘I’ll wonder what he’ll say when he finds them.’
Epilogue
Richard de Fontenel was in a state of elation. Word had reached him that Mauger Livarot, his loathsome rival, had been sucked down into a quicksand on the previous day, a fate that de Fontenel found singularly appropriate. It was the best news he had heard all week and it made him shake with laughter. At a stroke, he had lost an enemy and gained an unexpected opportunity to renew his pursuit of the lady Adelaide. With one suitor dead, she might come to see the other in a more favourable light. He decided to give her time to reflect and a chance to mellow. When he next tried to engage her affections, he promised himself that he would have two miniature gold elephants to offer, as irresistible as the pair that had first excited her. Judicael the Goldsmith would have a commission from him after all. Hopes rising swiftly, de Fontenel began to speculate on the pleasures of marriage to a beautiful new wife.
It was a dull morning and the sky was hung with grey clouds. When he came out of his manor house, however, he felt as if the sun were blazing down on him. That illusion was soon shattered. There was a drumming of many hooves before Roger Bigot appeared with a dozen men at his back. Ralph Delchard was among them, riding beside a Benedictine monk of middle years on a spindly donkey. When the visitors drew up in front of him, de Fontenel gave them a guarded welcome. The sheriff was brusque.
‘We need to inspect your stables, my lord,’ he announced.
‘My stables?’ said the other.
‘Yes,’ explained Ralph, indicating his companion. ‘This is Brother Osbern from the abbey of St Benet at Holme. He’s the hospitaller there and welcomes every visitor. One particular visitor turned out to be a thief. Osbern has come in search of his horse.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s the only way to prove that Hermer, your late steward, was the man who stole some holy objects from the abbey.’
‘But that’s absurd!’ blustered de Fontenel.
‘Is it? How else could the little elephants have come into your hands?’
‘I told your colleague, my lord. I bought them in France.’
‘Then the merchant who sold them to you must also have been a magician who conjured them out of the air, because the stolen property from the abbey could never have made the journey to France in the time you allege.’
‘Take us to the stables,’ ordered Bigot.
‘There’s no point, my lord sheriff,’ replied de Fontenel, evasively. ‘Hermer’s horse is no longer here. The animal had to be sold.’
‘I think that very unlikely,’ said Brother Osbern, speaking for the first time. ‘The traveller, who we believe stole our treasures, was riding a fine bay mare in her prime. He gave his name as Starculf the Falconer and I remember wondering how a mere falconer could own such a magnificent animal. I’d recognise that horse anywhere.’
‘Once we match the horse to its rider,’ said Ralph with a grin, ‘we have our thief. All we have to do then is to match the thief to the master who ordered him to steal.’
‘I did nothing of the kind!’ protested de Fontenel.
‘Conspiracy to steal from consecrated ground is both a crime and sacrilege.’
‘You can’t prove anything.’
‘We’ll start with that bay mare. Let’s see if Brother Osbern can pick her out.’
‘Oh, I will, my lord. I’d spot her among a thousand.’
‘Step over to the stables, Brother Osbern,’ said the sheriff.
‘No!’ countered de Fontenel. ‘The horse is not there.’
‘Then you won’t mind if we look, my lord, will you?’
Bigot gave a signal and two of his men conducted the monk around the side of the house to the stables at the rear. Richard de Fontenel was concerned. He knew only too well that his steward’s horse was still there and that it would provide incontrovertible evidence against him. Unable to lie, bully or fight his way out of the situation, he flew into a panic and acted on impulse. He swung round, darted back into the house and slammed the door shut before bolting it from inside. Roger Bigot ordered his men to surround the building in order to cut off any possibility of escape, but Ralph acted of his own volition. Seeing the open shutters, he rode across to the window, dismounted on to the sill and jumped into the parlour. With his sword in his hand, he went in pursuit of de Fontenel and found him at the back of the house, fumbling with a key as he tried to open the strong room. Ralph was merciless. As his adversary pulled out a dagger and turned to confront him, he struck at the man’s wrist, opening up a deep gash and making him drop his weapon to the floor.
Richard de Fontenel cursed and roared. Holding his wounded wrist, he tried to kick out at Ralph but the latter tripped him up with a deft movement of his foot and stood over him, his sword an inch above the man’s face. Thunderous banging was heard behind them, then the front door burst open under the concerted weight of two burly officers. Sword out, Roger Bigot followed his men into the house. Ralph stood aside to hand the squirming prisoner over to them.
‘He saved you the trouble of wringing a confession out of him,’ said Ralph.
‘Yes,’ said Bigot, grimly. ‘By his own actions shall he be judged.’
‘You have no evidence!’ howled de Fontenel, wincing with pain as he tried to stem the flow of blood from his wrist. ‘I was away in Normandy. I have no idea what my steward did while I was away.’
‘Hermer did nothing without your command.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Starculf has told us how you treated those who served you.’
‘I’d never send anyone to steal from an abbey.’
A loud whinny made them all turn round. Framed in the open door was Brother Osbern, leading a bay mare by a rope. The animal gave another whicker and flicked her tail playfully. The monk was beaming in triumph.
‘This is the horse,’ he said, confidently. ‘I’d swear to it.’
After the delays and distractions of the past few days, the commissioners finally began their work that afternoon. Their first session in the shire hall was long but productive. A number of minor disputes were settled with brisk efficiency. Eustace Coureton proved to be a sagacious judge and Brother Daniel an able scribe. All four men worked so well together that they seemed to have been in harness for years rather than for one afternoon. Seated in line behind a table, they proved a formidable quartet. When the session finally ended, Coureton wanted more elucidation about recent events.
‘What I can’t understand is how Skalp actually did it,’ he said.
‘Neither can I,’ groaned Ralph. ‘Before we could get the details out of him, he thrust that dagger into his heart.’
‘I think that we can work it out,’ said Gervase, thoughtfully. ‘With the lord sheriff’s permission, I talked to Starculf this morning. A night in chains has loosened his tongue a little. He told me what his original plan had been.’
‘To kill Hermer and leave him under the lord Richard’s nose.’
‘Yes, Ralph, but it was rather more complicated than that. Using Skalp as his lookout, Starculf planned to get into the house under cover of darkness with one of the duplicate keys. The second key would have got him into the strong room where he could spend the night without fear of discovery. Hermer, it seems, was the only person who would go into the strong room and did so at the start of each day. Starculf was going to be lying in wait for him.’
‘Is that what Skalp did?’ asked Coureton.
‘He certainly spent the night in there, my lord, because he admitted as much to his accomplice. He chose his moment to pounce. My guess is that it was when Hermer paid his second visit to the strong room to return the gold elephants to their box after they’d been shown to the lady Adelaide.’