‘I do not follow.’
‘We all need a diversion from the boredom of our work.’
‘That is the difference between us, Ralph. I do not find it boring.
It is endlessly fascinating to me. We may seem only to be learning who owns what in which county of the realm but we are, in fact, engaged in a much more important enterprise.’
‘What is that?’
‘Helping to write the History of England.’
‘And freezing our balls off in the process.’
‘In years to come, scholars will place great value on our findings.
That is why I take our work so seriously and why I could not let even my wife distract me from it. Alys will be there when this is all over.’
‘So meanwhile you sleep in an empty bed.’
‘We both do.’
‘You take self-denial to cruel extremes.’
‘Yours is one way, mine is another.’
Ralph tossed an affectionate smile over his shoulder at his wife.
‘I think I made the better choice.’
‘For you, yes; for me, no.’
‘You lawyers will quibble.’
‘It’s a crucial distinction.’
‘I disagree but I’m far too cold to argue.’
Ralph gave another shiver then nudged his horse into a gentle canter. Gervase and the rest of the cavalcade followed his example and dozens of hoofs clacked on the hard surface of the road.
There were seventeen of them in all. Ralph and Gervase were at the head of the procession, with Golde and Archdeacon Theobald immediately behind them. A dozen men-at-arms from Ralph’s own retinue came next, riding in pairs and offering vital protection for the travellers, those at the rear pulling sumpter horses on lead reins. Last of all came the strange figure of Brother Benedict, a stout monk of uncertain age with a round, red face and a silver tonsure which looked more like a rim of frost than human hair.
Benedict was at once a member of the group yet detached from it, a scribe to the commissioners and a lone spirit, sitting astride a bay mare as if riding into some personal Jerusalem, eyes uplifted to heaven and hood thrown back so that his head was exposed to the wind and he could savour the full force of its venom.
Brother Simon was their customary scribe and Canon Hubert of Winchester their usual colleague but both men were indisposed, obliging Ralph and Gervase to accept deputies. Benedict, who bore the name of the founder of his monastic Order like a battle standard, replaced Simon but the more ample presence of Hubert required two substitutes. Theobald, Archdeacon of Hereford, was one of them, a tall, slim, dignified man in his fifties, already known and respected by the commissioners as a result of their earlier visit to the city, an assignment on which even Ralph looked back with pleasure since it was in Hereford that he first met Golde. His wife was delighted to befriend someone from her home town and, since the archdeacon had been visiting Winchester, she was able to stave off the tedium of travel by talking at leisure with him on their way north.
The other commissioner was due to meet them at Banbury.
‘What do we know of this Philippe Trouville?’ asked Ralph.
‘Little enough,’ said Gervase. ‘Beyond the fact that he fought bravely beside the King in many battles.’
‘That speaks well for him. I did as much myself.’
‘The lord Philippe has substantial holdings in Suffolk, Essex and Northamptonshire. I heard a rumour that he looks to be sheriff in one of those counties before too long.’
‘An ambitious man, then. That can be good or bad.’
‘In what way?’
‘It depends on his motives, Gervase.’
‘The King obviously thinks highly of him.’
‘Then we must accept him on that basis and welcome him to the commission. It will be good to have another soldier sitting alongside us. Canon Hubert has his virtues but that cloying Christianity of his makes me want to puke at times.’
‘Hubert is a devout man.’
‘That is what I have against him.’
‘Archdeacon Theobald is cut from the same cloth.’
‘By a much more skilful tailor.’ They shared a laugh. ‘I like this Theobald. We have something in common: a shared dread of that mad Welshman, Idwal, who plagued us first in Hereford and then again in Chester. Theobald told me that he was never so glad to bid adieu to anyone as to that truculent Celt. Yes,’ he added with a smile, ‘Theobald and I will get along, I know it. He is a valuable addition.’ His smile gave way to a scowl. ‘I cannot say that of our crack-brained scribe.’
‘Brother Benedict?’
‘He talks to himself, Gervase.’
‘He is only praying aloud.’
‘In the middle of a meal?’
‘The spirit moves him when it will.’
‘Well, I wish that it would move him out of my way. Benedict and I can never be happy bedfellows. He is far too holy and I am far too sinful. The worst of it is that I am unable to shock him.
Brother Simon is much more easily outraged. It was a joy to goad him.’
‘You were very unkind to Simon.’
‘He invited unkindness.’
‘Not to that degree,’ said Gervase. ‘But you may have met your match in Brother Benedict. He is here to exact retribution.’
‘If he survives the journey.’
‘What do you mean?’
Ralph jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Look at the man.
Baring his head in this weather. Inviting the wind to scour that empty skull of his. I swear that the fellow would ride naked if there were not a lady present. Benedict actually courts pain. He relishes suffering.’
‘He believes that it will enhance the soul.’
‘What kind of lunacy is that?’
Gervase smiled. ‘This may not be the place for a theological discussion.’
‘Are you saying that you agree with that nonsense?’
‘No, Ralph,’ replied the other tactfully. ‘I am simply saying that Banbury is less than a mile away and — God willing — our new colleague will be waiting there for us.’
‘Let us see what Philippe Trouville makes of this Benedict.’
‘I fear that he will be as intolerant as you.’
‘Why?’
‘Soldiers never understand the impulse to take the cowl.’
‘Who but a fool would choose to be an eunuch?’
‘I rest my case.’
They came around a bend in the road and, as the trees thinned out on their left, got their first glimpse of Banbury. Situated on a crossroads, it was a thriving village which fanned out from the church at its centre. Three mills harnessed the power of the river and served the needs of the hundred or more souls who lived in Banbury or its immediate vicinity. The spirits of the travellers were revived by the sight. The village would give them an opportunity to break their journey, take refreshment, find a brief shelter from the wind and make the acquaintance of their new colleague. Anticipation made them quicken their pace.
Ralph was eager to meet Philippe Trouville and thereby acquire a companion with whom he could discuss military matters, a subject on which neither Theobald nor Benedict could speak with any interest or knowledge. Notwithstanding his skill with sword and dagger, Gervase too had no stomach for reminiscences about past battles or arguments about the technical aspects of warfare.
Marriage to Golde may have softened Ralph in some ways but he remained a soldier at heart with a fund of rousing memories. In the new commissioner, he hoped for a sympathetic ear and a ready comprehension.
That hope was dashed the moment he set eyes on him.
‘You are late!’ complained Philippe Trouville. ‘What kept you?’
‘Frosty roads slowed us down,’ said Ralph.
‘Nimble horses make light of such problems.’
‘We made what speed we could, my lord.’
‘And forced us to sit on our hands in this godforsaken hole!’
It was an odd remark to make when they were outside a church but Ralph let it pass without challenge. Sitting astride his destrier, Philippe Trouville was waiting for them with six men-at-arms and a pulsing impatience. He was a big, hefty, black-eyed man in helm and hauberk, with a fur-trimmed cloak to keep out the pinch of winter. His face was pitted with age and darkened with anger.