'She used to work in the hall, scrubbing the trestles. I remember her well. Oliver's mind filled with the vision of a robust woman with a red, shiny face. 'She was young to have a seizure.
'Aye, well, it was because of this. Alberic pointed to the third mound of earth. 'Jeb's daughter, Gifu, her grandchild and only ten years old.
'What happened? Oliver crouched by the grave. It was late in the season, no flowers to be had, but someone had laid a cluster of sweet briar on the soil, the berries a bright blood-red. He knew from Ethel that they were purported to protect the dead and ensure them a peaceful rest.
'No one knows, but everyone suspects, the old man said, kneading his hands together. 'The little lass went into the woods to gather kindling and met with her death. Her father found her drowned in the stream that runs down to the river, but it was no accident and her body had been violated. The entire village raised the hue and cry and soldiers went out from the castle too, but no one has yet been brought to account. He shook his head. 'It was too much for Martha. We buried her three days after we buried Gifu.
'You say everyone suspects? Oliver gave him a sharp look.
The priest sighed. 'Lord Odinel has been absent of late in King Stephen's service, but he has left a strong garrison here. At Michaelmas they came, a dozen soldiers seeking winter quarters. They are war-hardened mercenaries with respect for neither God nor man. Lord Odinel uses them to show that he can rule with an iron fist if necessary. A look of sadness and anger crossed the old man's face. 'He thinks that we will be grateful to him for curbing their worst excesses, but I have yet to see gratitude grow out of fear and loathing.
Oliver rose from the grave side. 'And you think that one of these men killed the girl?
Father Alberic shrugged. 'We have no proof, but most of us are sure of it. The week before Gifu died, one of the keep women who sells her favours to the men was raped by six of them and beaten senseless. I have heard similar tales in the confessional — from witnesses and victims, not the soldiers. I have yet to shrive any one of them. He spread his arms in a helpless gesture. 'But what can we do?
'If I had the men, I would come and put an end to this, Oliver said with cold fury, his fists opening and closing.
'Ah no, my son, it would only be the beginning of a time far worse. A spark of alarm kindled in Father Alberic's eyes. 'When war comes to a territory, it is the ordinary people who suffer. Their crops are trampled, their homes burned. Pestilence and starvation follow.
'So you would rather live beneath the fear and tyranny that you have now? Oliver demanded incredulously.
'What choice do we have? Even if you did come with an army, they would destroy as they retreated so as to leave you with nothing. I beg you, let it be. He took hold of Oliver's arm. 'The wind blows chill in the open. Come and break bread with me and sup a bowl of pottage before you go on your way.
From which statement Oliver understood that the subject was closed and that his presence in Ashbury was perceived as dangerous to its occupants. For a moment he was tempted to thrust Alberic's offer aside and ride off in bitter anger, but he curbed the impulse. Setting fire to the river bank was not the way to build a bridge.
'One day I will return, he said, 'but I swear that not a single ear of corn shall burn or a villager suffer because of it. That time will come, J promise.
Father Alberic walked towards his dwelling. 'Folk hereabouts don't set much store by the Empress Mathilda, he remarked by way of warning without actually saying that he doubted the fulfilment of Oliver's promise.
'I know that. I have no expectations on that score myself, but she does have a son and he bids fair to rival his grandfather and his great-grandfather in stature.
'But a small child as I remember?
'Growing swiftly. I can bide my time. He grimaced. 'It's all I have these days.
Oliver brought Hero into Alberic's compound and gave him hay and water. Then he sat down to dine at the priest's trestle, one eye on the lengthening shadows. He would have to leave soon.
'Tell me about your pilgrimage, Alberic said. 'What was Jerusalem like? Obviously the priest was determined to keep the conversation away from troubles in the village and the entire, distressing business of the war.
'Hot enough to roast a man inside his chain-mail, and thick with the dust of ages, Oliver replied. 'Beauty and squalor such as you could not imagine. There are places that have not changed since before the time of Our Lord Jesus.
The priest was enthralled and leaned across the table. 'Did you see the temple of… He broke off as the sound of approaching hoofbeats joined the homely crackle of his hearth fire. For an instant the men stared at each other in silence, and then Alberic began urging Oliver to his feet.
'Like as not it's the soldiers from the keep, he said. 'Someone must have reported your presence. They're wary of strangers just now because of poor little Gifu. Best not be caught. They seize first and ask questions later.
Oliver spun from the trestle, grabbed his swordbelt and was already buckling it on as he strode to the door. He had no intention of being trapped inside a one-roomed cot by a band of mercenaries, and he knew if they caught him he was unlikely to live. He would be 'legitimately' executed as the Empress's spy or made a scapegoat for the girl's murder.
'God be with you, my son! cried Father Alberic, as Oliver snatched his shield from beside the door and ran out to the shelter for his horse.
'He has need to be, Oliver said grimly as he freed the reins and scrambled into the saddle. Hero gave a grunt of surprise and indignation as Oliver's heels slammed into his flanks. The stallion sprang forward, but the opening on to the village road was already blocked by four mounted soldiers.
The deep tones of late sunlight brightened the hide of the leading horse from bay to red and the rider's shield bore a device of crimson chevrons on a background of brilliant blue. The colours were sharp enough to cut and score themselves indelibly on the brain. Oliver and Randal de Mohun stared at each other in mutual shock, the moment stretching out as each man strove to recover his balance.
De Mohun affected to do so first, crossing his hands on the pommel of his saddle and grinning wolfishly. 'Our paths seem destined to cross, don't they? he said. 'Have you come seeking employment from me this time?
'You are on my land, Oliver snarled as shock gave way to the enormity of rage.
'Your land? De Mohun continued to grin. 'Passing strange, for I thought that this place belonged to Odinel the Fleming? He looked round at his men, inviting them to share in the mockery. 'If you have not come as a recruit, I can only assume that you are trespassing. He drew his sword, the low sun gilding the blade. 'Lord Odinel does not tolerate trespassers.
'Wait, Sir Randal, wait! cried Father Alberic, who had been watching the exchange with growing dismay. He hastened forward, tripping on the folds of his habit. 'I can vouch for this man. He has only come to pay his respects at his brother's grave.
'You can vouch for him, can you? de Mohun said silkily, and turned the sword in his hand.
'Go within your house, Father, Oliver said quietly without taking his eyes off de Mohun. 'This is no concern of yours and I would not see any harm come to you because of me.
The priest dithered.
'Go! Oliver spat.
Chewing his lip, Father Alberic backed away and with great reluctance returned to his dwelling.
'Touching, said de Mohun. 'But you give orders as if you are lord of this place, which you are not.
'Then that puts me on a footing high above yours, Oliver retorted, drawing his own sword. 'I would not even grace you with the title of "scum".