‘We’ll have to, Gervase.’
‘Our time is limited, remember. We sit in judgement on the major dispute tomorrow. Once that starts to unfurl, we’ll not be able to pay any more visits to the abbey or to its holdings outside the city.’
‘We’ll find the time somehow.’
‘I foresee difficulties.’
Ralph gave him a hearty slap on the back. ‘Be more positive, Gervase,’ he said, nudging his horse forward again. ‘If we wish something to happen, it will. I have picked up the trail. I’ll not lose the scent now.’
‘Nor will I,’ vowed Gervase.
As soon as they entered the bailey, they were spotted by one of Ralph’s men awaiting their return. He ran across to them.
‘The lord sheriff is anxious to see you, my lord,’ he said.
‘Did he tell you why?’
‘No, but he impressed the urgency of the summons upon me.’
Ralph was worried. ‘Did you tell him where we were?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I led him to believe that you were still at the shire hall.’
‘Good man!’
He and Gervase dismounted, left their horses with an ostler and set off towards the keep. Ralph had no qualms but Gervase did not share his confidence.
‘What if he knows, Ralph?’ he asked.
‘How can he?’
‘He may have sent someone to follow us.’
‘Then he would have known we were at the abbey and jumped to the obvious conclusion. Some of his men would have hauled us out of there before we could ask our first questions.’
‘I hope that you are right.’
‘Trust me, Gervase.’
‘It’s the urgency of the summons that alarms me.’
‘Sheriffs like people to dance to their command.’
‘There’s more to it than that.’
Durand the Sheriff was in the hall, issuing instructions to his steward who was nodding seriously. When the newcomers entered, the steward was sent on his way. Ralph and Gervase stood before their host, not knowing whether they would be given glad tidings or berated for their audacity for interfering in a murder investigation. The grim expression on Durand’s face seemed to exclude the first possibility. Ralph continued to smile blandly but Gervase braced himself for a searing attack. The sheriff walked right up to them.
‘What I tell you is in strictest confidence,’ he affirmed.
‘Of course, my lord sheriff,’ said Ralph.
‘Nothing will go outside this room,’ added Gervase.
‘It will have to, I fear,’ confided Durand, ‘but we must do our best to keep it within the castle. A letter was delivered to me earlier. From Winchester. Nothing is certain but I have been ordered to make the necessary preparations.’
‘For what?’ said Ralph.
‘A royal visit.’
Gervase was astonished. ‘ Here? ’
‘Yes,’ said the sheriff uneasily. ‘I may soon have another guest under my roof. The King himself.’
Chapter Five
On the following morning, work began in earnest at the shire hall. As the commissioners assembled to sit in judgement on the most complex case which confronted them, they put aside all thought of a murder at the abbey and gave their full attention to the matter in hand. Ralph Delchard was relieved to be able to do so because it rescued him, temporarily, from the moral dilemma of whether or not to tell Golde about the possible visit of King William. Ordinarily, he concealed very little from his wife and she, in turn, was refreshingly open with him. He decided that the latest tidings should be kept from her, because he had given his word to that effect. Besides, there was some doubt about the King’s arrival in Gloucester and thus no point in alerting Golde to an event which might not even take place.
Gervase Bret was untroubled by any qualms on the subject. In his opinion, a vow was a solemn undertaking. Having been sworn to secrecy, he did not consider for a moment the notion of divulging the news to anyone else, not even to Canon Hubert and Brother Simon, both as trustworthy as himself. Like Ralph, he did speculate in private on the motives for the King’s rumoured visit but he put none of his conclusions into words. Once inside the shire hall, he forgot all about the warning imparted to them by Durand as he tried to assess the irascible man who first came before them.
Strang the Dane had a loud voice and forthright manner.
‘The land has been mine since I received it from King Edward’s own hand,’ he asserted. ‘I have the charter which proves my incontestable right to it. For some reason, your predecessors chose to question that right and I am now put in the invidious position of having to defend my claim once again. I hope that you have sufficient intelligence to see what is before your noses.’
‘Do you dare to malign our intelligence?’ snarled Ralph.
‘The first commissioners were found lacking in that respect.’
‘On the contrary, they were remarkably astute men which is why they identified so clearly the many irregularities and corrupt practices which have been going on in this county. Your name is linked to them.’
‘Wrongfully.’
‘That remains to be seen.’
‘I demand justice.’
‘We will give you no less.’
‘Your predecessors did. They were purblind.’
Ralph was trenchant. ‘By insulting them, you insult us and -
by extension — the King who initiated this Great Survey. We speak for him. Do you wish to rid yourself of any more jibes before we begin?’
‘All I wish for is what is legally mine.’
‘That is what we are here to determine.’
Ralph’s glare silenced him at last. Strang the Dane was a hefty man in his fifties with long grey hair and a full grey beard. His attire suggested a degree of wealth and his bearing was that of a soldier. Gervase wondered why someone who was bristling with defiance before his Norman conquerors had taken the trouble to learn their language so well, unless to be able to abuse them roundly in their own tongue. He glanced down at the document in front of him and saw that Strang had scattered holdings throughout Gloucestershire as well as in one of the Welsh commotes attached to it. The invaders had deprived him of far less land than most other thegns. Strang was determined not to yield up another acre. He was accompanied by his reeve, Balki, a slightly younger and much quieter individual with a long, thin face to which a ragged red beard clung like so much ivy.
After a muttered conversation with his master, Balki took over.
His smile was ingratiating as he approached the table where Ralph sat with the other commissioners and their watchful scribe.
The red-haired Balki, too, spoke Norman French almost fluently.
‘We appreciate the difficulties involved here,’ he began.
‘Do you?’ said Ralph gruffly.
‘Yes, my lord. We have lived in the county for many years and know how complicated the pattern of landholding is. We would be the first to admit that there have been many irregularities — downright acts of theft in some cases — because we have been the victims of them. The property under discussion is a perfect instance.
It was granted to my master, Strang the Dane,’ he said, producing a charter from his satchel, ‘in recognition of services rendered.
Here is proof.’ Handing the document to Ralph, he smirked helpfully.
‘Would you like me to translate it for you, my lord?’
‘That will not be necessary,’ said Ralph, passing the charter to Gervase. ‘We have our own interpreter.’
‘Then I hope his translation is sound.’
‘It had better be,’ rumbled Strang, stroking his beard.
After a glance through it, Gervase rendered the wording carefully into language that his colleagues could understand.
‘“I, King Edward, greet Bishop Aldred and all my thegns in Worcestershire and Gloucestershire. And I give you to know that Strang my housecarl has been granted a certain piece of land, namely eight hides in the manor called Westbury to be held and enjoyed for three lives, and after that time the estate is to return to the disposal of whoever is in control of the bishopric of Worcester …”’