‘But his case is different from yours. Worldly concerns stopped him from taking the cowl. You were placed here by your parents because it was their dearest hope that you became a monk and you have many times confided to me that it is what you really want. It is so with me,’ said Elaf wistfully. ‘It was my father’s dying wish that I be made an oblate here and I would never betray that wish.’
‘Even if it meant a life of purgatory?’
‘There is no purgatory here, Kenelm.’
‘There is for me. I must get away somehow.’
‘That is futile talk.’
‘Is it?’
‘Your parents would never allow you to leave.’
‘I will not seek their permission.’
‘How else can you go?’
‘The way that others have done so before me.’
‘No!’ exclaimed his friend.
‘Siward was one,’ recalled Kenelm. ‘Before him, it was Dena.
Both of them simply took to their heels and fled from the abbey.’
‘Where to, though?’
‘Does it matter? Escape is escape.’
‘Yet nothing was ever heard of Siward and Dena again. Doesn’t that worry you? Some terrible harm may have befallen them. And what of their grieving families? Think of the pain they inflicted on their loved ones by running away like that. Do you want to hurt your parents in that way? Do you intend to desert all the friends you have made here?’
‘Only because I am forced to, Elaf.’
‘By whom? By what?’
‘My conscience.’
‘Salve it with a penance.’
‘It is too late for that.’
‘But you mustn’t go,’ said Elaf fervently. ‘We need you, we love you.’ He saw the tears in his friend’s eyes and reached out to embrace him. ‘Stay with us, Kenelm. Stay with me, please. I, too, have my doubts but I can fend them off if you are beside me.
Let us help each other. We can do anything together. I’d never forgive myself if you ran away. Promise me that you’ll stay here.
Will you, Kenelm? Will you?’
Kenelm nodded gently but his mind was still in turmoil. Touched by his friend’s display of affection, he was willing to soothe Elaf with a token agreement but he was not sure that he could keep his promise.
‘Hamelin of Lisieux presented his case very effectively,’ said Ralph.
‘Almost too effectively,’ said Gervase. ‘I had the feeling that every word had been rehearsed beforehand with the assistance of his wife.’
‘The lady Emma had no place here,’ complained Canon Hubert.
Ralph chuckled. ‘I disagree. She lit up this cheerless place like a roaring fire. The lady Emma is welcome to decorate the shire hall whenever she wishes. She was a joy to look upon.’
‘That was the intention, my lord. She was there to divert you.’
‘What an absurd suggestion, Hubert!’
‘It is not absurd at all,’ said Gervase. ‘Hamelin brought his wife here with a purpose, though it was not merely to distract us. The lady Emma was there to lend her husband a softness and appeal which he lacked in Strang’s report of him. That’s what worries me about Hamelin’s claim. If it really is as incontrovertible as he believes, why did he need the support of his wife? The lady Emma was clearly schooled by him.’
‘Then she is an apt pupil,’ said Ralph with admiration.
‘She is an irrelevance,’ argued Hubert.
‘A terrifying one,’ said Brother Simon under his breath.
The four commissioners were taking a short break at the shire hall and enjoying some light refreshment. As they supped their wine and nibbled the pastries which had been provided, they reflected on the long and searching examination of Hamelin of Lisieux. Even when pressed, the man had remained courteous and obliging, deflecting some of the more testing questions with a combination of charm and skill. Emma, too, had shown herself a clever advocate. Individually, each could have mounted a more persuasive argument than Strang the Dane. Together, they were formidable. Gervase was troubled.
‘They were too plausible,’ he ventured. ‘Too good to be true.’
‘The lady Emma was true enough,’ said Ralph through a mouthful of pastry. ‘As large as life and twice as beautiful.’
‘I think they were hiding something.’
‘What could it be?’
‘Only time will tell.’
‘Hamelin was more affable than the Dane,’ noted Hubert, ‘but the affability was worn for our benefit. Another face greets those who dare to trespass on what he believes is his land.’
‘Who do you believe, Hubert? Strang or Hamelin?’
‘Neither.’
‘You think they are both lying?’
‘No, my lord. I think it would be foolish to make a judgement before we have examined all four claimants. Querengar would seem to have a more slender case, and we do not even know what the Archdeacon of Gwent is going to argue, but both deserve to be given the same opportunities as their rivals.’
‘That is ever our policy. Let all speak before a verdict is reached.’
He drained his cup. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘perhaps this Querengar will also produce a wondrous wife to brighten up our day.’
Simon gulped. ‘She would only darken mine.’
‘One thing is certain. Abraham the Priest will come alone.’
‘Do not be so sure, Ralph,’ teased Gervase. ‘Some of the older Welsh clergy are married. Idwal is.’
Ralph choked on his last pastry. ‘That name again!’
‘He spoke very fondly of his wife.’
‘What kind of woman would marry someone like that?’ asked Ralph incredulously. ‘It defies logic. She must have one eye, no teeth and swing from the trees by her tail!’
‘That is ungentlemanly,’ reproved Gervase.
‘Priests should be celibate,’ said Hubert seriously. ‘It is quite disgusting for them to have carnal relations with a woman.’
Ralph was jocular. ‘It all depends on the woman, Hubert. When you saw someone as gorgeous as the lady Emma sitting before you, I suspect that even you began to regret your vow of chastity.’
‘I did no such thing!’
‘Nor did I!’ murmured Simon.
‘No urgent little twitch beneath your cowls?’ asked Ralph.
‘Fleshly desire is beyond my ken,’ insisted Hubert.
‘The lady Emma will be disappointed,’ mocked Ralph. He looked up as one of his men came into the hall. ‘Ah, it seems that Querengar has arrived. Let us start anew, my friends. Take your places.’ The other three returned to their seats and Ralph waved to his knight. ‘Is the Breton alone?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘No wife, no concubine?’
‘None.’
‘Send him in while we master our regret.’
Hubert reprimanded him for his levity but Ralph took no notice.
Resuming his own seat, he consulted the papers before him and waited for the arrival of the third claimant. It was a lengthy wait and Ralph became restive. He was about to go in search of Querengar when the man finally entered. The delay was explained at once. While Strang had marched and Hamelin had glided, Querengar had to drag himself into the shire hall on his crutches.
One leg heavily bandaged and dangling uselessly, he made his way with painful slowness to the bench in front of them. They could see the effort that it cost him.
Gervase leaped up and went forward to help him but Querengar brushed him away with a shake of the head. He was too proud to accept any assistance. A short, compact man, he was shrunk by his injury into an almost dwarfish shape. Each of the commissioners felt a sharp tug at their sympathy. Lowering himself gingerly on to the bench, the newcomer set his crutches aside and turned a wizened face up to the table.
‘I am Querengar the Breton,’ he said firmly. ‘I expect justice.’
It was not until dinner was over that Brother Frewine was able to slip away on his errand. Having eaten a frugal meal of fish, vegetables, cheese and milk, the Precentor left the refectory and made his way to the cell vacated by the untimely death of Brother Nicholas. When he reached the door, he paused out of respect rather than fear, halted by the grim thought that he would never again see alive the monk whose corpse lay in the morgue awaiting burial. Death had robbed him of any personal reservations he had about Nicholas. Frewine mourned him like a brother.