If they felt that Brother Nicholas was putting up their rent unfairly, they would be banging on our gates in protest.’
‘All this is true.’
‘Put the money back in the pouch. It offends my sight.’
‘Yes, Father Abbot,’ said Frewine, gathering it up. ‘You will have to report this to the sheriff.’
‘Not until after the funeral. That takes precedence.’
‘What of the royal commissioners?’
‘Who?’
‘Those colleagues of Canon Hubert. They have shown a keen interest in the murder and are making enquiries on their own.
Should they not be told about this distressing evidence?’
Abbot Serlo frowned. ‘I will need to think about that.’
‘Did you know that Brother Nicholas was murdered?’ asked Gervase.
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘The sheriff’s officers told me when they came to question me.’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘The same as I will tell you. I had nothing to do with his death.’
‘You were the last person to see him alive.’
‘So I am told.’
‘It is natural that enquiries should start here.’
‘Why?’ said the man resentfully. ‘There is no proof that I was the last person he met that day. Others must have seen him after me. The killer certainly did. Why bother me?’
‘Because we need your help, Osgot.’
‘I have work to do.’
‘So do we,’ snapped Ralph.
Osgot was taken aback to hear himself addressed in his own language by a Norman lord. Ralph Delchard had been silent until now, letting Gervase put all the questions to the truculent Saxon.
His answers had been reluctant. Osgot was a tall, stringy man in his thirties, worn out by toil but sustained by an innate pride.
Needing to repair some fencing on the land he rented from the abbey, he was peeved at the interruption. Arms folded, he eyed both of them sullenly.
‘When did Brother Nicholas leave you that day?’ said Gervase.
‘Ask the sheriff.’
‘We are asking you, ’ declared Ralph. ‘When was it?’
A silent battle of wills was resolved when Ralph took a menacing step towards him. Osgot’s reply was grudging.
‘Towards evening, my lord.’
‘Did he head back to the abbey?’
‘Probably.’
‘Did he?’
‘I expect so.’
‘Let me ask you for the last time,’ cautioned Ralph. ‘Did he?’
‘No,’ said Osgot. ‘He rode south.’
‘You remember that now, do you?’
‘I watched him go,’ said Osgot, pointing to the road. ‘That way.’
Gervase was puzzled. ‘Away from the abbey? Where could he have been going? This was the last holding he was due to visit that day. Why ride off in the wrong direction?’
Osgot gave a shrug, his face still a mask of indifference.
‘You didn’t like him, did you?’ said Gervase.
‘None of us did.’
‘Why not?’
‘He collected rents.’
‘Any other reason?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Very much, Osgot.’
‘He’s gone. I’m glad. That’s all I have to say.’
‘Glad that a monk was cruelly murdered?’ pressed Ralph.
‘Glad that he won’t come here again.’
‘Someone else will.’
‘I don’t care. I pay my rent.’
‘But you’d rather not pay it to Brother Nicholas, is that it?’
‘You say that none of you liked him,’ resumed Gervase. ‘What was the cause of his unpopularity? Was he harsh? Bullying? Sly?’
‘Not really.’
‘Did he ever try to charge you too much rent?’
‘No, never.’
‘So why this general dislike?’
There was a long pause, ended by Ralph’s snort of impatience.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘Something about him,’ admitted Osgot. ‘I can’t say what it was. But it made us all feel uneasy. Brother Nicholas was strange.’
‘In what way?’
But the man had elaborated all he could. Though they searched for more detail, Osgot had none to give. It was clear that he spent as little time as possible with the rent collector and was glad to see him ride away each time. Ralph and Gervase thanked him for his help and mounted their horses again. They were about to leave when a young boy came bounding into the field, flaxen hair shining in the sun and trailing in the breeze. Osgot’s son had the vitality and innocence which he himself must have possessed at one time. As the boy called out to him, Osgot threw a worried look up at his visitors. In that moment, they learned exactly why he despised Brother Nicholas so much. Osgot had seen the monk as a threat to his son’s innocence.
Now that the novelty had worn off, Golde was finding her stay at the castle slightly tedious. Maud was doing her best to entertain her guest but the latter soon tired of watching her hostess work at her embroidery and answering questions about her first marriage. There were moments when Golde felt as if the needle was threading its way through her heart. Willing to discuss her life with Ralph, she was very reticent on the subject of the husband who preceded him, a man whom she had not chosen and could never love and whose early demise she was unable to mourn with the full commitment of a grieving widow. Her discomfort was intensified by anxiety about her sister, due to arrive in Gloucester at any moment but so far unseen and unreported.
Fears for Aelgar’s safety lapped at Golde’s mind. Even with an escort, travellers were never entirely safe on the open road.
‘Were you sorry to quit Hereford?’ asked Maud, sewing away.
‘In some ways, my lady.’
‘It must have caused you much regret.’
‘Occasionally.’
‘Have you been back to the town since?’
‘Only once,’ said Golde. ‘When the commissioners visited Chester. Ralph provided me with an escort and I stopped off in Hereford on the way before riding on to rejoin them.’
‘Marriage has given you many opportunities for travel.’
‘And much more besides.’
‘I wish that I could say the same of my husband. The journey from Normandy was the only one of significance that I have made.
For the rest, my wanderings are largely circumscribed by the city boundaries.’ She looked up as if the thought had struck her for the first time. ‘To all intents and purposes, I am a species of prisoner.’
‘Surely not, my lady!’
‘How else would you describe me?’
Golde was spared the problem of manufacturing a tactful reply.
After knocking at the door, a servant entered the chamber with the news that two visitors were at the castle gate, asking to see Golde. Delighted that her sister had at last arrived, Golde excused herself and followed the man along the passageway and out into the fresh air. As she skipped down the steps which led from the keep, she caught a distant glimpse of Aelgar and her betrothed, waiting inside the gate with one of the sentries. Golde quickened her pace. A happy reunion was soon effected.
Introduced to Forne by her sister, Golde deluged them with questions while taking stock of the young man who would soon become her brother-in-law. Forne was a sturdy character with pleasant rather than handsome features. The receding fair hair revealed a high forehead and his eyes sparkled with devotion.
Golde was content. Though she wished that he trimmed his beard more closely, she could see his essential goodness reflected in his face. He loved her sister and she, in turn, was patently enthralled by him. It was enough.
‘How long have you been here?’ asked Aelgar, looking around the bailey with awe. ‘I am so proud that my sister can be invited to stay in such a place.’
‘It has its drawbacks,’ said Golde. ‘I’ve been here a couple of days and I’m already finding out what they are.’
‘Too many Norman soldiers,’ observed Forne drily.
‘That is true of Hereford as well.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘No more of that,’ ordered Golde with a laugh. ‘If you are to marry my sister, I’ll not be called “my lady”. You will be Forne to me and I will be Golde to you. Is that a fair exchange?’