‘Is that really necessary?’
‘I believe it is, though we do not all have to go.’
‘Thank goodness for that!’ said Brother Simon.
‘No, Hubert,’ taunted Ralph. ‘You and Simon can go alone. Who knows? On your way, you may come across a woman in labour and discover that you have the medical talents of Abraham the Priest.’
‘Never!’ exclaimed Simon.
Hubert shuddered. ‘The very thought makes me go numb.’
‘Ralph is only jesting,’ said Gervase, shooting his friend an admonitory glance. ‘I will volunteer to make the journey. Alone, if need be. You and Brother Simon will certainly be spared, Canon Hubert.’
The two of them nodded their gratitude in unison.
‘That only leaves me,’ said Ralph. ‘What can I say?’
‘That you will bear me company.’
‘If I must, Gervase.’
‘It is agreed. In the course of our travels, we may be able to kill two birds with one stone. Our journey should take us past other portions of abbey land. We can speak to the sub-tenants about their rent collector.’
‘I am glad you mention Brother Nicholas,’ said Hubert, ‘because we bring news from the abbey about him. Abbot Serlo divulged it to us only this morning and it casts the rent collector in a new light.’
‘Go on,’ urged Ralph.
He and Gervase listened to a description of what was found in Brother Nicholas’s cell. They were intrigued. Ralph scratched his head.
‘Who has the pouch with the coins in it?’ he asked.
‘Brother Frewine, the Precentor,’ said Hubert.
‘I will need to speak to him.’
‘Is there any message we can convey, my lord?’
‘Simply that we are one step closer to identifying the murderer,’
said Ralph confidently. ‘Come, Gervase. We have a long ride ahead of us. And a great deal to discuss as we go.’
Leaving their satchels with Brother Simon, the two of them set off at once. Outside the shire hall, Ralph gave instructions to the reeve’s deputy then asked him for directions to the Westbury Hundred. He and Gervase mounted, gathered their escort then kicked their horses into action. As they turned the first corner, they were confronted by a sight which made Ralph gurgle in despair. Riding towards them at the head of his own escort was a small, wizened figure in a black cowl over which was worn a lambskin cloak frayed by age and stained with filth.
‘He’s here after all!’ said Ralph, aghast. ‘It’s Archdeacon Idwal!’
Gervase laughed. ‘Look more carefully,’ he suggested. ‘Since when would Idwal have an armed escort of Norman soldiers?
And since when has he been promoted to the Bishopric of Worcester?’
‘Is that who it is?’ asked Ralph, giggling with relief.
‘Yes. It is Bishop Wulfstan. I recognise him clearly.’
‘This is excellent news, Gervase!’
‘I would not say that.’
‘Why?’
‘Wulfstan is a royal counsellor. My guess is that he is not only here because Gloucester is part of his diocese. He has come from Worcester on a more temporal errand.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His presence here confirms it, Ralph. The King is indeed coming.’
Ralph squirmed in the saddle as he foresaw a prickly discussion ahead with his wife. It made him ride out of the city with eagerness.
Durand the Sheriff conducted his guest to the hall in the castle.
Wine awaited them and a servant poured two cups before he retired. When it was offered to him, the bishop waved the cup politely away but Durand felt the need of sustenance. He gulped down his own wine with undue haste and undisguised relish.
‘That’s better!’ he said, licking his lips. ‘I needed that.’
‘Wine is a mocker, my lord. Put it aside.’
‘I prefer to be mocked.’ He indicated a chair and his visitor sat down. ‘It is good to see you again, Bishop, though I would be grateful to know precisely why we are meeting like this.’
‘So would I, my lord sheriff.’
‘Do you have no notion what this portends?’
‘None. I was hoping you might enlighten me.’
‘All I know is that King William is on his way.’
‘When is he due to arrive?’
‘By nightfall today.’
‘That is more than I was told.’
‘A message to that effect arrived this morning.’
‘I am glad I reached Gloucester before him,’ said Wulfstan.
‘The King does not like to be kept waiting. Who else has been summoned? If others descend on you, we may have some clue as to the size and nature of the crisis.’
‘If, that is, a crisis actually exists.’
‘Why else would he come here? Much as he appreciates us, I do not believe that King William would ride all this way to enquire after our health. Something is afoot. I smell an emergency.’
Durand took a step away from him. What he could smell was the noxious stink which came from the lambskin cloak. The garment looked even more ragged at close quarters, as wrinkled with age as its wearer and far more blotched. Wulfstan seemed sublimely unaware of the reek. He was a small man with a huge reputation, the only surviving Saxon bishop in England, ready to serve Archbishop Lanfranc as steadfastly as he had served Stigand, the previous primate. Well into his seventies, Wulfstan still had remarkable vitality and an extraordinary range of interests. His learning was matched by his political skills, making him one of the King’s most able counsellors. Durand distrusted him as much as the bishop distrusted the sheriff, but he could not deny the prelate’s expertise in affairs of state. Wulfstan was the Great Survivor. That, in itself, entitled him to a respectful hearing.
‘I wonder if it may concern Wales,’ ventured Wulfstan.
‘Possibly.’
‘Disturbing reports have reached me from Bishop Robert. He tells me that Hereford is reinforcing itself against the possibility of attack.’
‘We have also had worrying intelligence about activity on our western border,’ confided Durand. ‘Sporadic raids have taken place. They are on a very small scale but I wonder if they presage a larger assault.’
‘I hope not.’
‘So do we all, Bishop.’
‘But if not Wales, what, then, brings the King to Gloucester again?’
‘We will have to wait until he tells us but I begin to doubt that it is a real emergency. I know of nobody else who has been summoned. You and I are the sum total of his advisors, unless we count Hamelin of Lisieux, that is.’
‘Is he in Gloucester as well?’
‘On his own account. Commissioners have descended on us.’
‘I thought they came and went.’
‘The first ones did,’ said Durand petulantly. ‘After they had caused several flutters, I may say. When the returns for this county were examined in Winchester, irregularities appeared.
Serious discrepancies. The new commissioners have come to investigate them.’
‘That might explain the King’s need to be here.’
‘Might it?’
‘Yes, my lord sheriff. The King needs money to raise an army to fight the Danes. That is the main purpose of this Great Survey, is it not?’
Durand was rueful. ‘To see who owns what and how much can be wrung from them by way of tax or knight-service. I do not like tax collectors at the best of times, but these have been the worst who have ever afflicted my county.’
‘And mine,’ said Wulfstan philosophically. ‘Letters of complaint flooded in to me, asking me to use my influence with the King to relieve the burden of taxation. What influence, I cry? If I had any, I would employ it to seek relief for myself. The church of Worcester suffers as much as anyone.’
‘Why grant us land if he then bleeds us dry with taxes?’
‘Take the matter up with him,’ suggested Wulfstan with a chuckle. ‘I am not sure that I have the courage to do so. You saw how determined he was to push this Great Survey through when he first mooted the idea at the Christmas council here in Gloucester. The King would hear no whisper of criticism.’