‘I admire that aspect of him.’
‘So do I, my lord bishop. From a safe distance.’
‘But to answer your original question, I doubt very much if he is coming on the heels of his commissioners. Apart from anything else, they knew nothing about his imminent visit. Other teams are visiting other counties to unravel peculiarities in the returns.
Why should the King pick Gloucester when he has so many other counties to choose from?’
‘A telling point.’
‘All I know is that it is a most inconvenient time to receive a royal visit. Still less to host a meeting of the whole council, if that is what is in the wind. Not only are the commissioners here, I have had another problem dropped into my lap.’
‘Another problem?’
‘A murder, Bishop Wulfstan.’
‘Where?’
‘At the abbey.’
The bishop was on his feet. ‘Who was the victim?’
‘One of the monks, Brother Nicholas.’
‘This is dire news,’ said the other. ‘Has any arrest been made?’
‘Not yet,’ admitted Durand, ‘nor is there likely to be one in the near future. My officers are hunting high and low for clues but they are very scarce. It is a most vexing case in every way. Abbot Serlo refuses even to consider the possibility, but I feel more and more that the killer lives within the abbey itself.’
‘A Benedictine monk? Out of the question!’
‘The evidence points that way.’
‘But you just told me how flimsy it is. Do not accuse a monk, my lord sheriff. I have spent a whole lifetime within the enclave, first in the abbeys of Evesham and Peterborough, then in my beloved Worcester. In well over half a century inside a cowl, I have never once met a monk who would dare to contemplate murder, let alone actually commit it. This has upset me more than I can say,’ he confessed, starting to pant slightly. ‘I must go to the abbey at once to learn the full details of this crime.’
‘I expected that you would stay here at the castle.’
‘In these circumstances?’
‘But I have an apartment prepared for you, Bishop.’
‘Thank you,’ said Wulfstan, pulling his cloak around him so tightly that bits of it were shaken off to float aromatically to the floor. ‘But I must decline your kind invitation. When the King calls me, I will return at once. Meanwhile, I will be at the abbey,’
he asserted, hurrying towards the door. ‘Look for me there. That is where I am needed.’
Chapter Eight
Caradoc made them think again. Having heard so much about Brother Nicholas from a variety of sources, Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had formed a very clear idea of his character. The deceased monk was a loner, deliberately kept away from an abbey where he never earned general acceptance, who had a suspect interest in attractive boys. The cache found by the Precentor confirmed that there was a darker side to the murder victim, one which he had cunningly hidden from his Benedictine brothers and which might in time provide the motive for his death. Caradoc talked about another Brother Nicholas, however, but he did so at such breathtaking speed that Ralph was only able to catch one word in three and sensibly left the questioning to Gervase.
‘How long have you known him?’
‘Some years now,’ said Caradoc.
‘And you say that you liked him?’
‘Very much. Brother Nicholas was such a jolly fellow.’
Gervase looked at Ralph. ‘ Jolly? ’ he repeated.
‘For a monk. They are often such solemn individuals.’
‘Jollity does not sit easily inside a monastery,’ said Gervase. ‘I was reared in one so I know it to be a fact. Yet a certain amount of merriment did break out even there from time to time.
However, I would not have thought that your rent collector would ever be party to harmless fun.’
‘He made me laugh, Master Bret.’
‘That is extraordinary.’
‘And my wife. Ask her.’
‘Do you have a family, Caradoc?’
‘Four boys. If you ride across my land, you are sure to see them.’
‘How did they get on with Brother Nicholas?’
‘Very well. They poked fun at him, but you expect that from lads of that age. Underneath, they thought him a likeable fellow.’
‘This description does not match other reports of him.’
‘I care nothing about that,’ said Caradoc cheerily. ‘All that I can talk about is our own experience. Brother Nicholas could not have been more pleasant while doing an unpleasant task. Nobody likes to part with money but it was far less painful to part with rent when he called.’
‘Would you call him trustworthy?’
‘I’d stake my life on it.’
Gervase translated the last remark so that Ralph understood its full force. Caradoc was a friendly man. Born of a Welsh mother and a Saxon father, he spoke the guttural language of the latter with the melodious voice of the former. Dark, bearded and swarthy, he had a face of appealing ugliness with twinkling eyes set too far apart and a nose which inclined first one way and then the other with almost grotesque uncertainty. His affable manner more than compensated for his facial deficiencies. On guard when he first saw them approach with an armed escort, Caradoc relaxed when he realised that they merely wished to talk about the rent collector.
‘When did you last see him?’ asked Gervase.
‘Three or four weeks ago.’
‘And was he in a jolly mood then?’
‘He always was, Master Bret.’
‘Where did he go when he left here?’
‘Towards the river. It’s only a couple of miles away.’
‘Why there?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Caradoc, his face crumpling. ‘And it is too late to ask him now. I cannot believe that he has been murdered in the way that you tell me. My wife will be very upset.’
‘What about your sons?’
‘They will shed a tear or two.’
Gervase was puzzled. Caradoc’s remarks were at variance with everything he had ever heard about the monk. He probed deeper.
‘Did they find nothing odd about Brother Nicholas?’ he said.
‘Odd?’
‘Strange. Unusual. Unsettling in some way.’
‘No, Master Bret. We farm abbey lands. That means we are bound to pay rent to the monk assigned to the task. It’s in our interests to befriend the man so that he’ll give a good report of us to the abbot. We would certainly give him a good report of Brother Nicholas.’
Gervase translated again and Ralph nodded his head pensively.
‘Ask him about the others, Gervase.’
‘I was about to,’ said his friend, turning back to Caradoc. ‘This is one of the abbey’s outliers. You are not far from Westbury Hundred.’
‘Not if you have a swift horse.’
‘Who holds that land?’
‘Everyone knows that. The lord Hamelin.’
‘Hamelin of Lisieux?’
‘Yes,’ said Caradoc, choosing his words with more care. ‘He is a mighty man in these parts and much respected by all of us.
Respected and envied, I may say, for he has the most beautiful wife. Or so it is rumoured, for I have not had the pleasure of seeing her.’
‘We have,’ said Ralph, understanding him this time.
‘And is she the angel of report, my lord?’
‘I think so. Gervase?’
‘The lady Emma is indeed well favoured,’ he agreed, ‘but that is not the point at issue. You say that her husband holds the land, Caradoc. Has it always been so?’
‘Oh, no. Strang the Dane used to hold sway over it.’
‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘Several times.’
‘What opinion did you form?’
‘Not a very high one, Master Bret. He was too bellicose.’
‘That’s what we found.’
‘Nobody dared to trespass on his land when Strang was there.
He guarded it jealously and employed a creeping reeve called Balki. I only came across the fellow once but that was enough.
He treated us like dirt and I’ll not let any man do that to me.’
‘How did he come to lose the land?’
‘You will have to ask the lord Hamelin,’ he said evasively.