‘So the holdings were won by Nicholas Picard?’ said Ralph.
‘That is what he alleged, my lord, though no formal transfer took place. A couple of days after the contest, my son was out hunting when he was gored by a stag. He bled to death before they found him.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘You can imagine my grief. While I was in mourning, the lord Nicholas took possession of the land at Upton Pyne. There was nothing that I could do until now.’
‘You could have appealed to the sheriff.’
‘He upheld the lord Nicholas’s right to the property.’
‘Could you not have pleaded with the lord Nicholas himself?’
Loretta lifted her chin. ‘That would have been demeaning, my lord. I will beg from no man. I wanted to secure those holdings by legal means and not by grovelling. William was cheated out of that land. I have come here to demand its return.’
‘We do not respond to demands,’ said Hubert fussily. ‘Our task is to consider the worth of each claim before arriving at a judgement. Besides, there are certain things I would like to know about this alleged act of treachery. Can independent witnesses be called who will support your version of events? Do you have any written proof of this wager? Why did the sheriff ratify the lord Nicholas’s possession of those holdings?’
Loretta’s replies were short and direct. When other questions were directed at her by each of the commissioners, she answered them with ringing confidence. She withstood their interrogation for over two hours without showing any sign of strain or discomfort.
They were impressed but they were also slightly disconcerted.
Loretta seemed to know a great deal about each one of them and slipped in remarks which sometimes brought them to a halt. It was almost as if she was examining them.
When her documents had been inspected, they were returned to Eldred who led the way out of the hall. As Loretta disappeared, Ralph sat back in his chair with a sigh of approval. ‘The most convincing claimant so far,’ he decided.
‘Too convincing in some ways,’ said Hubert. ‘She seemed to know exactly what we would ask her.’
‘She was a highly intelligent woman,’ said Gervase admiringly.
‘And a very beautiful one. It was difficult to believe that she could have a son of that age. She must have been very young when she married.’
‘Like you,’ said Ralph. ‘Young and innocent. Now, Gervase, which way do you incline? Do you still favour Asa’s claim or has she been displaced in your affections by the lady Loretta?’
‘Affection does not come into it, Ralph.’
‘Which one of them would you choose?’
‘Neither,’ said Gervase. ‘I favour Engelric.’
Golde had been in Exeter for some days without ever leaving the confines of the castle. When she was invited by the lady Albreda to explore the city beyond its walls, she accepted the offer at once. Horses were ready for them at the stables and so was their guide. Golde was surprised to see that it was Berold the Jester.
He wore loose-fitting Saxon apparel with cross-gartered trousers and a floppy cap.
‘Good day, ladies!’ he said, doffing the cap to bow low. ‘Let us mount up and dazzle the city with our beauty.’
‘Where will you take us?’ asked Golde.
‘There and back.’
‘Where and back?’
‘Hither and thither, my lady.’
‘You talk in riddles.’
‘Yes,’ he said cheerily. ‘We will go there as well.’
‘Where?’
‘From the end to the beginning.’
‘Lead on, Berold,’ said Albreda. ‘We will follow.’
When they were perched on their saddles, the jester mounted his own horse and turned it towards the main gate. Four armed soldiers acted as an escort to the ladies. The seven of them came out of the castle and headed first for the cathedral precincts.
People quickly made way for them in the crowded streets. Berold acknowledged passers-by with an imperious wave of the hand, pulling faces at children to make them laugh and beating mischievously on any shutters that came within reach. He was a voluble guide, at once distracting and delighting them with his nonsensical comments. The four soldiers were soon chuckling aloud.
‘Take no notice of the names,’ advised Berold. ‘They are put there to deceive you. South Street runs north, Broad Street is narrow, Fore Street lies aft, Friernhay Street contains neither friars nor hay and High Street is the lowliest place in Christendom.’
‘What of Bartholomew Street?’ asked Albreda.
‘He fled from the city years ago.’
When they turned into the precinct, Berold made jesting reference to the two churches on their left and St Petroc’s on their right, but Golde did not hear him. Her gaze had settled on the minster church itself, climbing into the sky on its way to heaven. Glimpsed from her apartment at the castle it was striking enough, but she now felt the full impact of its size and ambition.
When she lived close to Hereford Cathedral, she had taken its magnificence for granted and rarely tossed it more than a glance.
The novelty of Exeter made her stare and wonder. It was only when she had carried out a detailed inventory that she looked away from the edifice to find that Albreda and Berold were no longer with her.
They had ridden across to the cemetery. Berold was surveying the gravestones as if they were soldiers on parade but Albreda was staring sadly at one particular spot. Ravens were pecking at the mound of earth which marked the last resting place of Nicholas Picard. She tore herself away to rejoin Golde and offer an apology.
Berold trotted up behind her.
‘What would you like to see now, my lady?’ he asked Golde.
‘Waterbeer Street,’ she said without hesitation.
‘A foul-smelling lane.’
‘Not to me, Berold.’
‘I would like to see it as well,’ said Albreda. ‘I scorned your interest in brewing because I knew nothing about it. You can educate me, Golde.’
‘With pleasure, my lady.’
‘What is the difference between ale and beer?’
Berold cackled. ‘The difference between poison and piss.’
‘Hold your foul tongue, Berold,’ scolded Albreda playfully. ‘I want Golde to answer. Well, is there a difference?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Golde. ‘All the difference in the world.’
It was a pleasant afternoon. They wandered in and out of the streets until they had seen almost the whole city. Golde’s curiosity was unlimited and Berold’s jests were ceaseless. Hours slipped happily by. When the party was ready to return to the castle, Golde remembered something.
‘There is one last place I wish to visit.’
Berold pretended to lift a skirt and the men sniggered at him.
‘Where is that?’ asked Albreda.
‘I would like to take a closer look at the tunnel that was built under the wall,’ said Golde. ‘The lord Hervey told us about it and we saw it on our approach. It was built during the siege but abandoned when the city finally surrendered. Could we go there, please?’
‘I would rather adjourn to the castle,’ said Albreda, ‘but there is nothing to stop you from finding this tunnel. Berold will escort you.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’
While the others trotted off towards the castle, Golde followed the jester on a twisting route. He did not seem happy with the assignment to act as her guide and fell unusually silent. When they left the city, he wheeled his horse to the right until they reached a cavernous opening in the earth. Berold stopped well short of it and pointed a finger.
‘There it lies, my lady. The entrance to Hell.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Men belong above ground, not tunnelling away like moles.’
‘How deep is it?’ she wondered.
‘I do not know, my lady. I think it has been filled up.’
‘Let us see,’ she said, nudging her horse forward to the very edge of the tunnel. ‘It looks like a cave. Does it go all the way under the wall?’
Before she could get a reply, her horse suddenly shied with fright, rearing up on its hind legs and dislodging her from the saddle. Golde hit the ground with a thud and rolled over. Berold was beside her in a flash.