“I think it was.”
“No, no, it cannot be,” exclaimed the youth with spirit. “He spoke so openly about his own novitiate and suffered once more the pains of separation from the order as he talked. It was a dreadful choice he had to make and doubts will pursue him all his life.” Luke gritted his teeth and thought it over. “Gervase Bret is a straightforward man. He did not lie to me about Eltham Abbey.”
“Why did he leave it?”
“He yielded to temptation.”
“Ambition?”
“A woman.”
Peter sighed, “Each man has his own peculiar weakness. My own lies wrapped in cloth inside that drawer. For Gervase Bret, it was the wonder of a woman.” He sighed again and put an arm around his friend. “We all have fatal flaws, Luke.”
“What is mine?”
The message arrived before noon and it threw Hilda into a panic.
Leofgifu read it out to her and saw the rising terror in her eyes. A frightened creature at the best of times, she was particularly vulnerable at the moment, and Leofgifu had to spend a long time calming her down before they could even begin to address the problem.
Authority unnerved the widow.
“They have sent for me!” she whimpered.
“But they have not,” said her friend. “This is not an official summons.
One of the commissioners simply wishes to speak with you about your husband.”
“I know nothing, Leofgifu.”
“Then you will have nothing to tell them.”
“They will be angry with me.”
“I think not,” said Leofgifu, glancing at the missive once more.
“The man who sent this letter shows you much consideration. He apologises for intruding on your grief. He knows your situation. But your husband brought them all to Bedwyn, so they must talk with you.”
“I will not see them.”
“They have the power to enforce it,” warned the other.
“Tell them I am too ill.”
“It will not deflect them from their purpose.”
Hilda looked anxiously and helplessly around like a small animal caught in a trap. Alric’s death was shock enough to bear without having Prior Baldwin and Wulfgeat bearing down upon her. Now another man was trying to get something from her which she did not possess.
“See him,” advised Leofgifu.
“Will you be with me?” pleaded Hilda.
“Every second.”
“May we receive him here?”
“I am sure my father will consent.”
“What is this commissioner’s name?”
“Master Gervase Bret.”
“And you say he will not scold me?”
Leofgifu gave her pledge. “Not while I am here.”
A change of tactics allowed Prior Baldwin and Subprior Matthew to exhibit a more compliant attitude to the quartet who sat behind the long table in the shire hall. Baldwin sounded a conciliatory note at the start and Matthew was there to throw in a funereal smile of agreement whenever he deemed it necessary. Having antagonised the commissioners during earlier exchanges, the two men now seemed keen to mollify and compromise. Brother Simon was taken in by the apparent change of heart, but Canon Hubert treated it with an unconcealed scepticism and snorted in disbelief more than once. Ralph Delchard was diverted by the manoeuvres, but he left it to Gervase Bret to lock horns with the prelates.
“I have spoken with Abbot Serlo today,” said Baldwin, “and he agrees that a misunderstanding has arisen. The two hides which arouse this unfortunate controversy were willed to us when he and I first came to Bedwyn. You have the charter which sets the truth before you.”
“But it is a forgery,” affirmed Gervase.
Baldwin smiled sweetly. “No, sir, you allege that it is a forgery, and that is a different matter. That document has been signed, sealed, and proved. Your predecessors found no fault in it. Why must you?”
“Because we have a counter-claim.”
“Could that not be a forgery?”
“Indeed it could,” said Ralph heavily. “The more I see of Bedwyn and its ways, I begin to wonder if anything here is what it seems. We have had so many lies and prevarications that I am coming to think the town itself does not exist! It is a forgery practised on the eye.”
“Leave off these jests,” said Canon Hubert. “They do not advance the case. What we talk of here is the burden of proof.”
“Thank you,” said Baldwin pleasantly. “You are right as usual, Canon Hubert, but the burden of proof lies with you.”
Gervase Bret lifted up the abbey charter to peruse it.
“It is false,” he said quietly.
“How do you know?” challenged Baldwin.
“Intuition.”
“Really!” said Matthew, stirred from his mourning. “Are we to decide the fate of two hundred acres or more by the intuition of a callow youth?”
“I may be callow, Brother Matthew, but I am not blind.”
“Substantiate your allegation,” said Baldwin. “If the document has been falsely drawn up-prove it.”
“Prove it,” echoed Matthew somnolently.
Their confidence had clearly been revived by their long discussions back at the abbey and they had returned with more composure.
If they could discredit the word of Gervase Bret, they had won the day for the abbey. Baldwin had already manipulated the Bishop of Durham and his co-commissioners to good effect. He now carried the fight to a mere clerk of Chancery with every hope of success. Instead of his earlier red-faced bluster, he used a patronising gaze that could quell most opposition by its concentrated power.
All eyes were on Gervase Bret as he fingered the charter before him. He seemed uncertain. Ralph looked worried, Canon Hubert shifted in his chair, and Brother Simon developed a nervous sniff.
The abbey delegation grew more complacent.
“We are waiting, Master Bret,” said Baldwin.
“Waiting in vain, it seems,” added Matthew.
“Will you speak or may we have leave to go?”
“Prove it!” hissed Canon Hubert.
There was an even longer and more stressful pause. It was finally broken by Ralph Delchard, who pounded the table.
“God’s tits!” he yelled. “Prove it, Gervase.”
“Very well,” said the other calmly.
He set the charter before him and put two others beside it. Chairs grated as everyone pulled in closer to view the evidence. The visitors were still supremely assured. Prior Baldwin’s smile now had a touch of studious arrogance.
“Before you are three charters,” said Gervase evenly. “All are reput-edly the work of the same scribe, one Drogo of Wilton, much employed by Osmund, Bishop of Salisbury. You will recognise his hand. It is most distinctive.”
“We know it well,” said Baldwin. “Drogo was a friend to our abbey.
His handiwork adorns many of our charters. He was only a scribe, but we appreciate quality in any man. If he were here, he would own that he had written all three charters.” More arrogance came into the smile. “But he is not here, Master Bret. The poor man is buried in the parish churchyard in Wilton.”
“You seem to have a problem with your witnesses,” said Matthew with a rare flash of humour. “When you wish to call them to your aid, you find that God has issued his summons before you. That is Drogo’s work in all three cases.”
“How can you be so certain?” asked Gervase.
“Because we know,” said Matthew.
A wry eyebrow was raised. “Intuition?”
“We still require your proof,” muttered Canon Hubert.
“Ralph has loaned it to me.”
Gervase slipped a hand into the purse at his belt and took out three silver coins. He put one on each document, then invited the others to examine them as closely as they wished. The prelates were irritated by what they saw as a pointless game, but they consented. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon took longer to inspect the coins, while Ralph Delchard sat back and pretended he had no idea what was going on.
“Well?” said Gervase at length.
“They are the same,” said Baldwin. “Minted here in Bedwyn by Eadmer. They bear his name and mark.”