But that does not exonerate his abbey. All that we have learned from witnesses supports the claim that brought us to Bedwyn in the first place.”
“What witnesses?” hissed Baldwin.
“Subtenants on the land in question.”
“Ignorant men with a grudge against the abbey.”
“They have long memories.”
“Long and unforgiving, Canon Hubert. This is not just a battle between abbey and town. It is a feud between Norman and Saxon.
Subtenants have no rights of ownership. They merely till the land and pay rent for that privilege. If they can find a way to flail at their landlords, then they will take it out of Saxon malice. Times are hard and that spreads even more bitterness. The abbey has become its natural target.”
He turned to his subprior for endorsement and Matthew cleared his throat to make way for a sepulchral comment.
“The subtenants bite the hand that feeds them. Their word has no merit in a dispute of this kind. We hold that land from the king. No worthy voice contests that.”
“Yes, it does,” said Gervase.
“To whom does it belong?” asked Matthew.
“Brother John.”
There was mild consternation in the two chairs opposite him, but prior and subprior recovered with impressive speed. Baldwin sighed and gave an indulgent smile.
“Brother John is very old.”
“It is the reason I spoke at length to him.”
“His memory is no longer sound.”
“I found it as sharp as a razor,” said Gervase.
“Brother John is close to death.”
“That is why he values truth so highly.”
“You misled him, I think.”
“I merely asked him about his days as the abbey rent-collector. Before you and Abbot Serlo arrived. Ten minutes with Brother John were most revealing. His account was full of detail to support the counter-claim.”
“Canon Hubert,” said the prior, turning rudely away from Gervase.
“You will best understand our position here. An ancient monk is being asked to betray the house which has nurtured him. Brother John is a dying man who wastes away on his bed at the infirmary. His mind wanders and he does not always know what he says. Explain to your colleague here, if you will, that an obedientiary is not able to bear witness against his abbey. He would never be permitted to come into such a place as this to make a sworn statement.” He threw a disdainful glance at Gervase before he continued. “I appeal to you as a man of God. Insist on just practices here. We must set an example to the laity.
Judge us if you must, but do so by fair means.”
Canon Hubert ran a tongue over dry lips as he heard the plea.
Much as he disliked the prior, he had to concede that there was some truth in what had been said, and he had his own reservations about Gervase’s methods of gathering evidence. Baldwin was encouraged. His plan to create a rift between the lay and clerical members of the commission was working. He tried to open that rift still further.
“You have tested us in this hall, Canon Hubert, but you have done so with scrupulous fairness. We have no criticism to make of your conduct.” His eye moved to Gervase Bret and then on to Ralph Delchard.
“But we have been treated with less respect by others. How has your young colleague sought to overthrow us? By means that are honest, open, and legal? No, Canon Hubert. He has gone behind our backs to speak with the youngest and the oldest members of our house. He has listened to the gossip of a novice and to the ramblings of a vener-able monk. Traduce us, if you must. Bring down the full majesty of the law upon us, if you so desire. But do not insult us and the whole Benedictine order by calling the fledgling Brother Luke and the failing Brother John as your witnesses. They fit into no definition of justice.” He rose imperiously to his feet and addressed his final taunt to Gervase. “Where is your charter?”
“We do not have it here,” admitted the other.
“Call us back when you do,” said Baldwin with a polite sneer, gathering up the satchel of documents and handing it to Subprior Matthew. “We will then return with our written evidence. Your accusations are wild and hurtful, but they carry no substance. Without a charter, you have no case.”
He nudged Matthew to his feet and they made to leave.
Ralph bridled. “Who gave you permission to withdraw?”
“God,” said Baldwin.
He swept out with his subprior and left the commission in turmoil.
Canon Hubert blamed Gervase and tried to lecture him on legal procedure. Ralph defended his friend and cursed all clergy. Even the laconic Brother Simon was drawn into the vicious argument, and it raged for a long time. Gervase eventually brought it to a halt by standing up and waving them into silence.
“Our case is unanswerable,” he said quietly, “but it lacks one vital element. We need Alric’s charter. When that is in our hands, we may confound Prior Baldwin and his windy rhetoric. The charter is the key to it all.”
“Yes,” agreed Ralph, “and it will not only light a fire under the abbey. Hugh de Brionne’s fat arse will burn, as well. He gained his two hides of that land unlawfully with the help of that insidious reeve, Saewold. I had testimony from the most impeccable source.”
“I tremble to think how you obtained it,” said Hubert.
“The charter will corroborate all that I learned during my researches.”
Ralph pushed his chair back from the table. “We must suspend our deliberations until we have found it.”
“If it exists,” wondered Brother Simon meekly.
“It exists right enough,” said Gervase confidently. “And I will not return to this hall until I have tracked it down and verified its contents. Be of good cheer. That charter is out there waiting for us.
Somewhere …”
Living alone in such an isolated place, Emma was free from the tensions and upheavals that characterised life in the towns and villages all around her. She set her own pace and fulfilled her needs in ways of her own choosing. Whenever she was given an insight into the communal experience, she quickly withdrew in disgust to the sanctuary of her mean hovel. Emma could preserve a tattered self-respect there.
Events in Bedwyn had spilled over into her private world, putting her in mortal danger, and only the courage of a Norman lord had saved her and her dog. It made her even more wary of straying too close to her fellow human beings. A woman who aroused great caution in others had now developed more elaborate safeguards herself.
When she was summoned to the cottage, therefore, she approached it with the utmost care, sending her dog on ahead to scout for possible dangers. Because the dwelling was only half a mile from Bedwyn, she kept glancing nervously at the town itself, as if fearing a second attack. But none came and her dog scented no peril. Emma walked slowly towards the cottage, her senses still alert. An ugly, thickset man in his thirties opened the door to give her a gruff welcome. He was a villein on the estate, a peasant who gave service to his lord in return for the humble abode and the patch of cultivable land on which he and his family subsisted. His words drew her into the cottage, but his eyes were full of dread. It had clearly not been his idea to summon the Witch of Crofton and he suffered her presence reluctantly.
Emma saw the sick child at once, lying on a crude mattress in considerable discomfort. The anxious mother sat beside her and bathed her daughter’s fevered brow with brackish water from a wooden pail.
Like her husband, she was fearful of their visitor, but she had called her as a last resort. Nobody else could revive the poor child whose fever had worsened day by day. Too weak to cry out, the little girl yet registered great alarm when she saw the strange figure moving towards her and she clutched at her mother with pathetic urgency.
Both parents tried to soothe the child before handing her over to the ministrations of Emma.
The visitor made her diagnosis within seconds. The patient had a high fever and her face was covered in red blotches. A dry throat was producing a hoarse cough and her condition showed that she had been unable to keep food down for some days. The girl was slowly fading away. When the parents had subdued their daughter, Emma moved swiftly to confirm what her eyes had already told her. Big, coarse hands were surprisingly tender as they felt brow and throat and arms. Dirty fingers were delicate as they parted the child’s lips so that Emma could peer into the mouth.