“We soon shall,” said Ralph confidently, “and we will catch him in the act. But that requires patience. He must be stalked before he can be taken.”
“I will cut off his hands!”
“The law will do more than that for him, Eadmer.”
“Forgery is worse than murder.”
“You will be able to tell that to the wretch one day.”
“Bring him before me!”
Eadmer grabbed a hammer and brought it down onto a metal tray with such force that the clang made Ralph’s ears sing. The moneyer was small but vengeful. His trade lent itself to fraud and corruption of all kinds and strict procedures were in force to ensure that high standards of professional integrity were maintained at all times. One dishonest moneyer could give the rest a bad name. Debased coins could drive out good ones. Eadmer wanted action.
“Get out there and find the rogue!” he urged.
“I must speak with you first.”
“You have questioned me already.”
“Confirmation is needed.” Ralph looked around the room. “Are you quite sure that nothing is missing from the mint?”
“Certain.”
“What about your strong room?”
“Everything is accounted for.”
“No possibility of error?”
Eader was emphatic. “None!”
“What would a forger need to produce coins?”
“A black heart and a pact with the Devil!”
Ralph grinned. “But what materials must he have?”
“Silver bullion with means of heating and handling it. Then there are these,” he said, indicating the tray of dies. “They are issued in London under special licence. The die is the essence of the whole process.”
“Yet none of yours have been stolen?”
“No, my lord.”
“What of your mint in Marlborough?”
“It is even more of a fortress than this one.”
Ralph nodded and sauntered around the room until he came to the rough curtain across an opening in the wall.
“What is in here?”
“That need not concern you.”
“May I look?”
“Hold your nose if you do.”
Ralph twitched the curtain and peeped into the tiny chamber. It contained four bare walls and a raised block of stone. Aromatic memories of Eadmer’s use of the chamber rose up to offend his sensibilities, but Ralph forced himself to lean over and gaze down through the hole that was cut in the stone. Seen from below in a boat, it had looked smooth and regular. Viewed from above, it was almost conical in shape and tapered upwards. The stone was roughhewn and pitted with droppings. One more feature now declared itself. Two feet down the aperture was a thin iron bar that bisected the narrow space. Only a man as stunted as Eadmer could squeeze through such a gap. The bar was an effective precaution, but it could also become a useful accessory. A rope with a hook on the end could be thrown up to gain a purchase on it.
Ralph stepped back into the room and dared to breathe again. If the boy had climbed up that way and entered the mint, what had he stolen? Everything remained unharmed and in its place. Perhaps he did not need to take anything from the premises. Cild might have gained entry in order to unlock the door and admit the forger.
“Would you know if someone had used your materials?”
“Of course,” snapped Eadmer.
“How?”
“The brazier would still be hot. Smell would linger.”
“That I can vouch for!” said Ralph ruefully.
“My tools would be moved. Each has an exact place and I could tell if one was an inch from where it should be.”
“Nothing taken, nothing moved.”
“Only genuine coins leave this mint.”
“Then how did they do it!”
Ralph stamped a foot in exasperation, then moved to the window.
Evening was drawing in and the river was dappled with pools of darkness. A lone heron was skimming the water aimlessly. On the opposite bank, the little Saxon church had become a murky blur.
Somewhere in its graveyard, the body of Alric lay buried. Nobody would visit such an eerie spot at night and a boat which came downriver at that time would be in no danger of being seen. A boy who swam beneath the house with a rope around his shoulders would risk even less chance of detection. But what was the point of getting Cild inside the mint if nothing was to be taken from it? Ralph scratched his head in bafflement.
An acrid stink made him turn round again.
“You must go,” said Eadmer, licking a finger and thumb so that he could snuff out the tallow candles. “I am wanted elsewhere and you may not stay here alone.”
He extinguished another flame and the wick smoked on pungently.
Ralph Delchard watched him with growing curiosity, then a smile spread slowly across his face until he was beaming. Without knowing it, the moneyer had just provided the vital clue which his visitor was seeking. A daily chore had unlocked a nocturnal mystery. Surging gratitude made Ralph burst into wild laughter. His companion shrunk back in alarm.
“What is the matter, my lord?” he asked.
“Eadmer,” said Ralph, arms out wide, “I love you.”
Chapter Eleven
It was nightfall by the time Gervase Bret finally picked his way back to the hunting lodge, and the servant who greeted him was carrying a blazing torch. While the man took the horse off to be stabled, the weary Gervase went into the building, to find his companion seated alone at the long table. Ralph Delchard was in a jovial mood. The remains of a roasted chicken lay on a pewter dish before him and he was washing it down with a cup of wine. He waved his friend across and Gervase sank gratefully down on the bench opposite him. Ralph reached for the jug to pour out a second cup of wine, then pushed it across the table.
“Drink deep and think of Normandy.”
“It is French wine?”
“No,” said Ralph, “it comes from the vineyard at Bradford-on-Avon, but its grapes were grown by a Norman hand and it will quench your thirst well enough.” He emptied his own cup, then refilled it. “It was the one great mistake that the Conqueror made,” he observed sagely.
“A Norman army marches on its supply of wine. When we set sail for England twenty years ago, no proper thought was given to the matter.
We landed at Pevensey and made our position secure before we headed across country towards Hastings. The army was hungry, so we killed and ate whatever lay in our way. We were also thirsty, but what little wine we had brought soon ran out and we had to drink their foul English water.” He grimaced at the bitter memory. “It did almost as much damage to our host as King Harold and his housecarls. That water poisoned our bellies and opened our bowels with a vengeance.
If William had only carried enough wine in his invasion fleet, we would have been in a fit state to win the battle of Hastings in half the time.”
Gervase smiled obligingly. He had heard the story before, but he did not mind the repetition. Ralph’s high spirits showed that his visit to the mint had been profitable. He was still glowing with pleasure, but he wanted to hear from his friend before he divulged his own news.
“Where have you been, Gervase?”
“To the forest.”
“Alone?”
“No, I had a piece of red sandstone with me.”
“Can you be serious?” said Ralph, sitting up. “When you took that rope and told me you were off to see a friend, I thought you had arranged a tryst with one of these lovely Saxon women. I hoped you were going to tie her down and have your way with her like any red-blooded Norman.”
“Do not make a jest of it, Ralph,” reproved Gervase. “You know my lineage and you know my fidelity. Alys waits for me in Winchester and no woman could take me from her.”
“Not even Leofgifu?”
It was a question that halted him and he took some time to compose his answer. There was more than a tinge of regret in his voice when he eventually spoke.
“No,” he said. “Not even Leofgifu.”
“So what did you do with this rock and this rope?”