But his friend was only banging on the door of his chamber. When Gervase forced himself to sit up and open his eyes, he saw that dawn was pushing the first spears of light in through the casement. He scrambled up and pulled back the bolt on the door before flinging it open. Ralph Delchard had been torn from his own bed, but he was in a state of great excitement. He was holding something in both hands and he came in to set it down on the floor. It was a wooden chest that was ribbed with stout metal clasps.
“Where did you find it?” asked Gervase.
“Outside the front door.”
“Who left it there?”
“I do not know, but one of the servants heard him. When he went to see what the noise was, he found this.”
“Is it Alric’s treasure chest?”
“What else could it be?”
“Have you opened the lid?”
“No, Gervase. I wanted you to be with me when I did.” Ralph had brought the key which he had found in the stream near the blasted yew. “This moment belongs to both of us.”
He inserted the key into the lock with anticipatory delight, but it soon became dismay. They key did not fit.
“It is the wrong chest!” he cursed.
“Or the right chest but the wrong key.”
“It must fit!” insisted Ralph, trying again. “It must.”
But the key still jammed in the lock. Gervase had now come fully awake. He picked up the chest and took it across to the window to get the best of the light.
“Someone has forced this chest open,” he noted.
“But it is locked tight.”
“The catch must have been wrenched free.”
“Then the contents will have been taken.”
“I think not, Ralph. This was left here by design. What value would there be in an empty chest?”
He set it down once more and removed the key, reaching instead for his dagger. Inserting it in the lock, he twisted away until there was a sharp click. One flick of its point sent the lid of the chest up and back.
Ralph plunged a hand into the hoard of silver coins that lay within, but Gervase had already snatched out the most valuable item. He unrolled the parchment in the half-dark and took one glance at it.
“We have our charter,” he said.
Leofgifu slept soundly in the house of mourning and woke to curse herself for passing the night in such comfort. It was unseemly and uncaring, yet no matter how hard she tried to find fresh tears for her father, they would not come. True sorrow had not really touched her.
She had been horrified by the way he had died rather than shaken by the fact of his death. Now that she had had time to take stock, she came to see just how unhappy she had been sharing the home with him. The loss of Wulfgeat was also a gain for her. Instead of depressing her spirit, it filled her with an odd sense of freedom and it was this which activated her guilt. Leofgifu feared that she was an unnatural daughter. Wulfgeat’s death meant that she was now expected to grieve for a man she had come to hate, as well as for another whom she had never managed to love. Father and husband chained her to the grave.
Activity was the best escape from brooding and she threw herself into her chores with excessive readiness. She took over duties which would normally be left to the servants and spent more time on her embroidery that morning than she had done in the previous month.
Remorse still troubled her, however, and her restlessness would not be eased. It took her into the little room which her father had used for his business affairs, Leofgifu half-hoping that the sight of his ledgers and his papers might unleash a hidden spring of lamentation somewhere deep inside her and enable her to mark his passing with appropriate despair. But her heart remained cold and her mind unengaged. She sat at the table and idly reached for the first ledger.
It was over an hour before Hilda found her.
“Are you busy, Leofgifu?”
“No, no. Please come in.”
“Do not let me interrupt you.”
“I am glad of your company, Hilda. How are you today?”
“Do not worry about me, Leofgifu. How are you?”
“Still oppressed.”
But she did not feel the weight of that oppression and wished that she could suffer in the way that Hilda, with her shattered beauty, still plainly did. Hers was the true coinage of grief; Leofgifu was offering only counterfeit currency.
“I need your permission to go out,” said Hilda.
“You may come and go as you please.”
“But you might need me here.”
“It is kind of you to put me first, Hilda, but I can spare you. Will you go far?”
“Only to the hunting lodge.”
Leofgifu was puzzled. “Why there?”
“To speak with the young commissioner.”
“Gervase Bret?”
“When he called yesterday, I was … too weak.”
“Weak?”
“He needed help and I pulled back out of fear.” Her chin lifted bravely. “But I will speak to him today and I will make sure that Cild speaks with him also.”
“Cild?”
“I must be strict with him now that he is mine.”
Leofgifu only partially understood what Hilda was saying, but it connected with her own inclinations. She gazed down at the ledgers she had been reading and the documents she had just leafed through, then made her election.
“You will not go to the hunting lodge, Hilda.”
“Why not?”
“It is much too far to walk.”
“We do not mind the journey.”
“Gervase will come to the house.”
“It would cause too much upset.”
“Perhaps that is what I need,” said Leofgifu. “Before you and Cild talk with him, I will see him myself. I may not mourn properly for my father until I fully understand the reason for his death, and Gervase may help me to do that.” She kissed Hilda on the cheek. “Go back to your room. I will send a servant to fetch him at once.”
The instincts of a born soldier never desert a man. After all these years, Ralph Delchard could still feel in his bones if a battle ahead would go well for him. Belief in success made it virtually inevitable and he had never been robbed of a promised victory yet. As soon as he saw the chest, his hope flowered; as soon as they found the charter, it blossomed into complete confidence; and when Gervase had examined the document closely enough to proclaim its authenticity, Ralph had the surge of exhilaration that he felt always in the first cavalry charge.
Word was sent to the abbey that the commission would convene again that afternoon. A personal summons was delivered to Prior Baldwin ordering him to present himself with all of the relevant abbey charters at a given time. The morning now gave Ralph an opportunity to make some last important enquiries in the town. Gervase Bret agreed to go with him, but he was called away by a message from Leofgifu and hurried off to her house. Ralph had to pay his visit alone.
“Come in, my lord. You are most welcome.”
“I am glad to see you safely returned, Saewold.”
“Business detained me in Salisbury.”
“How did you find Edward?”
“The earl is in fine fettle,” said the reeve with an obsequious smirk.
“As well as discharging his many duties as sheriff of the county, he is supervising the extensions to his castle. The building progresses.”
“We saw it on our way past,” said Ralph.
His eye kindled as Ediva came into the room to add her welcome and to go through the niceties. Her manner was as poised as ever, but she contrived to bestow a fleeting smile that stirred wondrous memories for her guest. Ediva called a servant and ordered refreshment, then she left the men alone for their discussion. They sat either side of a table.
“You must have missed your wife when you were away.”
Saewold shrugged. “I did not have time to miss her or anyone else, my lord. Being reeve of a town like Bedwyn is not an occupation; it is a way of life and it consumes all my attention. Ediva has learned to make shift for herself.”
“You are blessed in such a wife,” said Ralph without irony, then he addressed himself to the matter at hand. “We have a problem, Saewold, one that must be kept hidden until we have a solution. I speak to you in strictest confidence.”