The boy’s defences cracked and he burst into tears as the real horror of what he had done was borne in upon him. His youth was no excuse. Cild was old enough to know that theft and forgery and attempted murder were serious crimes that carried serious penalties.
His father had made it seem exciting to break into the mint and he had loved the secret journeys the two of them had made to the hiding-place in the yew tree. Everything had cartwheeled out of control now. He was willing to tell Gervase Bret all he knew in the hope of gaining merciful treatment, but he could not supply a name that his father had kept from him.
Gervase saw the boy’s predicament only too clearly. He was at once an accomplice and victim of his father. There was no point in questioning Cild further, because it would only sharpen his anguish. He would need to be interrogated at a later date by other authorities. The one thing Gervase needed to know was the one thing that the boy had not been told. He took pity on the whimpering Cild and moved across to him, but comforting arms had already encircled the child. Hilda slipped quietly into the room to pull him to her bosom and pat him soothingly on the back.
When Gervase looked into her face, he saw the change that had taken place. Innocence had now fled. The tears that had been shed for a brutal man had now dried up. A plaintive expression had hardened into a scowl. Her voice was clipped.
“I can give you a name.”
The shire hall was full to capacity that afternoon for the final confrontation. All four commissioners were installed behind the table.
Prior Baldwin and Subprior Matthew appeared for the abbey once more and sat upright in their seats with an arrogant humility. Hugh de Brionne lounged in a chair beside them, still basking in his fame as the putative saviour of Bedwyn and confident that this would elevate him above any petty squabbles over land. Saewold’s rank also entitled him to a chair and Ediva had come along with her husband as an interested observer. The rows of benches were occupied by the burgesses, Leofgifu sitting proudly among them in her father’s place, with Hilda at her side. Their presence at any time in such a place would have been arresting, but during a period of mourning it was doubly startling. Minor town officials stood at the rear. Those of lesser sort found what space they could. Tall and forbidding in their chain mail, the four men-at-arms took up their positions just inside the door of the hall. There was an audible throb of expectation throughout the building.
Ralph Delchard called the assembly to order, then gave Canon Hubert his head. The commissioners’ terms of reference were set out for all to hear.
“Earlier this year,” recited Hubert, “our predecessors visited this county to assess the disposition of its wealth. The returns from that visit were set alongside similar details from other parts of the country so that a complete description of England could be built up. The largest holder of land in this county is-as is right and proper-King William himself, who not only took over, in 1066, the royal estates, which include the boroughs of Bedwyn, Calne, Tilshead, and Warminster, but also reserved for himself the extensive personal holdings of the families of King Edward and the usurper, Harold.” There were murmurings of discontent from the benches. “The estates of King William now account for almost one-fifth of the area of this county.”
The discontent became more vocal and Ralph had to curb it with his most belligerent glare before Hubert could continue. The litany rolled on.
“Next in order of wealth come four great ecclesiastical persons who built up their estates by gift and purchase well before the Conquest.
They are the Bishop of Salisbury, the Bishop of Winchester, the Abbot of Glastonbury, and the Abbot of Malmesbury. Substantial holdings have also accrued to another monastic house and it is this circumstance which has brought us all here today. I speak of Bedwyn Abbey.”
Prior Baldwin was unafraid. The prefatory remarks served only to inflate his confidence. Canon Hubert rumbled on with sententious fluency while Brother Simon nodded his agreement to almost every syllable that was uttered. Ralph let his colleague proceed for another five minutes before he leaned across to Gervase Bret and whispered in his ear.
“Hubert has bored them into submission. We may start.”
When the speaker next paused for breath, the leader of the commissioners stepped in smartly to take over the reins.
“Thank you, Canon Hubert,” he said with exaggerated graciousness.
“That was a most lucid account of our presence here today. We may now move on. Like you, I will be brief.”
Laughter rocked the benches at Hubert’s expense. There were muted jeers from the rear of the hall. Everyone knew how rich the monastic foundations were and how pervasive their influence in the county, and they did not wish to be reminded of the power of the Church by a pompous churchman. The four ecclesiastics cited owned between them almost a quarter of all the land in Wiltshire, and there were other holy fingers in the pie. The bishops of Bayeux, Coutances, and Lisieux-all friends or relations of the king-had combined holdings of over five hundred acres and they were not the only Norman prelates who acted as absentee landlords over prime English estates. Bedwyn was a God-fearing town, but it could still resent the yoke of His ministers.
“Our enquiry,” said Ralph, “related to two small hides of land. Those two quickly became four; those four multiplied still further. We were forced to broaden the scope of our investigations as the catalogue of fraud and deception grew in length.” He held a long pause, then flashed a brilliant smile. “There are guilty men in this hall.”
One of them was on his feet immediately.
“I will not stay and listen to these vile accusations,” said Hugh de Brionne. “I have a rightful claim to all four hides but am left with two.
And now you dare to try to rob me of those. It is intolerable!”
“Sit down, my lord,” invited Ralph.
“Do you now know who I am-and what I am!”
“We certainly know what you are,” said Ralph levelly. “And if you will not resume your seat and listen, the king will hear personally of your misconduct.”
Hugh de Brionne issued a torrent of abuse, then sank back into his chair and smouldered. His status as the wolf-killer counted for nothing before the commissioners, who instead were treating him as a quarry to be hunted. Ralph Delchard turned to Prior Baldwin and his assistant.
“Let us start with the two hides that provoked this boundary dispute. State the abbey’s position, please.”
“It remains what it has been from the start,” said Baldwin without bothering to rise. “We hold that land and we have a charter to enforce our claim. It was seen and accepted by your predecessors. The abbey has the law on its side.”
“My lord?” said Ralph. “What can you add to that?”
Hugh was direct. “Only that the abbot is a grasping monster who will steal every acre of land on which he can get his fat and greedy hands!”
“Insult!” howled Baldwin.
“Truth!” yelled Hugh.
“Sacrilege!”
“Theft!”
“I demand an apology!”
“You will get it through my arse!”
The onlookers roared with amusement at the sight of two Normans shouting wildly at each other. Ralph Delchard was enjoying it all too much himself to interrupt at first, but he eventually asserted his authority and delivered a joint reprimand. Now that the two major combatants had both drawn blood, it was time to bring in Gervase Bret.
He waited for complete silence before he spoke.
“I crave your indulgence,” he began. “What I have to say reaches back in time, but it has a bearing on the present and affects many of you here in this hall. There has been wilful deceit. Restitution must be made.”
Gervase had the full attention of the audience. If it was a case of restitution, then someone stood to gain and someone else to lose.