The Elephants of Norwich (14 page)

Drogo the Steward was annoyed when he reached the appointed place and saw no sign of either the man or his horse. It was so untypical of Clamahoc. He was always very punctual. Drogo made sure of that. The servant had been corrupted by a judicious mixture of threat and money. He was too involved to turn back, too frightened of the consequences. Drogo resolved to instil his own brand of fear when the man finally arrived. His spy would be roundly chastised for his lateness. Dismounting from his horse, the steward tethered it to one of the bushes. He and Clamahoc always met near that copse, taking advantage of its cover and its convenient position midway between the two estates. In the shade of the trees, much invaluable information had been passed between them.
    No more would be forthcoming. Drogo had the odd sensation that he was not alone. When a muted groan came from the heart of the copse, he reached for his dagger. A second groan gave him some idea of where to go and he pushed his way cautiously through the undergrowth. It did not take him long to find him. Clamahoc had been punctual, after all. Lying face down on the ground, he squirmed and twitched in agony, his bare back crisscrossed with lacerations and smeared with dried blood. A savage punishment had taken him close to death.
    Drogo let out a cry of alarm then used a tentative foot to turn the man over. ‘Who did this to you?’ he demanded.
    But his spy imparted no useful information this time. His tongue had been cut out.

Ralph Delchard studied the animal with intense interest. Holding the wooden elephant in his hand, he turned it slowly around to examine it from all angles. Eustace Coureton was equally fascinated. The carving was crude and unfinished but the main features of the elephant’s physiognomy were all there. Jocelyn Vavasour had vanished into his hut. When he reappeared, he brandished an earlier attempt at woodcarving.
    ‘This is the first one that I did,’ he said, passing it to Ralph. ‘It will give you a clearer idea of what an elephant looks like.’
    Ralph was intrigued. ‘Look at the size of that trunk!’ ‘And those ears!’ said Coureton, reaching out to touch them. ‘So large and yet so smooth. You’ve got a rare talent, Jocelyn.’
    ‘No,’ said the other modestly. ‘They’re poor copies of the originals.’
    ‘At least, they give us an idea of what we’re looking for.’
    ‘But for one thing, my lord. I wasn’t able to carve the cross that stood on the animal’s head. That was beyond me. I tried very hard,’ he said, sadly, ‘but my hand slipped and the knife cut the cross off at the base. I wasn’t patient enough. I’ll be much more careful with the second one.’
    Ralph held them up side by side to compare them. He sighed with admiration. ‘Remarkable work!’
    ‘Wait until you see the originals, my lord,’ said Vavasour. ‘They capture the essence of the creature. The Venetian goldsmith who made them had actually
seen
elephants. His miniatures had a life to them.’
    ‘So do these, my friend.’
    ‘But they’re made of driftwood and not solid gold.’
    ‘It’s not the material,’ said Ralph, ‘it’s the way it’s shaped. Besides, these two carvings of yours have a glow all of their own.’
    ‘The wood dries that colour in the sun.’
    ‘So you have two gold elephants of your own,’ said Coureton with a chuckle. ‘When the second is finished, you’ll be able to present them to the abbey as well.’
    ‘No, my lord,’ said Vavasour, taking the two carvings from Ralph. ‘These are carved from memory rather than inspiration. The abbey deserves only the best. I carried them all the way from Rome with a papal blessing on them and I want them restored to their rightful place.’
    ‘They will be.’
    ‘What if the thief has already had them melted down?’
    ‘We’ve taken steps to prevent that,’ said Ralph. ‘I visited the three goldsmiths in Norwich myself and the lord sheriff has sent out word to every other one in the county. The moment they’re offered those miniatures for sale, they’re to report it to him or they’ll suffer the consequences.’
    ‘But the elephants may already have left Norfolk.’
    ‘True, but I think it unlikely.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Whoever stole them knew where to find them,’ Ralph explained. ‘Nothing else was stolen from the lord Richard’s strong room even though it was full of other treasures. Hermer the Steward was overpowered by someone who thus had possession of his keys. Had the thief simply wanted booty, he could have opened every chest in the strong room, but he didn’t. Do you follow my thinking here?’
    ‘Yes, my lord. You believe it to be someone who knew his way around the lord Richard’s manor house. Someone from the locality.’
    ‘And someone with a particular reason for wanting those gold elephants.’
    ‘That’s why the name of the lord Mauger had to be considered,’ said Coureton. ‘When they were taken from the abbey, they were destined to be a wedding gift to the lady whose hand he’s been seeking in marriage himself.’
    Ralph explained the situation in detail. The anchorite listened intently throughout, interrupting only to clarify a point or to challenge an assumption. He was impressed by the way that the commissioners had thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the pursuit of a thief who was, in all probability, also a killer. After spending so long alone on the marshes, it took him some time to adjust to the workings of the world he had renounced so completely, but memories gradually surged back. He was able to furnish them with new information about the long feud that existed between Richard de Fontenel and Mauger Livarot, but it was his comment on the lady over whom the two men fought that was most illuminating.
    ‘How closely have you questioned the lady Adelaide?’ he asked.
    ‘We haven’t spoken to her at all,’ said Ralph.
    ‘You should, my lord.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘There’s an odd coincidence here that you couldn’t be expected to see. But I’m more familiar with the people involved.’
    ‘Go on.’
    ‘I’ve no wish to malign the lady Adelaide,’ said Vavasour with emphasis. ‘She’s a good Christian with a charitable disposition and was a loyal wife to her late husband. But there’s an aspect of her character that’s a little less admirable. The lady Adelaide is fond of manipulating people for her own advantage.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Ralph, nodding in agreement. ‘We’ve observed the way in which she’s keeping both suitors at arm’s length and playing them off against each other.’
    ‘It began with Geoffrey Molyneux, my lord. The lady Adelaide loved him dearly, I’ve no doubt, but that didn’t stop her from exploiting him. He doted on her. Since you’ve met her, I’m sure that you can understand why.’
    ‘Oh, yes!’ said Coureton. ‘Any husband would dote on her.’
    ‘The lord Geoffrey showered her with gifts. Her passion was for jewellery and he would travel hundreds of miles just to buy a particular necklace or brooch for her. Gold is the lady Adelaide’s weakness,’ continued Vavasour, looking down at the two carvings in his hand. ‘The lord Richard understood that only too well. He acquired those gold elephants because he knew they might be the one gift that would ensnare her.’
    ‘Not if she realised that they were stolen property, surely?’
    The anchorite hesitated. ‘I can’t answer for that.’
    ‘You think that she
would
accept them in those circumstances?’ pressed Ralph.
    ‘All I can say is that she loves gold more than anything else in the world. And that, alas, even includes her children. Did you know that they’re being brought up in her parents’ household?’
    ‘No. She never mentioned the children to me.’
    ‘The lady Adelaide likes to see them if and when she wishes.’
    ‘Would you call her an uncaring mother, then?’
    ‘No, my lord. She seemed affectionate towards them on the few occasions I saw them all together. But she chooses not to have them living under her own roof. I find that a peculiar decision, especially now that she’s a widow. It comes back to what I said earlier.’ Vavasour added. ‘The lady Adelaide likes to exert control over people.’
    ‘Over men,’ said Ralph, bluntly.
    ‘It’s more difficult to do that with children plucking at the hem of your gown.’
    ‘All this is very interesting. I spoke to the lady at length myself and saw none of these defects. But as it happens, my wife went to visit her this morning. I dare say she’ll have discerned things about the lady Adelaide that are less flattering.’
    ‘There’s one last thing, my lord.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘You mentioned a man called Starculf.’
    ‘The lord sheriff is searching for him high and low.’
    ‘What did he tell you about the fellow?’
    ‘That he once served the lord Richard and was expelled from his estates.’
    ‘Do you know how Starculf came into his service in the first place?’
    ‘As a falconer.’
    ‘But who recommended him?’
    ‘I’ve no idea.’
    ‘The lady Adelaide,’ said the anchorite, softly. ‘That was the odd coincidence I referred to earlier. Starculf learned his skills on her estates. When her husband died, she offered the man to the lord Richard. It may just be that she had no need of a young falconer although, of course, he was soon promoted to a higher position.’
    ‘On the other hand,’ concluded Ralph, ‘she might have recommended the fellow to Richard de Fontenel for a purpose. To act as her intelligencer.’
    ‘Perhaps that’s why Starculf and Hermer fell out,’ suggested Coureton. ‘The steward realised that his assistant’s loyalties lay elsewhere.’
    ‘I don’t know about that, Eustace. What is obvious is that the lady Adelaide will bear closer examination. I’m keen to hear what Golde found out about her.’
    ‘Not as much as we’ve just done.’
    ‘No,’ said Ralph, turning to Vavasour. ‘Thank you, my friend. Our journey has been more than worthwhile. You’ve taught us what an elephant looks like and given us valuable insights about some of the people with whom we’re dealing.’ He gazed across the marshes to the rolling waves of the sea. ‘I never thought we’d harvest so much in this wilderness of yours.’
    The anchorite smiled. ‘It’s no wilderness, my lord.’
    ‘But you’re completely alone.’
    ‘I have the birds, I have my Bible and I have God. That’s company enough for any man.’ He held up his carvings. ‘I have these as well.’
    ‘We won’t disturb you any longer,’ said Coureton.
    ‘I’m very grateful that you came.’
    ‘We felt that you deserved to know what happened to your generous gift to the abbey. Having met you, we can see why you venerate those gold elephants.’
    ‘And now,’ said Ralph, ‘we’ll get on with the task of finding them.’
    ‘Wait, my lord,’ said the anchorite, holding up a hand.
    Jocelyn Vavasour was torn between the past and the present, reflecting on the person he once was and the strength he drew from the new life he had chosen to lead. He wrestled with his conscience for some time, searching the heavens for counsel. They could see the anguish in his face and the tension in his body. With great reluctance, he eventually came to a decision. He straightened his shoulders. After taking a nostalgic look around the marshes, he walked swiftly back to his hut.
    ‘Give me a few moments,’ he said. ‘I’m coming with you.’

Drogo the Steward was not entirely without compassion. When he recovered from the shock of finding Clamahoc in the middle of the copse, he carried the man back to his horse and led it slowly homeward, wondering what he might say to his master and speculating on how it would be received. The message was as vivid as the blood on the servant’s back. Clamahoc had been unmasked as a spy. Retribution had been severe. Richard de Fontenel had ensured that he would never tell tales of any kind again. When they reached the manor house, Drogo took his passenger around to the stables and propped him against some sheaves of hay. After reviving the wounded man with a cup of water, he washed away the blood from around his mouth. When he tried to clean the raw wounds on his back, however, he sent Clamahoc into convulsions. The howls of pain were heard by Mauger Livarot as he returned on horseback from his visit.
    Leaping down from the saddle, he came to the stables to investigate. ‘Who’s this?’ he demanded, looking down at the tortured figure.
    ‘Clamahoc, my lord,’ said his steward.
    ‘Your man in the lord Richard’s household?’
    ‘I fear that he’s been discovered.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘I’m not quite sure, my lord.’
    ‘Well, ask him!’ ordered Livarot.
    ‘He can’t tell us,’ said the steward. ‘His tongue was cut out.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘This is how I found him at the place where we arranged to meet. The truth was beaten out of him before he was silenced for ever. Look at the marks on his back, my lord. It’s a wonder that the poor fellow’s still alive.’
    ‘Why did you bring him here?’
    ‘He was our man, my lord.’
    ‘
Your
man, Drogo,’ corrected the other harshly. ‘He was never mine. And in that state, he’s no use to either of us.’
    ‘That’s not his fault.’
    ‘Of course it is. He was found out.’
    ‘Only after he’d given us good service.’
    ‘Horses and dogs give me good service,’ said Livarot with callous indifference, ‘but when they grow old or lame, I nevertheless have them put down at the earliest opportunity. I don’t carry burdens.’
    ‘Clamahoc is not exactly a burden.’
    ‘What else is he?’
    ‘Proof of the lord Richard’s brutality.’
    Livarot snorted. ‘As if we needed another example of that!’
    ‘We should report this to the lord sheriff and have the lord Richard arraigned.’
    ‘On what charge?’
    ‘Attempted murder.’
    ‘Talk sense, man,’ said the other, grabbing his steward to shake him. ‘No murder was attempted here or you’d have found a dead body awaiting you. If everyone who had a servant whipped was reported to Roger Bigot, half the landowners in the county would be held to account. The lord Richard did no more than I’d have done in his place.’
    ‘But he cut out the man’s tongue!’
    ‘Can you prove that?’ Livarot pointed at the servant. ‘Can he?’
    ‘It’s self-evident, my lord.’
    ‘All that’s evident to me is that this idiot let himself be caught and got his just deserts. Knowing his master, I’d say that Clamahoc got off lightly.’
    The servant groaned in agony on the ground. Drogo took pity on him. ‘He needs a doctor, my lord.’
    ‘Not at my expense!’
    ‘Those wounds need to be dressed.’
    ‘Don’t look to me for sympathy, Drogo. You may feel sorry for the wretch but he’s little short of a traitor to me. He betrayed us. Not only have we lost the advantage we had over the lord Richard, he’ll want his revenge. And there’ll be nobody to warn us when he’s coming next time.’ He kicked the servant hard and produced another cry of distress. ‘Get rid of him.’
    ‘Can’t he stay here until he recovers?’
    ‘No!’
    ‘But he’s in no fit state to travel.’
    ‘That’s not my problem,’ said Livarot coldly. ‘Get rid of him.’ After kicking the wounded man again, he marched out of the stable.

Anxious to hear their news, Gervase Bret was waiting for them in the bailey when they returned late that afternoon. Ralph Delchard and Eustace Coureton dismounted from their horses and removed their iron helms. Both were perspiring freely and their tunics were covered in dust. Their horses were led away by ostlers.
    ‘Well?’ asked Gervase. ‘Did you find Jocelyn Vavasour?’
    ‘Unfortunately, no,’ said Ralph.
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘What we found instead was Jocelyn the Anchorite. He’s turned his back on everything he stood for and vowed to pass a contemplative life among the birds. He lives in the remotest part of the marshes.’
    ‘I admire the man,’ said Coureton. ‘What he’s done shows rare courage.’
    ‘Courage or stupidity?’
    ‘A little of both, perhaps, but there’s a fine line to be drawn between the two. Be honest, Ralph. Both of us have done impulsive things in battle that were afterwards viewed as acts of bravery. Had they failed, we’d have been condemned for our stupidity.’
    ‘The lord Jocelyn’s case is surely different,’ said Gervase. ‘What he’s done is no sudden or impulsive move. He must have brooded on it for a long time.’
    ‘Months, by the sound of it, Gervase.’
    ‘Then he’s shown the courage of his convictions. There’s no folly involved. Did he seem unhappy or rueful?’
    ‘Quite the opposite. He was at ease with himself.’
    Ralph scratched an itch on his neck. ‘That’s more than I am,’ he complained. ‘This is no weather for a hauberk. I was almost roasted alive. Come with us, Gervase. I need to change. We’ll talk on the way.’
    The three of them walked in the direction of the keep, Gervase between his two colleagues. Holding back his own news, he poured out a steady stream of questions.
    ‘Was the journey worthwhile?’ he said.
    ‘Yes,’ said Ralph. ‘It opened our eyes.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘Jocelyn the Anchorite told us all sorts of interesting things.’
    ‘About whom?’
    ‘Almost everyone involved in this inquiry,’ said Coureton. ‘But principally about the lady Adelaide. She’s an intriguing woman.’
    ‘Alys and Golde discovered a few things about her themselves.’
    ‘I was hoping they would,’ said Ralph. ‘We must compare our findings.’
    ‘Was the lord Jocelyn upset to hear about the theft from the abbey?’ said Gervase.
    ‘Horrified, but glad to be made aware of the crime.’
    ‘I had a feeling that he might be.’
    ‘It was the one thing that could have got him out of there, Gervase.’
    ‘Out of where?’
    ‘His lonely hut in the marshes,’ explained Ralph, as they ascended the rough timber steps to the keep. ‘He wants to join in the hunt. He came with us.’
    ‘Then where is he?’
    ‘We dropped him off on the way back at the house of some friends.’
    ‘Yes,’ added Coureton. ‘We offered to wait for him but he insisted on travelling alone. He was hoping to borrow a horse from his friends.’
    ‘Only a horse?’
    ‘What do you mean, Gervase?’
    ‘Well, I know that he’s an anchorite who yearns for solitude, but it’s dangerous to ride alone through open country. Might he not also want to borrow some weapons?’