Nicolaa rose from her chair and walked slowly to where Melisande sat. Her short, plump figure seemed dowdily dressed beside the rich finery of the other woman, but her stance, and the calmness of her face beneath the plain white coif, would have given any observer not familiar with her status no doubt that she had authority, and knew how to use it.
“It has come to my notice that there is more infringement, as you call it, in the forest than is at first apparent,” she said.
Melisande’s head came up. She regarded the castellan with an intense stare. “What do you mean, lady?” she asked.
“I mean, Mistress Fleming, that serious crimes have been discovered. Crimes committed against the very warrant that you are sworn to uphold.”
Melisande stood, placing her wine cup on the settle as she did so. “Are you accusing me of dereliction in carrying out the duties of my office, Lady Nicolaa? If so, I would know the charges, and then will answer for them to the chief justice at the forest eyre court, not to you.”
“Sit down, mistress,” Nicolaa commanded abruptly. “You will listen to me, and listen well. If you do not, you will be taken back to Lincoln and held confined until the king arrives. On the authority of my husband, the sheriff.” To reinforce her threat, Nicolaa withdrew from the pouch at her belt a small rolled parchment, from which a seal dangled. On it, the imprint of the Camville emblem of two lions passant could clearly be seen.
Shocked by the sight of the warrant, Melisande did as she was bid, reseating herself unsteadily on the settle. Nicolaa turned away and walked back to her chair. There she turned, and said, “My bailiff has conferred with the regarder for the royal chase over which you hold your post as chief forester. Also, an inspection has been made of the statement of revenues for the area. It would appear that these incomes have not been truthfully reported.”
“I have no knowledge of such-” Melisande began.
“Be quiet, mistress, and do as my mother has bid you. Listen.” Richard’s words cut effectively through what she had been about to say and, with an effort, Melisande swallowed her protest.
“As I said, Mistress Fleming,” Nicolaa continued, “the statement of revenues-which you submitted-is not a true one. For example, they do not include the income from the deforestation of two fine stands of oak, the timber from which was sold, purportedly on behalf of the king. It also seems the fees collected for pasture and pannage have been grossly understated, as have those the peasants pay for the right of estover so they can gather wood.” Nicolaa sat down in her chair and motioned for a servant to refill her wine cup before she continued. “How do you explain these irregularities, mistress?”
Melisande’s face was ashen. Her hands, of which she was so vain, were clenched together with such intensity that the knuckles were like raw red spots against the whiteness of the tendons. She made no response.
“You cannot, can you?” Nicolaa said quietly. “Yet you are pledged to preserve the rights of the king in the venison and vert of his forest, not abuse them.”
Nicolaa made a signal to Ernulf and the men-at-arms came to stand beside Copley and the other woodsmen in Melisande’s employ, all of whom had begun to shuffle uncomfortably towards the door.
“Well, mistress?” Nicolaa prompted. “Have you no answer to these charges?”
Melisande sat silent, only the shaking of her head in a small tight gesture indicated that she had heard.
“There is another matter, as well, Mistress Fleming,” Richard Camville said. Slowly Melisande looked up, eyes glazed with fear.
“What is that, my lord?” she asked in a voice hardly louder than a whisper.
“The death of my uncle’s squire, Hubert de Tournay.”
“No!” The denial shot from Melisande’s mouth with vehemence. “Of that I know nothing, I swear. Why would I have had any hand in his death? I did not even know of his existence until the townspeople began talking of his murder.”
Richard’s response was quick and harsh. “It is believed he was killed by outlaws, poachers in my father’s chase. And you, mistress, have consort with outlaws, do you not?”
Melisande’s face, through her fear, began to blaze with anger. “I know nothing of these matters. Nor do I have brigands in my household.”
“Not in your household, perhaps,” Nicolaa said, “but most certainly on the roll of those you pay to assist you in committing your crimes against the crown.”
“It is a lie,” Melisande burst out. “I tell you, I know nothing of this.”
Richard spoke quietly into the widow’s outburst. “It seems strange that you do not, when your agister most certainly does.”
He looked expectantly at Copley, who was visibly trembling. “You have an arrangement with the outlaws in Sherwood, don’t you, Copley? For a few of the king’s deer you trade with brigands for loot they gain from preying on honest travellers through the forest. And Hubert de Tournay found out about your arrangements, didn’t he? He was an unlikeable little turd, but he had a gift for ferreting out secrets. And he found out yours and threatened to report you unless you gave him what he wanted. What did he ask for-one of the village girls for his bed, perhaps, or maybe a piece of jewellery from your mistress’s wares?”
Copley was shaking his head violently from side to side in negation as Richard relentlessly continued, “But you couldn’t take the chance that the squire would betray you, so you killed him. You are often in the forest; it would be an easy matter for you to lure Hubert there by the promise of payment for his demands and then, with the help of a couple of your outlaw cohorts, take him by surprise and string him up from the oak. But you didn’t expect there would be such a hue and cry after the murderer, did you? Or that the Templar would be set on your trail. When Sir Bascot started to come too close to the truth of the matter you decided a scapegoat was needed, so you provided us with one-Fulcher.”
Richard leaned forward now, his resemblance to his father apparent as anger hardened his jaw. “You are the confidant of brigands, Copley. We have witnesses to that fact. It was a simple matter to get one of his own kind to betray Fulcher, and that is how you came to be so fortuitously on hand to capture him. And why you brought him so joyfully to my father-so that we would be led away from discovering the identity of the real murderer of Hubert de Tournay-and that murderer is you, Copley.”
The agister’s face was ashen by the time Richard Camville had finished speaking. Falling to his knees before the sheriff’s son, he sobbed as he proclaimed his innocence. “No, no, my lord, I swear by all that is holy that I had nothing to do with the death of the squire,” he said earnestly. “As God is my witness, Sir Richard, I am innocent of murder.”
Nicolaa rose from her chair, her gaze flicking with disgust over the man cowering at her son’s feet and the stricken expression on the face of Melisande. She called to Ernulf. “Take Mistress Fleming and her deputy to Lincoln. And their bowmen as well. Tostig will aid in the escort with our own woodsmen.”
On a small slope at the bottom of the hill on which Lincoln castle stood, Bascot met with the three villagers. “You are clear in what you are to do?” he asked. “Remember that your own reprieve from punishment depends on carrying this task out well.”
“Yes, my lord, we know. We will do it,” Bettina replied and looked to her uncle and cousin. They nodded in turn.
“Then follow me into the bail and we will wait there,” Bascot said.
When Nicolaa and Richard arrived at the castle gate with their prisoners firmly under guard, the bailey was crowded. The news of the arrest of the chief forester and her deputy had flown ahead like wildfire and not only were Gerard Camville and his brother on hand to meet them with their retinues, but most of the castle staff as well, while Richard de Humez and his daughter, Alinor, surveyed the scene from the steps that led up to the new keep. A little distance into the crowd was Joanna Fleming, brought to the castle ward just moments before by Roget, who, following Nicolaa de la Haye’s direction, had not only escorted her from her home, but was keeping her under close surveillance. She watched the little cavalcade enter the bail with anxious eyes, glancing up at the mercenary captain from time to time with fear on her face. Bascot, clad in mail and his Templar surcoat, waited a small distance from the gate, ensuring that he could keep Gianni, safe in the shelter of the door to the barracks, within his view.
