Yves had chosen his time. He waited until Roger de Clinton, scanning the ranks which had fallen silent, rose to declare an end to this first hearing, relieved, perhaps even encouraged, that it had passed without apparent rancour. Yves’ voice rose suddenly but quietly, with deferential mildness; he had himself well in hand this time. Cadfael shifted his position vainly to try and get a glimpse of him, and clasped his hands in a fervent prayer that this calm should survive.
“My lords, your Grace…”
The bishop gave way courteously and let him speak.
“My lords, if I may raise a point, in all humility…”
The last quality the young and impetuous should lay claim to, but at least he was trying.
“There are some outstanding minor matters which might tend to reconciliation, if they could be cleared up now. Even agreement on a detail must surely tend to agreement on greater things. There are prisoners held on both sides. While we are at truce for this good purpose would it not be just and right to declare a general release?”
A murmur arose from partisans of both factions, and grew into a growl. No, neither of them would concede that, to put back into the opposing ranks good fighting men at present disarmed and out of the reckoning. The empress swept the idea aside with a gesture of her hand. “These are matters to be dealt with in the terms of peace,” she said, “not priorities.”
The king, for once in agreement upon not agreeing, said firmly: “We are here first to come to terms upon the main issue. This is a matter to be discussed and negotiated afterwards.”
“My lord bishop,” said Yves, fixing sensibly upon the one ally upon whom he could rely in considering the plight of captives, “if such an exchange must be deferred, at least may I ask for information concerning certain knights and squires made prisoner at Faringdon this past summer. There are some among them held by unnamed captors. Should not their friends and kin, who wish to ransom them, at least be provided that opportunity?”
“If they are held for gain,” said the bishop, with a slight edge of distaste in his voice, “surely the holder will be the first to offer them for his profit. Do you say this has not been done?”
“Not in all cases, my lord. I think,” said Yves clearly, “that some are held not for gain but for hate, in personal revenge for some real or imagined offence. There are many private feuds bred out of faction.”
The king shifted in his chair impatiently, and repeated loudly: “With private feuds we are not concerned. This is irrelevant here. What is one man’s fate beside the fate of the realm?”
“Every man’s fate is the fate of the realm,” cried Yves boldly. “If injustice is done to one, it is one too many. The injury is to all, and the whole realm suffers.”
Over the growing hubbub of many voices busily crying one another down, the bishop raised authoritative hands. “Silence! Whether this is the time and place or no, this young man speaks truth. A fair law should apply to all.” And to Yves, standing his ground apprehensive but determined: “You have, I think, a particular case in mind. One of those made prisoner after Faringdon fell.”
“Yes, my lord. And held in secret. No ransom has been asked, nor do his friends, or my uncle, his lord, know where to enquire for his price. If his Grace would but tell me who holds him…”
“I did not parcel out my prisoners under my own seal,” blared the king, growing louder and more restive, but as much because he wanted his dinner, Cadfael judged, as because he had any real interest in what was delaying him. It was characteristic of him that, having gained a large number of valuable prizes, he should throw the lot of them to his acquisitive supporters and walk away from the bargaining, leaving them to bicker over the distribution of the booty. “I knew few of them, and remember no names. I left them to my castellan to hand out fairly.”
Yves took that up eagerly, before the point could be lost. “Your Grace, your castellan of Faringdon is here present. Be so generous as to let him give me an answer.” And he launched the question before it could be forbidden. “Where is Olivier de Bretagne, and in whose keeping?”
He had kept his voice deliberate and cool, but he hurled the name like a lance for all that, and not at the king, but clean across the open space that divided the factions, into the face of de Soulis. Stephen’s tolerance he needed if he was to get an answer. Stephen could command where no one else could do more than request.
And Stephen’s patience was wearing thin, not so much with the persistent squire as with the whole process of this overlong session.
“It is a reasonable request,” said the bishop, with the sharp edge still on his voice.
“In the name of God,” agreed the king explosively, “tell the fellow what he wants to know, and let us be done with the matter.”
The voice of de Soulis rose in smooth and prompt obedience, from among the king’s unseen minor ranks, well out of Cadfael’s sight, and so modestly retired from prominence that it sounded distant. “Your Grace, I would willingly, if I knew the answer. At Faringdon I made no claim for myself, but withdrew from the council and left it to the knights of the garrison. Those of them who returned to your Grace’s allegiance, of course,” he said with acid sweetness. “I never enquired as to their decisions, and apart from such as have already been offered for ransom and duly redeemed, I have no knowledge of the whereabouts of any. The clerks may have drawn up a list. If so, I have never asked to see it.”
Long before he ended, the deliberate sting against those of the Faringdon garrison who had remained true to their salt had already raised an ominous growl of rage among the empress’s followers, and a ripple of movement along the ranks, that suggested swords might have been half out of scabbards if they had not been forbidden within the hall. Yves’ raised voice striking back in controlled but passionate anger roused a counter roar from the king’s adherents. “He lies, your Grace! He was there every moment, he ordered all. He lies in his teeth!”
Another moment, and there would have been battle, even without weapons, barring the common man’s weapons of fists, feet and teeth. But the Bishop of Winchester had risen in indignant majesty to second Roger de Clinton’s thunderous demand for order and silence, king and empress were both on their feet and flashing menacing lightnings, and the mounting hubbub subsided gradually, though the acrid smell of anger and hatred lingered in the quivering air.
“Let us adjourn this session,” said Bishop de Clinton grimly, when the silence and stillness had held good for uneasy and shaming minutes, “without further hot words that have no place here. We will meet again after noon, and I charge you all that you come in better and more Christian condition, and further, that after that meeting, whatever it brings, you who truly mean in the heart what your mouths have uttered, that you seek peace here, shall attend at Vespers, unarmed, in goodwill to all, in enmity towards none, to pray for that peace.”
Chapter Four.
HE IS LYING,” repeated Yves, still flushed and scowling over the priory’s frugal board, but eating like a hungry boy nevertheless. “He never left that council for a moment. Can you conceive of him forgoing any prize for himself, or being content with less than the best? He knows very well who has Olivier in hold. But if Stephen cannot force him to speak out, or will not!, how can any other man get at him?”
“Even a liar,” reflected Hugh judicially, “for I grant you he probably is that!, may tell truth now and again. For I tell you this, there seem to be very few, if any, who do know what happened to Oliver. I’ve been probing where I could, but with no success, and I daresay Cadfael has been keeping his ears open among the brothers. Better, I do believe the bishop will be making his own enquiries, having heard what he heard from you this morning.”
“If I were you,” said Cadfael, profoundly pondering, “I would keep the matter out of the chapter-house. It’s certain king and empress will have to declare themselves, and neither will relish being pestered to go straying after the fate of one squire, when their own fortunes are in the balance. Go round about, if there are any others here who were in Faringdon. And I will speak to the prior. Even monastic ears can pick up whatever rumours are passed around, as fast as any, and all the better for being silent themselves.”