The Sanctuary Seeker (31 page)

‘Gervaise de Bonneville, come here,’ commanded the high-pitched voice of the prelate.

The figure slowly got to its feet, showing himself to the onlookers as a blond young man of average build.

He was dressed in a crumpled dark green surcoat that reached to his knees over a lighter green tunic and trousers. The lower part of his legs, gartered above stout shoes, was splattered with mud from his flight last night through the filthy lanes. He stood, but made no move to go forward, keeping a firm grip on the edge of the altar.

‘I said come here - and kneel at my feet,’ snapped the Bishop.

De Bonneville’s mouth opened and closed a few times indecisively. Then he said, “I claim sanctuary, your grace, so I am afraid to leave this holy altar.’

Henry Marshall showed his impatience. ‘You stupid boy, you have no need to cling to that table as if it were a raft in the ocean. The whole cathedral - indeed the whole Close - is included in our ancient mercy of sanctuary. You can go out and stroll in it just as safely, so come away from there!’

Only partially reassured, Gervaise let go of the altar-cloth and slowly walked across the few yards of flagstone towards the Bishop’s chair. He sank to his knees and bowed his head.

The prelate restrained himself from holding out his hand for his ring to be kissed - he had a politician’s wariness of siding with losers.

‘It saddens me to see you in this state,’ he said sonorously. “I was a friend of your father for most of my life. To hear within such a short time of his death, then the death of his eldest son and now your mortal predicament is almost too much for me to bear.’

John thought that in spite of his words the Bishop seemed to be bearing up quite well.

Then the Archdeacon took up the interview. ‘De Bonneville, you say you seek sanctuary, so do you confess your sins?’

Gervaise shook his head vehemently. ‘Of course not, Father. I am innocent. I am the victim of circumstance and conspiracy. My squire, Baldwyn of Beer, may have been a villain, though I can hardly believe it. But it is a foul conspiracy to claim that I am involved. You already have a culprit proven by the Ordeal, this Alan Fitzhai.’

His voice almost cracked with emotion. Then there was a long silence. The Bishop chewed his lip. Should he continue his previous ardent championship of de Bonneville with the risk of it all falling about his ears?

Or should he throw him to the wolves and wash his hands of the whole affair?

He decided to try a middle path, leaving his options open until the matter became clearer.

“I am not concerned with the secular authorities but whatever the eventual truth, I will defend to the death the inviolacy of sanctuary.’ He looked hard at the sheriff, the custodian of secular power in Exeter.

Everyone present still had the spectre of Thomas Becket’s murder hanging over them and bishops were always happy to rub the noses of royal servants in the memory of that epic breach of sanctuary only twenty-four years before.

He turned back to glare at de Bonneville. ‘As far as the Church is concerned, you have the set period of sanctuary allotted to you, without fear of violation. I will ensure that this is held sacrosanct. Whatever else you may arrange within that period is between you and the law officers.’

Gervaise, still on his knees, nodded vigorously.

Henry Marshall turned again to the coroner and the constable, who had moved to stand alongside de Revelle. ‘No one may dare take him from this place against his will. He must be given food and water but that is the responsibility of the city, not of the cathedral.’

The sheriff nodded. “I will inform the portreeves, your grace. They have that duty. In fact, they have also the duty to guard the fugitive against escape.

These are burdens for the city. But in this case I will detail a sergeant and men-at-arms from the garrison.

The constable will see to that.’

It seems that Richard is trying to run with both the hare and the hounds, thought John.

The mitre turned slightly to face Ralph Morin. ‘On the subject of such guards, I would remind you that the cathedral Close is not part of the city of Exeter. It is subject only to the rule of canon law and the King’s officers and the burgesses have no jurisdiction within these precincts.’

The constable stared stonily at the Bishop. It was obvious that he was going to be made the scapegoat in this, to avoid Henry levelling his criticisms directly at de Revelle.

‘Well, what have you to say? Your men are trampling all over my Close, in places where they have no right to be.’ He made it sound as if the soldiers’ boots were ruining exquisite lawns and gardens rather than a quaguire of grave-pits and rubbish.

For a moment, Gervaise’s face lightened with a flicker of hope; he wondered if the Bishop was trying to get the guards called off. This might give him a chance to escape.

But John entered the fray. His deep voice boomed from the back, ‘It is true, Bishop, that the ground of the cathedral Close is outwith the responsibility of the town but I would remind you that the roads and paths through it remain the property of the borough.

Men-at-arms are fully entitled to stand upon these roads, even if they should not venture on to the soil between them.’

Marshall swung round to identify the speaker and his face darkened when he saw that it was the coroner.

But John was secure in his facts and they could not be denied.

‘Very well, it may be so,’ the prelate conceded.

‘But I am still concerned that some heavy-footed, sword-happy man-at-arms might be tempted to violate the sanctuary I bestow upon this unfortunate soul.’

He decided to take the plunge and leaned forward to lay a hand on de Bonneville’s head muttering an almost inaudible blessing as he did so. Then, having decided that he had become far enough involved in this messy business, he rose from his chair and turned away from Gervaise without another word, leaving the man on his knees.

He moved at a dignified, slow pace towards the doorway, preceded by his cross-bearer and followed by most of his entourage.

Only de Revelle and the Archdeacon stayed behind with the constable, and the coroner and his men.

In spite of the Bishop’s assurances, the fugitive got to his feet and backed away again into his corner, pushing himself into the gap between the altar and the angle of the wall.

The sheriff advanced on his brother-in-law, his face twisted with rage. ‘See what troubles you’ve unleashed now, John!’ he snarled. ‘Why couldn’t you leave well alone? A couple of men dead - what’s that when we lose thousands each year in wars and pestilence?’

The coroner, two hands’ breadths taller than the other, glowered down into his face as they stood but a few inches apart.

De Revelle, as uneasy as the Bishop over the whole affair, advanced on de Bonneville, who, well aware of the previous partiality the sheriff had shown him, looked at him with tremulous hope.

“I have to ask you this straight away, Gervaise.

Will you surrender to me and face trial on these allegations?’

The heir to Peter Tavy shook his head. ‘I am innocent, Sir Richard. It must have been Baldwyn, acting without my knowledge.’

The sheriff looked even more unhappy than before.

‘Such matter will be explored at the trial. If you have false accusers, this will become apparent when you face your judges.’

‘How can I defend myself against false witnesses?’

asked Gervaise wildly.

De Revelle tugged at his pointed beard in agitation.

He wanted himself out of this place and this situation as soon as possible. “I have said, the court will discover the truth,’ he claimed with pious vagueness.

‘Will it be your county court or the burgess court?

Or will it be before the royal justices?’ persisted de Bonneville, with panic in his eyes.

This was a thorny problem and de Revelle was not going to commit himself with so many onlookers present. ‘That will have to be decided,’ he said stiffly.

‘The matter in hand is whether you will give yourself up to me now.’

Gervaise looked from one face to another. He saw frank hostility in Gwyn of Polruan and the coroner, distaste from the constable and evasive duplicity in the sheriff.

He backed away, hands out in front of him, as if fending off attack. Stumbling back to the altar, he shook his head vigorously. ‘No! I’ll not surrender to you! You’ll chain me - imprison me - torture me, then hang me, whatever I say.’ His voice rose to a shriek of fear that reverberated around the bare stone chamber.

De Revelle turned on his elegant heel and caught John by the arm. His face was white, but the coroner couldn’t decide whether it was from anger or anxiety.

‘Come out of earshot, through into the nave,’ he hissed, pulling John by the elbow.

They passed back through the arch and stood around the corner against the high, cold stone.

‘You are poised on a knife-edge, brother-in-law,’

snarled the sheriff. ‘The man Baldwyn was evil and treacherous - I admit I was wrong about him - but Gervaise de Bonneville! If it turns out, as I hope and expect, that he was merely an innocent trying to be faithful to his own retainer, then you are in deep trouble, Master Coroner!’

John’s long, saturnine face showed no trace of anxiety and he failed to tremble at the sheriff’s threats.

‘What are you going to do about it, dear Richard?’

he answered. ‘Perhaps you can ask your good friend Prince John to bring his influence to bear on Hubert Walter - or even our royal king himself, eh?’

The sheriff’s pallor was flushed with the a mottled ruddiness of true rage. ‘You’ve always got some cheap answer to divert truly serious advice, sir! Watch your back on dark nights in lonely streets, John. I’ll not want to see my sister a widow before her time.’

The coroner grinned, infuriating the sheriff even more. “I think last night showed that I can more than hold my own in lonely alleys at dead of night! I can still shove a broadsword through a murderous heart and I’d have saved you a hanging if the other knave hadn’t thrown down his weapon and run off like a jack-rabbit!’

Frustrated beyond endurance, de Revelle swung back into the archway and called, in a voice quivering with spite, ‘You have had your chance, de Bonneville!

Now settle the matter with the coroner here.’

He vanished, abdicating any further responsibility to his brother-in-law.

In which Crowner John takes confession Crowner John dragged the chair used by the Bishop nearer to the altar of the Holy Cross and sat down to parley with the fugitive. He had been up virtually all night and was feeling the strain of dodging chain maces and indulging in sword fights.

‘So you’ll not give yourself up to me or the sheriff?’

he began conversationally.

The man from Peter Tavy pressed back into his niche and shook his head again. ‘Never! I might as well hang myself now from that window.’ He gestured dramatically at the centre bar of a small opening above them.

‘Save us a lot of trouble and expense if you did,’

grunted Gwyn. ‘I’ll willingly supply you with a rope.’

John leaned forward to the man in the corner.

‘You’d better understand well the situation regarding sanctuary. You’ve managed to evade arrest by getting in here. The fact that you ran away and sought refuge will be damning evidence against you when the matter comes to trial - which, I assure you, will be before the King’s judges, not the sheriff’s court.’

De Bonneville seemed to recover some of his former defiance now that the sheriff and the episcopal contingent had left. ‘Don’t try to tell me that flight means guilt, Crowner! The level of justice in this land means that many an innocent man takes to his heels to escape false accusation.’

John wasn’t disposed to argue with him. ‘That’s as maybe, the court will decide that. In any event, you managed to reach sanctuary.’ He fixed the younger man with a steely eye, not concerned to hide his contempt for a killer and a coward. ‘Sanctuary gives you forty days’ respite in here, understand?’ Gervaise crouched transfixed, like a rat mesmerised by a snake.

‘At the end of that time, your food and water ceases, the place is sealed up and you either come out or you die in here.’ He stabbed a finger towards de Bonneville. ‘Anyone helping you after those forty days are up is himself liable for summary execution, so don’t expect any aid.’

Gwyn couldn’t resist adding a brick to the burden.

‘And if you come out after the forty days, anyone is entitled to slay you on the spot - preferably by beheading.’

‘Apart from the formality of a short inquest on the spot,’ added the coroner, anxious to maintain his stake in the process. ‘And my legal obligation to take the severed head to the castle gaol.’

John de Alecon, who as Archdeacon had a little more compassion than the two fighting men, threw a lifeline to the cringing Gervaise. ‘But there is an alternative, as the Crowner will no doubt tell you.’

John settled back in the chair, his black-clad arms folded across his chest. With some reluctance, he spelled out the way in which Gervaise could evade justice, if he so wished. ‘You can abjure the realm of England, leaving these shores never to return during the reign of King Richard. You will forfeit all your property, even down to the clothing you now wear.’

The Archdeacon chipped in again. ‘Of course, your inheritance of Peter Tavy will be lost to you. If you had already been confirmed in it by the King, then the honour would have been forfeit to the Crown.’

His lean, ascetic face was as earnest as that of a schoolmaster instilling lessons into his pupils. ‘As it is, you cannot in natural justice benefit materially from the fruits of murder, so it was not yours in the first place.’

De Alecon has a good grip on secular as well as canon law, John thought.

‘But as you are not so confirmed, then I presume that Martyn will become the new lord of Peter Taw, as long as he can keep his cousins at arm’s length.

But that is no concern of ours.’

Gervaise had listened to all this with mixed emotions.

The catalogue of his lost possessions, even down to his undershirt, was offset by the prospect of not swinging from a gibbet. Of course, he knew of the principle of abjuration of the realm but, like most folk, had never before needed to go into the details.