Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [257]
“Are you sure he should be accused?” Godefroi demanded.
But if the agister had any imagination, it seemed that he was determined not to use it.
“The terms of the law are clear,” he said and once again gave him the same blank stare and fixed smile.
That evening the knight told Nicholas regretfully:
“I don’t hold out much hope, Masoun.” But he did not give up.
The month that followed was a bleak period.
Poor Godric could scarcely have chosen a worse time to fall foul of the forest laws. The swanimote was due to take place at Martinmas, the eleventh day of November, and it had been decided to hold the court of attachment immediately after it. There was less than a month to go. After that, unless it could be prevented, he would go before the justices. The court of the Forest Eyre visited Wilton usually only once in three years: but as ill luck would have it, it was due to sit there at the end of that November and, as Godefroi soon discovered, the forest officers were on the lookout for offenders.
“They expect a few you know, otherwise they say we’re getting slack,” one of the knights who inspected the forest told him.
Nonetheless, Godefroi did what he could, not only because he believed the young man was probably innocent, but because he was a useful worker and nephew of the stoneworker for whom he had a warm regard. He spoke at length to Waleran the warden, who oversaw the forest all the way down to the coast, and who would run the court of attachment. He spoke to the foresters and the knights of the court, and at his request, several of them had interviewed the boy. By the end of October there was considerable sympathy for his case. But as Waleran warned him:
“I’d take a lenient view; but if the agister insists that he took him bloody-handed, there’s very little option: he’ll have to go to the Forest Eyre.”
“And then?”
Waleran waved the question away. They both knew what would happen then.
Twice he saw Le Portier, but the agister would not budge.
The news from beyond Sarum was bad as well. It was obvious that the country was drifting further into anarchy every day. Despite Stephen’s success with the bishops the rebel forces were increasing their hold on the west. They took Malmesbury. Wallingford near Oxford was staunchly held for them. Soon other strongholds, including nearby Trowbridge, were in their hands. As usual, Stephen raced from one trouble spot to another, always active, but accomplishing nothing. As November began, rumours reached the knight that the important Midland towns of Worcester and Hereford were about to fall to them too.
“Before Christmas,” he remarked to John of Shockley, “the whole west side of England will be theirs.”
He thanked God that his wife and children were safely in London.
For the farmer had done his work well, installing them safely there and, though he had both his farm and his troubles with the tanner to think of, refusing to leave for a month until he had satisfied himself that they were being well cared for by his relations. Godefroi was grateful; but when he asked the Saxon what he could do for him in return, John only laughed cheerfully and replied:
“You could slay William atte Brigge for me, my lord.”
It could not be long, he thought, before the warfare reached Sarisberie; but so far everything there was quiet. A small group of the king’s men held the garrison; and if William of Sarisberie, or the Giffards, or the other magnates were plotting treason, they had not yet shown their hand. As for Bishop Roger, he had hardly been seen since his return, and there were rumours that he was sick with a quartan fever. It seemed to Godefroi that the whole area lay under a cloud.
His own gloom was made deeper when, in early November, he saw the girl Mary. She was standing in the street at Avonsford as he was riding through one evening, and though her head was lowered in respect, he was aware of her squinting up at him as he passed. He paused to say a word to her, but after he told her that perhaps the young man might escape with his life, she only