‘The priest?’ Eudo asked.
‘He must have changed the letter.’ It was not difficult: all it needed was for the original ink to be scraped away with a knife, which if done well meant that the parchment could then be used afresh. I had sometimes watched Brother Raimond doing it in the scriptorium, when I had been growing up in the monastery. More difficult would have been forging Malet’s writing well enough to trick Eadgyth, and yet I did not doubt that the chaplain could have done it, for who else would be more familiar with the vicomte’s hand?
‘No,’ Malet said, shaking his head. ‘It is not possible. I know ?lfwold. He has given me and my family many years of loyal service. He would never do such a thing.’
‘There is no one else it could be, lord,’ I said. I felt almost sorry for him, discovering that someone whom he had trusted so closely, and for so long, could have deceived him thus. But I knew that this time I was right.
Malet turned away from us, towards the hearth, his fists clenched so tight I could see the whites of his knuckles. I had not known him to lose his temper before, but he did so now as he swore, over and over and over, before burying his face in his palms.
‘Do you realise what this means?’ he said. ‘It means that he knows. ?lfwold knows where Harold’s body lies.’
‘But what good will that do him?’ Wace asked.
‘It depends what he means to do,’ Malet replied. ‘He wouldn’t have acted without some purpose in mind, of that I’m sure.’
Silence filled the chamber. I thought back to that night we had burst in on ?lfwold, trying to remember what he had told us. There was only one reason that I could think of why the priest would do this.
‘He means to take Harold’s relics for himself,’ I said. ‘To establish them elsewhere and make him a saint, a martyr to the English.’
‘To start a rebellion of his own,’ Malet said, so softly it was almost a whisper. He stared at me, as if he did not believe it could be true. But I did not see that there was any other explanation.
‘How long ago did you leave Lundene?’ Malet asked.
I counted back in my mind. We had spent four days riding to catch the king’s army, and another six on the march before the attack on Eoferwic. ‘Ten days,’ I said.
‘Then that is ten days in which he could already have carried out his plan.’ He spoke quietly, his face reddening. ‘If you’re right and ?lfwold succeeds, this will be the ruin of me. He must be stopped.’
Not only the ruin of Malet, I thought, but of everything we had fought for since first we had sailed from Normandy more than two years before. For there were many among the English who had no love for Eadgar ?theling and yet would march in Harold’s name: men who if called upon would not hesitate in fighting under his old banner. If we let ?lfwold get away, it would not be long before the whole kingdom from Wessex to Northumbria was rising: before in every village men laid down their hoes, left their ploughs and their oxen to march against us; before halls and castles and towns were put to the torch, just as at Dunholm; before Normans in their hundreds were slaughtered across the land.
‘How do we stop him?’ I asked the vicomte. In ten days the priest could already have travelled far. So far that we might never find him, I realised with sinking heart.
The vicomte began to pace about. ‘Have you heard of a place called Waltham?’
‘Waltham?’ I repeated. The name was not familiar. ‘No, lord.’
‘It lies half a day to the north of Lundene, not far from the Roman road,’ Malet said. ‘There is a minster church there – Harold’s own foundation. That is where I had him buried; that is where ?lfwold will have gone. I want the three of you to ride there as swiftly as you are able. If he is still there, you must apprehend him and bring him to me. I will give you the fastest horses from my stables. Ride them to exhaustion if you have to; exchange them for fresh animals when you can, or else purchase new ones. The cost is not important. Do you still have the silver I gave you?’
‘Some, yes.’ The coin-pouch lay back at the camp, along with our packs and our tents and all the rest of our belongings.
‘I will give you more,’ Malet said. ‘Do you understand what I am asking?’
‘Yes, lord,’ I replied.
‘Then there is not a moment we can lose,’ Malet said. ‘I am relying on you all.’
Thirty-seven