At the far end a bald, round-faced man stood behind a lectern, with a thick-bound gospel book set upon it, its leaves open. His cheeks were ruddy, and his ears stuck out from the side of his head, and for some reason I thought he looked familiar, though I could not place him exactly.
He had stopped reading and his mouth hung agape. Another twelve canons, all of them dressed in black robes, sat upon wooden benches around the edge of the room. All looked up; a couple of them rose and were quickly seated again when they saw our mail and the scabbards swinging from our belts.
‘Dean Wulfwin?’ I asked.
‘I-I am Wulfwin,’ the man at the end said, his voice trembling as he stepped back from the gospel book. ‘Who are you? What is going on?’
And suddenly I remembered where I knew him from. He was the priest I had seen in Lundene, that night I had been attacked – so long ago, it seemed, that until this moment it had all but faded from my mind. The bald head, the red cheeks, the prominent ears: it all came back to me now, as clear as if I were standing there still.
Which meant that the one he had been speaking with had to have been ?lfwold. Nothing else made sense; it was too much of a coincidence otherwise. I saw now how stupid I had been. If I had but trusted my own eyes, rather than let myself be tricked by him, then we might have saved ourselves all this trouble. But of course I hadn’t known then everything we did now about Eadgyth and Harold. I only hoped that it was not too late to make amends.
I stared at the dean. ‘You,’ I said. ‘You were in Lundene four weeks ago.’
Perhaps he was too afraid, or perhaps he simply had no answer to that, for he did not speak.
I advanced across the tiled floor towards him. ‘Do you deny it?’
‘H-h-how …’ Wulfwin began, faltering over his words as he stepped away. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I saw you by St Eadmund’s church. You were speaking with the priest ?lfwold, conspiring with him against the vicomte of Eoferwic, Guillaume Malet, and against the king.’
A murmur rose up amongst the assembled canons, who until then had been silent, and out of the corner of my eye I saw them exchanging glances with one another. They did not concern me; I was interested only in finding the truth.
‘No,’ the dean said as he backed against the wall. ‘It’s not true. I would n-never speak against the king, I swear!’
‘The dean is a loyal servant of King Guillaume,’ another of the canons spoke up. ‘You have no right to come in here and address him in this way, to accuse him of such things.’
I turned to the one who had spoken: a wiry man not much older than myself. He shrank back under my stare. ‘We won’t leave until we have the answers we’re looking for,’ I said, and then to the rest of them: ‘Go. We will speak with the dean alone.’
He glanced at me, then at Eudo and Wace, whose hands rested upon their sword-hilts in warning.
‘Go, ?thelric,’ Wulfwin said. ‘The Lord will protect me.’
The man called ?thelric hesitated, but at last his better judgement prevailed and he signalled to the rest of the canons. I watched as they filed out of the chamber. Wace closed the doors after the last had left and then set the bar across. I thought it unlikely that any of them would try to disturb us, especially since they knew we all carried swords, but I did not like to have to resort to such threats if I could help it.
Throughout all of this the dean had not moved, as if his feet had somehow taken root where he stood. He watched me with wide eyes as I marched up to him.
‘Tell me, then,’ I said. ‘If you weren’t conspiring, what were you doing?’
‘I w-was only receiving the instructions that Malet had sent me, through his chaplain, ?lfwold. He wanted Harold’s relics removed to another place of his choosing.’
‘He wanted them moved?’ Eudo asked, but I waved him quiet. I would take care of this.
‘P-please,’ the dean said. ‘I have merely been doing as the vicomte asked. I swear I have done nothing wrong.’
‘Where is the usurper’s body now?’ I said. ‘Is it still here?’
Wulfwin shook his head. ‘They took it. The chaplain and two of Malet’s knights came for it last night. I had to arrange for the high altar to be moved, the church floor to be pulled up. The coffin was buried beneath it—’
‘Wait,’ I said, as a memory long buried came suddenly to mind. ‘These two knights. Describe them to me.’
A look of bewilderment crossed his face. ‘Describe them?’
‘We don’t have time for this, Tancred,’ Wace said. ‘What does it matter what they looked like?’
The dean glanced at him, then back at me, uncertain what to do. I glared at Wace. We had been on the road for four days; I had not slept properly since before the battle, and I was not prepared to stand here arguing while ?lfwold put ever more miles between us and him.
‘Think,’ I told Wulfwin. ‘What did they look like?’