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affability could put the guests at their ease. Apart from the three commissioners and the two attendant wives, over a dozen others had been invited to dine at the sheriff’s table and they had been chosen with care. Both Richard de Fontenel and Mauger Livarot had been passed over because they were implicated in one of the disputes that Ralph Delchard and his colleagues had come to settle and they would, in any case, be fractious guests if forced to take part in a feast together. Others who might try to curry favour with the commissioners because they, too, would appear before them at the shire hall in due course were also excluded from the guest list.
    Those who remained were Norman barons of some standing in the county, outwardly eager to hear of affairs in Winchester, the nation’s capital, yet inwardly suspicious of royal agents whose remit included the imposition of taxes. The men were cautious, their wives largely subdued. Nobody dared to offend the commissioners. Sporadic laughter echoed along the hall but it often had a hollow ring to it. Eustace Coureton took more pleasure from the evening than most, talking volubly to those around him and seizing the opportunity to learn as much as he could about the county to which they had been sent. The discovery of a murder victim did not diminish his appetite in the least. He set about his food with a gusto worthy of Canon Hubert and visibly lifted the jaded spirits of his neighbours with his military anecdotes.
    Gervase Bret looked at his colleague with envy, wishing that he had Coureton’s ability to put an horrific event aside in the interests of social decorum. Memories of his visit to the empty house inhibited Gervase. He ate little, drank sparingly and spent most of the time keeping a worried eye on his wife who, dismayed at the tidings, had lost what appetite she possessed and merely picked at her food out of politeness. Gervase regretted having told her about the crime but it was not something he could easily keep from her and he preferred to give his own carefully doctored version of events before she heard the details from anyone else. Though unable to savour the banquet, Alys nevertheless slowly came to take some enjoyment from it, feeling increasingly relaxed in the company of strangers and shooting her husband affectionate glances whenever she felt a surge of pride. The banquet was, after all, being held partly in his honour and that gave her an associated status. Alys warmed to the new sensation of importance.
    She was not able to match Golde’s aplomb. Seated beside the sheriff, Golde held her own as if born to the situation, speaking to him in his native tongue with a fluency schooled by her husband. She was lively, attentive and well informed. Roger Bigot and his wife were entertained by her comments and struck by her strong opinions on all manner of subjects. Ralph Delchard did not need to support her in any way. Golde’s ability to sustain an intelligent conversation liberated him to pay attention to the guest on his immediate right. Apart from being one of the most attractive women in the room, the lady Adelaide was a central figure in the feud between the two most prominent Norman lords in the vicinity. Ralph attempted some gentle probing.
    ‘You were married to Geoffrey Molyneux, I believe,’ he said.
    ‘Yes, my lord,’ she replied softly. ‘Happily married for several years.’
    ‘His family lived not far from Lisieux.’
    ‘You knew them?’
    ‘Only as distant neighbours. I grew up on the other side of Lisieux and inherited my father’s estates when he died. Had I gone back to Normandy, I might well have met your husband, but there was a huge obstacle to overcome.’
    ‘Obstacle?’
    ‘Yes, my lady,’ said Ralph, grimacing. ‘The English Channel.’
    She gave a brittle laugh. ‘You’re no sailor, I take it.’
    ‘The sea terrifies me. I’m a soldier. I