The Lions of the North d-4

by Edward Marston

  Three of us vote in favour of this plan to expedite matters, and Brother Simon, I am sure, will also see its essential wisdom.”

  “Indeed I do, my lord,” said Simon, before quailing under a glare from Hubert and qualifying his comment. “Not that my opinion has any value here. I am but the humble scribe.”

  Ralph smiled. “That still leaves three to one, Hubert.”

  The canon squirmed visibly for a few minutes. He hated the feeling of being outmanoeuvred and of suffering even the most miniscule loss of authority. Unable to prevent the new dispensation, he was nevertheless determined to haggle over its constituent elements.

  “So be it, my lord,” he said. “Gervase is our lawyer and I am the most skillful interrogator. It is thus appropriate for he and I to form the senior of the two teams and grapple with the intricate cases.

  You and my lord Tanchelm will, I am sure, be capable of dispensing justice where the more trifling issues are at stake.”

  Ralph glowered at the bland insult and framed a barbed reply but it was Gervase who answered for him.

  “That may not be the best deployment of our strengths.”

  “Then what is?” challenged Hubert.

  “The most powerful advocate should sit with the least experienced,”

  said Gervase persuasively. “If you and my lord Tanchelm join forces, he may follow where you lead.”

  “Sound reasoning,” observed Tanchelm.

  “Brother Simon would naturally act as your scribe,” continued Gervase, indicating the monk, “giving you another seasoned mind at your beck and call.”

  Touched by a rare compliment, Simon acknowledged it with a little nod and positively glowed with satisfaction. Canon Hubert, meanwhile, was scrutinising the partnership that was being offered to him.

  Tanchelm’s lack of experience was a severe handicap but it did have one major benefit. Much more responsibility would be shifted to Hubert’s shoulders, ensuring virtual control of events. He would lose Gervase’s legal expertise but he felt that his own thorough grounding in canon law would compensate for that loss, and at least he would not be sitting alongside the combative Ralph Delchard. Tanchelm of Ghent might turn out to be the ideal colleague.

  “It is settled,” Hubert decided at length. “We will handle all matters of consequence while you, my lord, offer judgement on cases too trivial to tax your limited abilities.”

  “My abilities are not limited!” retorted Ralph.

  “They are best suited to the more undemanding cases.”

  “Those are your province, Canon Hubert. It would be unfair to my lord Tanchelm to expose him to the full rigour of legal debate when he has only just been recruited to our cause.”

  “I endorse that wholeheartedly,” said Tanchelm. “I am not proud. I do not insist on sounding the deeper waters. Put me on the side of simplicity. It is where I belong.”

  “But not where I belong!” insisted Hubert.

  The argument continued for the best part of an hour before the canon finally gave way to the weight of numbers. As a concession to him, Ralph allowed them to have the use of the shire hall while he and Gervase operated in the adjacent premises. Application would be made to the archbishop for someone who could act as scribe during the proceedings conducted by the two friends. The reeve was brought in and given separate lists of witnesses to be summoned for the following day. When the debate finally broke up, considerable progress had been made.

  Canon Hubert departed in a huff towards the minster with Brother Simon padding at his heels and savouring the remark about his seasoned mind. Tanchelm of Ghent elected to explore the city while he had the opportunity, leaving Ralph and Gervase to ride back to the castle alone. Their horses picked their way through the milling crowd.

  “I do not like him,” opined Ralph.

  “You and Canon Hubert will never be soulmates, I fear.”

  “I talk of Tanchelm, that devious Fleming.”

  “I do not find him devious,” said Gervase in surprise. “He is the most open and straightforward of men. He has been nothing but a source of help since he joined us.”

  “That is my main strike against him, Gervase. The fellow is too helpful. Too ready to defer to us. Too damned obliging.”

  “I’d call that a virtue rather than a vice.”

  “So would I with anyone else but this Tanchelm of Ghent.…” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Somehow I cannot bring myself to trust him.”

  “Why not?”

  “I do not know. It is just a feeling I have.”

  “Are you sure?” said Gervase, fishing politely. “Could it not be just a case of pique?”

  “Pique?”

  “You were very annoyed last night when my lord Tanchelm tried to stop you from riding off in pursuit of those outlaws. He was not obliging then.”

  “No, Gervase. He was an infernal nuisance.”

  “Who made a sensible point. It was a wild-goose chase.”

  “It need not have been if Tanchelm had not delayed me for those vital moments. We might have caught the rogues.”

  Gervase was sceptical. “Might you?”

  “No,” said Ralph after a considered pause. “We might not. It was an impulsive act. We were chasing moonbeams. Tanchelm gave wise counsel.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Perhaps I am mistaken about him. You like him. So does Golde. So does Aubrey, though he is something of a friend to all the world. And even Canon Hubert has been won over by our Fleming. Maybe that is the objection I have.

  Tanchelm of Ghent is not a fellow Norman.”

  “Nor am I,” reminded Gervase.

  A hearty laugh. “You? You are just a mongrel.”

  “My father was a Breton, my mother a Saxon.”

  “A mongrel of mongrels!”

  “Do not let Golde hear you. She might take offence.”

  “Justly so,” said Ralph with a fond smile. “Golde has taught me to show more respect towards Saxons. She is a good influence on me, Gervase. I have learned tolerance. Henceforth, I’ll pour no mockery on your dear mother.”

  “That would be appreciated.”

  “I’ll save my contempt for your father.”

  Gervase laughed. “Bretons are used to being undervalued by their neighbours in Normandy. But I ask you this. What hope would you have had at Hastings without an army of Bretons to help you? Not to mention the Flemings. My father was a mercenary in the pay of the Duke-so was Tanchelm of Ghent.”

  “I had forgotten that. Something in Tanchelm’s favour at last. He is a soldier.” He turned his mind to a more pressing concern. “Enough of Bretons, Saxons and Flemings. All that I am really interested in at the moment is the Vikings.”

  “Vikings?”

  “One in particular. Olaf Evil Child.”

  “Does that wound still smart so?”

  “It opens afresh every time I think about that night. He stole our property, Gervase. I do not care how long it takes but one thing I have promised myself: before I leave York, I will come face-to-face with Olaf Evil Child.”

  “Can we be sure that he was indeed the thief?”

  “Aubrey was convinced of it.”

  “He could have been mistaken.”

  “I doubt it,” said Ralph. “He was reared as a soldier like me. He knows how to read the marks of an enemy. And he has lived in this city for many years now. If Aubrey tells me that I must search for Olaf Evil Child, then I will.”

  “Our work here will leave you little time to do so.”

  “I’ll contrive it somehow.”

  They were over the bridge now and trotting towards the castle. When Ralph looked up at its wooden palisade, another memory nudged him.

  He gave a quiet chuckle.

  “Did you enjoy the banquet last night?” he asked.

  “It was the best meal I have eaten in a year.”

  “I’ll wager you’ve never feasted with lions before. Romulus and Remus.

  What amazing beasts!”

  “The
y were frightening, Ralph.”

  “Yet as harmless as rabbits when Aubrey stroked them. I could not believe my eyes. If you or I had tried to fondle them, they’d have torn us to shreds.”

  “Yes,” said Gervase uncomfortably. “We’d have no more chance than that poor wretch who was mauled by them the other night. I have to admit that he occupies my thoughts much more than Olaf Evil Child.”

  “That intruder who climbed into the castle?”

  “I feel deeply sorry for him.”

  “He paid the price for his boldness.”

  “No man deserves to die in that hideous way.”

  “I can think of one I’d gladly feed to Romulus and Remus!”

  “No,” said Gervase. “You can be hard but you could never be that cruel. You would not let two wild beasts patrol your home.”

  “Too true. The stink would revolt me.”

  “Why does such a kind man as my lord Aubrey take such a brutal delight in the way his lions savaged a human being? And who was the unfortunate victim?”

  “Nobody seems to know.”

  “Who was he?” puzzled Gervase. “And what on earth was he doing in the castle at that time of night?”

  Golde had a busy day. True to his word, Aubrey Maminot found time to conduct her on an exhaustive tour of the city. It was a fascinating experience. By comparison with York, her own hometown of Hereford appeared small, cluttered and curiously provincial. Over seven times as many people lived in the northern capital and every one of them seemed to be out and about, turning every street and lane into a clam-orous meeting place. York even smelled bigger: The salty tang of its fish, unloaded from the boats on the Ouse and displayed in countless market stalls, invaded the nostrils at every turn in a way that Hereford could not match.

  Yet there were similarities between the two cities, and Golde took due note of them. Both had been sacked and rebuilt more than once.

  While Hereford suffered from the incursions of the Welsh, it was the Danes, Scots and native aristocracy of the North who had pillaged York. Castle and cathedral dominated the border community just as it did in the North Riding. The Normans put their faith in a strong combination of high walls and religion. Both places, too, were poly-glot, and the general pandemonium was fed by a variety of languages and dialects. Golde enjoyed the simple pleasure of listening to it all.

  It was York Minster that impressed her most. Even in its unfinished state, it was vast. Destroyed by Danes less than a decade earlier, it was being rebuilt on a different site at a completely different angle.

  Thomas of Bayeux, the archbishop of York, was determined to make the minster an inspiring monument to the glory of God. Still swarming with craftsmen of all kinds, and marred by the unsightly presence of wooden scaffolding, the cathedral church of St. Peter was over 120

  yards long, with a nave that was 15 yards across. Golde’s jaw sagged as she stood in the apsed chancel and looked up at the distant roof.

  Aubrey Maminot chortled at her stunned reaction.

  “We do everything on a large scale in York,” he said.

  “It is colossal, my lord!”

  “Wait until it is finished.”

  “That will never happen in my lifetime.”

  “Oh, it will, it will.”

  He was a patient guide with an immense pride in the city, and Golde learned a great amount from his comments and anecdotes. But the outing was not entirely devoted to the architectural wonders of York. Knowing how keenly she felt the loss of her wardrobe, Aubrey introduced her to a sequence of tailors and dressmakers until she found one who could meet her needs in the shortest possible time.

  When she returned to the castle with him, Golde was in a buoyant mood. She went straight up to the chamber she shared with Ralph Delchard and collected the apparel she had borrowed the previous evening.

  “May I join you?” asked Golde.

  “Please do,” said Herleve.

  “I do not wish to interrupt, my lady.”

  “We were all but finished here.”

  Golde had found her hostess in the solar, working on some embroidery in the company of a young gentlewoman. Herleve had the same polite expression she had worn at the banquet and the same air of gracious resignation. A glance dismissed her companion and she indicated the stool that had just been vacated.

  “Do sit down,” she invited.

  “Thank you,” said Golde, lowering herself.

  “Did my husband show you our city?”

  “It is breathtaking.”

  “I am glad that you like it.”

  “We also managed to engage a dressmaker, so I can return this with thanks.” She offered the clothing but Herleve’s hands were both employed. “Where shall I put it?”

  “On the floor.”

  “I am very grateful to you, my lady.” Golde placed the bundle gently beside the stool. “It saved me in my hour of need.”

  “You are most welcome.” Her needle started to move again and she did not look up. “Did you enjoy the banquet?”

  “It was delightful.”

  “I did not care for some of the entertainment.”

  “We adored it all. Your husband went to enormous trouble on our behalf. And considerable expense.”

  “Yes, he is a generous host.”

  “And you were a most generous hostess,” said Golde softly, but the compliment elicited no response. She waited a moment. “My lady?”

  Again no response. “My lady.” Herleve raised her eyes. “May I ask a question?”

  “Well?”

  “Have I offended you in some way?”

  “No.”

  “I feel that there is a coldness between us.”

  “Do you?”

  “There was a moment … last night …”

  Herleve addressed herself to the embroidery once more.

  “I am a rather private person,” she said in a neutral voice. “My husband is very gregarious, as you have witnessed. Nothing pleases him more than to entertain guests in the most extravagant fashion. That is his nature. It is not mine.” She turned pale blue eyes on Golde. “I prefer seclusion. That is why I am sometimes uneasy in company and may appear indifferent to our visitors. The truth is that I have no liking for idle conversation. The mindless banter of the table tires me. What I value is solitude. I have come to be most content in my own company.”

  Golde felt obscurely rebuked. For a few moments, she watched Herleve intently, unable to decide if the woman was deliberately snubbing her or if she was overcome by a disabling shyness. Either way, it left Golde wishing that she had not come into the solar at all. She rose to leave.

  “Thank you again, my lady.”

  “I was glad that my wardrobe could help you.”

  “So was I. But I’ll trouble you no further.”

  With the merest curtsey, Golde backed out of the room. The gentlewoman was waiting in the corridor and she slipped back into the solar immediately. Gathering up the apparel from the floor, she stood beside her mistress and waited until Herleve glanced up.

  “Where shall I put this, my lady?”

  “On the fire,” murmured the other. “Burn it.”

  “Where would I be likely to find him?” asked Ralph Delchard.

  “I wish I could tell you.”

  “How should I start looking?”

  “Behind every tree.”

  “Can you give me no more guidance than that, Aubrey?”

  “None at all, old friend.”

  “Someone must know where Olaf Evil Child is!”

  “They have not passed on the intelligence to me.”

  “A band of outlaws cannot roam the countryside and remain invisible.

  They must have been seen.”

  “Of course,” said Aubrey Maminot. “Dozens of people have sighted Olaf near their village or hamlet or manor but they would never admit it to you or me.”

  “Are they so afraid of him?”

  “Afraid of him and resentful towards us.”

/>   “That is understandable,” sighed Tanchelm of Ghent. “North of the Humber, we are still the vile usurpers. They will not lift a hand to help us. I daresay the other night’s escapade is still being laughed about. We will be held up to ridicule.”

  “Without question,” confirmed Aubrey. “Olaf Evil Child will be seen as some sort of hero for tweaking your noses.”

  Ralph bristled. “That is what makes me angry! The ridicule! Snigger at us, will he? I’ll do more than tweak his Viking nose when I catch him.”

  The three men were strolling around the bailey at the castle. Ralph and Tanchelm had just spoken to their respective men, giving them their orders for the morrow, when some of them would be needed in attendance. Aubrey was now showing them the finer points of his defences but their abiding interest was in the leader of the outlaws.

  “Who exactly is this Olaf?” said Ralph.

  Aubrey grimaced. “One more lordless man in a county that already has too many of them.”

  “Are you certain that is all he is?” asked Tanchelm.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is rumoured that the Danes are about to launch another attack.

  That is one of the main reasons why King William set this whole Domesday Inquest in motion. So that he will have an accurate picture of the spread of wealth in England. In times of crisis, a king must know where his sources of strength and manpower are.”

  “The Conqueror knows that by instinct,” said Aubrey.

  “If an invasion did come, it would most probably start on the eastern coast not far from here.”

  “So?”

  “Could not Olaf Evil Child be playing a deeper game?” said Tanchelm thoughtfully. “You know the man, of course, and I do not, but … well, is it at all conceivable that he is in league with the Danes?”

  “No, it is not.”

  “Can you be certain?”

  “Absolutely certain!” said Aubrey with emphasis.

  “It does seem highly unlikely,” added Ralph. “If Olaf is planning to assist a Danish invasion, why is he preying on travellers and stealing their horses?”

  “Who knows?” said Tanchelm. “To give them to a raiding party?

  Perhaps he has stolen other horses and holds them in readiness.

  Mounted warriors move much faster than long ships sailing upriver.