Having paid his last respects, Owen trudged slowly away.
* * *
The horses moved at a steady trot through pleasant countryside towards Gloucester. Ralph and Gervase rode into a leafy arcade of trees and emerged to find that they could now see the River Severn on their left as it surged down the estuary. A small boat sailed past as Ralph watched.
‘I hate water,’ he said soulfully. ‘It frightens me.’
‘Nothing frightens you.’
‘It does, Gervase. Crossing the Channel in rough weather was a nightmare. It made my stomach heave for days. I have no wish to return to Normandy if it entails trusting my life to a piece of wood that floats on the sea. One thing I've learned is that I'm no sailor.’
‘Would you not like Golde to see where you were born?’
‘Of course.’
‘To show her the beauties of Normandy?’
‘Nothing would please me more.’
‘Nor her. Golde has more than once confided to me that she would love to cross the Channel with you to your homeland.’
‘This is my homeland now, Gervase.’
‘But you also have estates in Normandy.’
‘Administered by trusty people,’ said Ralph. ‘I keep in touch with them by letter. They manage well enough without me. No, I will be more than happy if I never have to take to the water again.’
‘Not even on a river?’
‘Not even then, Gervase. Especially one as churlish as the Severn. Look at it,’ he said, waving an arm. ‘Even from here you can see the strength of the current. I'll remain on dry land.’
A stand of sycamores rose up on their left to obscure the river and allow their thoughts to turn once more to the murder that had brought them out to visit Osgot.
‘Brother Nicholas was an odd character,’ said Gervase. ‘Everyone took a dislike to him yet they will not tell you exactly why.’
‘We can guess Osgot's reason.’
‘Not every tenant has a well-favoured son, Ralph. Why did the others turn away from him? Nobody likes to pay rent but they do not always despise the rent collector, especially if they inhabit abbey land. When I was at Eltham, our rent collector, Brother Saul, was one of the most popular monks in the abbey.’
‘Perhaps he did not look at young boys in a peculiar way.’
‘There's more to it than that.’
‘Is there? Remember what those novices told you.’
‘I do, Ralph, but they only gave part of the story. I cannot believe that Brother Nicholas was entirely without friends. An abbey is a haven of tolerance. There must be someone within its precincts who liked him enough to overlook his unfortunate manner.’
‘What about the Precentor?’
‘Brother Frewine defended him, it is true, but I suspect that he would defend anyone in a Benedictine cowl out of sheer loyalty. The abbot would probably do the same.’
‘He did, Gervase. I probed him hard but he would admit to no faults in his rent collector. Serlo pretended to admire the man but I sensed no real affection. Brother Nicholas was an outsider at the abbey.’
‘That brings us back to the sheriff's conviction that the victim was murdered by one of his fellow monks.’
‘I refuse to believe that.’
‘So do I.’
‘Monks are more guileful. They would hide a dead body where it could never be found. No, it was not one of them, Gervase.’
‘We may both be proved wrong.’
‘If we are, it will not be by Durand. His investigation has so far achieved nothing beyond stirring up a lot of dust. We have already discovered things which completely eluded him and his officers. And if we are to be given the dubious honour of a royal visit,’ said Ralph as they came out into open country once more, ‘our peppery sheriff will have his hands full at the castle. He'll not be able to conduct this inquiry properly.’
‘Will the King come?’ asked Gervase.
‘He may, he may not. You know how changeable he is.’
‘I also know that he does nothing without a purpose, Ralph.’
‘Granted.’
‘So what purpose could bring him to Gloucester?’
‘Affairs of state.’
‘Can you guess what they might be?’
‘No, Gervase,’ said the other. ‘It sounds like a decision made on the spur of the moment. Why send a messenger to forewarn Durand of a possible visit when we could have brought the same information from Winchester? The King knew when and where we travelled.’
‘Some emergency may have arisen.’
‘That's my fear.’
‘What could it be?’
‘Only time will tell, Gervase,’ said Ralph as the city loomed up in the distance. ‘As long as William does not interfere with our work at the shire hall. We have enough problems as it is. The last thing we need is someone looking over our shoulder. Even if it is a King.’
‘Supposing it were the lady Emma?’
Ralph beamed. ‘Ah, that's another matter.’
‘I thought it might be.’
‘The lady Emma can look over my shoulder any time she wishes. If I were not married to the most wonderful woman in England, I would harbour dark desires about that extraordinary creature we met at the shire hall today.’
‘Querengar the Breton?’ teased his friend.
‘The lady Emma!’
‘Oh, her.’
‘Beauty incarnate.’
‘A pleasing face, I agree.’
‘Pleasing! It could sow lust in the heart of a pope. I tell you, there was a brief moment when I wished I was still young and unmarried.’
‘But since you do have a wife?’ Gervase reminded him.
‘And such a wife!’ said Ralph, kicking his horse into a canter. ‘I'll count my blessings and hasten back to her.’
Gervase spent the last mile trying to catch up with him.
The pleasure of seeing her sister again seemed to increase rather than pall. Secure in the love of a good man, Aelgar looked radiant and Golde could not have been more happy for her, knowing how much distress she had endured in the past. Her younger sister had been blessed with a pale loveliness which Golde had envied as a child until she realised what a mixed blessing it was. Unwanted suitors had plagued Aelgar throughout her young life, and Golde would never forget the ardent Norman lord who tried to take by force what he could not win by courtship. Now, happily, having survived all that, her sister had found the man of her dreams. The doting Forne allowed her to blossom into full womanhood.
Golde quickly warmed towards Forne himself. Like the two sisters, he was born of noble stock with a wealthy father who had been largely dispossessed after the Conquest. Yet enough land remained in the possession of the family to ensure a relatively comfortable life, especially when added to the property in Archenfield which Aelgar herself had inherited from the man to whom she had been betrothed until his brutal murder. Present joy helped past tragedy to recede in her mind. If anyone deserved her share of marital bliss, Golde mused, watching the young lovers together, it was her sister. Happiness was long overdue.
‘Where will you live?’ she asked.
‘Together,’ said Forne with a fond grin.
‘In Archenfield?’
‘Where else?’
‘Hereford.’
‘No, Golde,’ said her sister. ‘It is time for me to make a complete break from there. My life is with Forne now.’
‘What will become of the house?’
‘It will be sold along with that eternal smell of beer.’
‘I learned to enjoy the odour.’
‘You were always the genuine brewer. Those I employ now have none of your skills. There have been complaints from the castle.’
‘Yes,’ said Forne. ‘I hear that your ale was incomparable, Golde.’
‘Ralph does not think so.’
‘Have you not won him over?’
‘No, he will touch nothing but wine.’
‘A true Norman!’
‘What sort of man is he?’ asked Forne guardedly. ‘Aelgar has talked much about your husband but she hardly knows him.’
‘I know enough to speak well of him,’ said his betrothed.
‘But you were not at first overjoyed when you learned that he was going to marry your sister. You had qualms. You told me so.’
There was a sudden pause, the first since they had met, and they squirmed on their benches as the discordant note was struck. The three of them were bunched around the table in the house owned by Forne's kinsman, Hadwig, a burgess in the city and a man of moderate wealth. The house was large enough to accommodate the two visitors in separate bays and Golde suspected that it was the first time they had spent a night under the same roof. It explained the tingle of excitement whenever they exchanged a glance, though there was no excitement now. Aelgar stared guiltily at the bare table and Forne searched for words to heal the slight rift he had just opened.
‘I am sorry to speak out of turn, Golde,’ he said.
‘But you didn't,’ she replied, contriving a smile. ‘If you are to join our little family, you must feel free to comment on all its members. And that includes Ralph. He will certainly not hold back any comments about you, I can promise you.’
‘I offended you.’
‘Not really.’
‘Please forgive me.’
‘What is there to forgive?’ asked Golde brightly, trying to dispel the awkwardness. ‘It's hardly surprising that Aelgar had qualms about me because I had several myself. The last thing in the world I expected to do was marry a Norman. To ally myself with an enemy, so to speak.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It's just that Ralph is the friendliest enemy I ever met, and the kindest possible husband.’
‘I hope to meet him very soon.’
‘You will, Forne.’
But she could see that he still had doubts about her and Golde felt even more uncomfortable. She had stepped back into an old life but part of her remained immovably in her new world. It was not just the fine clothes she now wore which set her slightly apart from her sister. There was something deeper, some change of perception, some subtle shift of loyalty. Forne was an irretrievable Saxon. Ready to love his future sister-in-law, he would never be able to shake off a latent resentment against her husband and that saddened Golde. It would colour her relationship with her sister. Aelgar looked up and reached out to put a hand on Forne's arm. It was a telling gesture. She was his now.
Golde tried to move the conversation to more neutral ground.
‘What news of Hereford?’ she asked.
‘Little has changed,’ said her sister.
‘And our old neighbours?’
‘They send their love.’
‘Take mine back to them. I miss Hereford.’
‘I'm not sure that I will.’
‘Why not?’
‘Forne and I will be together.’
‘We may need to visit the town on occasion,’ he said. ‘Indeed, we may even be compelled to do so. I hope that does not happen but I put Aelgar's safety before all else.’
‘Safety?’
He nodded sadly. ‘Our holdings are not far from the Welsh border. That has never worried me. I have Welsh neighbours and have always been on good terms with them. But there have been stirrings across the border. Raiding parties have been sighted.’
‘I thought that peace had finally been imposed,’ said Golde.
‘It has,’ he explained, ‘but there are some hot-blooded Welshmen who refuse to accept it. Rumours are spreading like wildfire.’
‘Rumours?’
‘Of a possible attack on Hereford.’
‘Not again!’ sighed Golde.
‘It is one of the reasons I was glad to bring Aelgar here,’ he said, putting a protective arm around her. ‘I wanted her out of Hereford until the danger blows over. We are completely safe in Gloucester.’
Hooves clacking on the hard road, the horses thundered on through the darkness. There were a dozen men in all, most of them armed and every one a seasoned rider. Night had started to close in on them and they were not entirely sure at what point they actually crossed the border into Gloucestershire and left Gwent behind. It was of no concern to them. In their hearts, they did not accept that the border really existed. As they urged their horses on, they believed that they were still in Wales.
They were some miles short of their destination when the tall figure at the head of the column brought it to a halt with a loud yell. Iron bits were tugged in soft mouths and the horses slowed instantly. The leader of the band turned to his tall companion.
‘Why have we stopped?’
‘Because this is where we part, Madog.’
‘There is still some way to go.’
‘We will ride on alone.’
‘But we are your escort.’
‘And I'm most grateful to you,’ said the other, raising his voice so that all could hear. ‘It is easier to ride faster in a pack.’
‘Why dispense with us then?’
‘You are no longer needed, Madog.’
‘Danger may lurk on the road ahead.’
‘We will be careful.’
‘You are both unarmed.’
‘We have God to protect us.’
‘You'll need more than Him at your side when you meet those Normans,’ said Madog bitterly. ‘They're treacherous. Look what they've done to Wales.’
‘I am never likely to forget that. Now, turn back.’
‘Let us at least get you within reach of Gloucester.’
‘We are within reach,’ soothed the other, ‘and if the two of us arrive alone, they might even let us into the city at this hour. Ride there with your men at our back and we would certainly be spurned.’
‘We will not be far away.’
‘That is reassuring.’
‘You know where to find us.’
‘I do, Madog.’ They exchanged a wave. ‘Goodbye, my friend.’
‘ Yn iach! ’
The other riders gathered around to offer their own respectful farewells then the tall man was joined by the monk who had been at the rear of the column. Watched by their escort, the two of them set off at a more gentle pace and were soon swallowed up by the night. Unlike his companion, the monk was apprehensive.
‘Will we be safe on our own?’ he asked querulously.
‘Of course,’ said Abraham the Priest. ‘This should, by rights, be Welsh territory. We are travelling on home ground.’
Chapter Seven
Ralph Delchard and his wife talked long into the night. It was the only opportunity they had to be alone together and to exchange details of how they had spent their respective days. Over the delicious meal served in the hall that evening, they had been too busy talking to their hosts to pay much attention to each other and they were determined to make up for it. When they were finally alone, conversation was preceded by an act of spontaneous passion, always their most pleasurable and effective means of communication. As they made love with uninhibited vigour in the privacy of their bed, the warm night brought them out in beads of perspiration and left them in a state of joyful exhaustion. When Ralph eventually rolled over on to his back, his face and chest were glistening.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered, cradling her in his arms.
‘And thank you, Ralph.’
‘Have I pleased you?’
‘Delightfully.’
‘Does that mean you will keep me on for a while?’
‘A week or two more,’ she joked, nestling into him. ‘If you think that you can last that long.’
‘Watch me!’ They shared a laugh. ‘I strive to be a satisfactory husband. Do I succeed?’
‘Every time.’
‘Good.’
‘Not that I am keeping score, mark you.’
‘I hope not! That would be calculation in every sense.’ He kissed her on the temple and drew her closer. ‘Well, my love, I think that we can be sure of one thing.’
<
br /> ‘What is that?’
‘The sheriff and his wife are not lying in each other's arms.’
‘How do you know?’
‘They have long gone past that stage.’
‘I am not so sure.’
‘I am,’ said Ralph. ‘My guess is that the lady Maud keeps a cold bed. Durand may not even share it with her any more.’
‘That is idle comment,’ she replied. ‘And why blame her for any coldness between them? It is far more likely to arise from the sheriff's neglect of his wife.’
‘Is that what she told you?’
‘It's what I have gathered, Ralph. He is very attentive to her in public but that may be consolation for his disregard of her in private. What I do know is this. His work totally eclipses his wife. When his duties call him, she might just as well not exist.’
‘You could make the same complaint about me.’
‘I do,’ she returned, ‘but you never hear it.’
‘I listen to everything you say, Golde.’
‘Eventually.’
‘Look at me now. I'm a captive audience.’
‘Only because you are too weary for anything else.’
‘Is that a challenge?’ he said, easing his leg over hers.
‘No, Ralph, merely an observation. Now take your rest and tell me what you have been doing all day.’
‘Being thoroughly bored in the shire hall.’
‘Gervase didn't seem bored and he spent as much time there as you. He told me that it had been a stimulating session.’
‘Well, yes,’ conceded Ralph as he remembered the encounter with the lady Emma, ‘there were stimulating moments, it's true, but it was largely dross. Only Gervase Bret can get inspired by the fine detail of a charter or by the tedium of debate.’
‘What about Canon Hubert?’
‘Golde!’ he protested. ‘I refuse to talk about Hubert at a time like this. He has no place whatsoever in the marital couch. If he did, there would not be room for either of us, I can assure you. Leave him to his chaste mattress at the abbey. Tell me about your day. I am dying to hear about Aelgar and this new suitor of hers. Forne, is he called?’
‘Yes. And he does not possess an ounce of Welsh blood.’
‘Thank heaven for that!’
The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10) Page 12
