The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10)

by Edward Marston

  ‘Disappeared?’

  ‘So I thought. Their names were Siward and Dena. I believed that they must have run away.’

  ‘And didn't they?’

  ‘Nobody knows for sure, Canon Hubert. They have never been found. Their parents still grieve for them.’

  ‘How tragic!’ said Simon.

  ‘Very tragic,’ added Hubert. ‘When you spoke to Brother Frewine, did he throw any light on their departure?’

  Elaf's lower lip began to tremble with dismay. A disturbing idea had been implanted in him by the Precentor. Hubert put a steadying hand on his shoulder and knelt down in front of him.

  ‘Does he know why they left, Elaf?’

  ‘He thinks they may have been kidnapped.’

  The visit got off to a quiet start. Schooled by his betrothed, Forne was polite and engaging. Ralph, too, was on his best behaviour, pleased to see his sister-in-law once more and anxious not to upset her. Aelgar and Forne were astonished by his grasp of their language and it did much to smooth out some of the inevitable social wrinkles. They were in the parlour of the house where the guests from Hereford were staying; Golde felt completely at home there but Ralph was uneasy in what were her natural surroundings. Even in the friendly atmosphere, he was never quite able to relax. However, the visit had one unexpected bonus.

  ‘You know Querengar the Breton?’ said Ralph in surprise.

  ‘He has holdings in Archenfield.’

  ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘Once or twice,’ said Forne. ‘He struck me as a forthright man. With a pleasant manner. I could not say that of many of them.’

  ‘Them?’ echoed Ralph.

  ‘Invaders.’

  ‘Forne!’ said Aelgar warningly.

  ‘The lord Ralph did ask.’

  ‘And I got a fair answer,’ said Ralph. ‘So you think of Querengar as an invader, do you? Even though he has lived in this country for over twenty years. That is almost as long as you, Forne.’

  ‘I was born here.’

  ‘Why is the Breton so unusual?’

  ‘Because most of the others who took our land from us revel in their conquest,’ said Forne bitterly. ‘They live in their fortified manor houses and treat us with disdain. In Archenfield, where I live, but especially in lowland Gwent, there are dozens of them, Normans, Bretons and, worst of all, the hated Flemings.’

  ‘They are not easy to love,’ agreed Ralph.

  ‘If they fought at Hastings, they were given our land.’

  ‘The spoils of war, Forne.’

  ‘Need we talk about this subject now?’ said Golde meaningfully.

  ‘No,’ added Aelgar.

  ‘But I must just point something out to this argumentative young man of yours,’ said Ralph easily. ‘You call it your land, Forne, but your ancestors stole it from the people who were settled here before them. So, in a sense, you, too, are enjoying the fruits of conquest, albeit at several removes. As for Querengar and the rest, they give valuable service by settling in less desirable parts of the kingdom like Wales and the Welsh borders. Most of their estates are held by military tenure, I'm sure you know what that means.’

  ‘Only too well!’

  ‘Can we change this topic now?’ pleaded Aelgar.

  ‘But I find it interesting.’

  ‘We do not,’ said Golde.

  ‘Stop it before you start to get angry,’ said Aelgar.

  ‘I'm not at all angry.’

  ‘Forne!’

  ‘Talk to your sister while we have our discussion.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Aelgar will do nothing of the kind,’ said Golde, smarting at his dismissive tone. ‘Ralph and I came to visit both of you so that all four of us could get to know each other better. Aelgar and I will not be swept aside like a couple of children being sent out to play.’

  Ralph grinned. ‘I'd like to meet the man who can sweep you aside, my love. But you are quite right. This is not a fit subject.’

  ‘We must return to it another time, my lord,’ said Forne with tenacity. ‘Then I can put my side of the argument.’

  ‘It has already been put at the Battle of Hastings.’

  ‘Ralph!’ snapped his wife.

  ‘That was an unworthy comment,’ he conceded. ‘I take it back. And I would like to thank Forne for his comments on Querengar. They were very useful. So tell me, Aelgar,’ he said, trying to introduce a more jocular note. ‘Where will this amorous young man take you off to when he marries you and throws you over his shoulder?’

  ‘We will live in Archenfield.’

  ‘Does that idea appeal to you?’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘I know the area well. It holds pleasant memories for me.’ He winked at Golde. ‘It's where your sister and I first got to know each other properly. If it were not so close to Wales, I could find Archenfield rather appealing myself.’

  ‘I hope you will visit us there,’ said Aelgar.

  ‘Gladly,’ replied Golde. ‘When time serves.’

  ‘And when the King sees fit to release me from these onerous duties,’ said Ralph with a sigh. ‘I long for the day when I can actually start to enjoy my own estates again. If it ever comes, both of you will be invited to visit us in Hampshire.’

  Aelgar was touched. ‘That would be wonderful! Forne?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said without relish.

  ‘We would love to see you there,’ said Golde.

  ‘Almost as much as we'd love to see ourselves there,’ added Ralph.

  Talk turned to the preparations for the wedding and a contentment settled on the room. Forne was disappointed that he was unable to argue at will with Ralph, but he made himself amenable and his devotion to Aelgar once again shone through. The two sisters were in their element, each feeling more complete now that they were sharing their lives with a man they loved. It was a far cry from the days when they both worked in the brewhouse in Hereford. Ralph looked on with interest but took progressively less part in the conversation. He was back in Golde's world now and still a relative stranger. He liked Aelgar, not only on her own account but because she mirrored so many of Golde's qualities. About Forne he was undecided. Beneath the obliging manner was a resentment and pugnacity which he found irritating.

  At the end of the evening, he and Golde took their leave and mounted their horses. It was not far to the castle but a walk through dark and dirty streets was not advisable. With Golde to protect, Ralph had taken the additional precaution of wearing his sword. The horses walked slowly along the lane, their hoofbeats amplified in the hollow night.

  ‘What did you think of Forne?’ asked Golde.

  ‘It is as you said, my love. He and your sister are well matched.’

  ‘Did you like him?’

  ‘When he made himself likeable.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I could have done with more respect from him,’ said Ralph. ‘He never quite recovered from the fact that I arrived with a sword. It upset him. I could see that.’

  ‘You shouldn't have goaded him, Ralph.’

  ‘I did nothing of the kind.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘He needed no goading, my love. Forne was well and truly goaded before we even got there. My very existence goads him.’

  ‘You could have been more tactful.’

  ‘I'll not let anyone shout me down, Golde.’

  ‘There was provocation, I know,’ she accepted. ‘All in all, it passed off well and I'm so grateful that you agreed to come with me.’

  ‘Did I have any choice?’

  She laughed.

  ‘I have some sympathy with the fellow,’ he said. ‘Seen through his eyes, I must appear like something of an ogre. Is that how I appear to you?’

  ‘Now and then.’

  It was his turn to laugh. Their horses swung into a narrow street and ambled slowly on. Ralph and Golde rode in silence and savoured the night air. It was the first time since they had been in Gloucester that they felt truly
alone. The sensation was liberating.

  ‘Let's escape,’ said Ralph on impulse.

  ‘From what?’

  ‘This city. Let's ride off now, Golde.’

  ‘Where would we go?’

  ‘Anywhere to get away from it. I'm fed up with the endless round of responsibilities. I just want to be with you. Let's go!’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Never more so, my love.’

  ‘But you turn your back on everything,’ she said reasonably. ‘It's unthinkable. What about Gervase? Would you really desert him?’

  ‘I was forgetting Gervase.’

  ‘There's Canon Hubert and Brother Simon as well.’

  ‘They don't matter quite so much.’

  ‘Your duties matter, Ralph. That's why you always discharge them so zealously. People depend on you and you never let them down. I know you too well. You'd never run away from anything. Ralph Delchard is the sort of man who will stand and fight.’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ he sighed, giving up. ‘Ah well, it was a nice idea while it lasted. To start anew. To ride off in the moonlight with the woman of my dreams.’

  ‘The woman of your dreams is too tired. She needs her sleep.’

  ‘Don't be so unromantic!’

  ‘Then choose a better time.’

  Before he could answer, a drumming sound was heard in the middle distance. Many hooves were dancing their way into Gloucester. They nudged their own horses into a trot until the castle loomed up ahead of them. The noise grew louder, then the cavalcade appeared. Twenty or more riders surged across the Bearland, the open space in front of the castle where troops could be mustered or where the defending garrison could have clear sight of any besieging army. In the gloom, Ralph and Golde had no clear sight of the visitors but Ralph identified them at once. As they slowed down to clatter across the drawbridge, he turned to his wife.

  ‘King William!’

  ‘He has come late.’

  ‘By design.’

  ‘And with a sizeable entourage.’

  ‘I'll be interested to see who rides with him.’

  ‘And will you tell me when you find out?’ she teased.

  ‘Immediately.’

  Ralph's smile congealed as soon as it was formed. Something had aroused his suspicion. When the last of the horsemen had ridden through the castle gate, a tall figure emerged from the shadows and strode swiftly across the Bearland. The man had been watching the arrival of the royal party. Ralph only saw the man in silhouette but his gait and bearing were distinctive. He had witnessed both at the shire hall.

  Golde noticed that he now sat bolt upright in the saddle.

  ‘What's wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘I'm not sure.’

  ‘You've gone tense, Ralph.’

  ‘It was that man who walked in front of the castle.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Abraham the Priest.’

  The long tables were bedecked with dishes of all kinds and wine flowed freely in the light of a hundred candles. A magnificent repast awaited the visitors. Though he had complained about the royal visit, Durand the Sheriff was also pleased by it because it was an indication of his own status in the King's counsels. Sitting with his guests, the sheriff was at his most affable and his wife at her most charming. The long wait had left the hosts themselves feeling the pangs of hunger and they could now allay them in the best possible way. Yet there was no air of celebration in the hall. The delicious fare was consumed with thanks rather than with any jollity. The King was there on serious business. It showed.

  Durand waited until the end of the meal before he broached the topic which had occupied his mind since he first heard of the possibility of a royal visit. He leaned respectfully across to his guest of honour.

  ‘Is there anything else you require, my liege?’

  ‘A soft bed and a quiet night.’

  ‘We all need those.’

  ‘Not all of us, Durand,’ said William, casting an eye over some of the members of his entourage. ‘There are a few here who would prefer a warm woman in that soft bed, then the night would be far from quiet.’

  ‘Hot blood runs in young veins.’

  ‘I should know. I have spilled it often enough.’

  William the Conqueror, King of England and Duke of Normandy, spoke with gruff regret. He was a big, broad-shouldered man with extremely long arms. The aura of majesty was unmistakable but so was the fatigue of warfare. He was approaching his sixtieth year now and the cares of office showed in the craggy face, already lined by the succession of betrayals, reversals and disappointments he had suffered, and scored most deeply by the death of his wife, Matilda, a tiny woman for such a portly warrior but a true queen in every sense. William was a bundle of contradictions, peremptory yet pious, uncultured yet intelligent, harsh yet capable of great gentleness, a belligerent man who desired nothing more than the peace which constantly eluded him.

  ‘You have not told me the purpose of this visit,’ said Durand.

  ‘Do I need a purpose before I can come to Gloucester?’

  ‘Of course not, my liege.’

  ‘Is friendship not excuse enough, Durand?’

  ‘More than enough. But I am bound to observe that two members of your Council have arrived with you, and Bishop Wulfstan was already here at your request. May we expect others to join us?’

  ‘No,’ said William, sitting back in his chair. ‘With your own good self, I have four sage counsellors around me. That will suffice.’

  ‘To discuss what?’

  ‘Whatever we choose.’

  ‘I will press you no more on the matter,’ said Durand, backing off at the sign of evasion. ‘I just felt that I should point out that another of your erstwhile counsellors is in Gloucester at this time.’

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Hamelin of Lisieux.’

  ‘His opinion will not be sought,’ said William sharply. ‘I heard that he spends most of his time in Normandy with that pretty wife of his. What brings him here?’

  ‘A dispute over his holdings, my liege.’

  ‘But of course. I was forgetting that the second commissioners were sent to the county. Are they still here?’

  ‘Under this very roof. Except for Canon Hubert and their scribe. They prefer to lodge at the abbey.’

  ‘A fortuitous decision,’ said Wulfstan, sitting on the other side of the King and easing himself into the conversation. ‘A foul murder was recently committed there. They have been able to assist in tracking down the fiend responsible.’

  Durand crackled. ‘Their help is quite unnecessary.’

  ‘But Canon Hubert has such a quick mind.’

  ‘Too quick, Bishop Wulfstan.’

  ‘I have met the man,’ said William thoughtfully. ‘And I know Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret even better. All three are very able or I would not have given them such high office. Make use of them while they are here, Durand. You could not ask for more efficient deputies.’

  ‘I do not ask for any deputies at all.’

  ‘The crime must be solved swiftly,’ urged Wulfstan. ‘You should be grateful that these men are taking the trouble to help you.’

  ‘I am grateful,’ lied Durand.

  ‘So you should be,’ said William firmly. ‘Seek assistance from those best suited to give it to you. That is what I always do. I ask, I discuss, I consult. As a result, my decisions are the sounder and I do not feel that my authority has in any way been undermined. Is that your fear?’ he asked shrewdly. ‘A loss of control?’

  ‘Only a sheriff can investigate a homicide.’

  ‘Not when he is sitting in council with his king. We will spend a lot of time in this hall over the next day or two, Durand, because we have much to discuss. My needs have priority over those of the abbey. Even the bishop will acknowledge that.’

  ‘Freely, my liege,’ said Wulfstan.

  ‘I am sure tha
t you have capable officers but they will lack the perseverance of Ralph Delchard and the others. Put your trust in them,’ he said, resting a hand on the sheriff's arm. ‘They are not untried in such matters. If anyone can apprehend the killer, it is them.’

  Durand's food was organising an armed rebellion in his stomach.

  Kenelm was in a quandary. Too tired to stay awake, he was too afraid to sleep lest it render him vulnerable to more of the hideous nightmares that afflicted him. As he lay on his mattress in the dormitory, he inhabited a kind of limbo between the two, dozing off, shaking himself instantly awake, then feeling the drowsiness creep over him once again. He had jerked himself out of his slumber for the third time when he heard the sound. Someone was moving stealthily across the floor. The creak of a board caused them to stop and wait before inching their way forward again. At first Kenelm thought it might be Elaf, but his friend was still on the mattress next to him, sleeping soundly, impervious to all around him. Who, then, was creeping out of the dormitory?

  Raising himself on his elbows, Kenelm saw the figure flit through the doorway. He was bewildered. Owen was the last novice he expected to sneak out in the middle of the night. He was the most timid and well-behaved boy in the abbey, and nocturnal wandering was strictly forbidden. Kenelm wondered what could possibly make Owen court a beating from the Master of the Novices. He had to find out. Rising to his feet, he made for the door with greater speed than Owen, cleverly negotiating the floorboards which creaked. Kenelm caught up with him near the cloister garth. The other boy was patently frightened, darting nervously from one hiding place to another, but something impelled him to go on.

  Kenelm followed until he saw where Owen was going. He stopped immediately. Nothing could make him venture into the cemetery at night. It held the accusing presence of Brother Nicholas. Watching the other boy pick his way nimbly between the gravestones, Kenelm lost his nerve and turned tail. He ran all the way back to the dormitory but it was no refuge. New horrors assaulted him. Sleep of any kind was impossible.

  Owen, meanwhile, was filled with a strange confidence. When he reached the mound of fresh earth, he gazed down at it without any sign of fear. Even in death, Brother Nicholas was still his friend. The only way to reach him now was by means of prayer, and Owen knelt on the damp grass with his palms together. His prayer was long and fervent. He was convinced that Brother Nicholas heard every word. When he opened his eyes and clambered to his feet again, he was smiling. He had talked at night to his friend as he had done so many times before. It was thrilling. Waving a farewell, he turned to scamper away but someone was waiting for him, a stout figure in a monastic cowl, barely visible in the darkness. Pale moonlight gave him a ghostly air.