‘These are wondrous tidings!’ exclaimed Simon.
Hubert was unconvinced. ‘They might be if they were not intertwined with the name of Idwal. How can we be sure that he is not in league with Gruffydd ap Cynan?’
‘We can be certain that he is,’ said Ralph, ‘in the sense that they are both Welshmen and thus bonded together at a deep level. But there has been no skulduggery by Idwal. He has done what he promised to do. Gervase was there as a witness.’
‘I thank God for this act of deliverance!’ said Simon.
‘I reserve my judgement,’ said Hubert.
‘We must all do that,’ agreed Ralph. ‘Gruffydd has consented to send word to his people but we have no guarantee that it will reach them in time to stop hostilities. Once a war is set in motion, it will swiftly get beyond the control of any one man. But you know this well enough,’ he said. ‘And you did not come here to talk about the technicalities of battle.’
‘No, my lord,’ said Hubert, taking his cue. ‘Our interest is in what we believe may be one of its causes. The murder of Raoul Lambert.’
‘Lambert?’
‘We have studied his career more closely, my lord.’
‘Then I hope that you have divined more than I have managed,’ said Ralph with a rueful smile. ‘Gervase and I attended his funeral today in order to learn something of the man but we came away more confused than ever.’
‘He covered his tracks very well,’ said Simon.
‘Indeed,’ said Hubert, delivering a sentence he had rehearsed on his way to the castle. ‘Raoul Lambert was a huntsman who is himself supremely difficult to hunt.’
‘Yet you picked up his trail, Canon Hubert.’
‘Only with great perseverance, Brother Simon.’
‘What did you discover?’ asked Ralph.
‘A great deal, my lord,’ said Hubert, dipping a hand into his scrip to take out the scroll on which he had recorded his findings. ‘I have no wish to speak ill of the dead but I am compelled to say that Raoul Lambert was not, in my opinion, the upright man of common report.’
‘Then what was he?’ said Ralph.
‘A grasping landlord. A liar, a thief, a bully, a dissembler, a petty tyrant and – if my guess is correct – a man who is guilty of even greater crimes.’
‘Bishop Robert made no mention of these aspects of his character in his funeral oration.’
‘He may be unaware of them, my lord.’
‘Or constrained by the presence of Lambert’s friends.’
‘That, too.’
‘Tell me about the grasping landlord.’
Hubert referred to his scroll. ‘That alone would take me all day if I furnished the complete details. Suffice it to say that Raoul Lambert is involved in far more of the property disputes which we came to settle than appeared at first glance. He not only increased his own holdings by illegal seizure, he seems to have helped others to do likewise.’
‘Why did the first commissioners not arraign him?’
‘Because he was too elusive and plausible.’
‘And vouched for by Earl Hugh himself,’ said Simon.
‘That is the critical factor,’ continued Hubert. ‘The indulgence shown by the earl towards his huntsman. It is quite striking. Earl Hugh could not have rewarded him more lavishly if Raoul Lambert had been his own son.’
Ralph grinned. ‘From what I hear, Lambert is about the only man in Cheshire who is not one of Hugh’s bastards. The earl has scattered his affections far and wide.’
Simon quailed. ‘It is an abomination!’
‘It is human nature,’ said Ralph.
‘If I may resume,’ said Hubert, commanding their attention by holding up his scroll. ‘When I examined the full list of Lambert’s holdings, I noticed that they had certain features in common. They came into his possession at regular intervals, usually no more than a year apart.’
‘What did you deduce from that?’ asked Ralph.
‘That they were less like random gifts than a sort of annual wage. I acquired the strong impression that Lambert was being paid for services rendered.’
‘Have you identified what those services were?’
‘I will come to that in a moment, my lord,’ said Hubert, determined to proceed at his own pace. ‘Let me comment further upon the holdings first. All those on this side of the border were formerly in the hands of three particular barons. One was an absentee landlord and his property appears to have been seized without his knowledge. When our predecessors came to Cheshire to compile their survey, he was not here to attest his claim to the estate and it remained by default in the hands of Raoul Lambert.’
‘What of the other two men from whom land was taken?’
‘Both died, my lord.’
‘Before or after their property was seized?’
‘Before.’
‘That was convenient.’
‘It is the manner of their deaths which alerted my suspicions,’ said Hubert, tapping his scroll. ‘Coincidence can only stretch so far.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Both men were killed in hunting accidents.’
‘Ah!’
‘On each occasion, Raoul Lambert was in the party.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I took the trouble to speak with the town reeve again.’
‘Canon Hubert has been admirably thorough,’ said Simon. ‘He has gone to great pains, my lord.’
Hubert struck a pose. ‘One cannot marshal an argument without facts and they have been extremely difficult to confirm in this particular case. Several of the people I questioned were evasive or untruthful. Fortunately, the town reeve is a man of some integrity.’
‘What did he tell you about those accidents?’ said Ralph, anxious to hear more.
‘One man broke his neck when thrown from his horse.’
‘And the other?’
‘Struck down by a wayward arrow.’
‘Who first found the dead bodies?’
‘Raoul Lambert.’
‘Was he alone at the time?’
‘So it seems.’
Ralph let out a low murmur. ‘How accidental were these socalled accidents?’ he wondered.
‘We have no means of knowing, my lord,’ admitted Hubert, ‘but one is bound to entertain suspicions. Do not forget what happened in Lambert’s berewics on the other side of the Welsh border. The two men who held the land before him protested violently when it was taken from them. One was drowned in the River Gowy and the other vanished from sight.’
‘What is your conclusion?’
‘The obvious one.’
‘Lambert killed them deliberately?’
‘At the very least,’ ventured Hubert, ‘he was somehow involved in their deaths. And that is supported by some of the other facts I was able to unearth by patient research.’
‘Let me hear them.’
Canon Hubert unfolded his scroll and read its contents with a reverence which he normally reserved for Holy Writ. Ralph was enthralled by the picture of Raoul Lambert which began to emerge, completely at variance, as it was, with the description of the deceased that was given at the funeral. Hubert had been particularly assiduous in tracking down the heirs of the landholders whose deaths had removed large obstacles from the path of the huntsman.
When the recital of facts and figures came to an end, Hubert poked the scroll back into his scrip and awaited congratulation. Ralph was more than willing to offer it.
‘Well done, Hubert!’ he said effusively. ‘I applaud your persistence and your assiduity. You have not only uncovered the truth about Raoul Lambert, you have provided a motive for his assassin.’
‘A motive, my lord?’
‘Revenge.’
‘He has many enemies.’
‘I am surprised that he still has any friends,’ commented Ralph. ‘He is such a dangerous character with whom to consort. Three men died when Lambert appropriated their land. Two Norman barons and a Welshman. Each had a son who would
have expected to inherit his father’s holdings. I know how I would feel in their position.’
‘Lambert was killed by a Welsh arrow.’
‘Then we can hazard a guess who employed the archer.’
‘My choice would be the son of Owen ap Hywel,’ elected Hubert.
‘According to the town reeve, he was as vociferous as his father in threatening Lambert. Yes, it has to be him.’
‘What of the man who simply disappeared?’
‘Mansel of Denbigh? He was without male issue, my lord.’
‘He must have some sort of family.’
‘Yes,’ piped Brother Simon. ‘He has a daughter.’
Ralph Delchard felt a thud in the pit of his stomach. ‘A daughter, you say?’
Eiluned drew back the bowstring until it caressed her cheek then took careful aim. When the arrow was released, it flew through the air until it embedded itself in the trunk of a tree a hundred yards away. A young man in peasant garb stepped out from behind the trunk and waved to her in approval. After pulling six arrows out of the tree, he took them back to her.
Grinning in appreciation, he spoke in Welsh. ‘You never miss the target, Eiluned.’
‘Only because I practise regularly,’ she said. ‘My father insisted on that. There was nothing he loathed so much as a wasted arrow. A miss was a stigma on the archer.’
‘He taught you well.’
‘I have put his teaching to good use, Dafydd.’
‘You are our secret weapon.’
They strolled back to the deserted cottage to gather up Eiluned’s few belongings. She glanced around the ruins.
‘I am not sorry to leave this place.’
‘It has been poor habitation for you.’
‘It was somewhere to lay my head. That is all.’
‘When this is over,’ he said, kissing her softly on the cheek, ‘you may lay it on a pillow beside my head. We deserve each other, Eiluned.’
‘Our work is not yet done.’
‘It soon will be.’
He put an arm round her shoulders to guide her away but she broke from him gently and walked off into the trees. Dafydd followed her. Sturdy but lithe, he had long black hair and a shaggy beard through which white teeth gleamed like eggs in a bird’s nest. He knew where she was going and he shared her sadness.
Eiluned paused beside a mound of fresh earth and offered up a silent prayer. Dafydd came to stand beside her. He had helped to bury the old woman who had been such a good friend to Eiluned. Lacking a priest, they had conducted their own service. As she stared down at the grave, her eyes were moist.
‘She saved my life,’ she murmured.
‘And gave her own to warn you.’
‘Yes,’ said Eiluned. ‘She so wanted to be buried under Welsh soil but it was not to be. She will have to lie in an unmarked grave here in the Forest of Delamere.’ A wry smile brushed her lips. ‘There was one consolation.’
‘What was that?’
‘She lived long enough to see Raoul Lambert die.’
‘That must have given her great satisfaction,’ he observed. ‘If her cottage was on his land, she must have been one of his many victims.’
‘She was, Dafydd. It drew us together.’
He put a comforting arm round her and she nestled into his shoulder. They stood in silence over the grave until they heard a sound behind them. Both reacted with speed, spinning round and moving apart. Dafydd pulled a long dagger from its sheath and Eiluned had an arrow from its quiver in a flash, but neither weapon was needed. The bird who had caused the noise now flapped its wings and took to the air. It was a white dove.
‘A symbol of peace,’ noted Dafydd with light sarcasm.
‘There has been little enough of that in this forest,’ she said. ‘It is a place of death and darkness. No wonder Raoul Lambert was at home here.’ She put the arrow away. ‘Are the others ready, Dafydd?’
‘They will be arriving shortly.’
‘Then we must not keep them waiting.’
‘The horses are tethered nearby.’
‘Lead the way.’
After a last sorrowful glance at the old woman’s grave, Eiluned followed him into the trees until they reached the spot where the horses were concealed behind thick foliage. They were soon riding due west on their way out of the Delamere Forest. The white dove trailed them for a few miles then lost them in heavy woodland.
Ralph Delchard could never bring himself to like Canon Hubert any more than the latter could ever choose him as a soulmate, but their long conversation about Raoul Lambert had moved them closer together than they had ever been before. There was a new respect for his colleague on Ralph’s part and a growing realisation by Hubert of how much his personal safety depended on the soldier who led the commissioners. Critical of his shortcomings in the past, the canon was now more willing to acknowledge his virtues. If conflict lay ahead, it was men like Ralph Delchard who would protect him. The cathedral church was an inspiring place of sanctuary but it would prove a poor fortress against a concerted attack.
Hubert’s mind was suddenly concentrated on his survival. ‘Should we move to the castle, my lord?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Ralph. ‘In the interests of security.’
‘No!’ wailed Brother Simon.
‘This is the safest place in Chester.’
‘It may protect our bodies, my lord, but think of the spiritual damage it may inflict. This is a haven of sin and fornication. My soul shrinks at the very notion of being immured in such a den of vice.’
‘It might be an education for you,’ teased Ralph.
‘Heaven forfend!’
‘We will move to the castle,’ decreed Hubert, riding over the protests of his companion. ‘Our presence here might help to cleanse the atmosphere. I know that you have severe qualms, Brother Simon, but I hold that a castle which has a chaplain of such quality in its midst cannot be the fount of wickedness that we might fear. We will lend our strength to that of Brother Gerold.’
‘Must we desert Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo?’
‘They will be scurrying in here themselves before too long,’ prophesied Ralph with a chuckle. ‘If there is to be a Welsh uprising, that is, and it is very much in the balance.’
Simon wrung his hands. ‘But you told us that the Prince of Gwynedd is to intercede on the side of peace.’
‘Indeed, I did. And I pray that he may succeed in exerting some control over his people. But there is no guarantee of that,’ said Ralph. ‘The Welsh are a capricious race.’
‘None more so than Idwal!’ groaned Hubert.
‘Give him his due, Hubert. He has worked hard to stave off war and may yet turn out to be our saviour.’
‘That would be too great a burden to bear!’
‘Would you rather be embroiled in a war?’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Then give thanks where thanks are due,’ said Ralph tolerantly. ‘Idwal worships the same God as we do, albeit in a different language. If he would only take off that dead sheep that he wears, I might even grow to like him.’
‘But he reviles the English Church.’
‘Why, so do I on occasion, Hubert. The English Church seems to come through unscathed from both our aspersions.’ He became brisk. ‘But you must excuse me. I have much to do and you must seek some accommodation in the castle.’
‘No!’ cried Simon.
‘Yes!’ declared Hubert.
‘Argue about it elsewhere,’ suggested Ralph.
Turning on his heel, he unlocked the door and held it open for them to leave. A telltale sound alerted him. Somebody was descending the stairs at speed. Ralph was enraged to discover that the eavesdropper had been outside his door again.
‘God’s tits!’ he howled.
While Canon Hubert grimaced in disapproval and Brother Simon put his hands protectively over his ears, Ralph went charging down the stairs in pursuit, swearing aloud as he did so and pulling out his sword to brandish it in the ai
r. But his mad descent bore no fruit. When he reached the bottom of the steps, there was nobody in sight.
His anger surged until his temples were pounding. ‘Where are you?’ he bellowed.
A door opened behind him and Brother Gerold stepped out, ‘What is the trouble, my lord?’ he said innocently.
Idwal, Archdeacon of St David’s, flung his cloak back over his shoulders and pulled himself up to his full height. A sense of pride coursed through him. He had persuaded Gruffydd ap Cynan to advocate peace and now stood over him while he committed his promise to paper. Gruffydd was allowed out into the dingy passageway to sit at the small wooden table used by the guards. Fresh candles were lit to illumine what might turn out to be a vital document. Idwal grinned with delight as he watched the stylus scratching its way over the parchment. The fact that the missive was in Welsh added a lustre to it.
Gervase waited in the background until the prisoner had finished writing. When he had first read through it himself, Idwal passed the document to Gervase so that he could study its contents. The message was short, simple and quite unequivocal. The Prince of Gwynedd exhorted his followers to cease forthwith any preparations for war that they had been making. There were only two words that Gervase did not recognise but he was satisfied when Idwal translated them for him and added his own thanks to the prisoner.
Gruffydd ap Cynan rose to his feet and turned resignedly towards his cell. Gervase put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You are to be allowed some exercise, my lord.’
‘Am I?’ said the other, his spirits lifting.
‘I told you that Earl Hugh would be grateful,’ Idwal reminded him. ‘Enjoy the fresh air again, my lord. We will show your letter to the earl, then I will carry it in person across the border.’
Farewells were exchanged, then Gervase led the way out of the dungeons and up to the hall. The Earl of Chester was waiting for them and they were admitted at once. Hugh was seated at the head of the table with a few of his barons in attendance. Idwal scuttled across to him with an air of self-importance and placed the document on the table with great ceremony, as if delivering the Ten Commandments.
The Hawks of Delamere Page 21
