The Owls of Gloucester d-10

by Edward Marston

  Clearly visible from any part of the city, the fortress was a vivid symbol of foreign domination and a reminder that sixteen Saxon dwellings had been demolished to make way for it. A small forest had also been cut down to provide the timber needed for its construction. The Normans were not temporary visitors; they were there to stay.

  It was a thought which had often troubled Golde in younger days, and even now, though married to a member of the Norman nobility, she felt the dull resentment of a conquered nation. As she looked out across the city, she remembered the visit she had once made there as a young girl when her father was a thegn in the neighbouring county of Herefordshire and her family had real standing in the Saxon community. Domestic buildings had changed little since then. There were no stone houses in Gloucester; they were either built in the time-honoured fashion with posts hammered into the ground then linked by interwoven wattle, or they were timber-framed. The same sunken floors and thatched roofs predominated.

  What differed from her first trip was the fact that the citizens now lived in the shadow of Norman rule as epitomised by its castle. Not for the first time a twinge of guilt unsettled Golde.

  Marriage to Ralph Delchard brought many benefits and untold pleasures, but it did not leave her conscience unmolested.

  Gloucester was bigger than Hereford but there were many similarities between the two. But for a happy accident, she would still be working in the family brewhouse or haggling in the market like the crowds she could see in the streets below.

  Golde turned away from the window. She was in an upper room in the square tower. It was small and cluttered but extremely clean and would be a far more comfortable place to pass the day than on the back of her palfrey. Having shivered in so many draughty Norman castles in wintertime, she was grateful that they were staying at Gloucester during warm weather. It was a great solace.

  Footsteps pounded up the steps outside the room, then the door opened and Ralph came bursting in. Golde saw the vexation on his face.

  ‘What is the matter, Ralph?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘I thought you would be glad to reach Gloucester.’

  ‘I was, Golde. The sooner we reach the place, the sooner we can leave. At least, that is what I thought. But it seems as if our stay may be longer than I hoped. Gervase has let me down.’

  ‘Surely not.’

  ‘He has, my love. He promised me that we would encounter no problems here. It was a confident prophecy. So much for Gervase Bret’s reputation as a fortune teller! I’ll never trust him again.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Two unheralded blows have already struck us.’

  ‘Blows?’

  ‘Yes, Golde,’ said Ralph, pacing up and down the little chamber.

  ‘While you were being conducted up here, the sheriff confided that we have arrived in the middle of a murder investigation.’

  ‘Heavens! Who was the victim?’

  ‘One of the monks at the abbey.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘That is what Durand told us — in fairly blunt terms at that. His tone was less than friendly to us and I mean to point that out to him when he returns.’

  ‘What exactly happened, Ralph?’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself about it.’

  ‘But I want to know.’

  ‘The details are quite distressing.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Better that you don’t hear them.’

  ‘I’m not a child.’

  He gave a tired smile. ‘I can vouch for that.’

  ‘Then you know that I don’t need to be protected from unpleasant facts. And I’d much rather hear them from you. Since we’re staying in the castle, I’m bound to pick them up elsewhere sooner or later.’

  ‘True, my love.’

  ‘Tell me all.’

  He nodded. ‘Thus it stands.’

  Ralph gave her a shortened version of what the sheriff had told him and produced a long sigh of regret. Golde was shocked that murder had occurred within a monastic community. Her questions came thick and fast and Ralph took her by the shoulders to stem the flow.

  ‘Don’t interrogate me. I’ve told you all I know.’

  ‘What of Canon Hubert and Brother Simon?’

  ‘Forget them.’

  ‘Are they aware of this?’

  ‘Durand warned them about it in my hearing.’

  ‘It will make the abbey a frightening place to be.’

  ‘Simon was shaking at the prospect.’

  ‘I don’t blame him, Ralph. It’s the one place where you would expect to be completely safe. Are there any clues? Any suspects?

  Does the sheriff think the murderer is still in Gloucester?’

  He put a finger to her lips. ‘No more questions.’

  ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘Enough!’

  He silenced her with a kiss and she responded warmly, sinking into his embrace and enjoying their first moment alone since dawn. Ralph stood back and beamed at her.

  ‘That’s the nicest thing that’s happened to me all day.’

  ‘There is ample time for improvement on a solitary kiss.’

  ‘I will remind you of that later on, my love.’

  ‘Do you think that I will need reminding?’ They exchanged a knowing smile. ‘But you said that there were two of them.’

  ‘Two what?’

  ‘Unheralded blows.’

  ‘Yes!’ he groaned. ‘And the second may be worse than the first.’

  ‘What could be worse than murder?’

  ‘Being haunted by a ghost.’

  ‘A ghost?’

  ‘The most terrifying kind, Golde. A Welsh ghost.’

  ‘Stop talking in riddles.’

  ‘He has come back from the dead to harry me.’

  ‘Who has?’

  ‘A certain archdeacon.’

  ‘Idwal?’

  Ralph recoiled as if struck by an arrow and clutched at his chest.

  ‘I’ve asked you not to speak his foul name.’

  ‘But I grew quite fond of Archdeacon Id-’ She checked herself just in time. ‘Of that prelate from the other side of the border.’

  ‘If only he would stay there!’ said Ralph bitterly. ‘Gervase assured me that he would. He insisted that I would be completely safe from that garrulous little goat. Yet what happens? No sooner do we reach the castle to be told of the murder at the abbey than a second avalanche falls on me. A letter is handed to us regarding the major dispute we have come here to resolve. We thought we would be sitting in judgement on only three people, but a fourth has now declared himself.’

  ‘A fourth?’

  ‘The Archdeacon of Gwent.’

  ‘But that is not Idwal,’ she said, inflicting another wound with the unguarded mention of his name. ‘When we met him in Chester, he was Archdeacon of St David’s. Before that, during your stay in Hereford, he spoke as Archdeacon of Llandaff.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Ralph, on the move again. ‘He changes his title at will in order to pursue me. He is Archdeacon of Gwent now.’

  ‘Are you certain of that?’

  ‘I feel it in my bones.’

  ‘The aches and pains of travel.’

  ‘He is haunting me, Golde. Wherever I go that ugly face of his is leering at me. We all have our cross to bear and mine is hewn from the heaviest Welsh timber. When I first read that letter, I wanted to turn tail and ride back home, but he would follow me even there.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’d probably arrive back to find him Archdeacon of Winchester.’

  Golde laughed. ‘That’s ridiculous!’ she said. ‘And you know it.

  I’m surprised at you, Ralph. You’re the most fearless man I’ve ever met. You fought bravely in many battles and would take on a giant in single combat. Yet a harmless Welsh churchman can make you tremble.’

  ‘There is nothing harmless about him.’

  ‘You alarm yourself without necessity. Id-’ She
bit back the name once again. ‘The person we’re talking about is not the Archdeacon of Gwent.’

  ‘He could be, Golde.’

  ‘Impossible. Gwent is too small a county for a man of his high ambition. It would be a much lowlier office than the one he already occupies. On that account alone, he would spurn it.’

  ‘I had not thought of that.’

  ‘Rest easy.’

  ‘We are too close to Wales for me to do that.’

  ‘Forget this new archdeacon until you have to confront him at the shire hall. You’ve been so busy unburdening your bad news that I’ve been unable to tell you my good tidings.’

  ‘Good tidings?’

  ‘You and Gervase are not the only ones to receive a letter.

  Mine was waiting for me here,’ she said, crossing to the little table to pick up the missive and hand it to him. ‘It’s from my sister. Aelgar expects to be here within a day or two.’

  ‘These are indeed good tidings.’

  ‘There’s more yet, Ralph. She is betrothed.’

  ‘It was only a matter of time.’

  ‘Her future husband will be travelling with her.’

  ‘Then we must give them both a worthy welcome. Gloucester may yet have some joy to offer us.’ He enfolded her in his arms.

  ‘I’m sorry to get into such a state, my love. It was the sheriff’s manner which put me out of sorts. That and the threat of the mad archdeacon.’ A sudden fear made him tighten his grasp. ‘Your sister is betrothed, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘To whom?’

  ‘A young man from Archenfield.’

  ‘Saints preserve us!’ he gasped. ‘Is he Welsh?’

  Golde shook with mirth until he kissed her into submission.

  The abbey was smothered under a blanket of sadness. When the guests arrived, they were given only a token welcome by the Hospitaller, who conducted them in silence to their lodgings.

  Hardly a monk looked up as they passed, hardly a spark of curiosity was ignited; a melancholy air pervaded the whole community. Those who padded across the cloister garth, shoulders hunched, chins on their chest, were deep in mourning.

  Even the novices, taking instruction from their master as the visitors went past, were figures of dejection. The atmosphere was in marked contrast to that of the abbey that Canon Hubert and Brother Simon had recently quit on the King’s business.

  Winchester throbbed with a subdued vitality; Gloucester was a charnel house.

  ‘I have never felt so uneasy inside the walls of a religious house,’ admitted Simon. ‘It is eerie.’

  ‘Sacrilege has taken place here,’ boomed Hubert as they followed their mute guide. ‘A spiritual refuge has been despoiled.’

  ‘I wish that we had not come, Canon Hubert.’

  ‘Nonsense! We are needed here.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘By the abbot, by the brothers, by God. A terrible crime has been committed. Our footsteps have been guided here so that we may help to track down the villain responsible.’

  Simon blanched. ‘What can we do against a violent killer?’

  ‘Expose him.’

  ‘But we are strangers here, Canon Hubert.’

  ‘That may be an advantage,’ said the other blandly. ‘An abbey rightly looks inward. Coming from the outside, we may perceive things that elude those who know nothing but life within the enclave. We may be of real help in this investigation.’

  ‘I am unequal to it.’

  ‘Fear not, Brother Simon. I will act for both of us.’

  ‘You are ever my salvation.’

  ‘Let us pray together before I begin.’

  When they reached their lodgings, they deposited their satchels of documents before adjourning to the church to kneel in prayer.

  Tainted with blood, the place sent shivers through the cadaverous scribe and he implored God to cleanse the abbey forthwith and safeguard all within its holy bounds. Hubert soon left him to continue his supplication alone and made his way to the abbot’s lodging to present himself to his old friend.

  ‘I am delighted to see you, Hubert!’ welcomed Serlo.

  ‘And I, you, Father Abbot.’

  ‘It has been too long a time since we last met.’

  ‘You have ever been in my thoughts.’

  ‘I only wish this blessed reunion could have taken place in happier circumstances. You have heard of our predicament, I daresay?’

  ‘Alas, yes,’ said Hubert. ‘Durand the Sheriff told us.’

  ‘He is no doubt searching the abbey even as we speak.’

  ‘Looking for evidence?’

  ‘More than that, Hubert,’ said the other, his face clouding.

  ‘Durand has seized on the disturbing notion that the killer himself may lurk within these walls.’

  ‘That is a monstrous suggestion!’

  ‘So I told him. I can vouch for every monk and novice at the abbey but the sheriff will not trust my word. He is questioning everyone.’

  Hubert was glad to find the abbot alone, but concerned to see the distant anxiety in his eyes. It was the quiet desperation of a father who has been told that one of his sons is a callous murderer.

  The room was large, low and musty. A crucifix stood on the bare table, a bible open beside it. When Hubert was waved to a seat, he lowered himself on to the wooden bench. Serlo himself sat beside the table.

  ‘A royal commissioner!’ he said with a congratulatory smile.

  ‘You have done well, Hubert. Your talents have received due recognition.’

  ‘Thank you, Father Abbot. I will not pretend that it is work which is close to my heart, but it is a necessary task and the King’s bidding must be done. It has also given me the opportunity to expose much fraud and corruption so, in a sense, I am doing God’s work as well.’

  ‘Indeed, you are. Loud protests have been raised against this Great Survey but they have not come from me. Though it may lead to more taxes in some cases, this Domesday Book, as they call it, has the virtue of establishing rightful claims to property.

  I do not mind telling you, Hubert,’ he said, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper, ‘that this abbey was grossly exploited before I came here. All but ruined, in point of fact. Land was wilfully taken, income diverted from our coffers. I fought hard to regain much of what was lost.’

  ‘You did, Father Abbot,’ said Hubert knowledgeably. ‘I have seen the returns for this county. You have already recovered the manors of Frocester and Coln St Aldwyn.’

  ‘There are others which were illegally taken during the time of Abbot Wilstan, my predecessor. Nympsfield, for one. Does that come within the scope of your inquiry?’ he asked, fishing gently.

  ‘I would be indebted to you if it did.’

  ‘Then I have to disappoint you, I fear. We have not been sent here to adjudicate on abbey property. The first commissioners only identified the worst irregularities and it is those we have come to address.’

  ‘Could you not find time to hear our case?’

  Hubert was firm. ‘It is outside our jurisdiction, Father Abbot.

  We are tied by specific instruction. Privately, of course,’ he said with a flabby smile, ‘I will give you the most sympathetic hearing and advise you how best to represent the abbey’s claims. Having acted in a judicial capacity so many times now, I like to think I am well versed in the intricacies of property disputes.’

  ‘Are you the leader of this second commission?’

  ‘Technically, no, but my word carries great weight. The lord Ralph, our appointed head, is a veteran soldier who lacks an appreciation of legal subtleties. He is forced to turn to me very often,’ said Hubert with smooth pomposity. ‘But no more of my work. It is an irrelevance at this moment in time. Tell me more about this catastrophe which has struck the abbey. Who was this unfortunate Brother Nicholas of whom the sheriff spoke?’

  ‘Our rent collector.’

  ‘How long had he been dead before he was found?’

>   ‘We can only hazard a guess at that, Hubert.’

  Serlo ran a palm across his wrinkled brow and gave a detailed account of how the murder victim had been found. Hubert was dismayed at what he heard. After condemning the anonymous killer in the strongest language he felt able to use, he turned his ire on the novices.

  ‘I hope that they have been soundly swinged, Father Abbot,’ he said, puffing with indignation. ‘Their behaviour was disgraceful.

  To leave the dormitory like that, plunder the kitchen and flee into the church from the Master of the Novices! Their backs should be raw for a month.’

  ‘Far too Draconian a remedy.’

  ‘Disobedience must be punished. Not,’ he added hastily, ‘that I would presume to teach you how to rule here when you patently do so in the true spirit of the Benedictine Order. Yet, with respect, I do feel that these miscreants should be shown no mercy.’

  ‘Then you and I must agree to differ, Hubert.’

  ‘I hope not, Father Abbot.’

  ‘Kenelm and Elaf are relative newcomers to the abbey. They have yet to understand the sacrifices which they must make.

  What they did was deplorable and they realise that now. However,’

  he continued, rising to his feet, ‘I do not feel that a flogging is appropriate here. You may wish their backs to be raw for a month but their young minds will be raw for the rest of their lives. Think of what they endured, Hubert. Finding one of the reverent brothers dead. Lunging against his corpse in the dark. A hideous experience. It cured their misbehaviour in an instant.’

  ‘That is one way of looking at it,’ conceded Hubert.