‘He’s still here, Gervase.’
‘The archdeacon doubted that.’
‘What does he know of a manhunt? Instinct is the crucial thing and mine tells me that the lad is hidden away somewhere. If we had more men, we could turn Gloucester inside out until we found him.’
‘The sheriff has men enough.’
‘Can you imagine him handing them over to us?’
‘No, Ralph,’ said the other. ‘And they are needed at the castle.
Now that you have passed on the word about a possible attempt on the King’s life, the whole garrison is on its toes. Durand does not strike me as the kind of man who would be moved by the plight of a novice. Protecting a King will seem far more vital to him than hunting for a boy who was foolish enough to wander around the abbey at night.’
‘That has been worrying me.’
‘What has?’
‘The sheer coincidence of it. Owen leaves the dormitory and someone just happens to be lurking in readiness for him. Why?
It does not make sense.’
‘It does to anyone who has been in an abbey. Young boys are playful. It is only natural. Until they reach maturer years, there will always be one or two who risk a beating to slip out at night.
Look at Kenelm and Elaf. They had many midnight escapades.’
‘I do not follow your argument.’
‘The man who lay in ambush was not waiting specifically for Owen. He may have had no idea who would appear. What he was counting on was that, sooner or later, some wilful novice would be out on the prowl. Brother Nicholas would probably have told him that.’
‘I am still not convinced.’
‘Then you have to side with the sheriff.’
‘God forbid!’
‘He still believes the killer lives in the abbey itself. An insider who knows where to skulk in order to wait for his prey to emerge from the novices’ dormitory. If he was Brother Nicholas’s accomplice, he would know how devoted Owen had been to the dead man. Devoted enough to pay a secret visit to his grave.’
‘Now that begins to make sense.’
‘Another monk as the murderer?’
‘Someone who was privy to the close relationship between Brother Nicholas and Owen. Monk or not, such a person would be able to anticipate a visit to the cemetery from the boy. Yes, Gervase,’ he said as the idea got a purchase on his mind, ‘we can rule out coincidence altogether. We are looking at careful planning here. At calculation.’
‘If he is calculating enough to get a boy out of an abbey, he will surely have the skill to smuggle him out of the city. Owen could have been hidden away in any of those carts we saw trundling through the gates. Or perhaps he was lowered over the wall at night by ropes. He has gone, Ralph. The archdeacon felt that and I agree.’
Before Ralph could reply, two familiar figures walked towards them. Strang the Dane had an arrogant strut, Balki a loping stride.
Neither looked happy at the accidental meeting.
‘I want to register a complaint!’ said Strang aggressively.
‘When do you do anything else?’ returned Ralph.
‘You have failed in your duty, my lord.’
‘I have responded to a call for help.’
‘So we have been told by Nigel the Reeve,’ said the Dane, ‘but only after we battered at his eardrums. He has just told us what he could have said this morning and saved us wasted time.’
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Gervase.
‘What do you think? Some people may neglect their work but I cannot afford to do that. Since you will not need me for some days at least, I am sailing to Bristol with a cargo of iron ore. It has been expected all week.’ He pointed to a boat moored at the quayside. ‘There it sits.’
‘That is yours?’ said Ralph.
‘Yes, my lord. It has been here too long as it is. One thing about iron ore, though,’ he added with a grim smile, ‘nobody is tempted to steal it. They would have dirty hands and aching muscles if they did.’
Ralph looked at the boat more carefully. It was a large craft with a single sail. The deck had been reinforced to take the weight of its regular cargo. When he saw how low it was in the water, he realised how large a quantity of iron ore was being carried on board. Most of it was covered by a tattered tarpaulin.
‘It will need to be searched,’ he announced.
‘Why?’ said Strang defensively.
‘So that we can be sure you are only taking what you claim to be taking. Stay here while it is searched.’ He was about to step aboard when he noticed how much the boat was moving about in the water. ‘Gervase will do the office for me.’ His friend gave him a resigned look. ‘Carry on, please. We must leave no stone unturned and no tarpaulin unlifted.’
While Gervase climbed about, Strang was vociferous in his protest. Balki insisted on taking part in the search, pulling back the tarpaulin helpfully and making it clear that there was nobody and nothing else aboard apart from the designated cargo. Annoyed by the bellows of complaint, Ralph finally silenced the Dane with a yell and sent him on his way, glad that he would not have to endure the man’s troublesome company for a few days. As soon as Gervase came ashore, the two men cast off. Oars were used to guide them out into the middle of the river then Balki hoisted the sail and it took a first smack from the wind. Ralph watched as it glided slowly downriver.
‘You would not get me into that boat.’
‘So I saw,’ said Gervase.
‘Someone had to search it. Every boat that comes downriver must be inspected from now on. If this is their means of transport, we will block it off completely.’
‘Unless we are already too late, Ralph.’
‘Late?’
‘They may have got him out during the night.’
‘I hope not.’
‘Owen may already be sailing to damnation.’
Sheer fatigue sent him off into a deep sleep. When he finally awoke, his stomach was still queasy but he was no longer being tossed helplessly around in the coracle. It was a small mercy.
Trying to move, Owen realised that he was still bound hand and foot with a gag preventing any call for help. Wet, frightened and aching all over, he forced his eyes open to take stock of his surroundings. He was propped against a wall in some kind of ruined building. Water could be heard gushing past nearby. It was a small room with a rotting floor and a door that had fallen off its hinges. Since birds flew in and out at will, he surmised that there were holes in the wall at his back.
In the far corner was a pile of old sacks, whitened by their contents but blackened with age. Other clues slowly met his gaze. Owen was eventually able to work out where he must be.
It was an abandoned mill. His heart sank as he saw what it must mean. He was some distance from Gloucester. The abbey he loved so much and the city which surrounded it were far away. He wondered if he would ever see them again. Whenever he moved even slightly, ropes chafed his wrists and his ankles.
His muscles seemed to be on fire. Wanting to cry, he could not even produce tears. It was frustrating. Owen turned his mind once more to his departed friend. His silent plea was charged with despair.
‘Help me, Brother Nicholas! Where are you?’
King William sat at the table with the others ranged around him.
The two leading barons who had ridden with him said little, having already had discussions with him on the journey to Gloucester.
Durand the Sheriff was unusually quite reticent, agreeing with all that was suggested and concealing any reservations he had about the proposed course of action. It was Bishop Wulfstan who provided most of the questions. The one prelate at the table was not daunted by the presence of four soldiers.
‘I am not entirely persuaded, my liege,’ he said respectfully.
‘Why not?’ said William.
‘Because your army is already stretched and your resources pushed to the limit. Retrenchment is the order of the day.’
‘That’s foolish talk,’ sai
d Durand.
‘Is it?’
‘Yes, Bishop Wulfstan. In military situations, we cannot always stop to count the cost. If we did, we would never do anything.’
‘Armies must be paid, fed, moved here and there.’
‘It is an expensive business,’ said William heavily. ‘Nobody denies that. Least of all me. I have spent my whole life paying one set of men to fight another. I have fought in endless battles myself. Victory is the best source of revenue. We must never forget that. What we spend now, we recoup when we win the field.’
Wulfstan was uncertain. ‘Are we confident of winning this time?’
‘Yes!’ asserted Durand.
‘But you will not be bearing arms yourself, my lord sheriff.’
‘No matter. I will be there in spirit.’
‘And in the person of your knights,’ added William approvingly.
‘Durand will pay more than his share towards this enterprise.
That is why I held this meeting in Gloucester before holding a larger council to announce my plans. I could be sure of complete loyalty here.’
‘From the Church in particular,’ Wulfstan reminded him.
‘But you are the only one to oppose this invasion,’ said Durand.
‘Loyalty means unconditional support, Bishop Wulfstan, not penny-pinching moans of dissent.’
‘You’ll hear no moans from me, my lord sheriff. I question this decision because it is only right that someone should. Call me a devil’s advocate, if you wish, though I am sure you call me worse in private. King William does not employ me to agree with every word he says.’
William grinned. ‘It is just as well!’
‘My task is to make you think of every aspect of a plan.’
‘And you do it admirably, Bishop Wulfstan. But,’ he said as he stretched his arms, ‘we have been at it long enough, I fancy. Let us break off here and meet again this evening to finalise what we have agreed. Thank you all. Progress has been made.’ The others rose to leave. ‘Stay, Durand,’ he said. ‘I want some private conference.’
Wulfstan and the two barons bade them farewell and left the hall. The bishop was anxious to return to the abbey for news of the steps taken to track down the missing boy, and his companions wanted to exchange with each other the doubts they had been too tactful to raise during the discussion. All three of them left the keep.
Still in the hall, King William rose to his feet with a cup of wine in his hand. Old age had caused him to fill out and had put something of a waddle into his walk. He strolled across to the window.
‘What do you think, Durand?’
‘About the invasion? I have already told you.’
‘Forget that,’ said William. ‘I refer to the information we received earlier. To be honest, I am inclined to ignore it.’
‘That would be reckless.’
‘A certain amount of recklessness is always necessary.’
‘But there is no point in taking chances, my liege,’ said Durand.
‘If there is to be an assassination attempt, we must be ready to resist it. You must comply with all the precautions I suggest.’
‘Must I?’ said the other wearily. ‘I have been threatened with assassination for as long as I can remember. Most of those threats have been hollow. Those that had substance were soon snuffed out. A lot of men have gone to their deaths because they dared to imagine they might be able to kill me.’ He ran a finger around the rim of his wine cup. ‘Who could possibly have hatched this plot? So few people know that I am even in this part of the country. No,’ he decided, on the move again, ‘I will treat it with contempt.’
‘But it comes from such a reliable source, my liege.’
‘That is true. Ralph Delchard would not invent such a warning.
But how did he get wind of it? That’s what I wish to know.’
‘So do I,’ said Durand. ‘I mean to press him hard on the subject.’
‘As you wish. But all that I will agree to is an extra guard posted outside my room at night. Who could penetrate a fortress like this? You have worked hard to strengthen it. We could repel a thousand assassins from inside these walls, yet Ralph was talking of a lone killer. One man is up against hopeless odds, Durand,’ he said, putting his cup down on the table. ‘I refuse to lose a wink’s sleep over this supposed threat.’
‘You will not need to, my liege. I will protect you.’
William gave him a pat of thanks on the arm and they moved slowly towards the door. The heavy tread of the King’s feet gave ample warning. Several seconds before they left the hall, the person who had been listening outside the door was able to flit away to a hiding place.
Chapter Twelve
After leaving some of his men at the quayside to search all boats coming downriver, Ralph Delchard led the way back to the abbey at a steady trot. He and Gervase Bret believed that, in their eagerness to follow the trail of the kidnapper, they had overlooked some vital clues there.
‘I’d like to speak to those novices again,’ said Ralph as they rode through the crowded streets. ‘Kenelm and Elaf. I’m not sure that they told us everything they knew.’
‘No,’ agreed Gervase. ‘Kenelm in particular. I sensed that he might be holding something back. We need to get him on his own. When we questioned him before, we had Bishop Wulfstan and Brother Frewine there as well. It must have been very intimidating for him, facing the four of us like that. It drove him back into his shell.’
‘I’ll pull him out of it!’
‘He won’t be pulled, Ralph. He needs to be coaxed.’
‘Coaxing takes too much time.’
They arrived at the abbey, dismounted and tethered their horses. When they went through the gate, the first people they met were Bishop Wulfstan and Hamelin of Lisieux, talking seriously together. Seeing the newcomers, they broke off their conversation.
‘What news?’ asked Wulfstan, shuffling across to them.
‘We are making progress,’ said Ralph, ‘but it is slow, I fear.’
‘Canon Hubert told me you had found the locksmith who made the duplicate key. A clever deduction on your part but a devastating one for Abbot Serlo to accept.’
‘Yes,’ said Hamelin solemnly. ‘Bishop Wulfstan was just relating the sad story to me. A key to the abbey. They are lucky they have only lost a few novices. If someone was able to come in and out of here at will, they could have borne off the gold and silver plate, the holy vessels for the altar and the precious relics.’
Wulfstan was assertive. ‘I would trade them all for the safe return of those boys,’ he said, plucking at his lambskin cloak and dislodging some of its remaining fur. ‘You cannot put a price on human life. Other items can be replaced. The abduction of three young boys is a far more heinous crime. That is why the kidnapper must be run to ground.’
‘He will be, Bishop Wulfstan,’ said Ralph.
‘In time,’ added Gervase. ‘But we are glad to find you here, Bishop Wulfstan. Our fear is that Owen was taken by someone engaged in the slave trade. You have preached against that, I understand, and taken several measures to stamp it out.’
‘I have, Master Bret.’
‘It would help us to know what they are and to have some idea of how widespread the trade has been in this county.’
‘This is private talk,’ said Hamelin tactfully. ‘I wish you luck in your pursuit of this villain but will not intrude. You obviously have much to discuss with Bishop Wulfstan.’
Hamelin of Lisieux took his leave and slipped out through the front gate. Ralph and Gervase were surprised to find him at the abbey. When they met him at the shire hall, he did not strike them as a man of pious inclination. Wulfstan answered the question before they asked it.
‘The lord Hamelin is a devout man,’ he said gratefully, ‘albeit somewhat late in the day. He was waiting for me when I returned from the castle. He wishes to endow a new church in the Westbury Hundred and wanted to discuss the procedure with me.’
‘It sounds like a
worthy enterprise,’ said Ralph huffily, ‘but I do think the lord Hamelin is being unduly hasty.’
‘Hasty, my lord?’
‘He is talking about building a church on land which has yet to be confirmed as his. The holdings in the Westbury Hundred are the subject of bitter dispute. Will his piety hold up if he is deprived of them?’
‘He assured me that there was no question of that because his claim will certainly be upheld by you.’
‘It remains to be seen,’ said Gervase. ‘At all events, it is heartening news for you, Bishop Wulfstan. The founding of a new church must always be an occasion of joy and it is to the lord Hamelin’s credit that he is donating some of his wealth in this way.’
‘Yes, Master Bret. He has acquired an unfortunate reputation in the past and is viewed by some as nothing short of a tyrant. I take him as I find him. A man with spiritual needs and philanthropic leanings.’
‘That was not my estimate of him,’ said Ralph.
‘Oh?’
‘When someone marries a woman like the lady Emma, spiritual needs obviously come second to more physical ones. But that is his business,’ he said dismissively. ‘Let us forget the lord Hamelin. Tell us about this trade in young boys, Bishop Wulfstan.
How long has it been going on and where is it seated?’
‘It has been going on far too long, my lord.’
‘Years?’
‘Several.’
‘I understand that Archbishop Lanfranc is fighting against it.’
‘He and I have exchanged many letters on the subject.’
‘Have there been many victims in your diocese?’
‘Alas, yes.’
‘Which part?’ asked Gervase.
‘All over.’
‘Mainly in Worcester?’
‘No, Master Bret. This county has suffered far more. Abbot Serlo and I have been gravely concerned. There seems to be no way of eradicating the evil completely.’ He sucked in air through his teeth. ‘We are convinced that the two boys who disappeared from the abbey in the past were abducted by someone involved in this abominable trade. And this latest victim, Owen, is now following them into a life of misery.’
The Owls of Gloucester d-10 Page 24
