He was almost halfway to his destination when he met the obstruction. A wagon had overturned on a downward slope and spilled its mean cargo on the ground. An old man and his wife were struggling to push the wagon upright but their strength was patently inadequate. As he rode closer, he could see the sweat that was glistening on the old man’s face. He took pity.
Bringing his horse to a halt, he dismounted. ‘Let me help you,’
he offered.
The man and his wife gave tired smiles of gratitude.
‘The three of us should be able to manage it.’
He took up a position and got a firm grip on the wagon. Before he could lend his strength to theirs, however, he felt a searing pain as a long knife was plunged deep into his back. When he tried to turn, he was buffeted to the ground by the old man’s stout forearm. Danger had come when he least expected it. He had ridden into a clever trap.
His message would never reach Rhuddlan.
*
*
*
They saw the change in him at once. As soon as Ralph Delchard walked into the shire hall, Canon Hubert and Brother Simon noted the spring in his step and the unassailable buoyancy in his manner. They understood its cause. Golde had arrived. Hubert was pleased. If his wife could lift his spirits so markedly, then she was a most welcome visitor to Chester because they would all benefit.
Simon was ready to enjoy that benefit without dwelling on its implications. Marriage was a terrifying mystery to him and he never dared even to imagine what strange practices took place between a man and his wife in the privacy of their bed. Celibacy was his chosen path and he thanked God daily for the protection it gave him from what he saw as the contaminating touch of a woman.
Ralph was in high humour. That was all that mattered. Simon was satisfied that his colleague would lead the commission with more gusto and efficiency than he had managed on their first day.
It was a testing session in the shire hall. Their work was beset by problems from the start. The death of Raoul Lambert made it impossible for them to proceed with the dispute in which he figured so largely. Witnesses who had been summoned to give evidence on his behalf or on that of the Church were turned away with apologies. The disputants in the case which replaced the one postponed were late arriving and unprepared for a legal confrontation which was forced upon them before they were ready.
They begged for more time to compose themselves.
Delay followed delay, setback ensued setback. But Ralph Delchard refused to be upset or even irritated. He carried out his duties with unruffled calm and his geniality helped to sustain his colleagues. Even Gervase Bret succumbed to pique when a disputant in one case blithely announced that she had decided not to bring a vital charter with her because she could remember exactly what it said. Ralph’s whispered comments soon had Gervase smiling tolerantly.
Attenuated by mishaps, their day nevertheless did yield some progress. Two minor disputes were settled and a third was in sight of completion when they adjourned. They could look back on their efforts with some satisfaction. Hubert took the opportunity to probe Ralph for information about the matter which was still at the forefront of his mind.
‘I was deeply alarmed to hear of the foul murder.’
‘So were we all,’ said Ralph.
‘Gervase and I discussed it last evening.’
‘Yes, Hubert. Your comments were very apt. Gervase passed them on to me over breakfast. You and I seem to have been thinking along the same lines.’ He smiled. ‘For a change.’
‘What does Earl Hugh say?’
‘He will not listen to any of our ideas. Nothing will shift him from the view that an attempt was made on his own life as a prelude to a Welsh uprising.’
‘That is my own secret fear, my lord!’
‘And mine!’ said Simon.
‘Your fears are groundless.’
‘I wish that I could believe that,’ said Hubert, ‘but my instinct rules against it. Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo are equally unnerved. They know the Welsh.’
‘So do I,’ said Ralph airily. ‘I have fought against them enough times. They are hardy warriors but they will not go to war for the sake of fighting. The Welsh mind is crafty and calculating. Before they would even consider an attack on Chester, they would first introduce some men slyly into the city. Artful spies who could prepare the way for them.’
Hubert’s eyes bulged. ‘Archdeacon Idwal!’
‘He has too much integrity to be a spy,’ said Gervase.
‘Welsh integrity,’ said Hubert meaningfully.
‘Leave Idwal out of this,’ said Ralph. ‘Intelligencers are stealthy and no man has less stealth than our archdeacon. His idea of open warfare would be to talk us all to death. He is not the problem here.’
Simon trembled. ‘He is if you lodge under the same roof.’
‘No,’ said Ralph, warming to his subject, ‘the real source of interest is this Raoul Lambert.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Gervase. ‘I have been making a few inquiries about him. Everyone at the castle knew him. Honest, reliable, skilled at his trade. That is how most remember him.’
Ralph nodded. ‘That was Earl Hugh’s epitaph. According to him, Raoul Lambert was a man with no enemies.’
‘None within the city, perhaps,’ said Gervase, ‘but he may have been less popular on the Welsh border. It is a pity that he will not appear before us for examination. I would have pressed him to explain how his berewics increased steadily in size over the past couple of years.’
‘Unjust seizure!’ asserted Hubert. ‘This county has a deplorable record of it. And the worst culprit is Earl Hugh himself. Raoul Lambert was only following his example.’
‘There is certainly a curious bond between the two men,’ opined Ralph, ‘and it was not just a mutual interest in hunting. Did you discover what that bond was, Gervase?’
‘No, Ralph, but I did learn something else.’
‘From whom?’
‘The town reeve,’ said Gervase. ‘A most obliging fellow. I made a point of arriving here this morning early enough to talk at length with him. He is a fount of wisdom with regard to matters concerning Chester and its environs. He knew our huntsman and spoke well of him. Like everyone else, he was shocked to learn of the murder. Raoul Lambert will be mourned. But the reeve did recall certain events which may cast a slight shadow over Lambert’s reputation.’
‘Dark deeds in his past?’ said Ralph hopefully.
‘Not necessarily,’ warned Gervase. ‘He may be innocent of any involvement. The town reeve certainly thought so. This is what happened. Two of the berewics held by Raoul Lambert encroached on Welsh soil. In both instances, there was strong local resistance.’
‘What form did it take?’ asked Hubert.
‘Verbal abuse then threats of violence.’
‘How were the cases resolved?’
‘In the most abrupt way,’ explained Gervase. ‘One of the men who protested was drowned in mysterious circumstances in the River Gowy. There was talk of suicide.’
‘And the other case?’
‘The man whose land had been taken simply disappeared. He set off for Chester to register his protest with Earl Hugh and was never seen again. To this day, nobody quite knows what happened to him.’
‘Do you think that our huntsman did?’ said Ralph.
Gervase shrugged. ‘I am not sure. In both instances, he was the beneficiary. Protest was effectively stifled. There were vague rumours that he may have been implicated.’
‘Rumours prove nothing,’ Simon pointed out.
‘True,’ said Gervase. ‘At their best, they amount to hearsay evidence and that is notoriously unreliable. But I would say one thing. The elements which characterise the disputes in which Raoul Lambert was involved are repeated time and again in other cases that will come before us. It is almost as if he set a pattern for others to follow.’
‘Yet he was no baron of high rank,’ said Hubert, frankly bewildered. ‘How
did he achieve such pre-eminence? What made this huntsman stand out above all others?’
‘Find that out,’ concluded Ralph, ‘and we will know why he was murdered in the Forest of Delamere.’
It was a simple funeral. Barely half a dozen people were gathered in the church to hear the white-haired Father Ernwin sing Mass for the souls of the departed. Most of the congregation were too stunned to listen to the words and none understood the melodious Latin. All that they knew was that two men were going into their grave before their time. The crude wooden coffins held mutilated bodies which bore vivid testimony to the ruthlessness of the Earl of Chester. That thought subdued all who were present.
Gytha sat on the front bench in the tiny nave, cradling her brother who was too frightened either to look or to listen. To comfort Beollan, she had to control her own grief and that required a supreme effort. It was only when the coffins were finally lowered into the ground and earth was tossed on to them that the loss of her father and elder brother hit her with its full impact. Her control suddenly vanished. She burst into tears, began to sway violently, lost her footing and all but fell into the grave after them.
It was Beollan who showed strength then, putting an arm round her to steady her and muttering words of comfort. Gytha slowly recovered. When the service was over, the ancient priest braved the long walk to escort them all the way back to the cottage and offered what little consolation he could. He promised to call again the next day to see how they were faring. Gytha and Beollan were left alone. An hour passed before either of them could even speak.
Gytha broached a subject which she had put aside after the discovery of the bodies in the ditch. It could not be ignored any longer.
‘Beollan.’
‘Yes?’ he murmured.
‘Tell me what really happened that day.’
‘I have, Gytha. I lost sight of them.’
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘That is not the truth. You are still hiding something from me. There will be no secrets in this house. I must know. Tell me everything. I am not going to blame you or chastise you.’
‘There is nothing to tell.’
‘Yes, there is. I saw you speak to Master Bret when he came to see us. You told him the truth. I could see it in his face. He knows what I have a right to know. I am your sister.’ She took him by the shoulders to stare deep into his eyes. ‘Why are you so guilty? What did you do that day?’
The memory brought tears to the boy’s eyes and he tried to turn away, but his sister was determined to wrest the truth from him. She held him firmly and saw his resistance fade.
‘What did you do, Beollan?’
‘I ran away,’ he whimpered.
‘When?’
‘When the earl’s hawk was killed. We were hiding in a ditch and I bolted like a coward.’
‘That was not cowardice.’
‘They were caught and I escaped, Gytha.’
‘I thank God for that small mercy!’ she sighed. ‘Think how much worse it would have been for me if all three of you had been captured. Your age would not have saved you, Beollan. You would have been hanged with them.’ She gave him a hug. ‘I love you and I do not blame you. God has spared you for a purpose. You were right to run.’
‘I feel so ashamed.’
‘There is no cause.’ She released her hold. ‘What else did you tell Master Bret?’
‘That I saw someone sneaking away in the forest.’
‘Sneaking away?’
‘Carrying a bow.’
‘The archer who shot that arrow!’ she decided. ‘He was the one who should have been hanged from that tree. Not Father and our dear brother Arkell. They were innocent. Master Bret will know that now. You were a witness.’
Beollan nodded and squeezed her arm affectionately. He had expected his sister to be angry with him, but she was instead kind and understanding. It made all the difference. He was closer to her than he had ever been before and felt able to part with one last secret.
‘There is something that I have not told anyone,’ he said.
Chapter Ten
Towards the end of another day, Robert de Limesey carried out his routine inspection of the work being done on his beloved cathedral. There was little perceptible change behind the scaffolding but he felt somehow reassured each time he visited the scene. It was heartening to reflect that while he was conducting services within the cathedral, a team of able men was improving the outer fabric of the building. The blessed time would come when the scaffolding was finally removed and the bishop could view the renovations in their full glory.
The place was deserted now. Ropes dangled idly and pulleys were silent. Stone lay about on the grass in abundance, some of it already dressed to shape and ready to be hoisted up into position, some of it fresh from the quarry, waiting for the mason’s hammer and chisel to fashion it appropriately. Bishop Robert loved to watch the craftsmen at work, taking an ugly lump of stone and slowly releasing its hidden beauty until it was fit to adorn the cathedral church of St John.
He was still musing on the majesty of the architecture when Archdeacon Frodo came padding across the grass.
‘Is there anything to see, Bishop Robert?’ he asked.
‘Progress. Slow, steady, unhurried progress.’
‘I will be glad when the stonemasons finish,’ said the other.
‘They have a noisy occupation. We will never hear the angels sing above the din of those hammers.’
‘Listen more carefully, Frodo.’
The archdeacon smiled. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘But I bring word from Father Ernwin. The funeral was held this afternoon and he sends thanks for the permission you kindly gave.’
‘I could hardly refuse it. Those two men who were hanged in the forest may have been poachers but they are still entitled to a Christian burial. It would have been sinful to leave them in a ditch to rot.’
‘That is what Earl Hugh intended.’
‘I am glad we were able to frustrate that intention.’
‘It was one of the commissioners who found the bodies.’
‘So I understand,’ said the bishop. ‘Master Gervase Bret. A young man of true Christian impulse. Canon Hubert has nothing but praise for his colleague and I can see why. He offered help to a family who were spurned by everyone else. Out of pure compassion, he turned Good Samaritan.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘It is a sad business, Frodo. But at least the bodies are now buried safely in the ground. They have been laid to rest. The surviving members of the family can now begin to mourn.’
‘Father Ernwin said the same in his message.’
‘He is a good shepherd and tends his flock well.’ He glanced around to make sure that they were not overheard. ‘Frodo,’ he said quietly, ‘I am sure that you appreciate how important it is to keep this from Earl Hugh.’
‘You may rely on my discretion.’
‘I always do.’
‘Father Ernwin also understands the situation.’
‘Good,’ said the bishop. ‘When he had their corpses tossed in that ditch, Earl Hugh meant them to lie there as a hideous warning to others. He would be highly displeased to hear that they had been recovered by their family and given a decent burial.’
‘He will hear nothing from my lips,’ promised the archdeacon, ‘but then, he is too busy to listen to anything that we might have to say. The murder of Raoul Lambert has blocked out all else from his mind.’
‘It troubles me as well, Frodo.’
‘There will be severe repercussions.’
‘We have already suffered one of them,’ noted the bishop. ‘Our appeal against Raoul Lambert’s annexation of Church property will now go unheard. And you will have to forgo the pleasure of exposing his rapacity to the commissioners in the shire hall.’
‘Some of our property may yet be returned, your grace.’
‘I pray that all of it will.’
‘Leave that to me and to the commissioners.’
‘I will, Frodo.’ He washed his hands nervousl
y in the air. ‘What is the true story, do you think?’
‘True story?’
‘Of the murder in the forest. Was it, in fact, do you suppose, a bold attempt on the life of Earl Hugh?’
‘I can only guess,’ said Frodo. ‘Though I have talked with two people who were in the hunting party and they are firmly of the opinion that it was a bungled assassination. It has enraged Earl Hugh beyond measure.’
‘That is not difficult to do.’
‘This time his fury has just cause.’
‘How has it expressed itself?’
‘In prompt action,’ said the archdeacon. ‘When I went into the city, I saw extra guards at the gate. They let nobody through until they had checked his identity and purpose. It was the same at the castle. Soldiers are everywhere. The show of military strength is quite daunting.’
‘And unsettling,’ admitted the bishop. ‘Earl Hugh would not stiffen his defences in that way unless he feared some kind of attack. And there is only one place from which that would come.’
‘Wales.’
‘Yes, Frodo. I begin to tremble.’
‘Why, your grace?’
‘Because I suddenly fear for my cathedral.’
‘It is in no real danger.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Chester has a large garrison.’
‘But they are inside the castle,’ said Robert anxiously. ‘They have stone walls to protect them. We do not. We are outside the city with no fortifications to hide behind.’
‘We have God to watch over us.’
‘Yes, Frodo, but even He might not be able to stop a marauding army from over the border. It would not be the first time that a cathedral was sacked in Chester.’
‘That will not happen, your grace.’
‘It might.’
‘Only as a remote possibility.’
‘While that possibility exists, I continue to fret.’ He looked up wistfully at the building. ‘An immense amount of love and devotion has gone into the construction of this cathedral, quite apart from the money and the effort that have been lavished upon it. I hate the thought that it could all go up in smoke. I would be devastated.’
‘So would I, your grace,’ said the archdeacon, ‘but I am confident that we will never be in that predicament. Earl Hugh is reacting to a threat which may not even be there. The Welsh have been peaceful neighbours ever since their prince was imprisoned in the castle. They would never endanger his life by mounting an attack.’
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