The Hawks of Delamere

Chapter Eight

It took Ralph Delchard a long time to shake off Idwal. The Welshman was a tireless bloodhound, sniffing his trail with assurance, bounding along with glee and baying at his heels whenever he got close enough. They seemed to make a circuit of the entire castle. It was an undignified game for a royal commissioner to have to play and Ralph eventually wearied of it.

Unequivocal confrontation was needed. When Idwal pursued him into the keep, Ralph held his ground and swung round to face him. It was no time for diplomatic niceties.

‘Go away!’ he ordered.

‘But we have so much news to exchange, my lord.’

‘Do not pester me so, man! I have no interest in your news and I will not be chased like some runaway stag.’

Idwal was hurt. ‘I thought that we were friends.’

‘Friends do not hound each other.’

‘I am pleased to see you, that is all.’

‘Reflect on that pleasure elsewhere.’

‘But we grew close when we were in Hereford together.’

‘Too close!’

‘We joined forces to avert a Welsh rebellion.’

‘You are a Welsh rebellion on your own.’

There was a long pause as Idwal assessed the situation. His frown eventually melted away and his palms opened in a gesture of mild contrition.

‘I see the problem,’ he said, recovering his good humour with remarkable speed. ‘I come to you at an inopportune time. I am sorry, my lord. I should not have ambushed you as I did. Appoint a more fit hour when we may converse at length.’

Ralph was firm. ‘We have said all that we need to say to each other. I do not wish to hear any more about Llandaff.’

‘St David’s.’

‘Or St David’s.’

‘Though I do have news of Llandaff as well.’

‘Spare me!’

‘And good tidings from Bangor.’

‘Bangor?’

‘Not to mention Brecon.’

‘Convey your tidings to Bishop Robert. They may have some relevance for him. Or to Canon Hubert,’ said Ralph, grasping at any straw to rid himself of the persistent Welshman. ‘He will argue about the Church for as long as you like. Llandaff, St David’s, Bangor, Brecon or Bethlehem. Hubert is your man.’

‘We have spoken already.’

‘Speak to him again, Idwal.’

‘Oh, I will, I will.’

‘He relishes a debate with you.’

‘I have noticed, my lord.’

Idwal cocked his head to one side and scrutinised Ralph through glinting eyes. He said something in Welsh under his breath then let out a rich chortle.

‘Hereford!’ he teased. ‘That is why you try to elude me, is it not, my lord? Hereford! You have never forgiven me for spying in advance what it took you days even to notice.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Love. Marriage. Happiness. I saw the possibility of all three dancing in your eyes and in those of the dear lady who is now your wife. I can claim some credit for bringing you together, my lord. In some sort, I played the part of Cupid.’

‘Heaven forbid!’

‘I brought the pair of you turtle doves together.’

‘This is intolerable!’ groaned Ralph.

‘Deny it if you will but I know. I was there.’

‘Could I ever forget!’

Idwal took a step backwards. ‘I will trouble you no more at this time, my lord,’ he said abruptly. ‘I bid you farewell.’

‘At last!’

‘We can resume our conversation in the full light of day. When you are less taxed by your affairs and refreshed by sleep. Both you and Earl Hugh, I trust, may be more amenable tomorrow.’

‘Only a madman would wager on it.’

Idwal grinned. ‘I have always had a streak of madness.’ He became serious. ‘One last thing,’ he warned. ‘You need me. I can talk with men of consequence on both sides of the border. Nobody else in this castle can do that. Impress it upon Earl Hugh. I am the key to continued peace in Cheshire. If he grants me permission to see Gruffydd ap Cynan, I will help to prevent more warfare.’

Before Ralph could ask him how, his tormentor flung one side of his evil-smelling cloak over his shoulder and marched away with Messianic certainty in his stride. Ralph was left alone on a cold staircase. It was ironic. Pursued by the effusive archdeacon, his instinct had been to strike out at the man, but now that the chase had been called off he felt a vague sensation of guilt.

Idwal was only trying to show friendship. And he might indeed be able to glean information from the Prince of Gwynedd which could be of benefit to his captors. Idwal was by instinct a man of peace, as he had proved in Herefordshire. He did not really merit the summary rejection which had been meted out to him. Ralph could never warm to the man himself but the fact remained that Golde actually liked him. The Welshman had been the first to discern the strength of feeling between the pair of them. Like it or not, Ralph had to concede that Idwal was part of their private history.

He went up to his apartment in reflective mood. There were times when his military training was a severe handicap. Attack and defence were his only natural options. Both were ineffective against someone like Archdeacon Idwal. The only way to keep such a man at bay was to use methods as cunning and devious as his own. Ralph had to devise a new strategy.

He was still puzzling over what it might be when he opened the door of his chamber. All thought of Idwal vanished in an instant.

Standing before him was the one person who could cleanse his mind of its accumulated worries and fire him with real pleasure.

It was Golde. She was wearing a pale blue gown over a chemise of white linen. She had taken off her wimple to reveal fair hair which was curled at the front and coiled at the back. She was smiling invitingly at him.

‘Golde!’ he exclaimed.

‘I have been waiting for you.’

‘You were not supposed to arrive until tomorrow.’

‘We made good time on the road.’

‘When did you get to Chester?’

‘Above an hour ago.’

‘You have been in the castle all that time?’

‘I asked to be shown to your apartment.’

‘Why did you not send for me?’

‘I wanted to surprise you, Ralph,’ she said, moving towards him. ‘Have I managed to do that?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘Are you pleased to see me?’

No more words were needed. Ralph enfolded her in his arms and kissed away the long absence. Chester was a barren place without her. She had made the effort to reach the city a day earlier than planned in order to rejoin her husband. Ralph was thrilled. The unexpected pleasure of being with his wife once more was so overwhelming that he even began to look more kindly upon Idwal. Perhaps the Welshman did, after all, deserve some small credit for uniting them. It was, at least, one thing which could be said in his favour.

Canon Hubert believed in the value of meticulous preparation.

Disputes over the ownership of property could be extremely complicated and the bitterness generated by the contesting parties sometimes threatened to cloud the issues at stake. To avoid confusion or distraction, it was imperative to master the underlying facts of each case well in advance. That was the procedure which Hubert always followed. Having spent some hours studying the major dispute which would come before him on the morrow, therefore, he was understandably peeved to learn that judgement in that particular instance would have to be postponed.

Annoyed at the waste of his valuable time, he immediately set off to the castle to complain to Ralph Delchard, but the latter was too happily engaged in a domestic reunion to answer his summons. Hubert was never easily deflected from his purpose.

He took his protest instead to Gervase Bret.

‘Come in, Canon Hubert.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I did not think to see you at the castle again.’

‘Nor I to return here. It is not a place I would choose to visit unless I was compelled to do so.’

‘You are here under compulsion?’

‘Yes, Gervase.’

‘Why?’

‘I am moved to register a serious complaint.’

‘Take a seat and tell me all.’

Hubert lowered himself on to the large stool which stood against one wall. It was a small chamber, high up in the keep, and the canon’s presence made it seem much smaller. Gervase leaned against the wall beside the window. In the light of the candles, Hubert’s rubicund face seemed to be glowing.

‘Well?’ said Gervase.

‘A message was sent to me by the lord Ralph,’ said the other.

‘The case involving Raoul Lambert has unaccountably been dropped from our proceedings tomorrow. The postponement has caused me gross inconvenience.’

‘It was unavoidable.’

‘Why?’

‘Were you given no reason for the change of plan?’

‘None, Gervase. I have come in search of it.’

‘Then the first thing you must know is that Raoul Lambert will never be able to advance his claim to the holdings in question.

He was killed in the Forest of Delamere this morning during a hunting trip.’

Hubert was startled. ‘Killed?’ he gasped.

‘His body lies in the mortuary.’

‘A hunting accident?’

‘No. He was murdered.’

‘Saints preserve us!’

Gervase gave him a brief account of what had happened and Hubert saw that he had no real cause for protest. Death had brutally rearranged their schedule for them. What now exercised his mind were the dark motives which might lie behind that death.

‘It was an attempt to assassinate Earl Hugh himself?’

‘That is how it appears, Canon Hubert.’

‘This is frightful intelligence.’

‘It has caused great upset.’

‘If the earl is not safe, then we are all at risk,’ said the other with sudden alarm. ‘To think that I walked through the streets alone this evening! I will not stir abroad without an armed guard in future.’

‘You are in no danger.’

‘I am, Gervase. So are you. So are we all.’

‘Stay calm.’

‘How can I when the whole city may be under threat?’

‘That is highly unlikely.’

‘Earl Hugh was all but assassinated this morning.’

‘It does not mean that we will all have our throats cut in our beds tonight,’ said Gervase reasonably. ‘A murderer who chooses to strike in the forest is unlikely to search for a second victim in a city which is so well guarded as this one. Besides, there may yet be another explanation. Suppose, for instance, that this Raoul Lambert was the intended target of the attack?’

‘Is that possible?’

‘We should certainly consider it.’

‘Indeed, we should,’ agreed the canon as curiosity slowly dispelled his apprehension. ‘Raoul Lambert may have had enemies about whom we do not even know. And I would hazard a guess that Welshmen would be numbered among them.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because I have spent a long time perusing the documents relating to this dispute. The Church claims that Raoul Lambert appropriated land within the Forest of Delamere which was formerly part of its own estates. Without wishing to prejudge the case, I must say that the balance of evidence favours the Church.

However,’ continued Hubert, ransacking his memory, ‘Raoul Lambert had additional holdings. Outliers on the Welsh border.

Each one of his berewics is somewhat larger now than it was when the land was first granted to him.’

‘What would you wish me to infer?’

‘Nothing, Gervase. I trade in facts, not inferences. Draw what conclusions you may. Raoul Lambert was killed by a Welsh arrow.

He held property which spills over the Welsh border at three or four points. In my opinion, he has no legal right to portions of his outliers.’

‘So he could be a legitimate target for attack.’

‘Yes,’ confirmed Hubert. ‘All Norman soldiers are, in a sense, legitimate targets to the Welsh but this man may have a special interest for them.’ He ran a pensive hand across his chin. ‘There is another singularity which I observed.’

‘What is that?’

‘How did he come to have such extensive holdings?’

‘Earl Hugh favoured him.’

‘But why, Gervase? Raoul Lambert is a huntsman. He is not a leading baron in this county.’

‘Earl Hugh places great value on hunting.’

‘His other huntsmen have not been so generously treated. What sets this Raoul Lambert apart from the others? Why has he been permitted to enlarge his holdings by what appears to be a series of unjust seizures? What dread offence has he caused his Welsh neighbours, so that thoughts of murder may be prompted? And have there been any earlier attacks upon him?’

‘Searching questions, Canon Hubert.’

‘They demand answers.’

‘We will not get them from the earl himself.’

‘Why not?’

‘His mind is already made up,’ said Gervase. ‘He was the object of the assassination. That is his firm belief. And he may well be right. Earl Hugh was there. He felt that arrow whistle past him.

We have to trust to his instinct.’

‘Raoul Lambert is the one who lies in the mortuary.’

‘I have not forgotten that. The points which you raise must be examined, Canon Hubert. There may yet be some link between his death and his activities on the Welsh border. I will look further into it.’ He smiled and spread his arms. ‘Your study of those documents was not in vain at all. It has thrown up some intriguing facts. They may yet have a bearing on what took place in the forest this morning.’

Hubert preened himself. ‘I have always been thorough.’

‘We have gained from your thoroughness.’

‘Will you report all this to the lord Ralph?’

‘Naturally.’

‘I would not have it reach the ears of Earl Hugh.’

‘There is no chance of that,’ promised Gervase. ‘We would not even be able to speak to him. Earl Hugh was to have entertained us again this evening but he has excused himself in order to attend the meeting.’

‘What meeting?’

‘He is holding a council of war.’

It was a complete transformation. Men who had revelled in the hall on the previous evening now sat stern-faced round the oak table. Walls which had echoed to music and laughter now eavesdropped on earnest discussion. The air of celebration had been decisively supplanted by an atmosphere of high seriousness.

Important decisions were about to be taken.

Earl Hugh sat the head of the table. William Malbank, Robert Cook, Richard Vernon, Hamo of Mascy, Reginald Balliol, Bigot of Loges and Hugo of Delamere were in attendance.

Hugh’s voice was low but his eyes were ominously bright.

‘I will not suffer this humiliation,’ he said. ‘I wish to retaliate without delay.’

‘Against whom, my lord?’ asked William Malbank. ‘We do not know who shot that fateful arrow.’

‘A Welsh archer.’

‘Acting on whose authority?’

‘The followers of Gruffydd ap Cynan,’ said Hugh. ‘Because they cannot release their prince, they try to kill the man who holds him prisoner. Their motive is clear.’

‘I agree,’ said Hamo of Mascy. ‘Trouble is brewing. That arrow was but a warning of the battle that is to come.’

‘They will find us ready for them,’ vowed Hugh.

‘My men will be at your back, my lord,’ said Hamo.

Others were quick to offer their support as well but Malbank’s remained a dissenting voice. He looked round the table at the other barons and ignored the hostile stares which he was receiving.

‘You are very angry,’ he observed, ‘and you have every right to be so. What happened in the forest was unforgivable. Raoul Lambert was murdered by an assassin’s arrow which was destined for a much higher prize.’ He glanced at Hugh. ‘We must thank God that it missed its real target.’

There was loud endorsement for that comment. Hamo and Reginald Balliol both banged the table to indicate assent.

‘Earl Hugh was spared,’ continued Malbank.

‘In order to strike back at my enemies,’ said Hugh.

‘Yes, my lord, but do it in no spirit of anger. I feel as you and the others feel, but I school myself to hold back.’

‘What ails you, William? Cowardice?’

‘No!’ declared the other. ‘I will raise my sword as readily as any man in this room when I have reason to do so. But I will not strike out in blind anger and nor should you.’

‘What should we do?’ taunted Hamo. ‘Sue for peace?’

‘Identify our foe more carefully before we go to war.’

‘Wales is our foe.’

‘No, Hamo. Certain Welshmen, that is all. Let us make sure who they are before we launch any attack across the border.’

‘There is some sense in that,’ decided Bigot of Loges. ‘Commit ourselves too soon and we run the risk of spreading our forces across too wide a front. William Malbank is right. We should strike at the point where it would be most effective.’

‘In Wales,’ growled Hugh. ‘Left to me, I’d kill every man, woman and child in that accursed country! I’d wipe it completely off the map! How dare they try to assassinate me! I’ll be revenged on the whole lot of them!’

‘Choose the right target for that revenge,’ said Malbank.

‘I will. He languishes in my dungeon.’

Even Hamo opposed that course of action. ‘You must not kill their prince, my lord,’ he said with alarm. ‘He is our most valuable hostage. Lose him and we lose our major bulwark against the Welsh.’

‘That bulwark did not prevent an assassin’s attack.’

‘One man was sent where an army would not have succeeded.’

‘Listen to Hamo,’ urged Malbank. ‘We must not take out our anger on Gruffydd ap Cynan. He is their figurehead and is far more use to us under lock and key. While he is in Chester, his men are reminded daily of our superior power and advantage.’

There were murmurs of consent. Earl Hugh was irritated.

‘I demand action now!’ he said, slapping the table with the flat of his hand. ‘God’s tits! This is a council of war, not a peace negotiation. We must hit back now. We must send a raiding party to mete out punishment.’

‘How and where?’ asked Malbank.

‘Stop trying to hinder me, William.’

‘I am merely trying to help. Every knight I can muster will be at your disposal and I will be proud to ride at your side. But I would prefer to know against whom we launch our might.’ He looked around the table again and saw that his argument was prevailing.

‘Battles are won by a combination of power and strategy. At the moment, we have one without the other. I appeal to you, all. Shall we dissipate our power because we have no strategy? Shall we shoot our own arrows without taking careful aim?’

‘Revenge is our strategy,’ affirmed Hugh.

‘Then let us prepare the way for that revenge.’

There was murmured discussion around the table as the barons compared notes with their immediate neighbours. Hamo of Mascy was the first to speak.

‘I support William on this,’ he said.

‘So do I,’ said Reginald Balliol.

‘And I,’ added Bigot of Loges, won over by persuasion.

‘Send intelligencers into Wales,’ said Malbank. ‘Let them search for the truth behind this foul murder. And dispatch an urgent messenger to Rhuddlan Castle. If there is indeed trouble stirring, your nephew Robert of Rhuddlan will be the first to detect it.’

The notion met with general approval and even Earl Hugh recognised the wisdom of it. For once, he elected not to force his own decision upon the others.

‘A messenger will ride for Rhuddlan at dawn,’ he said.

‘Thank you, my lord. That contents me.’

The council of war broke up and the barons dispersed. William Malbank was left alone with the earl. He felt intimidated and gave an apologetic shrug.

‘I had to speak out, my lord,’ he said deferentially. ‘You must accept that. Careful preparation now may save a lot of unnecessary bloodshed later.’

‘I agree.’

‘Then you are not angry with me?’

‘No, William. I am deeply grateful to you.’

‘For delaying a possible attack on the Welsh?’

‘No,’ said Hugh with a lewd grin. ‘For providing me with such delicious compensation. Raoul was not the only loss I sustained in the forest. My hawk was also killed. But not before he had won my wager.’ His grin broadened.’ Send your mistress to me tonight, William. I have need of her.’

Rhuddlan Castle was a symbol of Norman domination in North Wales, a timbered fortress built on a rock outcrop to command a view across the whole valley. Protecting the road between Chester and the Welsh coast, it was a daunting reminder to the indigenous population that they were occupied by invaders. Its castellan, Robert of Rhuddlan, was an experienced soldier who was constantly working to improve his defences. Nothing was left to chance. The area might be quiescent at the moment but Robert knew how quickly the Welsh could ignite. Whatever else happened, he resolved that he and his garrison would not be caught off guard.

The banging on his door awakened him at first light.

‘Yes?’ he called.

‘The captain of the guard has sent for you, my lord.’

‘What is amiss?’

‘He asks that you come at once.’

‘Why?’

‘He said that it was urgent.’

Robert did not need to be told twice. Leaping out of bed, he grabbed his gown and wrapped himself in it before slipping back the bolt and opening the door. Only an emergency would justify disturbing his sleep. He wondered what it might be. Within a matter of seconds, he was stepping out bare-footed on to the western battlements. The captain of the guard was waiting for him with a cluster of his men.

‘What is the problem?’ asked Robert.

‘See for yourself, my lord.’

‘Where?’

‘Down there,’ said the other, pointing.

Robert of Rhuddlan looked out across the valley. Half a mile away, stretched out in a single line, were a hundred or more mounted warriors in full armour. It was a menacing sight. They seemed to be studying the castle with great interest, as if searching for any weak points. They were too far away to be identified but their general purpose was clear. They were an advance party of a Welsh army. After a few minutes, they swung their horses round and rode swiftly away.

One thing was obvious. They were massing for attack. When they came again, there would be far more of them.

Robert of Rhuddlan’s orders were curt and peremptory.

‘Double the guard!’ he snapped. ‘And rouse the rest of the garrison!’