The Hawks of Delamere

Chapter Nine

The arrival of his wife invigorated Ralph Delchard in every way.

Not only was he up early on the following morning with love in his heart and energy in his limbs, he felt that his mind had been stimulated as well. Gone was the mood of creeping sadness which always gripped him whenever he and Golde were apart and hampered his relationship with his colleagues. Ralph was now liberated. He could think clearly for the first time since he had come to Chester.

When he encountered Earl Hugh in the courtyard, Ralph beamed happily. His greeting was excessively cordial.

‘You seem to be in good spirits,’ observed Hugh.

‘I am, my lord. My wife arrived last evening.’

‘So I understand, and she is most welcome. I am sorry that she joins us at a time when we are distracted by events in the Forest of Delamere. No matter,’ he said with a confiding grin, ‘I can see that she warmed your bed for you. I, too, had a lively night. There is nothing quite like a woman to provide solace in times of trouble.’

‘Nothing quite like a loving wife,’ corrected Ralph.

‘I will settle for a woman. Any woman.’

‘We must agree to differ.’

‘You would change your mind if you enjoyed the bounty that fell to me last night,’ said Hugh. ‘A fine, fiery wench in every way.

Malbank’s loss was my gain.’

His meaning was clear. Not wishing to hear any more about his amorous adventures away from the marital couch, Ralph changed the topic of conversation at once.

‘I have been thinking about the death of Raoul Lambert.’

Hugh scowled. ‘It was a cowardly murder!’

‘Yet obviously planned, my lord.’

‘In what way?’

‘If you were the chosen target — and for the time being let us assume that you were — then you had to be attacked at a vulnerable moment. The forest was the ideal place. You would be among friends and completely off guard. An assassin would never have such a good opportunity here in the city.’

‘What do you conclude?’

‘We must look for someone familiar with your movements.’

‘I could have been watched.’

‘But there is no pattern to your hunting,’ said Ralph. ‘You ride out when the mood seizes you and choose what game appeals to you on any particular day. The forest is vast. You traverse different parts of it every time you venture out.’

‘So?’

Ralph was blunt. ‘You have a traitor in your ranks.’

‘Out of the question.’

‘Not the assassin himself, perhaps, but his confederate.’

‘The night with your wife has befuddled your brain.’

‘Think it through, my lord,’ recommended the other. ‘A hunting party leaves the castle early in the morning. Will an assassin be lurking in the city in order to follow you? It seems unlikely. He would surely be seen on your trail. It would be much easier for him to conceal himself in that part of the forest which you had decided to hunt in.’

‘Go on.’

‘Then he could bide his time until opportunity arose.’

‘You have shifted your ground, Ralph,’ said Hugh with a curl of his lip. ‘Yesterday, you were telling me that a member of my own hunting party actually shot the arrow at me.’

‘That is still a possibility.’

‘Only in the realms of fancy.’

‘The assassin needed help,’ said Ralph doggedly. ‘If he was not a member of your entourage, then he must have been forewarned by a co-conspirator.’

‘Stop chasing moonbeams.’

‘Hear me out, my lord.’

‘I do not need to,’ said Hugh dismissively. ‘Your theory has a fatal flaw in it, Ralph.’

‘What is that?’

‘Nobody in my entourage knew our destination until we breakfasted on the morning itself.’

‘Then listen to my final guess,’ suggested Ralph. ‘And remember, I am a detached observer. I view the situation dispassionately from the outside. No personal loyalties blur my vision. I realise that you do not enjoy that advantage.’

Hugh was sceptical. ‘And what is this final guess?’

‘It will offend you, my lord.’

‘Tell me all the same.’

‘It concerns Raoul Lambert.’

‘Go on.’

Ralph waited until a detachment of soldiers marched past on their way to relieve the guard. Under the earl’s cynical gaze, he took a deep breath before developing his argument.

‘My feeling is this,’ he began. ‘Raoul Lambert was, I suspect, the designated victim, after all. Let me finish, my lord,’ he pleaded as his companion mouthed a protest. ‘We both have archers at our command. We know how long and how painstakingly they will practise. Accuracy is a matter of honour to them.’

‘So?’

‘They rarely miss a target from short range.’

‘The Welsh archer contrived to miss me.’

‘No, my lord,’ said Ralph, ‘his aim was good. An arrow which misses one person will rarely kill another with such precision. It is far more likely to wound him. Yet you say that your huntsman was virtually killed outright.’

‘That is so.’

‘Then grapple with this notion,’ advised Ralph. ‘Raoul Lambert was not merely the chosen target in the forest. He was also the man who betrayed your movements to the assassin.’

‘Then why was he killed?’

‘As a stark warning to you.’

‘The assassin murdered his own confederate?’

‘He removed someone who had already served his purpose.’

‘Raoul?’ spluttered Earl Hugh. ‘He was no traitor. It is an insane suggestion. You never even met the man.’

‘Not face to face, my lord, I grant you. But I know him from the documents we brought with us. He appears a great deal in those.

Gervase made his acquaintance that way and so did Canon Hubert. Between the three of us, we know your huntsman far better than you think.’

‘He would never be in league with a Welsh assassin.’

‘Even though his holdings intruded into Wales?’

‘He hated the Welsh.’

‘That would not stop him taking their money,’ said Ralph. ‘We both fought at Hastings, my lord. Remember how many of those French and Breton and Flemish mercenaries of ours must have hated Duke William. Yet they fought under his banner.’

‘Raoul was my close friend!’

‘Then he was in the ideal position to betray you.’

‘Never! The idea is ridiculous!’

But Ralph could see that he had planted a tiny seed of doubt in the other’s mind. It was enough. He backed off.

‘Excuse my ravings, my lord.’

‘That is what they are.’

‘Put them down to the excitement of seeing Golde again.’

‘She must be a remarkable woman.’

‘She is.’

‘I long to meet this paragon. Well,’ he said, anxious to end a conversation which had left him jangled, ‘you have work awaiting you at the shire hall. I will let you go to it.’

‘One moment, my lord.’

‘No more lunatic suggestions — please!’

‘This is a request from an archdeacon.’

‘Frodo?’

‘Idwal, Archdeacon of St David’s.’

Earl Hugh tensed. ‘A Welsh churchman?’

‘In every sense, my lord. He came in search of you last evening but you were not available to consider his appeal.’

‘What appeal?’

‘An hour with Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd.’

‘He will not have the tenth part of a second with him!’ roared Hugh with fists bunched. ‘Nobody is allowed near my prisoner, especially Welsh spies in clerical garments. If this Idwal wishes to visit my dungeons, I will find him one of his own in which to preach. His appeal is denied outright.’

‘I warned him that it would be.’

‘The Welsh are our enemies.’

‘Yet they have learned to live in submission.’

‘They tried to kill me.’

‘That is still open to dispute.’

‘They did, Ralph!’ yelled the other. ‘I will not have anyone say otherwise.’

‘Then I withdraw my foolish suggestions.’

Hugh was adamant. ‘I was the victim of an assassination attempt. That demands a forceful reply from me.’

‘What action are you taking, my lord?’

‘I am marshalling my forces in readiness,’ said the other. ‘If they wish to fight, they will have a battle they will never forget. A messenger left for Rhuddlan Castle at the crack of dawn. My nephew needs to know what has been happening here and I am anxious for his news about any early signs of revolt.’

‘Do you really believe that the Welsh will attack?’

‘I am certain of it, Ralph.’

‘Even though you hold their prince here?’

‘They may have found another leader.’

‘It seems improbable, my lord.’

‘I know these people,’ insisted Hugh. ‘I have lived side by side with them for years. I sense their moods. Warfare is imminent, 88

The Hawks of Delamere

believe me. The attempt on my life was but the first signal of hostilities to come.’

‘Is that the message you sent to Rhuddlan?’

‘Yes, Ralph. I warned them to beware.’

The messenger had chosen the swiftest horse in the stables and ridden him out of the city at a canter. It was a long way to Rhuddlan and his mount had to be paced carefully. There might be times when he would need to coax extra speed out of him or ride hell-for-leather to escape from outlaws. He had spurned an escort. One man alone, he assured his master, would move faster and attract less attention.

The weather favoured him. It was a clear, dry day with a cooling breeze. The track was firm beneath the horse’s hooves. There were no obstacles ahead of him and no sign of pursuit behind him. When he crossed the border into Wales, he felt no warning impulses. Those who toiled in the fields barely gave him a glance.

Those he passed in hamlets and villages had too much to do even to notice him. Tranquillity reigned on all sides. The messenger was relieved to see that Earl Hugh’s dire predictions were unfounded.

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.