The Hawks of Delamere

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 nervously 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.’

‘How can you be so certain?’

‘The Welsh are very predictable.’

‘Are they?’ returned the other. ‘I disagree. Look at Archdeacon Idwal. He is as predictable as a mad dog. If he is typical of the Welsh, then we are all doomed!’

Brother Gerold listened to the request with the utmost sympathy, but he saw no point in offering his visitor false hope. His shoulders hunched into an apology.

‘There is not the slightest chance, I fear.’

‘How do you know until you ask him?’

‘Because I am privy to his mind, Archdeacon Idwal,’ said the monk. ‘Earl Hugh would not let you near his prisoner.’

‘A single hour is all that I seek.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘Half an hour?’ bargained Idwal. ‘Ten minutes? Five even? I would settle for any length of time with Gruffydd ap Cynan.’

‘You will have to settle for none at all.’

‘This is monstrous!’

‘It is Earl Hugh’s decree.’

‘Then get him to revoke it.’

Gerold smiled. ‘That is like asking me to turn the River Dee into red wine. Earl Hugh will not be persuaded.’

‘But I was told that you had influence with him.’

‘In some small way.’

‘Bishop Robert gave me to understand that you were the one person in the castle to whom he paid serious attention.’

‘At times.’

‘Then let this be one of those times.’

‘My plea would be ignored.’

‘At least make it on my behalf.’

‘It would be treated with utter contempt.’

‘Then I will make the plea myself,’ vowed Idwal, temper flaring and arms gesticulating wildly. ‘Others may quake before Earl Hugh of Chester but I do not. He may have an army but I have the might of the Welsh Church at my back. Contrive an appointment for me, Brother Gerold. I will be heard.’

‘Not by Earl Hugh.’

‘But I am an archdeacon!’

‘Even a bishop would not gain his ear at this time.’

Idwal stamped his foot in exasperation. The two of them were standing in the half-dark at the rear of the chapel. Idwal’s arrival had been unannounced but he was treated with courtesy by Brother Gerold. That courtesy seemed to ruffle rather than please the visitor, who was forced into a change of strategy.

‘Carry a message to him,’ he urged.

‘To Earl Hugh?’

‘No, Brother Gerold. The only message I would like to send him would burn the hands off anyone who carried it. I talk of sending word to Gruffydd ap Cynan.’

‘That would not be allowed.’

‘Why not?’

‘It is not for me to say.’

‘Could you not take a simple letter to him?’

‘No, Archdeacon Idwal.’

‘Not even as a favour to me?’ coaxed the other, producing a sweet smile of persuasion. ‘I would view it as an act of Christian fellowship and remember you in my prayers.’

‘I would be touched.’

‘Then you agree?’

‘No,’ said Gerold. ‘Communication of any kind with the prisoner is forbidden.’

‘Surely the chaplain is entitled to visit him?’

‘Only to offer what spiritual sustenance I may.’

‘There is your opportunity,’ declared Idwal. ‘Next time you are alone in the dungeon with him, give him my letter in secret. It is only a message of greeting but it may bring some small cheer to the Prince of Gwynedd. Will you do this?’ He saw the chaplain shake his head. ‘Why not?’

‘It would be wholly improper.’

‘What harm could it do?’

‘Untold harm. Earl Hugh would be furious.’

‘Only if he learned about it and he will not.’ Idwal brought his smile back into action. ‘Please, Brother Gerold. My countryman suffers enough punishment as it is. Do not deprive him of all contact with his nation. Carry my message to him. Show pity.

Who will ever know about it?’

‘I will,’ said Gerold firmly.

‘Iesu Mawr! How can you refuse me?’

‘There are rules.’

‘Break them, mun! It is your Christian duty.’

But the chaplain’s view of Christian duty differed greatly from that of the Welshman and he politely declined to smuggle any messages to the prisoner. After ridding himself of another torrent of protest, Idwal accepted that he would not be allowed to see the prince. He gave a moan of resignation then let his gaze move slowly round the chapel.

‘This place has the feeling of being used,’ he said with grudging approval. ‘Soldiers are not the most devout men. Some of them only remember God when they need His help on the eve of a battle. I have been in castles where the chapel is empty most of the time.’

‘That is not the case here.’

‘Even with a heathen like Earl Hugh in charge?’

‘He is no heathen but a true Christian.’

‘I prefer to judge him by his actions.’

‘Then know what they are,’ said Gerold briskly. ‘He has endowed churches and encouraged the spiritual life of the whole city. Earl Hugh is a willing student of the scriptures. He has many close 99

Edward Marston

friends in the Church and in the monastic community. Chief among them is Anselm.’

Idwal was astounded. ‘Anselm of Bec?’

‘The same.’

‘He is a friend of Earl Hugh?’

‘They exchange letters regularly,’ explained Gerold. ‘The earl draws great strength from that friendship. It is to Anselm he turned when he conceived the idea of founding an abbey in Chester.’

‘But that is Bishop Robert’s ambition as well.’

‘He may be involved,’ said Gerold easily, ‘but an abbey will only come into being with the weight of Earl Hugh behind it. Do you still call him a heathen?’

‘No,’ said Idwal, his interest quickening. ‘I am pleased to hear that he has been so generous towards the Church. Has he bestowed any gifts upon this chapel?’

‘Several. His purse is always open to us.’

‘Have you purchased anything of special value?’

‘Special value?’

‘Yes, Brother Gerold. Relics of a saint, perhaps?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Idle curiosity,’ said Idwal, eyes roaming. ‘A man of Earl Hugh’s wealth could afford to buy almost anything that caught his interest.’

‘We have a few relics,’ admitted Gerold, ‘but they are kept under lock and key. Like the prisoner.’

Idwal’s anger rekindled at once and his voice crackled.

‘You may rue the day you stopped me from seeing Gruffydd ap Cynan,’ he said with vehemence. ‘Remember that if war does break out. I would have convinced the Prince of Gwynedd that peace is to the advantage of the Welsh. He might have ordered his men to lay down their arms.’

‘How can he when he is not in contact with them?’

‘There are some things that even the deepest dungeon will not hold in,’ said Idwal with a strange smile. ‘You said earlier that it would be easier to turn the River Dee into red wine than to change Earl Hugh’s mind for him.’

‘That is true.’

‘In rejecting me, you may unwittingly have achieved that miracle, Brother Gerold. I hope that you are ready to take the blame.

Enough blood may soon be spilled to turn the River Dee the colour of red wine. Be warned!’

In the absence of Earl Hugh, his wife took on the duty of extending warm hospitality to the guests. Ermintrude was a gracious hostess. At the earlier banquet, she had been very much a marginal figure, seated beside her husband out of loyalty rather than personal enjoyment and taking the earliest opportunity to quit the room when the revelry began to tip over into mild riot. In the hall that evening, over a delicious meal with Ralph Delchard, Golde and Gervase Bret, she really came into her own and emerged as a kind and considerate woman of no mean intelligence. Ralph was soon asking himself again how such a beautiful and stately creature could bear to be married to such an ogre.

‘I am sorry that Hugh is unable to join us,’ she said, ‘but he has important affairs to discuss elsewhere. It gives me the opportunity to welcome you properly to Chester Castle and to offer a particular welcome to you, Golde.’

‘Thank you, my lady.’

‘Your husband has missed you sorely.’

‘So he has told me,’ said Golde.

She caught Ralph’s wink and smiled in response. Golde was wearing her finest apparel but it seemed almost drab beside the elegant chemise and gown worn by Ermintrude. Earl Hugh did not stint on his wife’s wardrobe. The gold circlet which held her lustrous black hair in place was worthy of a queen. It glinted in the candlelight and set off her whole face. Golde was fascinated by it.

‘How did you meet your husband?’ wondered Ermintrude.

‘By accident, my lady. In Hereford.’

‘Gervase and I were there on royal business,’ said Ralph. ‘It was one of the most difficult assignments we have ever had wished on to us, my lady.’

‘Difficult and arduous,’ recalled Gervase.

‘But not without its compensations,’ observed Ermintrude with a glance at Golde. ‘How else would you have made the acquaintance of your future wife?’

‘I would not have done so,’ confessed Ralph. ‘If Golde had not rescued me from my lonely existence, I would have spent the rest of my days as a crusty old bachelor.’

‘There is nothing crusty about you,’ said Golde. ‘And you are the kind of man who never really grows old.’

‘I am childish?’ he teased. ‘Is that your meaning?’

‘No, Ralph. I was praising your youthful energy.’

‘We have all been victims of that,’ said Gervase.

Ermintrude led the gentle laughter. It was a world away from the heady banquet on the day of their arrival. All four of them talked amiably together in a relaxed atmosphere. There was no strain or awkwardness. Golde was drawn to her hostess.

Ermintrude was regal yet approachable and she showed an easy tolerance of Golde’s occasional moments of hesitation over her Norman French. It was the language she used more often than her own now and her sister had taunted her about it during her recent visit to Hereford.

One part of her past Golde was resolved not to surrender. When wine was brought to the table, she put a hand over her cup and looked up at the serving man.

‘I would prefer beer, please.’

He was mystified. ‘Beer, my lady?’

‘Do you have such a thing in the castle?’

‘Of course, but …’

‘Fetch some beer at once,’ said Ermintrude. ‘Our guests will want for nothing.’ She turned to Golde. ‘Though it is an odd request from a lady.’

‘Not from one like me,’ said Golde.

‘Her first husband was a brewer,’ said Ralph. ‘When he died, Golde inherited a prosperous business and took over the running of it herself. She was providing all the beer for Hereford Castle when I chanced upon her.’

‘Did she convert you to the drink?’ asked Ermintrude.

‘Never, my lady! It tastes like muddy water to me.’

‘Your wine is too sweet for my palate,’ said Golde.

‘I drink both with equal pleasure,’ volunteered Gervase, raising his cup. ‘Wine or beer. Both are enjoyable.’

The serving man reappeared with a jug of beer and poured some into Golde’s cup. He hovered while she tasted it. Her face puckered in disapproval. Ermintrude was alarmed.

‘There is something amiss?’ she asked in concern.

‘No, my lady.’

‘I can see that you do not like it.’

‘I like it well enough,’ said Golde, recovering quickly. ‘It caught me unawares, that is all. I am used to something a little stronger.

Something with more body. But this is perfectly good,’ she insisted, taking a long sip. ‘Yes, it is very acceptable.’

Ermintrude was not convinced. She snapped her fingers and Durand appeared out of the shadows that bordered the hall. The dwarf came trotting over to cringe before her.

‘Yes, my lady?’

‘Did you taste this beer?’

‘No, my lady.’

‘Why not?’

‘Nobody ever drinks it at table.’

‘Your orders are to taste everything, Durand. Even if it is not customarily served. I will have to mention this lapse to my husband.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said the dwarf, bowing obsequiously but oozing resentment at the same time. ‘Let me take the jug away and I will taste it for quality.’

‘Do that.’

‘I will, my lady.’

Durand gave a signal to the serving man who followed him out with both the jug and the half-filled cup which had been set before Golde. Conversation resumed in earnest. When the taster returned after a couple of minutes, he was bearing a clean cup and a fresh jug of beer.

‘I think you will find this more to your satisfaction, my lady,’

he said, placing the cup before Golde and filling it with beer.

‘Please try it.’

Golde did and nodded in gratitude. The beer was still not of the highest quality but the second cup was an improvement on the first. Durand left the jug and backed away once more into the shadows, listening to what was said and memorising it for his report to Earl Hugh.

As the meal wore on, the talk became more personal and confidences were more readily exchanged. Ermintrude was intrigued to know how Ralph and Gervase had become commissioners and they were entranced by her description of her husband’s romantic courtship of her.

Earl Hugh had changed out of all recognition.

‘Memories are precious things,’ said Ermintrude with a sigh of regret. ‘That is why I cherish them so much.’

After conferring for most of the evening with the leading barons, Hugh d’Avranches called for torches to light his way on an inspection of the defences. He checked that sentries were posted at regular intervals along the battlements and that the gate was secured. Night was a time when extra vigilance was required.

The sentries were too frightened to relax. They knew the penalty for being slack in their duties. Throughout the hours of darkness, they would remain alert and watchful.

Accompanied by six of his men, Earl Hugh left the castle by the postern gate to confirm that the city walls were being patrolled with equal diligence. Mounting the steps in a blaze of light, he marched along the battlements until he came to the main gate.

It was well guarded. The stout timbers were proof against any but the most concerted attack and he resolved that no enemy would ever get close enough to batter a way in.

He was still high on the city wall when he heard the thunder of hoofbeats. A dozen or more horses were conjured out of the gloom.

Sentries drew their weapons and additional men came running up the steps. As the horses were brought to a halt outside the gate, the captain of the guard challenged the newcomers.

‘Who is below?’

‘Messengers from Rhuddlan,’ called a voice.

‘Why are there so many of you?’

‘To ensure safety on a dangerous road.’

‘This is Hugh of Chester who speaks,’ said the earl, taking charge of the situation. ‘Stand forth that I may see you more clearly and identify you.’

He leaned over the wall as the spokesman nudged his horse forward into the pool of light cast by the torches. Hugh could see from his armour and bearing that the man was no impostor.

‘Did you meet with trouble on the way?’ he asked.

‘Yes, my lord, but we outran the pursuit.’

‘What have you brought from Rhuddlan?’

‘An urgent message to be delivered into your hands.’

‘Did my own messenger arrive before you left?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure,’ said the spokesman. He gave a command and one of his companions towed a horse forward into the light. Across its back was the body of the messenger whom Hugh had dispatched from Chester at dawn.

The spokesman indicated the corpse with a forlorn gesture.

‘We found him by the wayside, my lord,’ he explained. ‘Stabbed in the back. He never got anywhere near Rhuddlan.’