The Hawks of Delamere

Chapter Twelve

The more Golde saw of the Lady Ermintrude, the more she warmed to her. It was not simply the bonding of two women in a largely male environment, though that was a definite factor in a shifting military situation. There was a deeper kinship, unrecognised at first by either of them, then undeclared when it did slowly impinge upon their consciousness. They sought each other out, talked, compared, speculated together, and developed, in a surprisingly short time, a real friendship. Neither of them dared to probe the roots of that friendship which was, by its very nature, only temporary. They just enjoyed it while they could, like two strangers marooned on a desert island, united in adversity and making light of any individual differences.

Ermintrude was tolerant of her guest’s occasional stumbles in Norman French and Golde made allowances for the sometimes jarring values of a woman brought up in a dominant aristocratic culture which she, as a Saxon, had come to hate. Golde was helped by the fact that her companion had none of the arrogance and high-handedness so often associated with conquest. If anything, there was a faint air of apology about the Lady Ermintrude, as if she was graciously aware that she was trespassing on someone else’s property.

‘Tell me more about brewing,’ she invited.

‘Oh, my lady!’ said Golde. ‘We should be here all day.’

‘Listening to you is far more interesting than watching the soldiers exercising in the yard. I am intrigued by the idea of your actually taking over your husband’s business when he died. Did you have a natural inclination for the trade?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘How, then, did you come to master it?’

‘Of necessity,’ said Golde with a sad smile. ‘My first husband was not wealthy and I had a younger sister to provide for as well as myself. Brewing was a means of survival, my lady. I had picked up the rudiments of it from my husband but I never thought to make a living from it.’

‘Yet clearly you did.’

‘In time.’

‘Your beer must have been of a high quality if you supplied it to Hereford Castle.’

‘It was, my lady. But only after I had learned the trade by a process of trial and error. Hereford had other brewers and they mocked the glaring mistakes I was bound to make at first. But I rarely made the same mistake twice and their sniggers soon turned to irritation when I began to take customers from them.’

Ermintrude was delighted. ‘You got the better of men at their own trade?’

‘And women,’ explained Golde. ‘I was not the only female brewer in the city. It is a job that requires patience and intuition. Women tend to have an abundance of both.’

‘Yes,’ said Ermintrude, lowering her eyelids and clasping her hands in her lap. ‘Patience is indeed a virtue. I have struggled to show it myself. As for intuition,’ she added with a dismissive shrug, ‘that has always been beyond me.’

‘Surely not, my lady!’

‘I lack instinct, Golde.’

‘That is patently untrue.’

‘On the surface, perhaps. Deep down, it is another matter.’

‘Yet you are so responsive to others,’ said Golde, taken aback by the confession. ‘You seem to know exactly what your guests want before they can even guess at it themselves.’

‘That is easy. One can be trained to do that.’

‘What is it that you are unable to do, my lady?’

‘Make the right decisions.’

There was a dull finality in her voice which signalled the end of that phase of the conversation. Though Ermintrude retained her usual poise, there was a hint of real suffering behind the impassive mask. Golde waited until her hostess was ready to speak again. They were in the latter’s apartment, high up in the keep but well within earshot of the constant activity down in the bailey.

Ermintrude cast a rueful glance at the window. ‘Do you mind being married to a soldier?’ she asked.

‘Ralph’s fighting days are behind him, my lady.’

‘Then why does he keep himself in such fine condition?’

‘Out of a sense of pride.’

‘No, Golde. It springs from an eternal readiness. We are both married to Norman soldiers and they are a breed apart. Such men never retire from the field. Warfare is in their blood. They cannot escape it.’

‘Ralph has managed to do so,’ said Golde.

‘Has he?’

‘More or less.’

‘I heard that he fought a duel in Herefordshire.’

‘That was different, my lady.’

‘He bore arms again. Wherein lies the difference?’

‘It was the only way to resolve a crisis.’

‘That is the common excuse for all battles,’ said Ermintrude with a weary smile. ‘They resolve one crisis then create a dozen others. And so it goes on. I have watched my own husband being drawn into one unnecessary engagement after another. Hugh is an inveterate soldier. He cannot help it. The blast of war is like a love song to him.’ She looked Golde directly in the eyes. ‘I suspect that Ralph Delchard is a man of similar stock.’

‘No, my lady!’ protested Golde loudly, shocked at the comparison of her husband with a man she considered to be grotesque and uncouth. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, realising that her reaction might well cause offence to a loyal wife. ‘I know that Ralph came to England as a soldier, but he has now chosen a more peaceful way of life.’

‘Not if he travels around the country.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Danger lurks everywhere. Ride any distance and, sooner or later, you are likely to have to defend yourself from attack. Even with their escort, Ralph and Gervase must surely have been the intended prey of outlaws.’

‘Yes,’ admitted Golde. ‘On our way to York.’

‘Did your husband have to draw a weapon in the city?’

‘Only to ward off some lions.’

‘Lions?’

‘Two of them, my lady. Ralph was trapped in a cage with them.

He fought to save his own life.’

‘He may well have to do that again.’

‘Again?’

‘Can you not hear that din down below?’ said the older woman.

‘They are preparing for battle. Chester is very close to the Welsh border and there are thousands of roaring lions on the other side of it. What will happen if they launch an assault on this castle?’

‘There is no chance of that, surely?’

‘Hugh seems to think so.’

‘Ralph believes it highly unlikely.’

‘But he, with respect, has only been in Cheshire a short while.

My husband has been here for several years. He knows the Welsh of old.’ She scrutinised Golde’s face again. ‘In the event of a battle, what will Ralph do? Stay in his apartment with you? Or take up arms and join in the fray?’

Golde blushed as she accepted what the answer must be.

‘I did not mean to upset you,’ said Ermintrude with a soft hand on her wrist, ‘but it is as well to face the truth about one’s husband. It makes for a certain amount of discomfort but it spares you the shock of unpleasant discoveries.’

It was as close as Ermintrude was prepared to go towards the subject of her husband’s rampant infidelities and she immediately backed away again.

‘Ralph Delchard is a fine man,’ she said enviously. ‘You chose well, Golde.’

‘He likes to think that he did the choosing.’

‘And did he?’

‘It was a mutual decision.’

‘The only kind with any true validity.’ Her manner brightened.

‘I wish that I had been a brewer.’

Golde was amazed. ‘You, my lady?’

‘Yes. I would love these delicate hands of mine to have learned something other than merely how to sew a fine seam. I do admire your enterprise.’

‘I was forced into the trade.’

‘Nevertheless, you succeeded. Against all the odds. You did something useful, Golde. At the end of the working day, you must have had great satisfaction.’

‘I did,’ agreed the other, ‘but I also had the abiding smell of beer in my nostrils, my apparel and my hair. Brewing follows you home at night, my lady. I would much rather have been able to pass the time sewing a fine seam.’

The noise outside took on a fresh urgency. Golde tensed.

‘Have no fear,’ said Ermintrude soothingly. ‘My husband has the situation in hand. He is at his best in these situations.’

Golde nodded. ‘So is Ralph,’ she admitted to herself.

Rules which applied to the citizens of Chester were waived for two royal commissioners and the six knights who escorted them.

The gate was duly opened and the party rode out at a brisk trot towards the Forest of Delamere. Aware of the risk they were taking in being abroad in such troubled times, they remained watchful. Ralph Delchard still had doubts that a Welsh attack was imminent and evinced no fear, but Gervase Bret was much more cautious. They had been in the saddle for half an hour before he stopped inspecting every bush and tree in case it was a potential hiding place.

‘Do not fret, Gervase,’ said Ralph as they cantered along a forest path. ‘We are safe enough, I warrant you.’

‘And how safe is that?’

‘You have seven strong swords to protect you.’

‘Earl Hugh had fifty but it did not stop someone from firing an arrow at him. Or at Raoul Lambert.’

‘Is that what you are afraid of?’ teased Ralph. ‘A female with a bow? Well, I do not blame you. It has happened before and the wound was fatal.’

‘What wound?’

‘Yours, man. When Alys strung her bow and shot a dart of love at you, Gervase Bret was felled on the spot. You were a shrewd and conscientious young lawyer until you were struck down by her missile. No wonder you fear the sound of a bowstring!’

Gervase grinned. ‘You make a jest of everything.’

‘It soothes the nerves.’

‘Yours or mine?’

‘Both.’ Ralph nudged him. ‘Do you miss Alys?’

‘Very much.’

‘Does this Gytha remind you of her?’

‘Yes,’ said Gervase, involuntarily, then tried to cover his confusion by gabbling. ‘Not that there are any real points of comparison. Gytha comes from humble stock and has led a life of drudgery while Alys has been more fortunate. There is a slight physical resemblance between them but it is negligible. No, Ralph, she does not really remind me of Alys. No other woman could do that. Alys is unique.’

‘So are you.’ Ralph gave him an affectionate punch. ‘That is why the pair of you are so well matched.’

‘I could say the same of you and Golde.’

‘Hardly! That is a case of the attraction of opposites.’

‘Not from where I stand.’

‘Then you have been misled, Gervase. We came together in spite of ourselves. My brains and Golde’s beer made an irresistible combination.’

His laughter disturbed some nearby rooks which took to the air with a fanfare of protest, leaving the bough on which they had been perched vibrating for a full minute. Gervase abandoned the badinage with his friend in order to concentrate on his pathfinding.

Having only been to Gytha’s cottage once, he was not entirely certain that he could find it again, but his memory was sound and he soon began to identify tiny landmarks.

After a long ride without incident, they eventually came out into the clearing where the hovel stood. There was no sign of Beollan but Gytha immediately poked her head out of the dwelling.

Alarmed at the sight of the armed soldiers, she relaxed when she recognised Gervase, and his warm smile of greeting reassured her. Gytha came out of the door and Ralph was able to make a full appraisal of her before emitting a low murmur of approval.

His soldiers were also struck by the unexpected sight of a lovely young woman emerging from such a mean hovel.

Gervase introduced Ralph Delchard to her and she eyed him warily. His candid smile of admiration was rather disturbing.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

‘Your help,’ answered Ralph, astonishing her with his knowledge of her language. ‘And we have ridden a long way to ask for it, Gytha.’

‘You do not need to tell her that,’ said Gervase. ‘Gytha has walked to Chester and back twice already this week. She knows exactly how long a distance it is.’

‘How can I help you?’ she wondered.

Gervase explained that they were looking for a woman in a certain part of the forest but had no idea who she was. He gave the few facts about her that he possessed but did not divulge their reason for wishing to see her. Gytha guessed that they wanted to question the woman about something and she became defensive, instinctively opposing the wishes of Norman soldiers.

It took time for Gervase to persuade her of the importance of their mission.

‘I do not know this person,’ she said bluntly.

‘Can you at least take us to that part of the forest?’ coaxed Gervase. ‘We would be very grateful.’

‘Beollan would be a surer guide.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Putting flowers on the grave. I have just come back from the churchyard myself. Beollan will soon follow.’

‘Let us meet him on the way.’

Gervase dismounted and offered his horse to her but Gytha was too embarrassed to accept his invitation in front of the others.

Instead, she set off purposefully and they trailed along behind her, Gervase still on foot, Ralph watching the bob of her head and the beguiling swing of her hips. When they met Beollan near the church, he was frightened by the sight of the soldiers and all but bolted. His sister had to grab him to keep him there and the two of them had a conversation that was far too breathless and hasty for Ralph to understand. He turned to Gervase for elucidation.

‘Beollan will take us,’ said the latter. ‘As long as we can guarantee his safety and that of Gytha.’

‘I will do more than that,’ conceded Ralph, taking a purse from his belt and extracting a coin. ‘If he leads us to the woman in question, there will be a reward.’

He held up the coin and Beollan’s hesitation vanished.

With Gytha beside him, the boy loped along a series of trails that were sometimes so narrow and overhung with leaves that they had to plunge into dark tunnels before emerging once again into sunlight.

Brother and sister seemed tireless as they covered mile after mile.

When they reached a patch of open land, Beollan finally paused for breath, hands on his knees as he bent double. Gytha exchanged a few panted sentences with him then turned to the others.

‘The cottage is nearby,’ she said, pointing a finger. ‘An old woman lives there alone. Beollan is not sure if she is the person you seek but she is the only one in this part of the forest who answers the description you gave.’

‘Thank you, Gytha,’ said Gervase.

‘One thing more.’

‘Yes?’

‘She is Welsh.’

Ralph Delchard could not resist another jest.

‘Does she have a bow and arrow?’

*

*

*

Having held his council of war, the Earl of Chester now sought the blessing of the Church. It was not easily forthcoming.

‘I oppose violence of any kind,’ said a querulous Bishop Robert.

‘Start another war and where will it end?’

‘In victory for us,’ Hugh assured him.

‘At what terrible cost, my lord?’

‘That remains to be seen.’

‘Many lives will be lost.’

‘Even more will be saved,’ said the earl. ‘As I see it, a stark choice confronts us. We either wait until the Welsh launch an attack on us here or we strike first and rout them before their assault has gathered momentum.’

‘Neither course of action commends itself to me.’

Hugh was sarcastic. ‘What do you propose as an alternative, Robert? Abject surrender? Or do we abandon the city and retreat with all the belongings we can carry?’

‘I fear for my cathedral,’ said the other.

‘I fear for my county!’

Earl confronted bishop in the hall at the castle. Robert de Limesey had repaired there in haste to implore that his beloved cathedral be saved from possible demolition only to find Hugh in warlike mood. Unable to condone military action, the bishop only succeeded in enraging the earl and decided to bow out of the debate altogether.

Archdeacon Frodo immediately came to his rescue by taking his place in the discussion, beginning with a conciliatory smile then speaking with quiet respect.

‘My lord,’ he said, rubbing his palms together, ‘the decision lies with you. We acknowledge that. The Church can only advise and we do that with the deference that is due to you. Bishop Robert and I are extremely conscious of the debt which we — and the whole city — owe to you for protecting us so well over the years. Your policy has been as wise as it is effective.’

‘I am glad that you appreciate that,’ growled Hugh.

‘We do, my lord.’

‘Then why does Robert come bleating about his cathedral?’

‘The bishop is merely representing our point of view,’ said Frodo softly, ‘and I am sure that Brother Gerold would endorse it. He would no more wish to see Chester cathedral destroyed than watch his own chapel razed to the ground.’

‘That will never happen!’

‘We pray that it will not.’

‘There will be no threat to the chapel or the cathedral if we strike first and put the Welsh army to flight. They will be completely disabled.’

‘For the time being, my lord.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The Welsh have been disabled many times but they have a strange capacity for rebuilding their forces. No matter how many battles you win, the war somehow drags on. That is what concerns Bishop Robert and myself.’

‘Who asked for your opinion, Frodo?’

‘It is irrelevant here,’ said the other with another smile of appeasement. ‘Authorised by Bishop Robert, I merely offer the Church’s view. We are doves of peace, my lord.’

‘I am a hawk of war.’

‘There are more of us in the sky. From what I hear, the Church is not alone in advocating restraint. Your own close advisers warned against intemperate action.’

‘That was before my messenger was killed on the road to Rhuddlan Castle.’ Hugh took a step towards him. ‘Who told you of our secret deliberations?’

‘Such things are difficult to keep private, my lord.’

‘Is there a Church informer among my barons?’

‘There are several Christians.’

Hugh was stung. ‘I am one myself, Frodo.’

‘That is why we feel able to appeal to you.’

‘In the spirit of Christian fellowship,’ added Robert. ‘Before you commit yourself to war, consult with Brother Gerold. He will surely take our part. Yet one more dove.’

‘The hour of the hawk has come,’ insisted Hugh, striding round the table to take up a position in front of his chair. ‘This whole business began with a hawk being brought down from the sky.

Doves of peace cannot avenge that outrage nor can they atone for the murder of Raoul Lambert. It is time to remove the hoods from the hawks of war.’

‘Do that and you lose all control,’ cautioned Frodo.

‘It is the only way to impose control.’

‘Bishop Robert and I view it differently.’

‘I have grown accustomed to your poor eyesight.’ The earl waved a contemptuous arm. ‘Away with the pair of you! If you will not bless our mission, do not hinder it. Scurry back to your precious cathedral and protect it with an odour of sanctity.’

‘That remark is blasphemous!’ cried Robert.

‘Earl Hugh has our best interests at heart,’ said Frodo, jumping in to calm down his quivering companion. ‘We must understand that, your grace. It is unfair of us to expect him to obey our dictates when we know little of the true situation here. What we can, however, suggest is this.’ His third smile was the most obsequious yet. ‘A middle way.’

Hugh was sceptical. ‘Between what?’

‘Outright war and inaction.’

‘Middle way?’

‘Negotiation, my lord. Using your prime weapon.’

‘My army.’

‘No,’ corrected Frodo. ‘The man who rots in your dungeon.

Gruffydd ap Cynan. He can prevent this battle.’

‘He is the cause of it!’ howled the earl.

‘Cause and symptom.’

‘Do not split hairs with me, Frodo.’

‘Is it not at least worth trying?’ pleaded the other.’ If one man can avert a war, why let hundreds of others die in it? Reason with the Prince of Gwynedd. Strike a bargain.’

‘I already have. He is my prisoner.’

‘Then extract information from him, my lord.’

‘How can we when we do not speak his foul language?’

‘Use an interpreter.’

‘Yes,’ said Robert. ‘Someone who is cunning enough to charm the truth out of him. Set a thief to catch a thief. Instruct a Welshman to lure a Welshman.’

Hugh was unconvinced. He ran a hand across his jaw.

‘There is no man to whom I could entrust this task.’

Robert and Frodo had a muttered conversation. The bishop had obvious reservations but was eventually persuaded by his archdeacon. The latter turned back to the earl.

‘A curious coincidence,’ he said.

‘You speak the language yourself?’

‘No, my lord. But we have the Archdeacon of St David’s staying with us at present. Let him examine the prisoner.’

‘Never! They would simply conspire against us.’

‘Not if a third person were present.’

‘Third person?’

‘Yes,’ said Frodo, gently. ‘Master Gervase Bret. He can understand Welsh but he is not sufficiently fluent in the language to question Gruffydd on his own. What he can do, however, is to act as our witness. That is our counsel, my lord. Employ this Archdeacon Idwal to talk to the prisoner under the supervision of Gervase Bret.’ He spread his arms in a gesture of persuasion.

‘The whole city may benefit from such a conversation.’

The moment he set eyes on her, Gervase experienced a thrill of certainty. When they came out into the clearing, the old woman was seated on a tree stump, gazing idly around while her nimble fingers worked at her basket. She was in no way alarmed by their arrival and gave them a vacant grin.

‘Thank you, Beollan,’ said Gervase.

‘Is this the right place?’ asked the boy.

‘I believe so.’

‘Can we go now?’

‘Wait until we have spoken to her.’

Beollan and his sister withdrew into the trees as the visitors closed in on the old woman. Her hands continued to work away at the basket with unhurried precision. Ralph ambled across to her and barked a question but she simply mimed incomprehension. When Gervase spoke to her in Welsh, however, she stiffened at once and her fingers froze.

‘Good day to you!’ he said.

‘And to you, young man.’

‘That is a fine basket you have there.’

‘I have been weaving them all my life.’

‘Is your daughter as adept at it as you?’

‘I have no daughter,’ she said.

‘What of your neighbours?’

‘I work alone.’

‘Always?’

She nodded grimly. ‘Always.’

‘Then who sat beside you the other day when soldiers came in search of an archer?’ he asked, watching her carefully. ‘If she was neither daughter nor neighbour, who was she?’

‘I do not know.’

Gervase’s gaze was penetrating and she slowly began to wilt beneath it. When she looked at the others, she saw that she was surrounded by hostile glares. She shifted uneasily for a moment then rose to her feet to put her basket aside.

‘There was someone,’ she confessed.

‘Who was it?’

‘I have no idea, young man. She came running out of the forest and begged me to let her sit beside me and work at another basket.

She gave me money. What was I to do?’

‘Was she carrying anything?’ pressed Gervase.

‘I forget.’

‘Try to remember.’

‘It is gone,’ said the old woman evasively.

‘Then let me jog your memory. I believe that she may have had a bow and arrow with her.’

The sharp intake of breath gave her away. Gervase had no need to pursue his questioning. She capitulated at once and became eager to co-operate.

‘You are right, young man,’ she said. ‘She did have a bow and arrow. What is more, she hid them in my cottage so that the soldiers would not catch her with the weapon. They are still there,’

she said, hobbling into her home. ‘I will fetch them instantly.’

‘Well done, Gervase!’ said Ralph.

‘Now do you believe that it was a female archer?’

‘I do.’

‘The old woman was an unwitting accomplice,’ said Gervase.

‘How was she to know that the visitor who sat beside her weaving a basket had just committed murder? She probably could not believe her good fortune when she was offered money for letting the girl sit out here beside her.’

‘Why was the bow and arrow left here?’

‘For safety, Ralph. If she had been caught with them in her possession, the game would have been up. Far better to conceal them here. Who would expect to find a bow and arrow in such a place? The archer will no doubt return for them in due course.’

‘We will be waiting for her.’

‘That bow and arrow are the most valuable clues yet.’

‘Yes.’ Ralph nodded at the hovel. ‘What on earth is keeping the old woman? Is she writing her will in there?’

‘I will go and see.’

Gervase approached the hut and knocked gently on the door before ducking his head to step into the single, cluttered, evil-smelling room. Ralph followed him and looked over his shoulder. Both gasped in utter amazement when they saw that the place was empty.

The old woman had mysteriously disappeared.