The Hawks of Delamere

Chapter Fourteen

‘Do you feel better now?’ asked Golde as he rolled off her.

‘No, my love.’

‘You dare to say that!’ She gave him a sharp but affectionate dig in the ribs.

‘That hurt!’ complained Ralph.

‘It was meant to after such an insult.’

‘I was only jesting.’

‘Well, your jest was in poor taste,’ she said, delivering another jab to his body. ‘You were in a terrible state when we came up to our apartment. Tense, moody and not fit to share a bed with anyone, especially with a tender and loving wife.’

‘Is that what you are?’ he teased. The third punch took his breath away. ‘I asked for that,’ he conceded.

‘It is no more than you deserve, Ralph Delchard.’

‘I know, my love.’

‘When I give myself to you, I expect some appreciation.’

‘That is what you had, Golde. Have you so soon forgotten?’

‘I am talking about now — not then.’

‘Ah!’ he sighed. ‘Afterwards and not during.’

‘Preferably both.’

She rolled him over so that he lay face down then sat astride his naked body, massaging his neck and shoulders with practised hands. Ralph soon purred with pleasure. Golde had learned that this was always the best moment for an intimate conversation.

Her husband was responsive and off guard.

‘Let us start again,’ she suggested. ‘Do you feel better?’

‘Infinitely better.’

‘Has all that tension gone?’

‘More or less.’

‘And will you promise to stop telling me about what happened in the Forest of Delamere today?’

‘Is that what I have been doing?’

‘Unceasingly.’

‘It must have been excruciating for you.’

‘We have had more interesting exchanges.’

‘This is the kind that I enjoy.’

‘Why do you think I brought you to bed?’ she said. ‘If we had stayed at the table any longer, you would have talked my ears off.

And all because some clever old woman managed to hide from you in the forest.’

‘There was more to it than that, my love. You see-’

‘Enough!’ she ordered, slapping his buttock hard. ‘I do not wish to hear another word about her. There is no room for anyone else in this bed. It belongs to you and me.’

‘It does, my love.’

‘Remember that.’

Golde’s massage took all of the stiffness out of his shoulders and banished the memory of his setback in the forest. One woman might have escaped him but the one he loved was there to welcome him and to soothe his troubled mind. An hour alone with Golde was the perfect antidote.

When he felt completely relaxed, he changed places with her so that he could stroke her back, shoulders and arms. His strong hands could be surprisingly delicate. It was Golde’s turn to murmur with delight.

‘What did you do all day?’ he wondered.

‘I spent most of it with the Lady Ermintrude.’

‘How did you find her?’

‘Friendly and honest,’ said Golde. ‘One part of me admires that woman very much. She is so gracious and dignified. Another part of me pities her.’

‘Why?’

‘Her marriage is a constant ordeal.’

‘What about yours?’

‘An endless joy.’

He bent forward to kiss her between the shoulder blades. ‘Do they ever sleep together?’ he mused.

‘I could hardly ask her such a question as that.’

‘What did your instinct tell you?’

‘That she is a long-suffering wife who has learned to live with her disappointments. Earl Hugh and she have little in common.

Now that she has provided him with children, they have no need to share a bed.’

‘Is that the only reason for making love?’

‘Yes,’ she said with a smile. ‘Procreation.’

‘Can it not be a pleasure in itself?’

‘Of course not, Ralph.’

‘Then I have been deluded all these years.’

‘It is expressly against the teaching of the Scriptures. Man and wife have a duty to bring forth children. Pleasure has no part whatsoever in it.’

‘You should have told me that before we came to bed.’

‘Would it have made the slightest difference?’

‘No.’

They shared a laugh and he kissed the back of her neck. Golde luxuriated in his touch for a few minutes before she spoke again.

Her voice was now dreamy, her thoughts floating.

‘The Lady Ermintrude made some strange comments.’

‘I thought that there was no room for anyone else in this bed.

If I am to sacrifice my old woman, you must throw out our hostess.’

‘But this might interest you.’

‘I already have someone to do that, Golde.’

‘It concerns this threatened uprising.’

Ralph’s curiosity took over. ‘Oh?’

‘But I will not spoil a beautiful moment like this.’

‘Please,’ he urged. ‘Just tell me what she said.’

‘In the morning.’

‘Now, Golde. This might be important.’

‘They were only casual remarks as I left her apartment.’

‘It must have been more than that for you to draw my attention to it.’ He tickled her under the arms and made her squeal a protest. ‘Tell me or I will do that again.’

‘Very well,’ she agreed. ‘The Lady Ermintrude said some things which made me think that she almost wished a battle was looming because it would take her husband away from the castle for a while. Earl Hugh is a soldier at heart and always will be.’

‘How odd!’

‘Is it so odd?’

‘I know of no other woman who welcomes a battle.’

‘You are not married to Earl Hugh,’ said Golde tartly. ‘If I put myself in her position, I have some sympathy with her point of view. I, too, would prefer to be the wife of someone in combat rather than to be tied to a roving lecher who betrayed his marital vows as if they were wholly meaningless.’

‘Does Ermintrude think that there will be war?’

‘She is certain of it.’

‘Then she gets that certainty from Earl Hugh. That is alarming.

He is set on armed conflict.’

‘I knew that you would be interested.’

‘Yes, my love.’

But something else caught his attention at that point and it made him prick up his ears. Ralph thought that he heard a noise outside the door of the apartment. Easing himself off Golde, he put a finger to his lips to warn her to be silent and crept across to the candle in the window recess.

One hand on the bolt, he stood close to the door and listened intently. Then, without warning, he pulled back the bolt, flung open the door and used the candle to illumine the narrow passageway outside. Ralph could see nobody but he was in time to hear the departing footsteps of the person who had been eavesdropping on them. He was furious.

Precious moments alone with his wife had been shared with a spy. How long had he been there and whom did he serve? They were disturbing thoughts and not even Golde’s comforting arms could drive them completely away.

*

*

*

Gervase Bret was up at dawn to attend the service in the chapel.

He was surprised to find it reasonably full and was startled to see Hugh d’Avranches and his wife kneeling side by side in prayer.

It was an incongruous sight and Gervase could not decide if the earl had come to the chapel to seek a blessing from above on his military expedition or absolution for his numerous sins.

Ermintrude’s presence suggested that her husband was in penitent mood, but he left the chapel so abruptly at the end of the service that Gervase had to revise his opinion. Earl Hugh was ready for battle.

Brother Gerold was glad that his friend lingered for a few words after the service. He came gliding down the nave towards Gervase with a smile of greeting. The two of them stepped out into the little porch.

‘It was pleasing to see you there, Gervase.’

‘Did you have any doubts that I would come?’

‘None at all.’

‘What about Earl Hugh?’

‘He came of his own volition.’

‘For what purpose, though?’

‘Only he and God know that.’

Gervase looked across the bailey at the soldiers who were being marshalled outside their quarters. Their numbers had been substantially swelled by the arrival of newcomers from estates all over Cheshire. It was an intimidating prospect for someone so wedded to the notion of peace as Gervase.

‘Earl Hugh’s mind is made up, then?’

‘I fear so, Gervase.’

‘Is there no way to dissuade him from riding out at the head of an army?’

‘None that I have been able to find. And I have tried.’

‘I am sure, Brother Gerold.’

‘In fairness to Earl Hugh, he did at least consider the plea from Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo. They elected you to accompany that eccentric churchman from Wales down to the dungeons.’

‘So I have been told.’

‘Whether you and Archdeacon Idwal could achieve anything by talking with the prisoner, I do not know, but I certainly feel that it is worth a try. Your presence will make all the difference, Gervase.’

‘In what way?’

‘It will convince Earl Hugh that nothing underhand is taking place down there.’ Gerold gave a shrug of regret. ‘I was overly pessimistic when Idwal first raised the possibility of a visit to Gruffydd ap Cynan, and I am sorry that I was so dismissive.

Fortunately, Idwal is not easily shaken off and he has continued to press for the opportunity to speak with his countryman.’

‘I would be happy to escort him.’

‘Earl Hugh took that into account.’

‘What decision has he reached?’

‘It has not yet been confided in me.’

‘Please use what influence you have on our behalf.’

‘I will, Gervase.’

Brother Gerold was about to go back into the chapel when Gervase remembered something. He put a detaining hand on the other’s arm.

‘One moment, Brother Gerold.’

‘Yes?’

‘On an earlier visit to the chapel, you conducted me round it and took me into the vestry.’

‘I recall it well. Nobody else has ever shown such interest in our chapel and its contents. Is there something I omitted to show you?’

‘The contents of the reliquary.’

‘Ah, yes. Of course.’

‘What treasures does it contain?’

‘Nothing of outstanding value,’ replied the other. ‘We have a flask of holy water from Jerusalem and another that was blessed by the pontiff in Rome. For the rest, it is a case of minor relics of minor saints. Nothing that would really excite the interest of Archdeacon Idwal.’

‘Idwal?’

‘I presume that you are asking on his behalf?’

‘Well …’

‘Do not feel embarrassed about it, Gervase,’ said the other with a grin. ‘He has already questioned me in person about the reliquary but seemed unwilling to take my word for what it contained. Assure him that we have neither the toenail of St Dyfrig, the hair of St Deiniol nor the bones of St David here.

Only relics of Saxon saints are interred in the reliquary.’

‘I will inform him of that.’

‘Give him some advice at the same time.’

‘What is it?’

‘In the event of war — and the signs are ominous — it might be sensible of Idwal to leave the city. Earl Hugh will work up a hatred against all Welshmen, even those in holy orders. Idwal will be safer on the other side of the border.’

‘He is not a man who considers personal safety.’

‘He must. Earl Hugh can be vengeful.’

‘Make one last effort to halt this war, Brother Gerold.’

‘I wish that I could but my counsel no longer carries the weight it used to. Events have taken on their own momentum. The murder of Raoul Lambert was provocation enough but the killing of the earl’s messenger was another clear sign that the Welsh are spoiling for a fight.’

‘Why?’

‘Ask them.’

‘Their prince is held hostage. They will put his life in danger.

Why should they do that?’

‘Ask them,’ repeated Gerold. ‘Only they have the answer. Blessed are the peacemakers, Gervase. If you wish to join that exclusive brotherhood, you should not be here in Chester Castle. The place for you to coax and persuade is in Wales itself.’

Robert of Rhuddlan carried out an inspection shortly after first light. Walking along the ramparts of the castle, he checked that the guards were alert and well positioned and scanned the horizon from every point of vantage. At his side was the captain of his guard, a grizzled veteran with a livid battle scar down one cheek.

‘Any incidents during the night?’ asked Robert.

‘Yes and no, my lord,’ said his companion. ‘There were some minor occurrences but nothing of any real significance. Fires were lit in a circle around the castle but they were a long way off and soon burned themselves out. Someone approached the castle in the dark but with no intent to gain entry.’

‘What, then, was his purpose?’

‘To leave an effigy of Earl Hugh outside the main gate.’

‘An effigy?’

‘Yes, my lord. An obscene one.’

‘I wish to see it.’

‘Do not show it to the earl himself,’ advised the other. ‘It ridicules his manhood.’

‘What else happened in the night?’

‘A few stray arrows were fired into the castle.’

‘Was anyone hurt?’

‘No, my lord. Nor was that the intention. The Welsh are playing games with us. They are keeping us guessing. None of these incidents amount to much in themselves but, taken together, they form a pattern. We are being taunted.’

‘They are trying to draw us out of the castle.’

‘That would be folly without reinforcements.’

‘I know,’ said Robert, ‘but those reinforcements may not come for some time. I sent men enough to bear the message to Chester.

It must surely have got through.’

‘I hope so, my lord.’

‘Why has Earl Hugh not dispatched a reply?’

‘I’m sure that he has.’

‘Then why has it not reached us?’

‘Perhaps it has gone astray.’

‘How could that happen?’

Robert of Rhuddlan saw the faint anxiety in his eye. When such an experienced soldier was uneasy, then the situation was indeed bad. The castle was well built and its garrison was drilled regularly in defensive tactics, but even a stout fortress like Rhuddlan could not hold out indefinitely. More men and supplies were urgently needed but they could only come from Chester.

The road had to be kept open.

Robert stared out over the battlements in the direction of the border. Messengers were sent regularly to and fro without any problem. Communication with Chester was so straightforward that it was taken for granted. Worrying changes seemed to have taken place and they were all the more alarming because Robert did not know exactly what they were. After years of feeling very secure, he now realised how vulnerable he might be if the castle were cut off.

Chester suddenly seemed an impossible distance away.

‘Send more messengers!’ he declared.

‘How many, my lord?’

‘A dozen at least.’

‘Is it wise to lose so many soldiers?’ wondered the captain.

‘They may be needed here.’

‘We must know why Earl Hugh’s reply has been delayed,’ said Robert. ‘A lone rider, even two, would be at risk. A dozen will be able to defend themselves against attack.’

‘What are their orders?’

‘I will deliver them myself.’

‘They will be ready instantly, my lord.’

The captain barked a gruff command and men came running from their quarters. Horses were quickly saddled, weapons collected and orders given by Robert of Rhuddlan. Twelve soldiers in helm and hauberk went out in a column along the twisting road. Warned of danger, they proceeded with caution and remained vigilant.

An hour away from Rhuddlan, they began to relax. Nothing even vaguely suspicious had been seen. The only thing that troubled them was the light drizzle which had started to fall.

They surged on with growing confidence. A few miles farther on, that confidence was brutally shattered. The road curved around a hill and their destriers kept up a steady canter until the route straightened and gave them a clear view of what lay ahead.

A narrow pass cut through the dark mountains but trees had been felled to block it. Boulders had been rolled against the timber to seal off the road completely. The troop came to a halt while they considered what to do. To reach Chester, they would now have to make a detour that would add several miles and great inconvenience to the journey, but that option, too, was suddenly removed. As they swung their horses round to retrace their steps, they saw with horror that a large Welsh raiding party had descended the hill to cut off their retreat.

They were trapped.

At the insistence of Hugh d’Avranches, Earl of Chester, the funeral of Raoul Lambert was held in the cathedral church of St John with no less a personage than Robert de Limesey himself officiating. To outsiders like Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret, it seemed strange that someone who was not of high baronial rank should be accorded such an honour, but nobody else in the congregation found the situation unusual. Raoul Lambert had been a popular figure among men for whom hunting was a daily pleasure and his murder had sent tremors through the whole county. They came in large numbers to see him laid to rest in his grave.

The somnolent mood in which Earl Hugh had begun the day in the chapel had now deepened into a black gloom. With his wife beside him, he sat at the front of the congregation to have an uninterrupted view of the wooden coffin which bore the body of his friend. William Malbank, Richard Vernon, Hamo of Mascy, Gilbert Venables, Ranulph Mainwaring, Reginald Balliol, Bigot of Loges and Hugo of Delamere were in close attendance. The burial of Earl Hugh himself could not have been surrounded with more ceremonial.

Robert de Limesey rose to the occasion magnificently. His reedy voice echoed down the nave and he delivered such a moving encomium that several tears had to be wiped away. Judged by the praise heaped upon him, Raoul Lambert had been a remarkable man, loyal, upright, caring, devout and free from any blemish. His skills as a huntsman were legendary. Cheshire, it was emphasised, was suffering a huge loss.

Ralph and Gervase were not caught up in the general emotion.

When Mass was sung and the coffin taken out to be lowered into its grave, they lurked on the fringes and took a more objective view of it all.

‘This huntsman sounds like a paragon,’ noted Ralph.

‘That is not the picture of him which we have,’ said Gervase.

‘Read between the lines of our documents and Raoul Lambert emerges as a rapacious landowner who treats his sub-tenants with a disdain bordering on cruelty.’

‘Who, then, was Bishop Robert talking about?’

‘Someone close to Earl Hugh and thus above reproach.’

‘But why, Gervase?’

‘We can only guess.’

‘What was the nature of the friendship between earl and huntsman that makes for such a grand funeral? And why does a bishop describe the dead man in such glowing terms?’

‘Diplomacy.’

Ralph was about to rid himself of a few cynical remarks about the episcopacy when he became aware of a pungent smell. At first he thought it was emanating from the corpse, but the coffin had been sweetened with herbs to counter the stench of death.

What now assaulted his nostrils was the powerful stink of Idwal’s lambskin cloak, a garment that looked more ragged by the day and which acquired new and more terrible odours by the hour.

The Welshman stepped in between the two men, his voice, for once, low and gentle, his manner uncharacteristically subdued.

‘A funeral is a humbling experience for us all,’ he said.

‘There was no humility here,’ observed Ralph. ‘This man went into his grave with pomp worthy of a leading baron. I do not look to have such a service when I pass away.’

‘You misunderstand me, my lord,’ said Idwal. ‘What is humbling is the reminder that all flesh must perish. The wealthiest in the land, no less than the poorest, go to their Maker at the end of their days.’

‘Raoul Lambert went before his time,’ said Gervase.

‘Sadly, he did. But we may profit from that.’

Gervase was surprised. ‘In what way, Archdeacon Idwal?’

‘His body lies here beside the cathedral.’

‘So?’

‘Outside the city walls,’ added Idwal. ‘Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo implored Earl Hugh not to get drawn into a war because their cathedral might be attacked. So might the grave of Raoul Lambert. Earl Hugh was deaf to their entreaties but the notion that the corpse of his dear friend might be abused by a marauding army may make him think again. That is why I am here.’

‘I do not understand,’ said Gervase.

‘This is our last opportunity.’

‘For what?’

‘Swaying the earl to our purpose. Look,’ said Idwal with a nod in Hugh’s direction, ‘others are already trying to take advantage of the moment.’

The funeral was over and the congregation was slowly dispersing.

Earl Hugh remained beside the grave with Robert de Limesey, Archdeacon Frodo and Brother Gerold around him. All four seemed to be engaged in a silent conference.

‘They are willing him to let me speak to Gruffydd ap Cynan,’

said Idwal. ‘I will bide my time until Earl Hugh is about to leave, then I will add my own plea.’

‘That might not be appropriate,’ suggested Gervase.

‘It would be disastrous,’ said Ralph. ‘The very sight of a Welshman would make him reach for his sword. Keep well away from him, Idwal. And, for God’s sake, do not stand upwind of him in that revolting cloak of yours.’

‘Leave the persuasion to others,’ agreed Gervase.

Idwal was offended. ‘My intercession could be crucial.’

‘It would be!’ sighed Ralph.

‘Does he not want this war averted?’

‘At this precise moment, no. He is too full of anger over the murder of Raoul Lambert. Revenge is at the forefront of his mind.’

Ralph put a hand on the archdeacon’s shoulder. ‘Do not let him see you here, Idwal. He will take it as a personal insult. Withdraw while you may.’

‘It might be politic,’ said Gervase. ‘What persuasion can be applied will come best from Bishop Robert and the others.’

‘But I am the only man who can talk with Gruffydd.’

‘If and when permission is granted. And it will not be if Earl Hugh is aware of your presence here.’

Idwal protested but they eventually convinced him that a tactical retreat was in the best interests of everyone. When the Welshman slipped away and the fierce aroma from his cloak gradually lost its intensity, Ralph and Gervase turned back to watch the figures beside the grave.

An animated conversation was now taking place. Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo were presenting their case with renewed vigour. Earl Hugh seemed to be resisting their arguments and they soon withdrew into the cathedral. Brother Gerold now took over, talking to his master in a more confiding way and indicating the open grave as he spoke. Earl Hugh became reflective. Instead of arguing back, he was now simply listening.

Viewing it all from a distance, Ralph and Gervase were given some insight into the subtle power which the chaplain exercised over the earl. The funeral was an emotional event and even a man as flint-hard as Hugh d’Avranches was moved. Brother Gerold took him by the arm to lead him away from the grave and continued to pour words of advice into his ears. Hugh’s face was grim and it was difficult to see what effect the chaplain’s plea was having on him.

Suddenly, it was all over. Earl Hugh muttered something to Gerold then strode off to join the other mourners. As he swept past Ralph and Gervase, his eyes were dark and menacing.

‘The appeal has been rejected,’ said Ralph.

‘I fear that it has, Ralph.’

‘He is like a hawk in the sky. Eager for a kill.’

‘That is what frightens me.’

Brother Gerold came across the grass towards them. ‘I did not expect to see you here,’ he said.

‘We wished to pay our respects,’ explained Ralph.

‘Yes,’ said Gervase, ‘and to hear Bishop Robert give his paean of praise. We learned much about Raoul Lambert.’

‘So did we all,’ said Gerold quietly. ‘But I am glad to find you, Gervase. It will save me the trouble of searching for you at the castle. Our wish has been granted.’

‘Has it?’

‘Earl Hugh has agreed that we may at least try to solve this crisis by diplomatic means.’

Ralph was astounded. ‘He has authorised a meeting between Archdeacon Idwal and the prisoner?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘What is my role?’ said Gervase.

‘To observe and record what passes between them.’

‘Watch them,’ counselled Ralph. ‘They will be slippery.’

‘I have a lot of respect for Idwal,’ said Gervase. ‘For all his deficiencies, he has great integrity and is as committed to preserving the peace between the two nations as anyone. No,’

he continued, reflecting on what lay ahead, ‘the Archdeacon of St David’s is not the problem here. The unknown quantity is Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd.’