The Lions of the North

CHAPTER EIGHT

Inga was stunned. When she arrived the next morning, she found both the shire hall and the adjoining building locked. There was no sign of the tribunal and no trace of their men-at-arms. Having come to hear judgement, with Sunnifa and Brunn the Priest beside her, she was baffled by the disappearance of the commissioners. Reminded of their earlier setback, her mother began to weep.

“They have gone,” she said. “They have left York.”

“That is impossible, Mother.”

“It is the same as before. We have come too late.”

“You heard them as well as I. We were told to report here first thing this morning.”

“Then where are they, Inga?”

“I do not know.”

“They have washed their hands of us and ridden away.”

“No,” insisted her daughter. “They would not do that. Master Bret is an honourable man. I talked with him alone. He is kind and thoughtful. He would never do anything as cruel as that.” She turned to the priest. “Would he?”

“I think not,” said Brunn. “Keep faith, Sunnifa.”

“This was my only chance,” sobbed the older woman. “If we fail here, we will never regain our inheritance.”

“Take heart, Mother,” said Inga. “We’ll not fail.”

“Watch and pray,” advised the priest.

“I have been doing that for years,” said Sunnifa.

Inga was decisive. “There is no point in standing out here in the middle of a busy street. If the commissioners are not here, it is because they are not coming. Go back to the lodging while I try to find out what has happened.”

“Will you be safe on your own?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Where will you go?”

“To the castle.”

After giving her mother a reassuring hug, Inga set off down the 104

street, deafened by the noise and buffeted by the shoulders of the swarming citizens. She had almost reached the bridge when she felt something press hard against her arm. She stopped to look up at Nigel Arbarbonel, seated astride his horse. His sword touched her to gain her attention.

“Where are you running to, Inga?” he teased.

“That is my business.”

“It is no use going to the castle. The commissioners will not see you.

They have suspended their tribunal.”

“Why?”

“Because of the murder.”

“Murder!” she said in alarm.

“Have you not heard about it?”

“Not a word.”

“The whole city is buzzing with the news.”

“We have kept close to our lodging and only stirred from it this morning. When was this murder?”

“Yesterday evening. One of the commissioners was killed.”

“Dear God!” she exclaimed. “Not Master Bret!”

“No, Inga,” said Nigel. “Not him. Nor, alas, was it Ralph Delchard. I could willingly have spared either of them.”

“Then who was it?”

“Tanchelm of Ghent. A member of the other tribunal. He sat in commission in the shire hall and that is where he was murdered.”

“By whose hand?”

“They do not know and they have curtailed their business until they find out. That could take a long time.”

“How long?”

“Days, at least. Weeks, even.”

“And we have to wait for judgement until then?”

“Go home, Inga,” he urged, sheathing his sword. “You wait here in vain. They have more important concerns than your mother’s false claims to my land. When the commissioners resume their work again, they will have forgotten all about you. Go home.”

“Not until a settlement is reached.”

“It has been reached. And I am riding back to my estate to cel-ebrate.” He pointed a finger. “You and your mother were very stupid to come here. I will not forget.”

Tugging on the reins, he turned his horse and trotted off in the opposite direction. Inga was demoralised. She was shaken by the news about the murder and even more so by the consequences of it.

Nigel Arbarbonel was quitting York with alacrity. As far as he was concerned, the dispute was over. He had won.

Ralph Delchard read the letter with surprise and irritation.

William, by grace of God king of the English and duke of the Normans, sends greetings to Tanchelm of Ghent and the assurance of friendship.

I order you to accompany and assist my tribunal, going into Yorkshire to look into abuses that have been revealed in the Exchequer returns for that county in relation to the Great Survey of my kingdom. Render what service you may to the following, my commissioners, Ralph Delchard, Gervase Bret and Canon Hubert of Winchester, sitting with them as an equal partner in their judgements.

I further order you to conceal your true purpose, the gathering of most secret intelligence concerning the safety of my kingdom, which we lately discussed at London.…”

By the time he finished, Ralph’s temper was up.

“Why did he not tell us?” he demanded.

“My lord Tanchelm is expressly ordered not to.”

“I do not mean him, Gervase. I talk of the King himself. He spoke to me in person before we set out from Winchester. Why did he not have the grace to tell me that we were carrying a spy in our cargo?”

“Because he chose not to, Ralph.”

“I had a right to know. I could have helped Tanchelm. Hell and damnation! I could have shielded the fellow from attack.” He waved the parchment in the air. “This is not a letter-it is a death warrant!”

“Only because someone divined his deeper reason for coming to the North. What does that suggest to you?”

“Tanchelm grew careless.”

“Quite the opposite, Ralph. He was achieving success.”

“Is that what you call success?” said Ralph with scorn, thrusting the letter into his hands. “Getting himself throttled to death in the shire hall. Take sense, Gervase.”

“I will when you calm down enough to hear me.”

They were in Gervase’s apartment at the castle and Ralph was pacing restlessly up and down like the lions in their cage. The contents of the letter had dealt a serious blow to his self-esteem. Dispatched from Winchester on the King’s business, he now learned that he had been deliberately misled in a way that might have put the whole commission in jeopardy. If Tanchelm had been unmasked as a spy, the whole team could well have been suspected of being in league with him. Ralph dropped down onto the stool and punched a fist into the palm of his other hand.

“I deserved better than this!” he said. “I have done King William much good service. He owed me the truth. I should have known about Tanchelm.”

“But you did,” reminded Gervase.

“What?”

“You did-in your heart. Have you forgotten? You had doubts about my lord Tanchelm from the start. Canon Hubert was fooled by him, so was Brother Simon, so, I confess, was I at first. But not you, Ralph.

You sensed that something was amiss.”

“Yes, yes, I did.”

“And that suspicion never fully left you.”

“True,” said Ralph, partially mollified. “I could never quite believe in him. I did know that he was beguiling us. But it would still have been a courtesy to have been told.”

“No, Ralph. We must be honest with ourselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“My lord Tanchelm was trained for this work. You and I are not.

Think how well he played his part and how effective he was when he sat in commission with Canon Hubert. Gould we have carried the burden of a double life so easily?”

“I could, Gervase.”

“Well, I could not,” admitted the other, “and I am glad that King William did not lay it upon my shoulders by taking me into his confidence. We have problems enough to contend with in our work here without taking on the responsibilities that my lord Tanchelm had.

And the grave danger that they incurred.”

Ralph sat brooding for a long time before rising again.

“You are right,” he said. “This was not for us.”

“Had all passed off smoothly, we would never have known the truth and never needed to know.”

“But it did not pass off smoothly, Gervase.”

“Alas, no.”

“That is why the word ‘success’ jarred on my ear.”

“Let me explain why I used it just now. I think that my lord Tanchelm was skilled at his profession. The King would not otherwise have chosen him for so difficult a mission.”

“I accept that.”

“You know this county far better than I, Ralph. It has always been highly volatile, has it not?”

“It still is. Look at my friend Aubrey. He has been here for years, yet he has to hide behind castle walls and protect himself with wild animals.”

“What does he fear?”

“Revolt from within or invasion from without, Gervase.”

“Then that is what my lord Tanchelm came in search of,” said Gervase.

“Signs of stirring among the old nobility of the North. Or rustlings from the Scots or the Danes. I believe that he was successful enough to find out something of real importance. Why else would they have needed to kill him?”

Ralph became pensive. Moving to the window, he looked out over the city. He ran a hand slowly across his chin.

“What did he find out, Gervase?”

“I have no idea.”

“How, then, will we track down his killer?”

“By learning what he discovered.”

Ralph nodded firmly, then turned to face him once more.

“Where did you get that letter?” he asked.

“It was given to me.”

“By whom?”

“A friend.”

“Friends have names.”

“This one prefers to remain anonymous.”

“Secrets between us, Gervase?”

“I gave him my solemn word.”

A long pause. “So be it.”

“I must now ask you to give me your word, Ralph.”

“What about?”

“This letter,” said Gervase, holding it up between his fingers. “Nobody must know its contents.”

“Nobody will-except Aubrey, of course.”

“Nobody. Including our host.”

“Why not?”

“Because the letter has already cost one life. The fewer people who know about it, the less chance there is of it causing another death.” He held the missive over the candle flame. “I need your promise, Ralph.”

“You have it.”

Gervase dropped the letter onto the floor and watched it burn. As the parchment curled in upon itself, the writing was blacked out and the seal began to melt. He waited until it was burned through before grinding it beneath his heel.

“It is gone,” he said. “There was no letter.”

“Would that Tanchelm had done the same with it!”

“He was not betrayed that way, Ralph. But by his own diligence. He got too close. That is what brought him down.”

“But why keep the letter at all?”

“For our benefit.”

Ralph started. “Tanchelm deceives us and it is for our benefit? What kind of logic is that?”

“The letter had a double purpose.”

“I cannot even see a single one.”

“You had your reservations about him,” said Gervase. “You found him too obliging. Supposing you had caught him out and demanded the truth from him. With his back to the wall-but only then, only as a last resort-he would have shown you his credentials.”

“The letter from the King.”

“Yes, Ralph.”

“You mentioned a double purpose.”

“Credentials and warning.”

“Of course,” said Ralph admiringly. “That letter was kept in case anything untoward happened to him. It would explain why and point us towards his killer.” He grinned at his friend. “You should have been a spy yourself, Gervase.”

“I have just become one. So have you.”

The sound of approaching footsteps made them react swiftly. Ralph moved quickly to the door while Gervase obliterated the last of the charred remains with his foot. As the footsteps halted, Ralph pulled open the door to reveal a startled young servant.

“What do you want?” said Ralph sharply.

“I have a message for Master Bret.”

“He stands beside me. Deliver it.”

“Yes, my lord.” The boy swallowed hard before turning to Gervase.

“A visitor waits for you at the gate.”

“A visitor?”

“A young woman. Most anxious to speak with you.”

“Did she give her name?”

“Inga.”

Gervase saw the twinkle of mischief in Ralph’s eye.

“I will come at once,” he said.

Herleve was profoundly upset by the murder of their guest. Even after she saw the body sent home to Lincolnshire, she found it hard to accept that Tanchelm of Ghent had really been killed. It was an outrage too great to assimilate.

“I do not believe it,” she said quietly.

“My lady?”

“I do not believe that he is gone. I hear his voice, I see him sitting beside me. My lord Tanchelm is still here.”

In some sense, he always will be.”

Golde was perched on a chair in the solar, keeping Herleve company and trying to help her confront the horror of what had occurred. The latter spoke movingly.

“He was such a gentle person,” remembered Herleve. “He listened to me as no man has ever listened before. He was interested in me, Golde.

We talked and talked.”

“I found him a most pleasant companion.”

“Soldierly in bearing, courteous in manner.”

“That sums him up perfectly.”

“There have been few such men in my life.”

Herleve drifted off into a private reverie, which Golde did not try to interrupt. The older woman had a faraway smile on her face. Golde had a moment to consult her own memories of Tanchelm and to feel a deep pang of regret at his death. Her real sympathy went out to the wife and family who would be waiting at home for the return of his corpse. Theirs was the true grief.

Herleve gave a shudder and came out of her daydream.

“He is dead,” she said levelly. “I must not deny it.”

“No, my lady.”

“Who could have wanted to kill such a kind man?”

“I do not know.”

“Death is so indiscriminate.” The faraway smile came back. “I liked him. He took me seriously.”

“Everyone does that, my lady,” said Golde.

“No, Golde. They only pretend to do so. I can read it in their eyes.

Most people only humour me. That is why I keep my own counsel most of the time, as I told you. But my lord Tanchelm was different. He cared.”

“What did you talk about with him?”

“Anything and everything. He wanted to know what kind of life I led here in the castle, who came, who went, what it was like in the depths of winter. And Yorkshire. He was intrigued by the countryside around here.” She pursed her lips. “Most men can only talk about themselves and their ambitions. Not him. He said so little about himself.”

“That was his hallmark, my lady.”

“Self-effacement.”

“We rode from Lincoln to York in his company but I cannot say that I knew him all that much better when we arrived. He never pushed himself forward.”

“Find me another man like that.”

“They are not plentiful, my lady.”

“I would settle for one.”

She put her head to one side and scrutinised Golde.

“Are you content to be here?”

“Now that we are friends, I am.”

“Good.”

“I did appreciate what you said to me.”

“Will you sit with me for a while?”

“As long as you wish, my lady.”

“Thank you. I feel the need to talk.”

“I am your audience.”

“You will find me ready to listen as well. Tell me about Ralph Delchard. Tell me how you came to meet.”

“It is a lengthy tale.”

Herleve smiled. “I insist on hearing it in full.”

The grave was no more than a mound of earth on which a raven was strutting as they walked up. The last remains of the nameless intruder had been buried in the churchyard closest to the castle. Aubrey Maminot had wanted to toss the body into the cesspit at first but his conscience guided him back towards a token Christianity. Romulus and Remus had already acted on their master’s behalf. No further humiliation of the body was required.

The raven began pecking at the earth. When it saw them coming, it flapped its wings and took to the air.

“Is this it?” said Inga softly.

“I believe so.”

“Are you not sure?”

“It is exactly as Philip the Chaplain described,” said Gervase, looking around to check his bearings. “There is no mistake, Inga. Your friend lies here.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like me to leave you alone?”

“No. Please stay.”

“I never knew Toki. I feel out of place.”

“I will not keep you long.”

Inga knelt down beside the grave and smoothed the earth with her bare hands. Her eyes then closed as she offered up a silent prayer.

After a few moments, she flung herself full length on the ground as if trying to embrace Toki. She made no sound and lay there quite motionless. When she finally began to get up, Gervase put out a hand to help her.

“Thank you, Master Bret.”

“I kept my word.”

“Yes.”

Holding back tears, she turned away and walked towards the gate.

Gervase was glad when they were back in the lane at the side of the church. He did not wish to be seen at the graveside with Inga in case awkward questions were asked. Aubrey Maminot was still seeking the name of the intruder.

Inga was lost in her thoughts for several minutes. When she realised that he was still beside her, she reached out a hand to touch him with gratitude.

“Now you can understand,” she said.

“Understand?”

“What it is like to lose a friend. Toki has been snatched from me, and you, too, have suffered a loss.”

“Yes,” he said. “We will miss my lord Tanchelm. He died a harsh death. That makes it harder to bear.”

“I know. I think of Toki and those lions.”

“Do not dwell on it, Inga.”

“I will not. It hurts me so.” She straightened up and tried to master her emotions but there was still a deep sadness in her voice. “When will we hear the judgement in our dispute?”

“When the tribunal reconvenes.”

“Have you come to a decision yet?”

“You know that I cannot tell you that.”

“Is it worth waiting in York?”

“That is up to you.”

“My lord Nigel has already left,” she said bitterly. “He told me the argument has been settled in his favour and that he is done with your interference.”

“We may need to enlighten him on that score.”

“Is there nothing you can tell me, Master Bret?”

“No, Inga.”

“Must our suffering go on?”

“I am sorry,” he said gently, “but the murder of our companion has changed everything. Our work is in abeyance until that crime has been solved. My lord Tanchelm was here with us on the King’s business. We will not rest until his killer has been brought to justice.”

“And what of Toki’s killers?” she demanded. “Will they be brought to justice? He was murdered just as surely as your colleague but will there be any retribution?”

“I fear not.”

“Those lions should be destroyed.”

“Inga …”

“They are monsters!”

Torn between fury and despair, she began to sob fitfully. Gervase took her in his arms to comfort her and she slowly calmed. When she looked up at him, he saw the anguish in her face and realised for the first time the true hopelessness of her position. Inga’s future was bleak.

She had lost her beloved and her father’s property. If her mother’s claim was rejected by the commissioners, she and Inga might well face unpleasant repercussions. Gervase distrusted Nigel Arbarbonel. Behind the studied charm lay more sinister qualities. When the commissioners left, Inga and her mother would be at the mercy of their landlord.

Gervase was anxious to relieve her pain in some way. She broke away from him and looked back towards the grave.

“What was he doing in the castle that night?” he said.

“I wish I knew.”

“Have you made no effort to find out?”

“We have done little else since we have been in York.”

“There were two of them,” he recalled. “Toki climbed into the castle with an accomplice. The guards said that they saw someone running away. If we can trace that man, he may be able to tell you what really happened.”

“I have tried.”

“You know who he is?”

“I think so.”

“What is his name?”

Inga hesitated. “I cannot tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It does not concern you.”

“But I may be able to help you to find him.”

“How do I know you will not pass the name on?”

“Have I passed on the name of Toki?”

“No, you did not.”

“And did I keep my promise to bring you here?”

“Yes,” she said, casting her last doubts aside. “You have been true to your word. The accomplice was Ragnar Long-foot.”

“Ragnar?”

“He was Toki’s best friend. They went everywhere together. If someone else climbed into the castle, it must have been Ragnar Longfoot.”

“Have you learned nothing about him?”

“Only that he vanished the same night as Toki.”

“Does he not have a family?”

“They are as anxious to trace him as I am.”

“What sort of man is this Ragnar Longfoot?”

“Good, honest, reliable but weak-willed. He was older than Toki but let him take the lead. Ragnar will always follow a stronger man. That is why I believe that the rumours may be true.”

“Rumours?”

“They are all that I have been able to pick up.”

“And what do they tell you?”

“Ragnar has run off to join the strongest leader of all.”

“And who is that?”

“Olaf Evil Child.”

They had pitched camp in the Forest of Galtres. Ragnar Longfoot sat on the ground and stared into the embers of the fire. It had been almost a week now but the agony would not go away. His conscience was a scourge. As he gazed down, a breath of wind came to ignite the embers again. In their sudden glow, he saw the face of a dear friend, looking up at him with smouldering accusation. Ragnar shut his eyes to block out the sight. A consoling hand fell on his shoulder.

“You were not to blame,” said Olaf Evil Child.

“I was. I should have stayed.”

“No, Ragnar.”

“I ran away. I deserted Toki.”

“You had no choice. It was too late to save him.”

“I should have helped, Olaf.”

“How? By getting yourself captured? What purpose would that have served? Aubrey Maminot would only have fed you to the lions as well.

You were right to flee.”

“I was a coward.”

“Climbing into that castle took a lot of courage.”

“I only followed Toki. I fed off his courage.”

“He would not have gone without you.”

“Yes,” said Ragnar, rallied by the thought. “That is true. Toki needed me. I did help.” His guilt returned. “But I betrayed him at the end.”

“You did not,” argued Olaf. “He was betrayed by his own boldness.

Toki did not look ahead. He was too hasty. Did he not realise the danger that lay in wait?”

“No.”

“You must have known about the lions.”

“We heard they were there-who has not? — but we did not expect them to be let out at night.” Ragnar trembled. “Toki learned the truth too late. I shall never forget the sound of his cries. And all I could do was run.”

“You had to, my friend.”

“I took to my heels like a frightened rat.”

“You survived, Ragnar.”

“But Toki did not.”

“He took his chance and failed,” said Olaf, crouching beside the other. “You lived to fight another day. That is the way to serve his memory. By striving to achieve what Toki was after. By continuing the battle.”

Ragnar stared down at the fire again. The embers had lost their glow and the face had turned to white ash. He gritted his teeth and turned back to Olaf Evil Child.

“You are right, Olaf. I must fight on.”

“With us?”

“With you.”

“This is where he must have got in,” said Ralph Delchard. “And made his escape by the same means.”

“In and out in a matter of minutes.”

“With a man’s life snuffed out in the process.”

“Why were the shutters unlocked?” said Aubrey Maminot. “They are usually kept bolted from the inside. Anyone might lurk here otherwise to eavesdrop on what is being said in the room. The murderer must have slipped into the building earlier to release the bolt on the shutters.”

“Unless he had a confederate who did that office.”

“That, too, is a possibility.”

The two men were standing in the lane at the rear of the shire hall.

Like many other buildings in the city, it had a sunken floor. What was a high window on the back wall of the interior was only at chest height when viewed from outside. Entry would not have been difficult. The alley was no more than a muddied track and hundreds of feet had churned it up since the time of the murder. A search for clues was fruitless.

Men-at-arms had been stationed at either end of the alley by the deputy sheriff to question people who used it on a regular basis and to ask if they had witnessed anything suspicious taking place around the time of Vespers on the previous day. Aubrey was sceptical about their chances of learning anything.

“They are too late and too lenient,” he said. “The time to ask questions was directly after the event and the way to do it was with threats and fists. These people will never give their help willingly.”

“Someone must have seen him.”

“They did, Ralph. This alley is in constant use. Several people saw him clamber in through that window. But you will not get them to admit it. We are Normans.”

“Tanchelm was not.”

“He served the King. That is all they need to know. We may mourn a friend but the rest of the city will be rejoicing. We are an island in a sea of hatred.”

Ralph was rueful. “I helped to create that hatred.”

“So did I,” said Aubrey, “and I have no regrets. We had to crush the North and we did it in the only way that would have a lasting effect.”

“Yes, Aubrey. We saw some of those lasting effects on the way here.

They were not inspiring sights.”

“You are getting soft, old friend. Live in York and you would soon change. There is no room for softness here.”

“I will be harsh enough when we catch our villain.”

“Then let’s about it,” said Aubrey. “I need to speak to the deputy sheriff again to put a burr under his backside.”

“I would like to take another look inside.”

“We will meet back at the castle.”

While Aubrey marched off with six men-at-arms, Ralph walked around to the front of the shire hall. People were still showing a ghoulish interest in it as they walked past and small clusters formed as speculation thrived afresh. Accompanied by two of his men, Ralph unlocked the front door and stepped into the hall. It was bare and cold. All the shutters were locked now but shafts of light crept around them to stripe the floor and lend it a ghostly quality.

When he looked at the table, Ralph could envisage the scene clearly.

The stern, judicial figure of Canon Hubert was seated between the urbane Tanchelm of Ghent and the scribbling meekness of Brother Simon. All three had worked well together and neither of the ecclesiastics would ever know that their good-natured companion was using them to mask his other activities in the city. Ralph crossed to the stool on which Tanchelm had once sat. It had been replaced behind the table now and he lowered himself onto it.

The two men-at-arms were puzzled when he started to read some invisible documents in front of him. When he turned over a non-existent page, they exchanged a look of disbelief. Neither was prepared for what came next. Ralph put his hands to his neck, struggled with an unseen assailant and fell backwards. As the stool rolled onto the floor, the two soldiers ran to the assistance of their master.

“I am fine,” he said, grinning up at them.

He got back to his feet and righted the stool before taking a final look up at the window. Satisfied at last, he went out again with his men at his heels. Ralph strode around to the alley at the back and walked its full length. Soldiers at the far end were questioning a man and his wife about their movements the previous evening. Ralph caught sight of the deputy sheriff nearby and decided that he would communicate his own sense of urgency to the investigation.

Before he reached him, however, someone else captured his attention and brought him to a halt. Further along the street, huddled into the doorway to ensure some privacy, were two men locked in animated conversation. Given what he knew of them, he was surprised that they were even acquainted with each other, yet Aubrey Maminot was talking familiarly with Brother Francis.

“The Abbey of St. Mary?” said Golde. “I did not see it, my lady.”

“It lies outside the city wall to the north-west.”

“Your husband did mention it when he conducted me around York.

It is still in its early stages, I believe.”

“Yes, Golde.”

“There is no shortage of work for stonemasons.”

“We will keep them busy for many years to come,” said Herleve proudly.

“It will be a majestic sight when it is finished and has its own fortified precinct. Nothing will ever challenge the minster in magnificence, of course, but the abbey will fulfil a significant role.”

“It is fortunate to have such patrons as yourself.”

“It is my prime interest, Golde,” said the older woman. “And my husband’s one indulgence of me.”

“Indulgence?”

Herleve lowered her head. She and Golde were still alone in the solar, talking quietly, allowing their friendship to roll forward at its own gentle pace. Golde had learned not to press her hostess for answers or she would retreat into herself as she was doing now. It was only when she felt relaxed that she would volunteer information about herself.

“Where will you live?” asked Herleve.

“Ralph will decide that.”

“His estates are in Hampshire, are they not?”

“They are, my lady, but he has spent precious little time there this year. The King’s business compels him to travel and I have cause to be grateful. That is how we met.”

“When he came to visit Hereford with his colleagues.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And how did they welcome you?”

“Gervase has been wonderful to me. He says that I help to calm Ralph down and is delighted for both of us.”

“What of the others?”

Golde grimaced. “Canon Hubert disapproves,” she sighed. “He has said nothing to my face and has always been quite pleasant to me, but I feel the weight of his censure. It is not surprising. We cannot expect him to understand. Still less can we ask for understanding from Brother Simon.”

“Your scribe whom I met this morning?”

“Woman are an abomination to him, my lady.”

“I wondered why he was startled by my approach.”

“He worships celibacy.”

“It has much to commend it,” said Herleve wistfully. A smile brightened her face. “Ralph is blessed in you.”

“And I in him.”

“You are the one to make sacrifices, Golde. You gave up everything to ride at his side. Even your respectability.”

“That was the easiest sacrifice.”

“And yet you grieve at its loss. Any woman would.”

A taut pause. “Yes, my lady. In some sort, I do.”

“Well, you need fear no more disapproval from me. I like to think I am a true Christian and that has taught me the value of tolerance.

When I was cold towards you …”

Her voice faded and she seemed to be in mild distress.

“Let us put that behind us, my lady,” suggested Golde.

“But I need to explain.”

“Your friendship is explanation enough.”

“I owe you the truth, Golde.”

“Not if it causes you sadness.”

“I have learned to bear that.” She lifted her chin and locked her hands in her lap. “It is difficult for me, Golde. I have never talked to anyone about this, not even in the privacy of confession. I hope I can talk to you.”

“I am listening, my lady.”

“When you first came here, I was very unkind and resentful. That was not your fault, Golde. Before I knew anything about you, I made a very harsh judgement. There was a reason for that.”

“I appreciate how it must have seemed.”

“This is nothing to do with you and Ralph Delchard,” said the other woman quietly. “It is to do with my husband and myself. We have not been happy. Whatever it was that Aubrey wanted in a wife, I have been unable to supply.”

“I am sure that is not true, my lady.”

“It is, Golde.”

“But he talks so fondly of you.”

“Yes,” sighed Herleve. “He talks fondly of me to everyone because that is his way. He never speaks thus to me. I have let him down. I never gave him the children he wanted or the love he needed. Aubrey has many good qualities but he also has wants, Golde. Like any other man. I have never been able to satisfy those wants.” Her eyelids flickered. “He was bound to look elsewhere.”

“I see.”

“That is why I was so cold towards you. I thought you were simply another one. It never crossed my mind that you and Ralph could be …

as you are. I thought you were her.”

“Who?”

Herleve sat up with as much dignity as she could.

“My husband’s mistress.”

Aubrey Maminot lay sprawled on the bed while she ran a hand lan-guidly through his hair. He was still panting and perspiring freely.

Her youth excited him and her passion seemed boundless. Each time he visited her, they seemed to reach new heights of pleasure and invention. Aubrey had found something he did not believe existed: a woman who never disappointed him, a love that never staled.

He rolled over to cradle her in his arm, running his finger down her nose and onto her lips. She kissed it.

“Are you happy, my love?” he asked.

“Very happy.”

“And were you pleased with my present?”

“Delighted!”

“Do you mean that?”

“It is the nicest gift you have ever given me.”

She reached out with her hand for the garment that lay beside the bed. Clipped onto it was the gold brooch in the shape of a lion. She brought it up to her face so that she could rub the animal against her cheek.

“I love him,” she said.

“Does he have a name?”

“Of course. I call him Aubrey.”

He was thrilled. “He is named after me?”

“No,” she said. “He is you.”

“In what sense?”

“You are my real lion!”

Aubrey laughed and embraced her with renewed ardour.