The Lions of the North

CHAPTER NINE

Brother Simon was the first to admit it. He was spiritually and constitutionally unsuited to the rigours of the workaday world. A simple journey through the streets of York was an assault on his sensibilities.

The pungent smells made him swoon and the swirling activity all around him unsettled his stomach. The swooping birds frightened him and the packs of roaming dogs seem to elect him for special perse-cution. But it was the sight and sound of countless females that really edged him towards hysteria. Fishwives screeched, washerwomen cackled, ancient dames traded gossip and every mother in the city seemed to be engaged in haggling aloud in the market.

With the supportive bulk of Canon Hubert beside him, he might have withstood it all had there not been the horrendous event in the shire hall. Tanchelm of Ghent had been murdered not ten feet from where Simon had earlier sat at the table. The monk felt the hand of death brush the side of his face. It reduced him to gibbering incoherence.

York was a crucible of evil. He fled from its tumult into the minster.

Canon Hubert was more resilient. While his companion yearned only for solitude, he was ready to brave the turmoil of the streets in the interests of justice. Tanchelm had been a friend and a colleague. Hubert wanted to do all he could to assist the hunt for his killer. Having spent more time with the victim than most people, he felt that he knew him better and might therefore contribute details that would elude anyone else. An hour exploring a pile of documents convinced him that he had pertinent information to offer. Mounting his donkey, he wobbled off to the castle once more.

Ralph Delchard was less than ecstatic to see him.

“This is no place for you, Canon Hubert.”

“But we must have conference.”

“Our business here is postponed until we have tracked down a murderer. He occupies all our attention.”

“I have come to help you to that end.”

“It is soldier’s work.”

“My lord …”

“Leave it to us.”

They were in the courtyard. Ralph had just returned to the castle when Hubert arrived at a bouncing trot. The canon was an unnecessary distraction. Ralph was pursuing enquiries independent of the investigation led by the deputy sheriff and he needed time alone to think and to plan. With a blunt farewell, he turned on his heel but Hubert would not be shaken off so easily. His bulbous heels took the donkey scurrying in a circle to obstruct Ralph’s path.

“Hear me out, my lord,” he said. “I beg you!”

“Move aside.”

“I am as desperate as you to catch the murderer.”

“Then return to the minster and pray for our success. We will need all the assistance we can coax from above.”

“But I have a name for you.”

“A name?” Ralph was checked. “Of the killer?”

“I would not go that far without further proof,” said Hubert, “but one name might lead to another. It is at least worth considering.”

“As you wish,” said Ralph impatiently.

“May we not go somewhere more private?”

“The courtyard will do.”

“But someone may overhear us.”

“Only your donkey. Now, what is this name you brandish?”

Hubert dismounted and moved in closer to him.

“Yesterday,” he said in a confidential whisper, “you asked what disputes we were about to consider. One of them, you thought, might have a bearing on my lord Tanchelm’s death.”

“That was Gervase’s belief. He no longer holds it.”

“Why not?”

“That is immaterial.”

“Is there some fresh evidence about which I should hear?”

“No,” said Ralph, anxious to detach himself. “You know all. Now, what is this name?”

“The man has holdings in the wapentake of Burghshire. Several of them once belonged to Sweinn Redbeard.”

“I remember. The father of Olaf Evil Child.”

“The competing claims did not come before our predecessors here because neither Olaf nor his rival was able to appear before the commission.”

“The contest is void,” said Ralph. “Olaf cannot come to York this time either. If he dares to show his face in the city, he will be arrested as an outlaw.”

“My lord Tanchelm felt otherwise.”

“On what grounds?”

“That Olaf Evil Child had a strong case to offer.”

“A horse thief given the benefits of law?”

“I protested strongly on that account.”

“What was the answer?”

“My lord Tanchelm felt that Olaf at least had the right to be heard and that his other crimes came not within our purview.”

“This is madness!”

“So I represented to him.”

“He’d never get Olaf Evil Child near the shire hall.”

“My lord Tanchelm swore that he would.”

“How?” wondered Ralph. “How could he succeed where Aubrey Maminot and a hundred men have failed? They have been searching for Olaf for months. Did Tanchelm really believe he could entice the rogue here?”

“Yes, my lord. You forget something.”

“What is that?”

“He had a Danish wife.”

“So?”

“Olaf has Danish forbears.”

Ralph fell silent. Rash dismissal of Tanchelm’s intentions might prove to be folly. The man worked in strange and subtle ways. If he was going to such lengths to lure Olaf Evil Child to the city, it might be for reasons unconnected with the disputed property. Ralph was glad he had been forced to listen to Canon Hubert. His perennial adversary might have stumbled on some valuable intelligence.

“You have still not told me the name.”

“No, my lord,” said Hubert. “I felt I had to acquaint you with the circumstances before I did so.”

“That was wise.”

“Olaf’s claim is that he was ousted from his land.”

“By whom?”

“Robert Brossard.”

Ralph shrugged. “I have never heard the name before.”

“Nor I. It was my lord Tanchelm who discovered the coincidence. He said that you and Gervase mentioned him several times when you discussed a case of your own.”

“Mentioned whom?”

“The half-brother of Robert Brossard.”

“And who might that be?”

“Nigel Arbarbonel.”

Whooping with delight, Nigel Arbarbonel rode his horse at a gallop towards the hill with his men-at-arms behind him like a giant swal-lowtail. He had left York with a feeling of exhilaration that never abated. Everything had worked out to his satisfaction. His estates had been preserved, his enemies routed and the tribunal confounded. His position in the county would henceforth be invincible. He was once more a law unto himself.

When he reached the crest of the hill, he reined in his mount and looked down at the vale ahead. Sitting at its heart was a large house with a thatched roof. A cluster of outbuildings stood nearby. The place looked deserted but it had a solidity and sense of purpose that gave it a lustre.

Nigel Arbarbonel spoke to the man beside him.

“The house of Thorbrand,” he sneered.

“Well-placed and well-built, my lord.”

“It offends my eye.”

“You thought to live there yourself at one time.”

“No,” corrected Nigel with a smirk. “I thought to stay there for a night or two when the fancy took me. But the lady would not have me as her lodger so I drove her and her mother out to meaner habitation.

The house disgusts me now.”

“What will you do with it, my lord?”

“Destroy it!”

“Why?”

“Because it reminds them,” he said. “It brings back memories of the time when Thorbrand owned and farmed this whole vale. Those days are gone for good and they must be taught that. As long as that house stands, they will hope.” He gestured to some of his men. “Burn it!”

Four of them immediately cantered down into the vale. Nigel Arbarbonel watched with malignant pleasure as the first plume of smoke began to rise.

“They will see it as they ride past,” he said.

“When will that be, my lord?”

“When they tire of waiting in York for a victory that will not come.

The commissioners will not resume their business until they have solved a murder. And they will never do that.” A knowing grin appeared.

“Never!”

“What else did she say about him?” asked Gervase Bret.

“How courteous and attentive he was,” said Golde. “My lord Tanchelm talked with Herleve for hours. More to the point, he listened to her.”

“I am sure he did,” murmured Ralph Delchard.

“That was what impressed her most.”

Golde had been a revelation. She was in the solar with the two of them, recounting her conversation with their hostess, though omit-ting any reference to the problems within Herleve’s marriage. What Ralph and Gervase really wanted to hear was any detail about Tanchelm of Ghent. Golde talked at length on the subject and they came to see how guileful he had been in his dealings with Herleve.

Tanchelm had a genuine respect for the lady but that did not prevent him from gathering information with great dexterity from her while appearing to offer a sympathetic ear.

“Where is she now?” asked Ralph.

“With the chaplain. He is taking confession.”

“What sins does she have to confess? She has led a blameless life and is an example to us all.”

“Herleve feels the need to be shriven,” said Golde.

“You perform that office for me, my love.”

“Hardly!”

“You cleanse my soul.”

Golde smiled before excusing herself. She could see that they wished to be alone to discuss the murder inquiry and she left the solar without realising how much she had just contributed to their investigation.

Ralph was uneasy.

“We should have told her.”

“No,” said Gervase. “Golde must not know.”

“I feel so cruel at having to deceive her.”

“The deception is necessary, I fear. If she learns the truth, she will be drawn into a game that she is not really qualified to play. It will place an immense strain on her and that might well show.”

“Yes,” said Ralph. “You are perhaps right.”

“I know I am,” said Gervase with a modest smile. “Did I see you below in the courtyard with Canon Hubert earlier?”

“You did. For once, we had a useful conversation.”

“What was its content?”

Ralph related the whole story and his friend listened with rapt attention. By the time the tale was over, Gervase had come to a decision.

He slapped a palm onto his knee.

“I must go to see him!”

“Who?”

“Olaf Evil Child.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because he is a crucial figure in all this, Ralph.”

“Yes. Olaf stole our sumpter-horses!”

“He may yet help to solve a more serious crime.”

“How?”

“I do not know. But I must meet him.”

“Are you insane?”

“Probably.”

“You cannot treat with an outlaw.”

“My lord Tanchelm did.”

Gervase weighed his promise to Inga against his duty to Ralph. The two commissioners were bonded so closely together in an act of deception that it was perverse to keep vital information from each other.

Notwithstanding his friendship with the castellan, Ralph’s discretion could be relied upon now that matters of state were involved. Gervase no longer felt that he was betraying Inga by releasing details of what had passed between them.

“I will tell you why I need to see Olaf,” he said.

“To pursue a career as a horse thief?”

“No, Ralph. Be patient and you will hear.”

Gervase explained in detail. Ralph heard but without any pretence of being patient. He spluttered throughout and was puce with indignation at the end.

“Why on earth did you not tell me?” he demanded.

“I gave my word to Inga.”

“And is she more important than me?”

“She was, in this instance.”

“Gervase!”

“I am sorry, Ralph, but I could not take the risk.”

“What risk? We are friends!”

“I hope so.”

“Then why lie to me?”

“Because you are also a friend of my lord Aubrey.”

“Ah!” He was stopped in full flow. “I begin to see.”

“You might have told him.”

“Not if you had impressed upon me the need to say nothing. Not if you have confided the full truth.”

“You know it now, Ralph.”

“Do I?”

“Every syllable.”

“You should have trusted me.”

“I did. Inga did not.” Ralph smarted in silence. “Not a word of this must reach my lord Aubrey. If he learns the identity of the intruder, he will have the remains dug up and further abused. Then he will turn his rage on Inga.”

“I know how he feels!” said Ralph grimly.

“She is not to blame for any of this.”

Ralph sat forward with his face in his hands as he tried to take in all that he had heard. The name of Olaf Evil Child occurred too often in the story to be overlooked. Why had he stolen their horses but returned their apparel? Why had Tanchelm tried to contact him and what had he hoped to gain from the outlaw? Was it conceivable that Olaf was involved in something far more deadly than robbery on the highway? What was the cause of the feud between Olaf and Aubrey Maminot? When Ralph sat up, his head was spinning.

“We must reach him somehow, Gervase.”

“I will go without you.”

“But you will need me there to protect you.”

“That would only frighten Olaf away. A troop of Norman soldiers is not an olive branch.”

“I want to capture the man-not sue for peace!”

“That is why I must be the emissary here.”

“You are dealing with a vicious outlaw!”

“Then why does he seek legal redress? His name is listed among our claimants. That shows he has some faith in the power of law.”

“He’ll feel the power of my sword when I catch him!”

“Let me handle him more civilly.”

“At least take some of my men.”

“No, Ralph.”

“A small escort. There are other outlaw bands at large. You might be set on before you got anywhere near Olaf.”

“I will have to take that chance,” said Gervase. “I can slip away from York without being noticed. If you and I set off together with your men-at-arms, it will be remarked upon and secrecy is of the essence.”

“That is certainly true.”

“While I am gone, you can pursue other lines of enquiry here. My lord Tanchelm learned something of great import and was silenced by an assassin. You must retrace his steps to find out what he did. But stealthily, Ralph.”

“I know the dangers.”

“We must both tread warily from now on.”

“Do not worry about me,” said Ralph. “Think only of your own safety.

I have a troop of men within call. You have none. This could prove an act of suicide.”

“I must see Olaf Evil Child.”

“Alone?”

“No,” said Gervase. “I will take Inga.”

Brunn the Priest was fearful when he learned her intentions.

“It is too hazardous, Inga.”

“I will have Master Bret beside me.”

“One man cannot protect you.”

“We will travel with caution.”

“Sunnifa will be distraught when she hears the news.”

“That is why it must be kept from her,” said Inga. “I tell you so that you may invent a story to cover my absence. Mother has worries enough.

Spare her more anguish.”

“What if you do not return?”

Inga refused even to consider the possibility. She had brought the priest from their lodging for a special purpose. When they reached the churchyard, she pointed out the place where Toki’s remains had been buried.

“Say a prayer over his grave,” she begged.

“There has already been a service of burial.”

“Not for Toki. A nameless man was lowered into the earth. The chaplain did not know him as you do. Toki deserves to be laid to rest by his own priest.”

“He will be.”

“I have a larger favour to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Toki lies in the shadow of the castle where he was killed,” she said. “Every time I look up at it, I think of the agonies of his death. He will never sleep easily here.”

“We have no choice in the matter.”

“I want his bones to lie beside our own church.”

“But that is impossible,” said Brunn in consternation. “Toki cannot be exhumed. That would need the permission of Archbishop Thomas himself. Do not ask what is beyond my power to give you, Inga.”

“There has to be a way.”

“Believe me, there is not.”

Inga looked sadly in the direction of the grave. Toki belonged near her.

But huge obstacles had to be negotiated first and Gervase Bret was the only person who could help her to do that. She squeezed Brunn’s arm.

“I must away. Say nothing of this to Mother.”

“It would break her heart. I implore you not to leave!”

“The decision is made.”

“Consider again!” pleaded Brunn. “Olaf Evil Child is an outlaw. He and his band live in the trees like wild animals. They will show no respect to a woman, Inga. You may be …”

“Look to Mother. That is all I ask.”

He shook with trepidation. “God go with you!”

“I am not afraid. We will soon return to York.”

“You may be gone for days. Olaf Evil Child could be anywhere in the county. However will you find him?”

“We will not,” she said. “He will find us.”

Ralph Delchard chafed at the bit of his task. While Gervase Bret rode off in search of an outlaw, Ralph was left to work covertly in York.

Their roles were reversed. He felt that the quiet and inconspicuous Gervase could more easily glide into the shadows where Tanchelm of Ghent had gone, while he himself would be more suited to an adven-turesome encounter with Olaf Evil Child. Recrimination was point-less. The duties had been assigned and Ralph set about his at once.

“Come and join us!” invited Aubrey Maminot.

“I will stay on this side of the bars.”

“Romulus and Remus will not hurt you.”

“They will not get the chance.”

“You are perfectly safe while Ludovico and I are in here. Step inside, Ralph. Be a lion yourself.”

It was feeding time. The castellan and the keeper of the beasts were inside the cage with the animals. Romulus and Remus did not even look up when Ralph came down to watch them. They were too busy devouring their fresh meat with growling relish. Aubrey patted each one of them before strolling over to his visitor.

“I have never known you to shirk a challenge.”

“Your lions already have a meal.”

Aubrey chuckled. “Do you hear that, Ludovico.”

Hands on hips, the Italian turned to appraise Ralph.

“My lord Ralph is a stranger,” he said. “They would not like that. He is better where he is. Romulus and Remus would only be unsettled.”

“They were highly unsettled this morning,” noted Ralph. “When you tried to get them back into their cage.”

“That was most unusual,” said Aubrey.

“Yes,” added Ludovico. “They have been punished for it. They were like naughty children. They will not misbehave again. I will see to that.”

He crouched beside Romulus and stroked his mane.

“Look at them,” said Aubrey. “My twin sentinels. The other castle has a huge moat to defend it, built at enormous expense. I have Romulus and Remus. They are my moat.”

“They do not stop intruders from getting into the castle,” reminded Ralph. “You would have to give them the run of the courtyard to ensure that.”

“They are here to protect the keep.”

“Is that why you brought them to England?”

“It is part of the reason.”

“You said that they were a gift.”

“Yes, Ralph. In Rome.”

“What took you there?”

“I was visiting friends. Seeing the city.”

“Were the cubs born in captivity?”

“They were,” said Aubrey. “Their mother was brought to Rome from Africa. A fierce animal. She did not like it when we took her cubs away. Ludovico still has the scars.”

The Italian scowled. It was not a memory he cared to have discussed. Aubrey let himself out of the cage to stand beside Ralph. The murder inquiry was now his priority.

“My lord sheriff arrives in York this afternoon.”

“I would speak with him.”

“We will do so together, Ralph. I wish to lodge a strong complaint against his deputy. The fellow was not pursuing the killer with sufficient zeal. I had to take him to task about it this morning.”

“What if the murderer has already fled the city?”

“Search parties have gone out from my own garrison. I mean to find this villain, whatever the cost. A man who strikes at an honoured guest of mine strikes also at me. I have taken further steps to appre-hend him….”

Aubrey explained in detail how many of his own soldiers had been committed to the hunt and what their precise duties were. Ralph was only half listening. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something that he had not noticed at first. The floor of the cage was strewn with rushes but they had been flicked about by the prowling occupants and bare patches had been exposed. One such patch intrigued Ralph.

The edge of a trapdoor was visible.

It was only when they left the city that they realized how fearsome a task they had set themselves. Plans had been easy to make within the encircling safety of York but they no longer had its high walls and its garrisons to protect them. Gervase Bret and Inga were two lonely travellers who were hostages to fortune. Impelled by hope and sustained by faith, they rode north.

“When were they sighted?” he asked.

“Yesterday.”

“In the Forest of Galtres?”

“That was the rumour.”

“How reliable is it?”

“I do not know.”

“So we may be heading in the wrong direction?”

“Olaf Evil Child will have scouts all around the city. We must pray that one of them sees us and takes us to him.”

They rode a couple of miles at a rising trot. Those who passed them on their way to York travelled in groups for safety and shot them surprised glances. Gervase was armed with sword and dagger, but one man would be no match for a band of robbers, and Inga carried no weapon. The further they went from the city, the more reckless their venture seemed. They tried to keep up their spirits with conversation.

“How did you learn to speak our language?” he said.

“Brunn the Priest taught me.”

“But you have a readier command of the tongue.”

“He showed me how to read and write,” she explained. “The rest I picked up from my lord Nigel and his men. They haunted our land while my father was alive. I have a good ear. Whenever they came, I picked up something new.”

“What made you take an interest in the first place?”

“My father.”

“Did not Thorbrand wish you to learn Danish instead?”

“No, Master Bret. He feared that you had come to stay. We had to fight the Normans with their own weapons.”

“I am not a Norman,” he reminded her.

“You serve a Norman king.”

“That makes no difference.”

“It does to me. You sit in judgement on my people.”

“I am not doing that now, Inga.”

“No,” she said. “And you do not have soldiers to give your voice authority now. You are a brave man.”

“I need to see Olaf Evil Child.”

“Why?”

“For the same reason as you. To ask after a friend.”

“Pray heaven that we find Olaf.”

Gervase looked ahead. “I think that we may have done just that, Inga. Keep riding and be of good heart.”

Trees and bushes fringed the track and he had caught a glimpse of movement off to the right. Inga saw nothing but she heard the whinny of a horse behind the foliage. Resisting the impulse to flee, they trotted calmly on with hearts beating and palms moist. Gervase felt a stab of guilt at having brought her with him but it was far too late to amend that mistake now.

The ambush was swift. Harnesses jingled, bushes parted and the track was suddenly boiling with bodies. Eight armed men surrounded them in a matter of seconds and held them in a ring of steel. Roughly garbed, they wore long hair and grinned through thick, matted beards.

Gervase tried to ignore the sword points all around him.

“Take us to Olaf Evil Child!” he asked.

The men burst out laughing. One of them grabbed Inga and lifted her bodily from the saddle. When Gervase tried to intercede, the hilt of a sword was smashed down on his head. Knocked from his horse, he lay on the ground in a daze with blood oozing from his wound. Inga’s screams soon faded in the distance.

As he strode across the courtyard, they were riding in through the gate with an escort of six men. Ralph Delchard stopped to greet them with a wave. Herleve and Golde brought their horses to a halt in front of him. Grooms immediately ran up to take each animal by the reins.

Ralph helped his hostess down from her saddle with a courteous hand.

Golde was taken by the hips and swung gracefully to the ground.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“For a ride,” said Herleve. “Golde is a breath of fresh air to me. It is months since I left the castle for any reason and it might have been months before I left it again. Your dear Golde encouraged me to go and it has been a joy.”

“She is a persuasive lady,” said Ralph.

“I have found that out.”

“We visited the Abbey of St. Mary,” said Golde.

“Outside the city walls?”

“Yes. Little is yet built but the site is vast.”

“It will be a landmark in years to come,” said Herleve.

“Castles are better landmarks than abbeys,” argued Ralph with a provocative grin. “They impose a stability and tell you much more about the character of a place. Besides, why do you need an abbey in York when you already have a minster and too many churches?”

“No city can have too many churches,” said Herleve with a sweet smile. “An abbey performs other functions. It is for those who prefer the cloistered existence.”

“Brother Simon!”

“Each man serves God in his own way.”

“I could take issue with that remark.”

“But you will not,” said Golde tactfully. “Especially when you are talking to one of the patrons of the abbey.”

“Patrons?”

“Oh, I merely lent my name to the endowment,” said Herleve. “It is my husband who has supplied the money.”

Ralph raised an eyebrow. “Aubrey, a religious man?”

“I have enough interest for both of us.”

“You are certainly well informed about the abbey,” said Golde. “You knew as much as the masons working on it.”

“The project fascinates me, Golde. I have been involved from the start. My husband has been generous to a fault. Not only has he provided funds for the abbey, he has found other patrons to make endow-ments.”

“This is a side of Aubrey I have never seen,” said Ralph, “and I will tease him mightily about it. I did not know that he raised money for a monastic establishment.”

“At my prompting, I must confess.”

“Did you have to hold a dagger to his throat?”

“It was Aubrey who held the dagger,” replied Herleve. “In a manner of speaking, that is. When we had a banquet here at the castle some weeks ago, he bullied our two guests into pledging their support of the abbey.”

“Were they reluctant patrons?” said Golde.

“Very reluctant.”

“How did he talk them into it?”

“Aubrey knows how to get his own way.”

“Who were the two unfortunates?” said Ralph.

“Nigel Arbarbonel and his half-brother.”

“Robert Brossard?”

“Yes. You know him.”

“I know of him,” said Ralph, “and I have met Nigel Arbarbonel. He did not strike me as a man who would rush to endow an abbey several miles from where he lives.”

“Such is the power of my husband’s tongue.”

“Aubrey opens his mouth and an abbey rises up!”

The women laughed, then took their leaves and headed for the keep.

Ralph was about to collect his horse from the stables when he thought of something.

“One moment,” he called after them.

“Yes?” said Herleve, stopping to turn.

“I wondered if you knew Brother Francis.”

“Very well.”

“Has he ever been to the castle?”

“A number of times.”

When he came out of his daze, Gervase Bret pulled himself up into a sitting position to take his bearings. Inga and the two horses had vanished. He remembered the ambush but had only the haziest recollection of the men involved. One thing was obvious. They were not part of Olaf Evil Child’s band. The thought of what they might do to Inga made him rise quickly to his feet but he soon regretted the sudden movement.

His head pounded and he began to sway violently. His hat had taken the sting out of the blow, but the sword hilt had still opened his scalp and blood was streaming down the back of his neck. Folding his hat, he held it against the wound to stem the flow. His mind slowly cleared and his legs began to declare their loyalty. Straightening up, he tried to consider his options. They were not appealing.

It was too far to walk back and too dangerous to go forward. If he went in the direction of York, he would be abandoning Inga to the mercies of her captors and would have to face anguished questions from Sunnifa and Brunn the Priest. If he struggled on, he could get lost in the wilderness of the North Riding and fall prey to other outlaws. On foot, he had no chance of tracing Inga. He needed help and he needed a horse.

Gervase could not stay where he was. His first move was to get off the road and conceal himself in the bushes. He and Inga had been too visible a target as they rode along. When he decided to press on, therefore, he picked his way through cover to the side of the road, looking furtively in all directions and keeping his ears pricked for the sound of horses. Sword in one hand, he tended his wound with the other.

He had gone just over a mile when he heard the hoofbeats. He flung himself to the ground behind a bush, then raised his head gently to see who was coming, hoping that they might be soldiers or travellers.

Gervase was out of luck. A dozen riders in tunics and gartered trousers came galloping hell for leather along the track with their weapons drawn. He sensed hostility at once and threw himself face down once more, not daring even to breathe until they thundered past.

When he did try to get up, he found that he could not move. Something hard and decisive was pressing down on the small of his back.

Before he could swing his sword, a spear sunk into the ground inches from his face.

“Who are you?” said a voice.

“My name is Gervase Bret.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“York.”

“What are you doing here?”

“We were riding in search of someone.”

“Where is your horse?”

“We were ambushed,” said Gervase, one eye on the spear as it was pulled from the ground and used to flick his sword out of reach. “They took the horses. And my companion.”

“Two of you alone on the highway?”

“Yes.”

“You are lucky to be alive, Gervase Bret.”

“I know.”

“Who did you seek?”

“Olaf Evil Child.”

There was a startled pause, then a throaty laugh echoed through the trees. The foot that held him down was now used to turn him over onto his back. Gervase looked up into a rugged face with a beard of reddish tinge. His captor appraised him with amused interest.

“Why do you want to see Olaf?”

“To ask him about a friend of mine.”

“A friend?”

“Tanchelm of Ghent.”

Recognition dawned. “You are one of the commissioners.”

“That is right.”

“This is a dusty welcome to give you.” He helped Gervase up and peered at the blood on his head. “That wound will need dressing.” He took a step back and spread his arms wide. “Your search is over. I am Olaf Evil Child.” The expression on Gervase’s face made him grin.

“Are you so disappointed?”

“I expected you to be different somehow.”

“With horns, claws and cloven feet? Three eyes, perhaps? A forked tail? No, Master Bret. I am only human.” His spear pointed the way.

“Come to my camp and we will talk.”

“I must find Inga first.”

“Inga?”

“My companion. A young woman. She was abducted.”

Olaf was aghast. “You travelled alone through this countryside with a young woman beside you?”

“She insisted on coming,” said Gervase. “She believes that a friend of hers has joined your band and she is anxious to speak with him.

One Ragnar Longfoot.”

“Yes, Ragnar is with us.”

“He knows Inga. Perhaps he will help me to search.”

“Where was she taken?”

“A mile or so back down the road.”

“How many men?”

“Seven or eight. Dressed much like you.”

“With swords or spears?”

“Swords. One of them knocked me to the ground. Inga was carried off.” He clutched at Olaf’s arm. “I must find her before anything terrible happens to her. Do you have a horse that I may borrow?”

“Twenty. With riders to match them. Come, Master Bret. We will all search for them.” He pulled Gervase along beside him. “And I think I know where we should begin.”

Inga struggled hard but the men were too strong. When they reached their camp, she was thrown to the ground, then bound hand and foot.

When one of them tried to steal a kiss, she spat in his face and he backed away. His companions hooted with laughter.

“She likes you, Halfdan!” said one.

“That ugly face of yours excites her,” said another.

Halfdan wiped the spittle from his beard and leered at her.

“She is mine first.”

He reached forward to grab her by the shoulders but Inga bit his hand. Halfdan flung her angrily to the ground and snatched at her tunic. Before he could tear it from her, however, a voice rang out across the clearing.

“No! Leave her alone.”

Halfdan was caught midway between lust and obedience.

“She is mine, Murdac,” he growled.

“She belongs to all of us,” said another.

“Yes,” said a third. “I am next.”

Murdac moved in to push Halfdan away and confront the others in his band. He was a short, stocky man with swollen features and a ruddy complexion. His hand was on his dagger as he saw the mutiny in their eyes.

“You are all fools,” he snarled.

“She is booty,” insisted Halfdan. “We share her.”

“And what will you get for your share?” said Murdac with disgust.

“Five minutes of grunting pleasure and some scratches down your face! The girl is worth far more to us than that.”

“He is trying to keep her for himself,” warned Halfdan.

“No, I am not. I am using my brain. You only see a woman here and your pizzle does the rest. I see a hostage.” He looked around at his men. “Do you know how much we might get for her? She will bring us gold.”

“Who from?”

“A certain Norman lord.”

Slow smiles spread across their faces as they realised who their leader meant. Even Halfdan was impressed but he was loath to forfeit his pleasure.

“I have a better idea, Murdac,” he said. “We share her first and then sell her off.”

“No, you ox! If we touch her, she will be worthless.”

“Why?”

“He will not pay for damaged goods.”

The men muttered among themselves before agreeing with the plan.

Inga almost swooned with relief as they drifted away. Murdac was as callous as the rest but he had at least delayed her fate. It was a small mercy.

Halfdan lingered. “Go to him at once, Murdac. Get a good price for her. I will guard her while you are gone.”

“No,” said the other. “You would ravish her before I was a hundred yards away. You will take the message, Halfdan. I will stay here to keep the prize safe.”

Halfdan protested but he knew he would have to obey.

“Will he be at his castle?” he said.

“Yes,” said Murdac. “Give him my regards.”

“You are sure he will buy her from us?”

“Very sure. She will not be the first girl who has vanished behind those walls. My lord Nigel is a man of taste.”

When she heard the name, Inga went into a faint.