The Lions of the North

CHAPTER TWO

Ralph Delchard was back on his feet in an instant, cursing the thieves, calling for light and slashing the air with his dagger to relieve his anger. The whole household seemed to be converging on him. The stables were no more than a series of ramshackle huts at the side of the property. Ralph had left two of his men-at-arms to sleep in the straw so that they might guard the area, and his immediate concern was for them. He grabbed the first blazing torch that reached him in order to see what had befallen his sentries.

Commotion was still at its height. The remaining horses were highly disturbed, the chickens squawked, the dog yapped louder than ever and Canon Hubert’s donkey brayed with such ear-splitting force that its owner came trotting out of the house to join the throng. Ralph found the first of his men lying prostrate by the open door of the stables. Blood oozed from a gash in his temple but he was only dazed and seemed otherwise uninjured.

More torches came to illumine the whole stable area. Knocked unconscious, the second of Ralph’s guards lay face down in the straw.

When they turned him over, they saw no apparent wounds on him.

Ralph was relieved to find both men still alive. Gervase Bret, armed with a sword, pushed his way through the crowd to get to his friend.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Robbers.”

“How many of them were there?”

“Six or seven,” said Ralph. “It was impossible to be certain. They overpowered my men and made off with some of the horses. And our supplies,” he added with a fresh surge of rage as he noted the empty stall where their packs had been stored. “Hell’s teeth! I’ll run every last one of them to the ground and hack them into small pieces!”

The tumult was slowly fading. The horses were calmed, the chickens settled down, the dog was silenced by a kick from its master and the donkey stopped braying when a providential carrot was thrust into its mouth by the resourceful Canon Hubert. Everyone was waiting for a decision from Ralph Delchard. He was no penitent now, reflecting with sadness on the harrying of the North. The outrage turned him into a stern and implacable warrior who met every reverse with a swift counter-attack.

“Saddle up!” he yelled. “We ride after them!”

The soldiers responded until another voice intervened.

“Stay!” shouted Tanchelm, holding up a hand. “Do not be so hasty.

This needs more thought.”

Ralph was peremptory. “I lead here,” he asserted. “I will not have my orders countermanded.”

“That is not what I am doing.”

“Then stand aside and hinder us no longer.”

“I merely counsel a moment’s consideration.”

“The more we talk, the further away the rogues will ride. Stay here with your own men, my lord. I have swords enough to deal with this villainy. Nobody steals from me with impunity!”

Before Tanchelm could protest, Ralph barked a command to the captain of his men-at-arms, then ran into the house to put on his hauberk and to apprise Golde of what had taken place. His horse was tacked up and waiting by the time he reappeared, and he swung himself up into the saddle. With ten men at his back, some of them bearing torches, he rode off into the night at a canter.

Golde came out to tend the wounded man, stemming the blood and bathing his temple with a piece of cloth dipped in a bowl of water. The victim was soon able to give them a hazy account of what had transpired during the scuffle. His companion, whose bare head had been struck from behind with a wooden stake, would take much longer to recover. Gervase made sure that both men were being looked after before he moved across to join Tanchelm of Ghent. The latter was still staring after the posse.

“They are wasting their time,” he sighed.

“My lord Ralph is a cunning hunter,” said Gervase.

“He would need the eyes of an owl and the speed of an eagle to catch this prey. It is futile. The thieves will know how to shake off pursuit and where they may hide without any chance of being found. This is their territory. They hold all the advantages.”

“Ralph would never forgive himself if he did not at least try to recover what was stolen. He will see the theft as a personal insult that must be answered.”

“I admire his bravado,” said Tanchelm, “but I fear that it is tinged with madness. He did not even pause long enough to see what exactly was taken.”

“Our men were attacked, our property stolen. That is surely grounds enough for leading a posse, is it not?”

Tanchelm shook his head. “Two guards were attacked, I grant you, but they were only knocked senseless when they might just as easily have been killed. Does not that tell you something about our nocturnal visitors?”

Gervase shrugged. “Only that they were thieves rather than mindless butchers.”

“Most outlaws in this part of England are both.”

“Are you suggesting that they showed a degree of mercy? That does not lessen the severity of their crime, my lord. They stole our horses.”

“But not at random.”

“What do you mean?”

“They knew precisely what they wanted and took only that.” He pointed to the stables. “Did you go inside and see what we lost? Have you reckoned up the cost? Five sumpter-horses and the remainder of our provisions. That was their chosen target.”

“How did they know what was here?” said Gervase.

“They watched us. Hostile eyes have been upon us since we came into this county. They watched and they waited for their moment.

Their strike was decisive.”

“That is certainly true. But why pick on us, my lord? We ride with a large escort. Others travel in smaller groups as more inviting quarry.

Why did they select us?”

Tanchelm stroked his chin. “I can think of two explanations. The first is that our purpose in coming to Yorkshire was known and our identity recognised. What happened tonight was merely a warning to us.”

“A warning?”

“Administered by someone who stands to lose heavily by our presence here. You have seen the cases we have to look into, Master Bret.

Some involve sizeable amounts of land. If our judgement goes against them, a number of people could be far poorer as a result of our visit.

They are trying to intimidate us in advance.”

“Then their plan has foundered,” said Gervase sharply. “We would never bend to that kind of pressure. It will take much more than a raid on our horses to frighten us. But you said there were two explanations.”

“Yes,” said Tanchelm with a smile. “The second one is much simpler. On balance, I must admit that I favour it.”

“And what might it be, my lord?”

“They stole our food for a very obvious reason.”

“Go on.”

“They were hungry.”

The brooch was strikingly beautiful. Craftsmanship of a high order had gone into its design and execution. Two inches long at most, it was made of decorated gold so subtly worked into the shape of a lion that the creature seemed almost to be alive. The tiny diamond eye glinted with ferocity and the claws reached out with savage intent, yet the animal remained somehow tame and unthreatening. It was truly the king of the beasts in miniature and the man who had commissioned it was overjoyed with the result. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he stared down at it with open-mouthed awe.

Hunched obsequiously, the jeweller watched him closely.

“Are you pleased, my lord?” he asked nervously.

“Oh, yes. Oh, yes.”

“I followed your instructions to the letter.”

“That is evident.”

“It was a privilege to create such a piece.”

“Exquisite,” said the customer, turning the brooch over to examine the rear. “A work of art.”

“Thank you, my lord. That pin, as you see, is exceedingly delicate so that it can pierce any material without causing damage. Your lion will scratch but never tear.”

Aubrey Maminot chuckled. He was so taken with the brooch that he was even prepared to tolerate the jeweller’s feeble sense of humour.

They were standing in a shop on Hornpot Lane, a busy little thorough-fare that wound its way down from Petergate and that had once been largely the preserve of craftsmen who worked in horn, antler, ivory and animal bone. Jewellers now developed their skills with gold, silver, amber, jet and semi-precious stones. Norman overlords were the bane of York but they had money to spend.

“Will you take it with you, my lord?” said the jeweller.

“Of course.”

“I can deliver it by hand to the castle, if you prefer.”

“It will be safer in my keeping.”

“Yes, my lord. As you wish.”

The jeweller took the brooch and wrapped it gently in a piece of material before slipping it into a leather pouch. With a simpering smile, he gave the pouch to the customer.

“Only one thing remains, my lord.”

“Yes,” said Aubrey happily. “I must present the gift to the lady for whom it was fashioned.”

“I trust that your wife will be satisfied with it.”

“Have no qualms on that score.”

He turned to go but the jeweller shuffled after him.

“My lord …”

“What is it now?”

“There is the small matter of payment.”

“The price was agreed beforehand, was it not?”

“It was indeed.”

“And my credit is good, I believe?”

“Above reproach, my lord.”

“Then why this unseemly rush?” said Aubrey fussily. “I will acquaint my steward with the nature of this transaction and he will bring the money accordingly.”

“When might that be?” asked the other tentatively.

“Soon, my friend. Very soon.”

Aubrey Maminot swept out of the shop with his golden lion. He felt that it was a gift that would melt any woman’s heart and he was anxious to bestow it on the recipient at once but another priority called.

Word reached him that his guests would be entering the city within the hour. It was vital to be at the castle to welcome them. Putting the brooch in his purse, he mounted his horse and cut a path through the jostling crowds.

Long before they reached York, they saw it beckoning to them on the horizon. Its sheer size and solidity were reassuring to travellers who had been on the road for two days without seeing anything larger than a village. The two castles rose above the city walls to guarantee their safety and, as they rode ever closer, they could pick out the soaring grandeur of York Minster. Canon Hubert’s heart lifted at the sight and Brother Simon-still riding at the rear of the column in order to be at the furthest point from what he saw as the contaminating presence of an immoral woman-sent up a silent prayer of thanks and consoled himself with the thought that he could cleanse himself in the spiritual haven ahead of them.

Ralph Delchard was in a sombre mood. His search for the horse thieves had been fruitless and daylight brought no comfort. It was a grim ride north for him. Over fifteen years after his last visit to Yorkshire, the county still bore marks of the devastation inflicted upon it.

When Ralph saw the scarred landscape, the undernourished livestock and the pitiful remains of abandoned hovels, his guilt stirred again. A whole generation had suffered in the wake of the sustained destruc-tion in which he had taken part.

What troubled his conscience most was the sight of the people themselves, living reminders of a past that they would never outrun. Proud of their Anglo-Danish heritage, they saw the Normans as cruel usurpers.

As the long cavalcade of armed soldiers wended its way to York, everyone in the fields looked up at it with the resentment of the vanquished and the resignation of the forlorn.

Seated beside him on her palfrey, Golde grew weary of his brooding silence. They were riding a few yards ahead of the following column and thus had a small measure of privacy. She decided to use it in order to separate Ralph from his recriminations.

“There is no point in dwelling on it,” she said.

“On what?”

“The past.”

“Is that what I am doing?”

“Your face was not designed for deception.”

A little smile. “Can you read it so easily?”

“Easily but not happily,” said Golde. “There is no pleasure for me in travelling beside your distant memories.”

“They are not distant,” explained Ralph, making a sweeping gesture with his arm. “When I gaze around, those memories are fresh and immediate. As if it all happened yesterday.”

“But it did not.”

“My brain tells me that but my eyes contradict it.”

“Then shut them,” she said testily. “If we all let the past drag us down, we might just as well not be alive. This is not the only place to feel the might of the Normans. My own county of Herefordshire suffered dreadfully at your hands.”

“Not to the same extent.”

“That is beside the point, Ralph.”

“Is it?” he said, taken aback by the astringency in her tone. “Why do you upbraid me thus?”

“Because you deserve it. I respect your right to feel guilty about your part in what happened here all those years ago but that does not mean you can burden me with your morbid recollections. We must shake off the past, Ralph.”

“How can I when it is all around me?”

“By exerting more willpower. As I have had to do.”

“You, Golde?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I do not see how you come into this argument.”

“That is because you are too bound up in your own concerns,” she scolded. “Have you forgotten what I am? And where I lived? I am the daughter of a Saxon thegn. I was born and brought up in a county that was overrun by Norman soldiers. Yet here I am, riding alongside one of those same invaders, instead of staying at home to revile him and his whole race.”

Ralph was stunned. “Golde, what are you saying?”

“You are one of the conquerors and I am one of the victims. That is naked fact. If I let the events of the past dictate my life, then I would not allow you near me, still less welcome your embraces in my bed.”

“You swore that you loved me.”

“Why, so I do,” she said earnestly, “and I foolishly hoped that you were likewise prompted by the heart.”

“I was, Golde! I still am!”

“Then why do you hurt my feelings so?”

He was perplexed. “Have I done that?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“How?”

“By harping on about your uneasy conscience as if it is the only thing that matters. Put yourself in my position for a moment. Imagine that you are enduring the miseries of travel to be with the person you love. What would you think if that person became so wrapped up in his memories that you were completely ignored?” Her cheeks were aflame now. “Why did you invite me on this journey, Ralph? To lie beside you at night to keep loneliness at bay? Is that my sole purpose?”

“No!”

“Then what am I doing here?”

He bit back a reply. Taking a deep breath, he tried to compose himself. No woman had ever chastised him so openly and it had caught him on the raw. At the same time, he came to see that he had given Golde just cause for her anger. He had been moody and preoccupied all morning. She had received little courtesy and even less consideration.

“You are right to chide me, my love,” he said.

“I hate myself for having to do it.”

“Blunt speech is what I deserved.”

“It made me sound like a fishwife.”

“I was too distracted by self-affairs,” he admitted. “I can only beg your forgiveness.”

“It is yours,” she said, touching his arm.

“The events of last night are partly to blame. They left me tired and seething with frustration.”

She stifled a grin. “I noticed.”

“We searched in vain for hours for those foul villains who stole our horses. I do not like to fail, Golde. It was very painful to have to call off the search.”

“You came back safely, that is the important thing.”

“It is not,” he argued. “Finding those outlaws was far more important. Yet we could not. That grieves me. I lost five horses and all our provisions.”

“What about me?”

“You?”

“Yes, Ralph,” she said. “You are thinking only of yourself again. All you lost in those packs were some supplies but my apparel was also carried by the sumpter-horses. Those men made off with my entire wardrobe.”

“Dear God! So they did.”

“What will they think of me in York if all I wear are these mean travelling clothes?”

“The loss will be repaired at once!” decided Ralph. “The city will have tailors enough to dance to your whims. Order what you wish. My purse is at your command.” A new zest had come into his voice. “Why do we amble when we should make speed? Onwards!”

Grabbing the reins of her palfrey, he kicked his horse into a brisk trot and pulled her along behind him. The whole company closed in on York in time to hear the minster bell boom out for Nones.

Micklegate was the only point of entry from the south-east. Once inside the city walls, Ralph led the bulk of the party off towards the castle on the left, leaving Canon Hubert and Brother Simon to continue alone towards the bridge over the River Ouse. The two men were relieved to be free of their escort; Hubert because he bore letters to the archbishop of York and was thus assured of an audience with him, and Simon because the minster precinct would offer him an escape from the proximity of a lascivious woman, the rough-tongued jocularity of the soldiers and the foul-smelling sea of humanity that now washed around his ankles.

The others, meanwhile, were being greeted by the castellan. As they clattered into the courtyard, Aubrey Maminot, dressed in his finery and radiating delight, was waiting to embrace his old friend the moment he dismounted.

“Ralph!” he said warmly. “Welcome to my home!”

“It is good to see you again, Aubrey.”

“We have been apart far too long, my friend. What is it? Seven, eight years?”

“Ten at least!”

“We’ll drink away each one of them!” He looked up hospitably at the rest of the party. “Welcome, one and all! Treat my castle as your own.

You shall lack nothing while you are here.”

He signalled to some waiting men-at-arms and they led the escort off to their quarters on the other side of the bailey. Aubrey was introduced to Gervase Bret and Tanchelm of Ghent and he clasped each in turn, but his most cordial salutation was reserved for Golde. He helped her down from her horse, kissed her hand, pressed her to call on him for anything that she needed, offered to give her a personal tour of the city, then kissed her hand again before turning to Ralph with a sly wink.

“I am so glad that you came to York!” he said.

“We are glad to be here,” said Ralph.

“I have a thousand things to tell you but they can wait until a more fit time. You are weary from travel on a dusty road. Take your ease and have refreshment. Tonight, you will banquet in the hall and wipe away all memory of the tiresome journey from Winchester.” He spread his arms wide. “We will set such a feast before you that you will not need to eat for a week. Dress in your brightest array and surrender to my hospitality.”

Golde exchanged a meaningful look with Ralph.

“We are most grateful for your kindness, Aubrey,” he said, “and we will be delighted to sit at your table. But some of us may not be as gaily attired as we might wish. Outlaws fell on us in the night and stole the sumpter-horses and their packs. Much of our apparel vanished.”

Aubrey was shocked. “Outlaws! Where?”

“We were staying at the manor house in Howden.”

“And they dared to attack you there?”

“There was no assault on us, my lord,” said Tanchelm, keen to establish the facts. “The two men guarding the stables were overwhelmed by numbers, and our animals were taken. It all happened so quickly that we had no chance to stop them.”

“Did you pursue them?” asked Aubrey.

“Diligently,” said Ralph. “But we lost them in the darkness. I had not thought to shed any more blood on Yorkshire soil but I would have done so last night had I caught the rogues. I would dearly love to know what brazen rascals had the effrontery to steal my sumpter-horses from beneath my nose.”

“Then I will tell you, old friend.”

“You know?”

“I can hazard a guess. From what you say, the crime was well-planned and swiftly executed.”

“Indeed it was.”

“Then we are talking about audacious thieves who were undeterred by your armed escort and who knew that part of the county so well that they could find their way around it in the pitch dark.”

“They spared our guards,” reminded Tanchelm.

“That makes it certain.”

“I will not spare them when I catch them,” vowed Ralph. “And I mean to track them down, no matter how long it takes me. Will you help me, Aubrey?”

“In every way I can. But it will not be easy.”

“Why not?”

“The man you seek is a notorious devil. He and his band have evaded me a dozen times or more. Chase them and they will outrun you.

Confront them and they will outwit you. Ambush them and they will vanish into the earth like drops of rain.” He gave a bleak smile. “You have come up against a cunning adversary this time, Ralph.”

“Tell me his name that I may call him to account.”

“It is one that I have cause to rue myself.”

“Who is the villain?”

“Olaf Evil Child.”

There was enough food to last them for days and they fell on it with relish. The cargo had been packed by experienced travellers, men who knew how to provision a long journey and who took account of such contingencies as an unexpected night, camping under the stars, or the arrival at a lodging whose kitchens could not cope with the several appetites that descended on them. Bread, cheese and fruit were in abundance. Salted meat, salted fish and cold roasted chicken were also discovered in the hoard.

One man cackled with delight as he found a flagon of wine and he uncorked it at once to take a first guzzling swig, only to spew much of it out again as he learned that French wine was too weak a taste for someone reared on strong English ale. Another of the outlaws located a cache of honey cakes and chomped happily on them. It was a good haul and worth all the risks they had taken.

There were a dozen or more of them, a cheerful crew in rough garb with spears, swords, daggers and other weapons on the grass beside them. They sought the cover of woodland to assuage their hunger and to examine their other spoils. Lookouts had been posted but each man was his own best sentry, eyes constantly scanning the trees and ears pricked to catch the first sound of danger.

Olaf Evil Child sat cross-legged in the middle of them as he searched through the last of the packs. He was a slim, wiry man in his thirties with beard and hair of a reddish tinge. His face had a rugged charm that belied his name and there was a benign twinkle in his eye. Seated beside him was an hirsute giant whose features were all but hidden behind a dark, bushy beard. He popped a whole apple into his cavern-ous mouth, chewed noisily and spat out the pips.

“Have you found them?” he asked.

“No,” said Olaf. “There’s nothing but apparel here. They were probably in those satchels we saw them carrying. It was too much to ask that they’d leave them in the stables as well.” He put the pack aside.

“The horses are the real treasure from last night, Eric.”

“And the food,” said his companion, stuffing another apple into his mouth. “Normans eat well.”

“So will we for a while.”

“And then what?”

A wistful expression came into Olaf’s face. Hauling himself to his feet, he gave Eric a pat on the shoulder before crossing to speak to another of his followers. His orders were brief and explicit. The young man to whom he was speaking nodded as he listened. Olaf Evil Child talked in a quiet voice that yet carried great authority. None of them would ever dare to disobey him. Given his instructions, the young man went straight to his horse, leapt into the saddle and rode off in the direction of York.

A burst of laughter drew Olaf’s attention back to Eric. The giant had rummaged through the clothing in the pack to pull out a woman’s gown. Holding it up against himself, he lowered his eyelids, struck what he thought was a feminine posture and treated them to a winsome smile. His fellows roared their approval and shouted their advice.

“Put it on, Eric!”

“Over your head!”

“It will hide your ugly face!”

“You could pass for a woman in that gown.”

“A bearded woman!”

Eric responded to the guffaws with a gap-toothed grin.

“You may laugh,” he said, “but this will buy me a night of pleasure.

I know a woman who will be so glad to have this that she will let me lie with her.”

The boast produced a fresh crop of jeers but they were cut short by Olaf. Crossing to his friend, he took the gown from his hands and folded it neatly.

“Find another way to rub thighs with a woman,” he said.

“Why?” asked Eric, bemused.

“Because this gown would only betray us. Give this to some peasant girl and she will be the envy of her friends. They are bound to ask where such a fine garment came from. Word will reach York and they will come looking for her. What woman will not break under torture?”

Eric scratched his head. “I never thought of that.”

“Pick her some flowers instead.”

“The gown would be a finer present.”

“Only if you want to get her locked in a dungeon.”

“You are right,” said the other, slowly working it out. “It would be foolhardy. I see that now.”

“Think with your brain instead of with your pizzle.”

“Yes, Olaf.”

Eric gave a sheepish smile as the others ridiculed him. Having folded the gown, Olaf put it carefully back with the rest of the wardrobe. He knew what he would do with it.

Aubrey Maminot was determined to erase the bad memories of the long journey made by his guests. The banquet that he set before them that evening, and the entertainment with which it was garnished, were both so lavish that they drove all other thoughts from the mind. Ralph Delchard, Gervase Bret, Tanchelm of Ghent and Golde were treated like visiting dignitaries and they succumbed willingly to the situation.

Brother Simon was too terrified to accept his invitation to the feast, and Canon Hubert, weighing the interests of his stomach against the care of his soul, opted for the latter and sampled more moderate fare with the archdeacon at the minster.

The hall had been swept, strewn with fresh rushes, hung with aromatic herbs and lighted with a veritable host of candles. When Ralph first led Golde into the glittering magnificence of the room, they were astounded. He had now exchanged his hauberk for a tunic, mantle and cap while she was wearing a chemise, gown and wimple borrowed from Aubrey’s wife and altered to fit her by a seamstress. Knowing how primitive some castle interiors could be, Ralph was duly impressed by the lengths to which his friend had gone to make the hall both attractive and comfortable.

Golde’s nostrils twitched slightly.

“What’s that strange odour?” she whispered.

“Herbs.”

“There’s something else. More acrid.”

Ralph sniffed. “I can’t smell it.”

Before she could pursue the matter, Aubrey fell on them and introduced them to the other guests before clapping his hands for the musicians. Harp, lute and vielle combined in a pleasing melody that flew around the room like a flock of small birds. Bodin the Steward emerged from the shadows to conduct everyone to a seat at the long table. Twenty of them in all took their places for a sumptuous repast, presided over by Aubrey and his wife, Herleve.

Inches taller than her husband, she was an elegant woman with a fading beauty that was held in check by the subtle use of cosmetics. A polite smile was painted on her lips and her manner was effortlessly gracious but Ralph sensed a coldness in her that he did not like.

Golde, anxious to thank her hostess for the loan of the apparel, made a number of attempts to engage Herleve in conversation but the latter could not be drawn. There was one moment, as Golde plucked gently at the woman’s sleeve, when the mask of hospitality slipped slightly and Herleve shot her a look of mute disapproval.

Served with style, the food was rich and delicious. Bodin made sure that each course followed the other smoothly without delay.

He also supervised the entertainment so that there was always something fresh to watch or to hear. Minstrels sang, dancers disported themselves, jugglers displayed their skills, tumblers whirled through the air and a conjurer performed tricks that baffled his spectators.

The most sensational performers were reserved until the end. On the command of his master, Bodin slipped quietly out of the hall to fetch them. Aubrey Maminot banged the table for quiet before turning to Ralph.

“You were not the only ones to be troubled by intruders in the night,”

he said. “We, too, had unwanted guests.”

“When?” asked Ralph.

“A few days ago. Two men scaled the castle walls. Fortunately, my guards were more alert than yours.”

“You captured the intruders?”

“One of them escaped, the other was dealt with in the way that he deserved.”

“And what was that?”

“He was eaten alive.”

The guests reacted with horror. Herleve turned away.

Aubrey beamed. “No man could sneak past my pets.”

“Pets?” echoed Gervase.

“Yes. It is time for you to meet them.”

A sweep of his arm directed their gaze to the end of the room, where the huge oak door suddenly swung back on its hinges. There was a gasp of fear from the guests. Some of the women screamed and even the bravest of the men felt a shiver of apprehension. Ludovico brought them in. Straining on their leashes, two full-grown lions bared their fangs and ripped at the air with their claws, emitting such terrifying roars that the whole room reverberated.

Golde clung to Ralph’s arm in trepidation but he was more fascinated than afraid. While others shrank back from the roaring animals, he noticed how great a control Ludovico had over them. The keeper of the beasts was not just exhibiting his charges, he was jerking on their chains alternately to prompt their snarls. When Ludovico used his strength to turn their fearsome heads towards him, he grinned at the lions and shouted something in Italian.

The roars stopped immediately. Instead of threatening with their claws, they lay on the floor and rolled over on their backs like a pair of playful kittens. Ludovico let go of their leashes and crouched down to stroke them. Aubrey skipped down the hall to join him.

“I had them as cubs,” he explained. “When I journeyed to Rome, they were a gift to me from a friend. That is why I called them Romulus and Remus. The founders of the Eternal City grew up with wolves but I prefer to consort with lions.”

To the amazement of his guests, Aubrey Maminot sat on the floor between the lions and put an arm around each of their necks. After rolling their heads and emitting a token snarl, they closed their eyes and purred with contentment.

“My pride and joy,” said Aubrey. “The lions of York!”