The Lions of the North

CHAPTER THREE

Their first full day in York was largely taken up with administrative duties. The list of cases to be examined was dauntingly long and the commissioners faced the prospect of endless sessions in the shire hall. Gervase Bret suggested a means of speeding up legal process without significant threat to justice. Since many of the cases involved relatively small amounts of land, contested in each instance by only two claimants, he argued that they could be resolved summarily. If, therefore, the commissioners divided into two separate groups, one could deal with these minor disputes and leave the other free to handle the more complex cases.

Ralph Delchard was entirely in favour of the plan. He had, in fact, been primed by Gervase days in advance but he pretended to be hearing the notion for the first time and he banged an imperious fist on the table in the shire hall.

“An excellent idea!” he announced. “We’ll act on it.”

“Yes,” agreed Tanchelm of Ghent. “It will spread the load and save us all a great deal of time.”

Canon Hubert wagged a finger. “Not so fast, my lords. We must not make such a radical change in our modus operandi without a discussion of the implications.”

“This is that discussion,” said Ralph. “And it is effectively over.

Three of us vote in favour of this plan to expedite matters, and Brother Simon, I am sure, will also see its essential wisdom.”

“Indeed I do, my lord,” said Simon, before quailing under a glare from Hubert and qualifying his comment. “Not that my opinion has any value here. I am but the humble scribe.”

Ralph smiled. “That still leaves three to one, Hubert.”

The canon squirmed visibly for a few minutes. He hated the feeling of being outmanoeuvred and of suffering even the most miniscule loss of authority. Unable to prevent the new dispensation, he was nevertheless determined to haggle over its constituent elements.

“So be it, my lord,” he said. “Gervase is our lawyer and I am the most skillful interrogator. It is thus appropriate for he and I to form the senior of the two teams and grapple with the intricate cases.

You and my lord Tanchelm will, I am sure, be capable of dispensing justice where the more trifling issues are at stake.”

Ralph glowered at the bland insult and framed a barbed reply but it was Gervase who answered for him.

“That may not be the best deployment of our strengths.”

“Then what is?” challenged Hubert.

“The most powerful advocate should sit with the least experienced,”

said Gervase persuasively. “If you and my lord Tanchelm join forces, he may follow where you lead.”

“Sound reasoning,” observed Tanchelm.

“Brother Simon would naturally act as your scribe,” continued Gervase, indicating the monk, “giving you another seasoned mind at your beck and call.”

Touched by a rare compliment, Simon acknowledged it with a little nod and positively glowed with satisfaction. Canon Hubert, meanwhile, was scrutinising the partnership that was being offered to him.

Tanchelm’s lack of experience was a severe handicap but it did have one major benefit. Much more responsibility would be shifted to Hubert’s shoulders, ensuring virtual control of events. He would lose Gervase’s legal expertise but he felt that his own thorough grounding in canon law would compensate for that loss, and at least he would not be sitting alongside the combative Ralph Delchard. Tanchelm of Ghent might turn out to be the ideal colleague.

“It is settled,” Hubert decided at length. “We will handle all matters of consequence while you, my lord, offer judgement on cases too trivial to tax your limited abilities.”

“My abilities are not limited!” retorted Ralph.

“They are best suited to the more undemanding cases.”

“Those are your province, Canon Hubert. It would be unfair to my lord Tanchelm to expose him to the full rigour of legal debate when he has only just been recruited to our cause.”

“I endorse that wholeheartedly,” said Tanchelm. “I am not proud. I do not insist on sounding the deeper waters. Put me on the side of simplicity. It is where I belong.”

“But not where I belong!” insisted Hubert.

The argument continued for the best part of an hour before the canon finally gave way to the weight of numbers. As a concession to him, Ralph allowed them to have the use of the shire hall while he and Gervase operated in the adjacent premises. Application would be made to the archbishop for someone who could act as scribe during the proceedings conducted by the two friends. The reeve was brought in and given separate lists of witnesses to be summoned for the following day. When the debate finally broke up, considerable progress had been made.

Canon Hubert departed in a huff towards the minster with Brother Simon padding at his heels and savouring the remark about his seasoned mind. Tanchelm of Ghent elected to explore the city while he had the opportunity, leaving Ralph and Gervase to ride back to the castle alone. Their horses picked their way through the milling crowd.

“I do not like him,” opined Ralph.

“You and Canon Hubert will never be soulmates, I fear.”

“I talk of Tanchelm, that devious Fleming.”

“I do not find him devious,” said Gervase in surprise. “He is the most open and straightforward of men. He has been nothing but a source of help since he joined us.”

“That is my main strike against him, Gervase. The fellow is too helpful. Too ready to defer to us. Too damned obliging.”

“I’d call that a virtue rather than a vice.”

“So would I with anyone else but this Tanchelm of Ghent.…” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Somehow I cannot bring myself to trust him.”

“Why not?”

“I do not know. It is just a feeling I have.”

“Are you sure?” said Gervase, fishing politely. “Could it not be just a case of pique?”

“Pique?”

“You were very annoyed last night when my lord Tanchelm tried to stop you from riding off in pursuit of those outlaws. He was not obliging then.”

“No, Gervase. He was an infernal nuisance.”

“Who made a sensible point. It was a wild-goose chase.”

“It need not have been if Tanchelm had not delayed me for those vital moments. We might have caught the rogues.”

Gervase was sceptical. “Might you?”

“No,” said Ralph after a considered pause. “We might not. It was an impulsive act. We were chasing moonbeams. Tanchelm gave wise counsel.” He inhaled deeply through his nose. “Perhaps I am mistaken about him. You like him. So does Golde. So does Aubrey, though he is something of a friend to all the world. And even Canon Hubert has been won over by our Fleming. Maybe that is the objection I have.

Tanchelm of Ghent is not a fellow Norman.”

“Nor am I,” reminded Gervase.

A hearty laugh. “You? You are just a mongrel.”

“My father was a Breton, my mother a Saxon.”

“A mongrel of mongrels!”

“Do not let Golde hear you. She might take offence.”

“Justly so,” said Ralph with a fond smile. “Golde has taught me to show more respect towards Saxons. She is a good influence on me, Gervase. I have learned tolerance. Henceforth, I’ll pour no mockery on your dear mother.”

“That would be appreciated.”

“I’ll save my contempt for your father.”

Gervase laughed. “Bretons are used to being undervalued by their neighbours in Normandy. But I ask you this. What hope would you have had at Hastings without an army of Bretons to help you? Not to mention the Flemings. My father was a mercenary in the pay of the Duke-so was Tanchelm of Ghent.”

“I had forgotten that. Something in Tanchelm’s favour at last. He is a soldier.” He turned his mind to a more pressing concern. “Enough of Bretons, Saxons and Flemings. All that I am really interested in at the moment is the Vikings.”

“Vikings?”

“One in particular. Olaf Evil Child.”

“Does that wound still smart so?”

“It opens afresh every time I think about that night. He stole our property, Gervase. I do not care how long it takes but one thing I have promised myself: before I leave York, I will come face-to-face with Olaf Evil Child.”

“Can we be sure that he was indeed the thief?”

“Aubrey was convinced of it.”

“He could have been mistaken.”

“I doubt it,” said Ralph. “He was reared as a soldier like me. He knows how to read the marks of an enemy. And he has lived in this city for many years now. If Aubrey tells me that I must search for Olaf Evil Child, then I will.”

“Our work here will leave you little time to do so.”

“I’ll contrive it somehow.”

They were over the bridge now and trotting towards the castle. When Ralph looked up at its wooden palisade, another memory nudged him.

He gave a quiet chuckle.

“Did you enjoy the banquet last night?” he asked.

“It was the best meal I have eaten in a year.”

“I’ll wager you’ve never feasted with lions before. Romulus and Remus.

What amazing beasts!”

“They were frightening, Ralph.”

“Yet as harmless as rabbits when Aubrey stroked them. I could not believe my eyes. If you or I had tried to fondle them, they’d have torn us to shreds.”

“Yes,” said Gervase uncomfortably. “We’d have no more chance than that poor wretch who was mauled by them the other night. I have to admit that he occupies my thoughts much more than Olaf Evil Child.”

“That intruder who climbed into the castle?”

“I feel deeply sorry for him.”

“He paid the price for his boldness.”

“No man deserves to die in that hideous way.”

“I can think of one I’d gladly feed to Romulus and Remus!”

“No,” said Gervase. “You can be hard but you could never be that cruel. You would not let two wild beasts patrol your home.”

“Too true. The stink would revolt me.”

“Why does such a kind man as my lord Aubrey take such a brutal delight in the way his lions savaged a human being? And who was the unfortunate victim?”

“Nobody seems to know.”

“Who was he?” puzzled Gervase. “And what on earth was he doing in the castle at that time of night?”

Golde had a busy day. True to his word, Aubrey Maminot found time to conduct her on an exhaustive tour of the city. It was a fascinating experience. By comparison with York, her own hometown of Hereford appeared small, cluttered and curiously provincial. Over seven times as many people lived in the northern capital and every one of them seemed to be out and about, turning every street and lane into a clam-orous meeting place. York even smelled bigger: The salty tang of its fish, unloaded from the boats on the Ouse and displayed in countless market stalls, invaded the nostrils at every turn in a way that Hereford could not match.

Yet there were similarities between the two cities, and Golde took due note of them. Both had been sacked and rebuilt more than once.

While Hereford suffered from the incursions of the Welsh, it was the Danes, Scots and native aristocracy of the North who had pillaged York. Castle and cathedral dominated the border community just as it did in the North Riding. The Normans put their faith in a strong combination of high walls and religion. Both places, too, were poly-glot, and the general pandemonium was fed by a variety of languages and dialects. Golde enjoyed the simple pleasure of listening to it all.

It was York Minster that impressed her most. Even in its unfinished state, it was vast. Destroyed by Danes less than a decade earlier, it was being rebuilt on a different site at a completely different angle.

Thomas of Bayeux, the archbishop of York, was determined to make the minster an inspiring monument to the glory of God. Still swarming with craftsmen of all kinds, and marred by the unsightly presence of wooden scaffolding, the cathedral church of St. Peter was over 120

yards long, with a nave that was 15 yards across. Golde’s jaw sagged as she stood in the apsed chancel and looked up at the distant roof.

Aubrey Maminot chortled at her stunned reaction.

“We do everything on a large scale in York,” he said.

“It is colossal, my lord!”

“Wait until it is finished.”

“That will never happen in my lifetime.”

“Oh, it will, it will.”

He was a patient guide with an immense pride in the city, and Golde learned a great amount from his comments and anecdotes. But the outing was not entirely devoted to the architectural wonders of York. Knowing how keenly she felt the loss of her wardrobe, Aubrey introduced her to a sequence of tailors and dressmakers until she found one who could meet her needs in the shortest possible time.

When she returned to the castle with him, Golde was in a buoyant mood. She went straight up to the chamber she shared with Ralph Delchard and collected the apparel she had borrowed the previous evening.

“May I join you?” asked Golde.

“Please do,” said Herleve.

“I do not wish to interrupt, my lady.”

“We were all but finished here.”

Golde had found her hostess in the solar, working on some embroidery in the company of a young gentlewoman. Herleve had the same polite expression she had worn at the banquet and the same air of gracious resignation. A glance dismissed her companion and she indicated the stool that had just been vacated.

“Do sit down,” she invited.

“Thank you,” said Golde, lowering herself.

“Did my husband show you our city?”

“It is breathtaking.”

“I am glad that you like it.”

“We also managed to engage a dressmaker, so I can return this with thanks.” She offered the clothing but Herleve’s hands were both employed. “Where shall I put it?”

“On the floor.”

“I am very grateful to you, my lady.” Golde placed the bundle gently beside the stool. “It saved me in my hour of need.”

“You are most welcome.” Her needle started to move again and she did not look up. “Did you enjoy the banquet?”

“It was delightful.”

“I did not care for some of the entertainment.”

“We adored it all. Your husband went to enormous trouble on our behalf. And considerable expense.”

“Yes, he is a generous host.”

“And you were a most generous hostess,” said Golde softly, but the compliment elicited no response. She waited a moment. “My lady?”

Again no response. “My lady.” Herleve raised her eyes. “May I ask a question?”

“Well?”

“Have I offended you in some way?”

“No.”

“I feel that there is a coldness between us.”

“Do you?”

“There was a moment … last night …”

Herleve addressed herself to the embroidery once more.

“I am a rather private person,” she said in a neutral voice. “My husband is very gregarious, as you have witnessed. Nothing pleases him more than to entertain guests in the most extravagant fashion. That is his nature. It is not mine.” She turned pale blue eyes on Golde. “I prefer seclusion. That is why I am sometimes uneasy in company and may appear indifferent to our visitors. The truth is that I have no liking for idle conversation. The mindless banter of the table tires me. What I value is solitude. I have come to be most content in my own company.”

Golde felt obscurely rebuked. For a few moments, she watched Herleve intently, unable to decide if the woman was deliberately snubbing her or if she was overcome by a disabling shyness. Either way, it left Golde wishing that she had not come into the solar at all. She rose to leave.

“Thank you again, my lady.”

“I was glad that my wardrobe could help you.”

“So was I. But I’ll trouble you no further.”

With the merest curtsey, Golde backed out of the room. The gentlewoman was waiting in the corridor and she slipped back into the solar immediately. Gathering up the apparel from the floor, she stood beside her mistress and waited until Herleve glanced up.

“Where shall I put this, my lady?”

“On the fire,” murmured the other. “Burn it.”

“Where would I be likely to find him?” asked Ralph Delchard.

“I wish I could tell you.”

“How should I start looking?”

“Behind every tree.”

“Can you give me no more guidance than that, Aubrey?”

“None at all, old friend.”

“Someone must know where Olaf Evil Child is!”

“They have not passed on the intelligence to me.”

“A band of outlaws cannot roam the countryside and remain invisible.

They must have been seen.”

“Of course,” said Aubrey Maminot. “Dozens of people have sighted Olaf near their village or hamlet or manor but they would never admit it to you or me.”

“Are they so afraid of him?”

“Afraid of him and resentful towards us.”

“That is understandable,” sighed Tanchelm of Ghent. “North of the Humber, we are still the vile usurpers. They will not lift a hand to help us. I daresay the other night’s escapade is still being laughed about. We will be held up to ridicule.”

“Without question,” confirmed Aubrey. “Olaf Evil Child will be seen as some sort of hero for tweaking your noses.”

Ralph bristled. “That is what makes me angry! The ridicule! Snigger at us, will he? I’ll do more than tweak his Viking nose when I catch him.”

The three men were strolling around the bailey at the castle. Ralph and Tanchelm had just spoken to their respective men, giving them their orders for the morrow, when some of them would be needed in attendance. Aubrey was now showing them the finer points of his defences but their abiding interest was in the leader of the outlaws.

“Who exactly is this Olaf?” said Ralph.

Aubrey grimaced. “One more lordless man in a county that already has too many of them.”

“Are you certain that is all he is?” asked Tanchelm.

“What do you mean?”

“It is rumoured that the Danes are about to launch another attack.

That is one of the main reasons why King William set this whole Domesday Inquest in motion. So that he will have an accurate picture of the spread of wealth in England. In times of crisis, a king must know where his sources of strength and manpower are.”

“The Conqueror knows that by instinct,” said Aubrey.

“If an invasion did come, it would most probably start on the eastern coast not far from here.”

“So?”

“Could not Olaf Evil Child be playing a deeper game?” said Tanchelm thoughtfully. “You know the man, of course, and I do not, but … well, is it at all conceivable that he is in league with the Danes?”

“No, it is not.”

“Can you be certain?”

“Absolutely certain!” said Aubrey with emphasis.

“It does seem highly unlikely,” added Ralph. “If Olaf is planning to assist a Danish invasion, why is he preying on travellers and stealing their horses?”

“Who knows?” said Tanchelm. “To give them to a raiding party?

Perhaps he has stolen other horses and holds them in readiness.

Mounted warriors move much faster than long ships sailing upriver.

They have an element of surprise.” His brow furrowed, then he shook his head dismissively. “No, it is only a wild guess. Take no notice of it.

My reasoning is too simple. Because Olaf Evil Child is descended from the Danish Vikings, I wondered if he might be scouting for his friends from across the water.”

“He has no friends,” said Aubrey scornfully. “Except those who ride at his back. Olaf Evil Child is an outcast. He insists that he was dispossessed of land that was legally willed to him by his father. That is arrant nonsense. He has no legitimate claim. And he will never own a square inch of Yorkshire soil while I am here to stop him.”

“I am hopelessly wrong,” said Tanchelm, conceding his error with an apologetic shrug. “He is obviously no agent for the Danes. Olaf is merely a man with a grudge.”

“A hundred of them!”

“Some of which concern you, I fancy,” said Ralph.

“Quite a few.”

“I, too, can bear a grudge.”

“Not as well as Olaf,” said Aubrey. “He has been a thorn in my flesh for the best part of a year. I would not be in the least surprised if he attacked your party on the road because he knew that you would be my guests in York. It was yet another way of baiting Aubrey Maminot.” His lip curled. “Sooner or later, he will try it once too often and then he will be mine.”

“Leave a piece of him for me,” said Ralph.

“No, old friend,” warned the other. “Olaf Evil Child is already spoken for in this castle. If you catch him, he is yours. But if I snare him, he will be the next meal for Romulus and Remus.”

“They are remarkable pets, Aubrey.”

“England holds nothing else like them, Ralph.”

“Tell me this. How is it that two wild beasts, who can eat a man alive, are yet tame when you handle them? What sorcery do you prac-tice?”

“No sorcery,” said Aubrey with a chuckle. “Ludovico taught me the secret. Lions are like women. They need constant attention. Stroke them every day and they will purr like cats. Neglect them in any way and they will sharpen their claws in readiness to draw blood.”

“You want to see him?” asked the chaplain, aghast.

“Yes, please. If at all possible.”

“Have you any idea what state the body is in?”

“I know it was badly mauled.”

“That is too mild a description of what happened. The poor creature was literally torn limb from limb. I have looked on death in many weird forms but I have never seen anything as grotesque as this.”

Philip the Chaplain gave a shudder at the memory. “I could not eat for two days after.”

Gervase Bret was persistent. Once his curiosity was aroused, he was not easily deflected from satisfying it. While Ralph and the others were down in the bailey, he decided to call on the chaplain to see what further light could be cast on the incident that led to the grue-some death of an intruder. He was astonished to learn that the remains of the deceased were still in the tiny mortuary below the chapel.

“Why did you not bury the body?” he asked.

“In case somebody came forward to claim it. Not that my lord Aubrey would have released it, but he was anxious to know the man’s identity and his reason for entering the castle in such a headstrong way. Word was spread throughout the city.”

“No one came forward?”

“Not a soul.”

“For fear of suffering a similar fate?”

“Or of being forced to view a loved one in that pitiful condition,” said Philip. “Who can tell? The point is that decay has set in badly and the burial must take place first thing tomorrow or the mortuary will not hold in the stench.”

“You have odours enough to contend with here,” said Gervase. “The lions’ cage nearby is not exactly a perfumed arbour.”

“It will seem so after you have viewed the corpse.”

“Lead on.”

Philip the Chaplain was a short, podgy man of forty with a world-weary air. Whatever upsurge of faith had brought him into the priest-hood, it had long since spent itself and there was now a sense of duty rather than dedication about his manner. He was a caring man but he had forgotten exactly why he should care and what his mission in life properly ought to be.

Taking a lighted candle from beside the altar, he opened a door and led Gervase down a narrow circular staircase. The chapel was heavily impregnated with the aroma of burning incense and Gervase soon discovered why. Philip unlocked a heavy door and swung it slowly back on its hinges, averting his head as he did so. The stink came out to hit them like a punch and Gervase recoiled. He coughed uncontrol-lably for minutes.

“Do you still wish to go in?” said Philip.

“Please.”

“Let us be quick about our business.”

“We will be.”

“It is the body on the left.”

Gervase had not realised that the morgue had another occupant.

Two stone slabs stood side by side with a tenant lying on each one. As the candle was held up to throw its light more widely, Gervase had no trouble picking out the correct remains. The body on the right was that of an old servant who died peacefully in his sleep. The shroud clung tightly enough to describe a long angular frame with two large feet that pointed up towards heaven with the quiet certainty of a welcome.

On the other slab, the body did not lie so docilely at rest. It seemed to be half the size of its neighbour and was covered by a shroud that was soaked with blood. Herbs were strewn all around it but they could do little to sweeten its noisome reek. Hell itself might reject such a foul smell. Gervase looked up at the chaplain but the latter had seen all that he wished to of the mangled remains. Eyes closed, he was reciting the Lord’s Prayer to himself in an undertone.

“Pater noster, qui es in caelis: sanctificetur nomen tuum: adveniat regnum tuum …”

Bracing himself for the worst, Gervase took the shroud between his fingers and peeled it slowly back. As he saw a face that was half eaten away, his stomach began to churn but he forced himself to go on.

Romulus and Remus had been voracious diners. One arm had been ripped off and both legs had been chewed down to the bone. Part of the torso had been bitten open and the chest was one huge, scarlet hole. It was a repulsive sight but Gervase kept looking as he tried to reconstruct, in his mind’s eye, something at least of the victim’s appearance.

The man had been young, healthy and fair-haired, with a lean body agile enough to bring him up over the castle wall. Though smeared with gore, the surviving part of his face hinted at good looks that would surely be missed by a sweetheart or a wife. He might be alone and deserted now but the young man exuded a strong sense of belonging to a community. Gervase was overtaken by a sudden urge to find that community so that they could be informed of the fate of the nameless figure on the slab. Pity soon gave way to crippling queasiness.

Gervase bent double and started to retch.

“Have you seen enough?” asked Philip the Chaplain.

It was less of an enquiry than a command to leave and Gervase obeyed it without complaint. Pulling the shroud gently back over the cadaver, he lurched out of the mortuary and fell against the wall for support. When he had closed the door behind them, Philip practically had to carry his visitor up the stairs.

Back in the chapel, he snuffed out the candle with absentminded skill. The incense enveloped them both and smothered the fetid stink of decay.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he said with offhand sympathy.

Gervase shook his head. “I did warn you.”

“I am glad I saw him-God rest his soul! He merits a Christian burial.”

“He will get one, Master Bret. Though I do not think that body will lie easy in its grave.”

“What was he doing here?” said Gervase.

“Trying to get into the keep.”

“For what purpose?”

“The murder of my lord Aubrey. That is what everyone is saying. It is not the first time someone has tried to kill him.” He rolled his head.

“For myself, I have doubts.”

“Why?”

“To begin with, an assassin would be better armed for his task. One dagger would not have got him anywhere near my lord Aubrey. And why try to strike when his victim was safely locked away in the most fortified part of the castle? It is suicide.”

“Did he know that the keep was guarded by lions?”

“Apparently not.”

“Then he clearly did not live in York. Their roars could be heard as far away as the minster. Everybody in the city must know there are two wild beasts in here.”

“The victim did not.”

“We have learned something else about him, then,” said Gervase.

“Little by little, I will rebuild that face and body of his until he is whole again. By that time, I dare swear, I will have found a name as well.”

“Why are you going to such trouble on his behalf?”

Gervase smiled wanly. “Because nobody else will.”

It was late. Ralph Delchard and Golde lay naked in each other’s arms, slowly getting their breath back after their exertions. Covered in perspiration, they were locked together for several minutes. He kissed her tenderly on the lips before rolling over onto his back. She nestled into his glistening shoulder.

“Are you happy?” he whispered.

“Yes, Ralph. Are you?”

“I thought I just answered that question.”

She brushed her lips against his chin. “You did.”

“Are you glad that you came to York?”

“I am glad to be with you,” she said.

“That is not what I asked.”

There was a pause. “York is a beautiful city and I am delighted to have seen it but …”

“Go on. I hear a note of reservation in your voice.”

“But …”

“Speak freely. There are no secrets between us.”

“I would rather lodge elsewhere,” she said.

“Elsewhere?” He was stunned. “Why? ”

“Because I would be more comfortable.”

“No place in York has the comforts that this castle can offer. Aubrey has spent a fortune on the place and he is overjoyed to have us here.

We could not ask for a more attentive and open-handed host.”

“Yet I still feel unwelcome.”

Ralph gasped. “After all he has done for us?”

“My lord Aubrey has been kindness itself,” said Golde. “The same, alas, may not be said of his wife.”

“Herleve has always been a little strange.”

“She disapproves of me, Ralph.”

“No, my love.”

“She does. She is so cold and distant with me that I might almost be one of the servants. I will not be looked down on by anybody. It is demeaning.”

“Take no notice of her.”

“Why is she so full of reproach towards me?”

“Reproach towards us,” he corrected. “We share a bed without first taking vows of marriage. Herleve is devout. She frowns on our behaviour.

In her eyes, we are sinners.”

“And in your eyes?”

“Lovers.” He kissed her. “Forget Herleve.”

“How can I when I am her guest?”

“We are the guests of Aubrey Maminot,” he explained. “A fine man and a brave soldier, who happened to choose unwisely. He should never have wed Herleve. She is more fit for the convent than for the marital couch. Rise above her reproof. Pretend that she is not here.”

“What am I to do for companionship?”

“You have me.”

“At night,” said Golde, holding him closer, “but not in the day. You warned me how busy you would be once you began the work that brought us here.”

“That is true.”

“Then I will be locked up alone in here.”

“I’ll ask Aubrey to devise entertainment for you. We’ll surround you with so many pleasures that you will beg me to stay longer when our business is completed here.”

“Do not wager on that.”

“Aubrey is an old friend,” he reminded. “If we lodged somewhere else, it would wound him to the quick.”

She sighed. “Yes, I see that….”

“So you will stay to keep me warm?”

“Always!”

He rolled over and pulled her on top of him so that he could run his hands over her smooth-skinned body. Ralph was about to kiss her again, when a loud roar from below caused them to jerk back for a second. Romulus and Remus had been let out for the night to act as guards once more.

“You cannot leave me now,” he said with a laugh. “The lions would not let you, Golde. You will have to stay in here with your own king of the beasts.”

Herleve soon faded completely from their minds.

Since the night when intruders climbed in, additional guards had been assigned to patrol the walls of the castle. Torches burned in the courtyard below to throw a patchy light on the various buildings, but there was little illumination beyond the palisade itself. When the moon was hidden behind a blanket of cloud, the guards found themselves staring into an impenetrable blackness. It was tedious work and they complained bitterly to each other but they did not dare to leave their posts. They knew better than to provoke the ire of the castellan. The soul of benevolence to his guests, Aubrey Maminot could be less indulgent towards his soldiers. Those who failed him might find themselves on night duty at the castle in perpetuity.

“Did you hear anything?”

“No. Did you?”

“I’m not sure. Listen.” A pause. “There it is again!”

“I heard nothing.”

“Listen!”

“I am listening.”

“Shut up! You’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?”

“Listen! ”

The hissed command silenced the young guard. He and his companion were patrolling the wall above the castle gate. It was a cold night and they stayed on the move to keep themselves warm. Now, however, they were motionless as they peered out into the darkness and strained their ears to catch any sound other than the murmuring conversations of their fellows guards and the occasional whinny of a horse in the stables. The younger man soon tired of the exercise.

“There’s nothing there.”

“There was,” argued his companion.

“What was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did it sound like?”

“A noise, that’s all. Fetch a torch.”

“It’s gone now.”

“Fetch it!”

The younger man strode quickly along the wall to collect a torch that was burning in an iron holder. When he returned to the area of the gate, he held it high so that they could look over the palisade and down into the ditch. The light was too poor for them to pick out anything and they eventually gave up, returning the torch to its holder before continuing their patrol. There was nothing outside the castle. The older guard decided that his ears were playing tricks on him.

Dawn revised his judgement. As the first fingers of light began to pluck at the darkness, the guards caught a glimpse of something lying just outside the gate. It was quite still and seemed harmless but they could take no chances. Alerting their fellows with a shout, they trotted down the steps to the gateway. A dozen guards came running with enough torches to turn night into a sunlit day.

More men arrived with weapons drawn and they formed a line as the gates were unbolted and opened. Eager for action, the young guard was the first to venture out, using his spear to jab menacingly at the objects on the grass. Torchlight showed him that he was launching no brave attack on a potential enemy. All that his spearpoint had touched was one of three large bundles.

Olaf Evil Child had come calling.