The Lions of the North

CHAPTER FIVE

Olaf Evil Child chewed his way through the roasted capon and washed it down with a cup of strong ale. He and his men were camped near a stream so that the horses could be watered. There was abun-dant cover from trees and bushes but sentries were posted as a matter of course. Olaf had also sent out scouts to comb a wider area in search of prey or potential danger.

The giant figure of Eric dropped down beside him.

“Why did you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Return those packs to the castle.”

“The visitors needed them and we did not.”

“Then why did we steal them in the first place?”

“For this,” said Olaf, holding up the carcass of his capon before throwing it into the undergrowth. “We wanted their provisions and not their clothing. It will do no harm to let them see we can be bountiful.”

“But you took such a risk, going into York like that.”

“It was worth it, Eric.”

“Was it?”

“Of course.”

“How?”

“Imagine the look on my lord Aubrey’s face when he opened the castle gates to find that we had walked right up to his fortress in the night. He would have been enraged. His guards will have been roundly swinged for not spotting us.”

“We know how to make use of darkness.”

“And of the river.”

Eric pondered. “Is that why we went?” he said, still not compre-hending. “To enrage my lord Aubrey once more?”

“No,” said Olaf. “We tried to win their good opinion.”

“Who?”

“The guests at the castle.”

“Ah.” More rumination followed. “Why?”

“It does not matter.”

“I want to know.”

“All will become clear in time. With luck.” The huge face beside him puckered with bewilderment. Olaf gave his friend a good-humoured slap on the thigh. “Do not puzzle over it, Eric. You are a fine warrior but a poor philosopher. Stick to fighting. Leave the thinking to me.”

“But I need to see what we are fighting for.”

“Ourselves. Our future.”

Eric brightened. “Will there be women?”

“Dozens of them,” teased Olaf.

“It gets lonely out here at night.”

“Our time will come.”

“When?”

“Wait and see.”

The sound of approaching hoofbeats brought both men to their feet and they drew their swords from force of habit. The rest of the camp were also on the alert. When a familiar figure came riding into the camp, they all relaxed and sheathed their weapons. The newcomer reined in his mount and dropped to the ground before limping across to Olaf Evil Child.

“Riders!” he reported. “Heading for York.”

“How many?”

“Twenty or more.”

“Did you recognise them?”

“They were too far off. You told me to bring warning of any travellers on that road. I galloped straight here.”

“You did well,” said Olaf, giving him a grateful pat. “Let us take a closer look at them. Mount up!”

Within seconds, every man was in his saddle. Led by their scout, they set off in the direction from which he had just come. It was not a long journey. When they reached the top of a wooded slope, they dismounted and crept through the undergrowth. Hooves were soon clacking on the track below them. Olaf Evil Child was the first to push back a branch and take stock of the travellers.

There were two dozen of them in all, Norman soldiers in their distinctive armour, riding their destriers at a steady canter over the last mile to York. At their head was a tall, slim man who sat upright in the saddle and exuded an air of authority. His face was hidden from the onlookers but Olaf knew his identity at once. He spat out the name with hatred.

“Nigel Arbarbonel!”

Romulus and Remus roared with anticipation as the key was inserted into the lock of their cage. It was feeding time and they were hungry.

Ludovico made them wait, talking to them as he entered the cage and ordering them to lie down before he gave them any of the meat he was carrying in a large wooden bowl. The lions snarled in protest but their keeper would not yield up their meal until his orders were obeyed.

Ludovico stood over them until both Romulus and Remus lay down on the floor, their ears pricked and their tails flicking to and fro.

When the animals were quiescent, the Italian threw a glance at his master. Aubrey Maminot let himself into the cage and crossed to take the first hunk of meat from the bowl. When he placed it in front of Romulus, the lion pounced on it with eager teeth. Remus was also soon tearing apart the carcass of a lamb. Keeping them supplied with fresh meat on a daily basis was an expense that Aubrey was glad to meet. His beloved lions were a high priority in the account book of the castle. Since they were so dependent for their welfare on Ludovico, he made sure that the keeper of the beasts was well paid for his services.

“Do you still miss Rome?” he asked.

“Only in winter,” said Ludovico. “York is so much colder than Italy.”

“We have ways to keep you warm.”

The Italian grinned. “Your women are hot-blooded. They are lion-esses in bed. I enjoy taming them.”

“You have a gift with wild animals, Ludovico.”

“I simply teach them that I am their master.”

Romulus and Remus were still eating noisily. The door of their cage had been locked as a precaution. Only Aubrey and Ludovico were allowed inside it when the lions were in residence. During the night, when the animals were let out to patrol the ditch at the base of the mound, servants cleaned their cage and strewed the floor with fresh rushes.

Only Ludovico knew how to make his charges return to their prison each morning but Aubrey was working hard to increase his own power over his pets.

“Leave me alone with them,” he said.

“They are a little restless today.”

“I am not afraid, Ludovico.”

“Let me stand where they can see me.”

“No,” said Aubrey. “I will be fine.”

The Italian nodded and let himself out of the cage before locking it behind him. When he tried to linger, he was waved away by Aubrey.

Alone at last with his lions, the castellan felt happy and confident.

They would not harm him. He reached into the bowl and tossed more meat to each of them. Romulus and Remus gave lazy roars of gratitude.

Aubrey chuckled as a sense of power coursed through him. They were his.

Nigel Arbarbonel strode into the room with the assurance of a man about to meet old friends rather than with the caution of a witness about to be questioned by royal commissioners. He ducked beneath a low beam before drawing himself up again to smile at Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret. Having dealt with so many hostile witnesses in the past, they were caught off guard by his affability. His swarthy face was striking rather than handsome but there was no denying his charm.

“Nigel Arbarbonel!” he announced. “Welcome to the dank city of York, gentlemen. How may I help you?”

“By sitting down, for a start,” said Ralph. “Before you knock your head, as I have already done more than once. This room was not built for people as tall as you and me.”

Nigel laughed as he tossed back his mantle and lowered himself to the bench. Ralph performed the introductions, then pointed to a leather satchel on the table.

“Your reeve kindly delivered this to us.”

“It contains all the documents you may need to see,” said Nigel helpfully. “I thought it best to send them in advance so that you would have time to study them before my arrival.”

“That was most considerate.”

“Did you find everything in order?”

“You must ask that of Gervase. He alone has read them.”

Nigel turned to him. “Were you satisfied, Master Bret?”

“Up to a point, my lord.”

“Oh?”

“The documents submitted establish you without question as the legitimate holder of most of your property, but the land that forms the basis of this inquiry-in the wapentakes of Bulmer, Halikeld and Manshowe-have no title deeds attached to them.”

“I explained that to your predecessors.”

“We have a record of that explanation, my lord.”

“Then you will know that countless witnesses came forward to swear that I was their overlord.” His smile broadened. “The name of Arbarbonel is well known in the North. My reputation stretches across the county.

Aubrey Maminot is your host, is he not? Send for him and he will vouch for my integrity.”

“That is precisely why we may not send for him,” said Ralph sternly.

“My lord Aubrey is a personal friend. It was only because he is not a subject of investigation that I felt able to accept his hospitality. Because we must be strictly impartial at all times, we are only sent to places where we are not known so that bias or favouritism will not even arise.”

“That is as it should be,” said Nigel easily. “It is the one sure way to guarantee a fair trial. When Aubrey Maminot had a banquet in your honour, he took care not to invite me lest that be seen as a means of courting you on my behalf. Had we met in such convivial circumstances, you might not now be able to exercise your impartiality quite so freely.”

“I am glad that we understand each other on that.”

“Completely, my lord.”

Ralph was satisfied with his polite acceptance of the situation but Gervase was more wary. Having failed to use the name of Aubrey Maminot to his advantage, Nigel Arbarbonel had given the impression that he would never seek favour of any kind. A man who could contradict himself so smoothly and so convincingly needed to be watched.

Nigel swung his attention back to Gervase.

“Bulmer, Halikeld and Manshowe, you say?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Then I know who contests the property.”

“Sunnifa appeared before us earlier today.”

“Poor, distracted creature! If she were not such a nuisance to me, I could almost feel sorry for the woman.”

“It was her daughter who presented the claim.”

“Inga is an even greater nuisance,” said Nigel with a slow smile, “but I have more time for her. You have met the lady and will understand why. She is fighting for what she conceives to be the inheritance from her father. I respect her for that. But when Thorbrand died, she was young and unaware of what really happened to the property. Inga is too impetuous. With no real evidence at her disposal, she attacks me with claims based on distant memories of her father.”

“Those memories are not so distant to Sunnifa,” noted Gervase. “Nor to Brunn the Priest.”

“Brunn is a good man. But old. And very tired.”

“He spoke fondly of Thorbrand.”

“I would expect no less.”

“Brunn was at his bedside when he died. He attested that Thorbrand bequeathed his property to his wife.”

“That is how it may have seemed at the time.”

“What do you mean, my lord?”

“Only this,” said Nigel quietly. “To watch a loved one die is always painful. It plays cruelly on the emotions. Things get distorted. Sunnifa was grief-stricken when she lost her husband. She is still in mourn-ing. That clouds her judgement badly.”

“What of Brunn the Priest? Is his judgement clouded?”

“He is an honest man who has served his flock to the best of his abilities for many years. But time and the northern climate have taken their toll, as you have seen. Brunn wanders. His mind is no longer reliable.”

“Inga did not wander. Her mind was crystal clear.”

“But she takes her lead from Sunnifa and the priest.”

“We are going around in circles,” said Ralph with impatience. “Instead of trying to discredit those who oppose you here, my lord, simply tell us how Thorbrand’s property came into your possession.”

“With pleasure. It was by deed of gift.”

“Gift?”

“Thorbrand had cause to be deeply grateful to me.”

“Why was that, my lord?” asked Gervase.

“Because I protected him and his family.” He gave a tolerant smile.

“You are no soldier, Master Bret, and you have no notion of the problems that beset us here. We are in constant danger of attack from the Scots. It is vital to have a strong bulwark against them. That is why the King granted such huge amounts of land in the north of the county to his two most trusted friends.”

“It is true,” confirmed Ralph. “The King’s own half-brother, Robert, Count of Mortain, holds vast estates along with Alan the Red, of Brittany.

Between them, they form a solid band across the north of the county.”

“My land lies directly south of them,” said Nigel. “If they are a first line of defence, I am a palisade behind them. Thorbrand understood this only too well because his land was twice overrun before I drove out the raiders. They had cunningly penetrated the gaps. Thorbrand came to see that a second continuous line of defence was needed, and that could only be formed if he willed his land to me and enabled my holdings to be linked together in a wide strip.”

Gervase was doubtful. “He willed the land to you?”

“On his deathbed.”

“Brunn heard no mention of this.”

“Other witnesses sat in that room with him. They will support me to the letter.”

“Is there no written proof of this?”

“Unhappily, no,” said Nigel. “Thorbrand renounced his will in his last hours on earth and bequeathed most of his property to me. His family were not left unprovided for but their inheritance was somewhat reduced.”

“It was cut to shreds, my lord.”

“Of necessity.”

“He consigned his own wife and daughter to a life of comparative poverty? That verges on the incredible.”

“Not if you had undergone the rigours that he did,” said the other earnestly. “Thorbrand suffered badly at the hands of raiding parties because he had no means of defending himself. That is why he turned to me. And why he put the safety of his wife and daughter before anything else. He went to his grave knowing that they would be well protected even if their means were more modest.”

“And are they well protected, my lord?”

“Yes!” he said proudly. “They are shielded by the arm of Nigel Arbarbonel.”

“They pay a high price for that honour,” observed Gervase as he glanced at the document before him. “Since the land came into your possession, the rent from it has risen appreciably.”

“There has been a slight increase, I fear.”

“Thorbrand was a less demanding landlord.”

“He did not have to maintain any defences.”

“The rent has more than doubled since he died.”

“Is that relevant?” asked Nigel pleasantly. “You are here to determine who owns that land and not how much rent it yields. That amount is already on record and your predecessors raised no objection to it. Why should you?”

Gervase traded a glance with Ralph. It took no more than a split second but a signal had passed between them.

Nigel Arbarbonel was enjoying himself. Polite, plausible and supremely confident of his position, he answered every question with an obliging readiness. His word would always outweigh that of his detractors. The first commissioners were a more powerful and formidable team, yet he had survived their examination without any discomfort. He decided that their successors would be even less trouble-some. His policy of willing cooperation would confound them.

Gervase Bret forced him to revise that opinion.

“That is all,” he said dismissively. “I have no more questions.” He turned to Ralph. “My lord?”

“I have nothing more to add,” said Ralph.

Nigel smiled hopefully. “You have finished with me?”

“For the moment,” said Gervase.

“And it is all settled?”

“Far from it, my lord.”

“But you have heard my evidence.”

“Indeed we have and it has been most interesting. But it does not resolve the matter. On the contrary, it directs our enquiries to a wider field than we foresaw.”

“I want this whole business settled here and now.”

“There is too much evidence still to collect.”

“From whom?”

“You will find that out when we next send for you.”

“It is a long ride to York from my castle.”

“Then stay in the city until we need you,” suggested Ralph with a grin. “We are as anxious as you to reach a verdict in this dispute but we cannot do so until we have considered every possible aspect.”

Indignation stirred. “Do you doubt my word?”

“Not in the least. What you have told us may well turn out to be the truth. We would just like to make sure that it is the whole truth.”

“One last thing, my lord,” said Gervase casually.

“Yes?”

“Thorbrand, I believe, lived in the wapentake of Bulmer.”

“That is so. Close to Dalby.”

“How long would it take to get there from York?”

“Four or five hours at most on a fast horse.”

“The town reeve’s man rode hard, we are told.”

“To Dalby?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Gervase. “To summon Thorbrand’s widow to make her claim before our predecessors. The messenger did not arrive in time. He left here on the appointed day, he claims, yet the summons did not reach Dalby until over forty-eight hours later. Does that not strike you as odd?”

Nigel shrugged. “Perhaps he went astray.”

“He insists that he did not.”

“Then I am as baffled as you by this mystery.”

“Only one solution offers itself, my lord.”

“And what is that?”

“The man who took the summons from York was not the same person who arrived in Dalby over two days later. The reeve’s messenger handed over the duty to somebody else.”

“Why on earth should he do that?”

“To ensure that vital evidence never reached York.”

“That same evidence has reached it now,” said Nigel as he rose to his feet. “Was it really so vital? Do the ramblings of a widow and an old priest really have any credence? You say that Inga presented the case against me but did she provide any documents to back it up? Unlike you, the first commissioners were not inclined to suffer fools gladly.

They would have exposed this vital evidence as the tissue of lies that it was.”

Nigel Arbarbonel turned away and headed for the door. Feeling that he had put the commissioners firmly in their place, he could not resist a parting shot.

“Have you really come all this way to discuss the riding habits of the reeve’s man?” he said, swinging around. “There may yet be another explanation of why it took him so long to deliver his summons to Dalby. Perhaps he lost his way or fell among thieves. Perhaps he was chased off course by wild bears.” He grinned amiably. “Or perhaps his horse simply cast a shoe.”

“Hogni the Blacksmith would have replaced it for him,” said Gervase.

“He could see with both eyes then.”

The grin remained on their visitor’s face as he went out. Gervase was disappointed. Though he and Ralph applied pressure on the witness, it did not have the desired effect. Nigel Arbarbonel was too composed and well-defended to give anything away. Frustration made Gervase click his tongue.

“I am sure that he is lying,” he said.

“So am I,” said Ralph, “but how do we prove it?”

“By gathering more evidence.”

“Where?”

“In the land under dispute, if need be. It may be the only way to grapple with this case.”

Ralph shook his head. “Time is against us, Gervase. This is only the first of a number of claims into which we must look. If we ride out to view the property in question each time, we will be stuck in Yorkshire for months!”

“This dispute merits special attention.”

“Because of Inga?”

“No, Ralph.”

“I think that you are falling in love with the girl.”

“That is absurd.”

“Is it? If I did not have my dear Golde beside me, I would be tempted myself. Inga certainly merits special attention.”

“I am only concerned with her testimony,” said Gervase. “And with that of my lord Nigel. Why did he confront us in person when he might so easily have let his reeve speak on his behalf? Why did he wish to have the dispute resolved so quickly? Why try to woo us with a show of assistance?”

“I do not know,” conceded Ralph. “I do not trust him, but no more do I trust Inga and her mother. They made some wild accusations. Nigel Arbarbonel does not resemble in any way the ugly portrait they drew of him.”

“We shall see.”

“What next?”

“We need to pick our way more carefully through this sheaf of documents from my lord Nigel. There is something I have missed here, I feel certain.”

“I leave that task to you, Gervase. I would not know what to look for and my Latin would be woefully unequal to the demands made upon it.

And when you have finished?”

“I need to speak with Inga once more.”

“Ah!” teased Ralph. “So she has touched off a spark in you.”

“It is not like that,” said Gervase. “She is a witness in a dispute and nothing more. But there is something that I must tell her.” Ralph’s rich chuckle threw him even more on the defensive. “I must remind her that the burden of proof lies on her mother. If they are to win this dispute, they must produce the documents that they claim to have.”

“Otherwise, Nigel Arbarbonel retains that land.”

“Quite so.”

A discreet cough turned their heads towards Brother Francis. He had been so quiet and unobtrusive that they had completely forgotten he was there.

“Will you require my services again today?” he asked.

“Not for some time,” said Ralph.

“Then I will withdraw, my lord.”

“Please do, Brother Francis. You have earned a rest.”

The monk beamed. “It has been an education to me.”

“You bore up well in the presence of women. Brother Simon would have been reduced to a quivering wreck. He prefers the safety of the cloister.”

“It has its compensations, my lord.” He padded towards the door.

“You know where to reach me. Farewell.”

Golde was finding life at the castle increasingly irksome. There was nowhere in the building where she could feel completely at ease. If she went to the solar, she was met by the unwelcoming smile of Herleve.

If she strolled in the courtyard, she was the target of lustful comments from the soldiers. If she stayed in her apartment, she was bored. When she ventured down to peer through the lions’ cage, she only sent Romulus and Remus into a frenzy of snarling.

Her growing discomfort made her ask herself what exactly she was doing at the castle. She loved Ralph enough to follow him anywhere but events had forced her to view their relationship through the eyes of others. The romantic glow in which she had abandoned her home in Hereford had faded to a dim flicker in York. Proud to be his lover, she resented being seen as Ralph’s mistress. When she looked into the unforgiving face of Herleve, she was made to feel that she was no more than his whore. It was humiliating.

Golde was distressed. Leaving her house, her occupation and her sister had not been done on impulse. She had given her decision great thought. Her Christian upbringing taxed her conscience sorely and her strong ties with Hereford provided further resistance. Yet she left.

When Ralph asked her to go with him, making no promise of marriage or, indeed, of anything else, Golde had accepted his invitation because it contained both rescue and hope for her. They were delightfully happy when alone together but a dark shadow was now falling across that happiness. As she sat brooding in her apartment, Golde began to wonder if their love would be resilient enough to survive what might well be a lengthy stay in York.

Unable to relax, she adjourned to the one place in the castle that offered peace and seclusion. The chapel was empty. Its very coldness was a source of refreshment to her. Kneeling at the altar rail, she offered up a silent prayer and asked for guidance. No answer came but her mind slowly began to clear. She was able to consider her situation in a more honest and objective light. What was her moral duty? What were her true feelings for the man with whom she shared her life? Where did her future lie? She remained on her knees for a long time. Golde was still trying to reconcile conflicting values when a figure crept up behind her.

Ralph had returned briefly to the castle. Finding her in the chapel, he was struck by her attitude of submission and by the deep concen-tration on her face. Without saying a word, he moved forward to kneel beside her and took her hand gently between his own. Golde did not need to open her eyes. She knew that it was him and drew immense strength from his proximity. Ralph, too, was touched. A wayward Christian, he yet sensed the true power of spiritual commitment in the tiny chapel. He also felt closer than ever before to Golde.

Whatever disapproval they might meet, whatever sneers they might hear, whatever obstacles they encountered, they would not be separated from each other. That certainty now united them. In their hearts and, at that precise moment, in the sight of the Almighty, they were conjoined as firmly as any husband and wife. Golde’s doubts fled. She would withstand anything to be with Ralph Delchard. Reading her thoughts, he squeezed her hand softly in reciprocation.

They remained side by side in perfect union. It was a scene at once so solemn and so joyful that even the watching Herleve was moved.

She stole quietly away.

Tanchelm of Ghent more than proved his worth in the shire hall that afternoon. Not only did he ask searching questions of evasive witnesses, he also acted as an intermediary between Canon Hubert and those who could understand only the Saxon tongue. Gervase Bret’s customary role of interpreter was taken over by Tanchelm, whose command of languages was impressive. He was even able to converse freely in Latin with his two colleagues.

Brother Simon was suffused with admiration for the new commissioner, and Hubert came to rely more and more on the timely interventions of the Fleming. Only one small doubt lingered in the canon’s mind. He wondered why Tanchelm was so keen to question certain witnesses and he had the occasional feeling that their answers were not translated back to him in full. While functioning as a commissioner, Tanchelm of Ghent seemed to be conducting a supplementary inquiry of his own.

As another dispute was resolved, Hubert turned to him.

“You have missed your vocation, my lord,” he said.

“Have I?”

“Instead of being a soldier, you should have taken to the law. You are a born interrogator.”

“I could never match your expertise, Canon Hubert.”

“Thank you,” said the other, basking in the flattery but not allowing it to deflect him. “Why did you ask that last witness about Olaf Evil Child?”

Tanchelm feigned surprise. “Did I do so?”

“More than once. My knowledge of Saxon is fragmentary but I did recognise that name. You used it four times, yet it was not included in your translation.”

“That is because it was not germane to the dispute in hand,” explained Tanchelm. “When I mentioned Olaf Evil Child, I did so out of idle curiosity. The man is a fascinating blend of outlaw and benefactor.

What other robber would steal our sumpter-horses and then return part of their cargo to us? He interests me.”

“What did the witness say of him?”

“He had to guard his words for fear of giving offence. Everyone in York knows that we were set on by Olaf and his band. The witness could hardly praise an outlaw in front of his victims.”

“Did you sense a hidden approval of the rogue?”

“It was more of a reverence, Canon Hubert. The man to whom we have just restored four carucates of land was unfairly deprived of them.

Olaf Evil Child, he told me, was likewise dispossessed when his land was annexed. While most people tried to regain their property by legal process, Olaf had the courage to take up arms and fight back. That has made him something of a hero.”

“Only to ignorant fools. Crime is never heroic.”

“I would agree with you there.”

“Olaf is a coward and a thief.”

“He could be defended against the charge of cowardice but he is certainly guilty of theft. But then,” said Tanchelm, indicating the papers before him, “so, it seems, are a number of outwardly respectable mag-nates. Who is the more reprehensible thief, Canon Hubert? A man who steals five horses or one who seizes upon five hundred acres of someone else’s land?”

Gervase Bret pored for a long time over the documents relating to the property of Nigel Arbarbonel. A clear pattern emerged. By a series of annexations, the Norman lord had slowly connected his scattered holdings into a solid unit. Militarily, it might have some purpose but it must also have left much hardship in its wake as tenants found themselves paying increased rent for land they had once owned. Yet everything seemed to have been done legally and to the satisfaction of the first commissioners, who had effectively ratified his multiple acquisi-tions. It was only over the transfer of Thorbrand’s holdings that a question still hovered.

A tap on the door went unheard. It was only when a louder rap was delivered that Gervase raised his head.

“Come in!” he called.

Inga let herself into the room. He sat up with a jolt, surprised at how pleased he was to see her again. It was a few moments before he even noticed that she was not alone. Brunn the Priest had followed her in.

Gervase felt a resentment at his presence but he could see why it was necessary. With the priest beside her, Inga was absolved of all charges of trying to exert undue influence on a royal commissioner.

Gervase stood up and walked across to them. Inga was watchful but Brunn volunteered a weary smile. The priest spoke in Saxon.

“We have not come to importune you,” he said.

“I appreciate that.”

“Something of a personal nature is vexing Inga.”

Gervase looked into her face and saw the anguish. She was deeply troubled. Turning for help to someone whom she regarded as a natural enemy was an added source of pain. In her eyes, Gervase was a figure of authority from whom she could expect no sympathy, yet he might hold information that was crucial to her peace of mind.

“When we spoke earlier,” she said, “I mentioned a friend.”

Gervase nodded. “His name was Toki.”

“You behaved strangely when I talked of him.”

“Did I?”

“Toki is not only an important figure in this dispute, he is very dear to me.”

“That became obvious. He was a fortunate man.”

“Was?”

One word gave a glimpse of the truth. Gervase braced himself to impart the bad news. Inga tensed and Brunn reached out a hand to support her. They feared the worst. Gervase ran his tongue across his lips before speaking.

“You came back because you had the feeling that I might know what had happened to your friend.”

“Yes,” she said. “There was something about the way you looked at me when I described Toki to you. Have you seen him?”

“I think so.”

“When? Where?”

“It might be wiser if you sat down,” he advised.

“Tell me!” she demanded. “I must know the truth.”

“I am not certain that I know it myself, Inga. For your sake, I hope that I am mistaken. But I fear that I may have met Toki. Your description tallied with … what I saw.”

“Go on.”

“I believe that your friend may be dead.”

Inga reeled and Brunn had to steady her. When she recovered, she gave a faint nod to show that she wanted the details. Gervase felt uneasy at having to pass on such dreadful tidings but they could not be kept from her.

“Earlier this week,” he said, “someone climbed into the castle belonging to Aubrey Maminot. The soldiers on duty that night were lax but the intruder could not evade the other guards who lay in wait.”

“Other guards?” she whispered.

“My lord, Aubrey keeps two lions at the castle.”

Inga was rocked. As the full horror was borne in upon her, she emitted a cry of despair and began to sway to and fro. To lose her beloved was tragedy enough. The thought that he had been savagely torn to pieces was unendurable.

“No!” she howled, flinging herself at Gervase and trying to beat him with her fists. “It’s not true, it’s not true!”

Her rage was short-lived and she collapsed into his arms. With Brunn’s help, Gervase carried her to the bench and sat her down. It was minutes before she recovered enough to realise where she was.

When she saw that Gervase was supporting her, she pushed him away with contempt. There was a note of profound betrayal in her voice.

“You knew, ” she accused him. “You knew all the time.”

“I did not, Inga. I swear it.”

“You led me on to describe Toki so that you could be sure that it was him.”

“No,” said Gervase. “On the night when he climbed into the castle, we were many miles away from here. Nobody in York had any idea who the intruder was. How could a stranger like myself guess his identity?” He knelt beside her. “It was only when you talked about the disappearance of Toki that I began to wonder if he might be the unfortunate victim.”

“Master Bret speaks honestly,” decided Brunn. “Do not blame him.

This was none of his doing.”

“He is involved now,” she said angrily, “and he will use this against us to bring us down.”

“Why should I do that?” asked Gervase.

“Because you are a friend of my lord Aubrey. When you tell him that it was Toki who broke into his castle, he will come searching for us to exact punishment.”

“Full punishment has already been exacted by Romulus and Remus,”

said Gervase ruefully. “Besides, I do not intend to reveal Toki’s identity to anyone as yet, so there is no question of retaliation against you.

I will do everything in my power to save you from being pursued.”

“Will you?” she said in wonderment.

“I give you my word.”

“Why should you protect us?”

“Because I choose to, Inga. I am involved in another way here. I saw Toki’s remains laid out in the morgue. No man should go to his grave in such a hideous condition without someone to grieve at his passing.”

“Toki will have grief enough now,” she murmured.

“Why did he climb into the castle that night?”

“I do not know.”

“What could he possibly be after?”

“I cannot tell you,” she said with a hopeless shrug. “Toki and I were very close but there were things that he did not even tell me. Now I see why.”

Gervase did not press her further. Inga patently had no notion of the motives that had led a man to risk his life by scaling a castle wall in York. She was still trying to cope with the enormity of his loss. Toki had not just been beloved. He was instrumental in gathering the evidence with which to confute Nigel Arbarbonel. Without that, Inga and her mother would have little chance.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“Toki was buried this morning.”

“May I see the place?”

“Of course.”

“Will they be watching the grave to see who visits it?”

“I think not.”

“How can I be sure?”

“I will take you there myself.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?”

Gervase could find no answer.