The Owls of Gloucester

Chapter Nine

Gervase Bret was so tired on his return from their ride that he took a short nap in his chamber. Awaking refreshed, he went out to see what arrangements had been made for a meal that evening and was alarmed to find Ralph Delchard sitting motionless higher up on the staircase with his head in his hands.

‘Are you hurt?’ he said anxiously, rushing up to him. ‘What happened, Ralph? Did you have an accident?’

‘Yes, Gervase.’

‘A fall down the steps?’

‘A bad collision with our host,’ said Ralph, waving him away and hoisting himself to his feet. ‘You won’t see the bruises.

They’re all on the inside. The sheriff knows how to deliver a hard punch.’

Gervase was astonished. ‘Durand actually struck you?’

‘Only with his tongue, though he would have been happy to use the flat of his sword against me. And against you, Gervase,’

he added, ‘for you are as guilty as I am.’

‘Guilty of what?’

‘Trying to do the sheriff’s work for him at the abbey.’

‘Ah! He’s found out.’

‘Bishop Wulfstan told him, apparently. Not the first time the Church has landed us in trouble. Durand was beside himself and who can blame him? In his place, I’d have been just as furious.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That we were to stop interfering with his duties.’

‘We are too far into this investigation to pull out now, Ralph.’

‘I know, but I felt it wise not to mention that.’

‘Is he aware of what we managed to find out?’

‘Yes,’ sighed Ralph. ‘We were accused of withholding evidence.

But for our positions, that offence would land us in serious trouble. As it is, our punishment was no worse than having our ears chewed off. Well,’ he said on reflection, ‘my ears, anyway. Is there anything left of them?’

Gervase nodded. ‘I’m sorry that you had to bear the brunt of his displeasure, Ralph. I’ll make a personal apology to him and see if I can calm him down a bit.’

‘Take your time. At the moment it would be like putting your head into a lion’s mouth. Wait until the sheriff has stopped roaring.

But I’m glad you’ve appeared at last,’ he said, touching his friend’s arm. ‘The steward was here a while ago with a message for us.’

‘Are we to dine in the hall again?’

‘No, Gervase. A banquet is being prepared for the King and we are not bidden. The steward told us to order what we desired and it will be served in the anteroom.’

‘In the circumstances, that may be just as well.’

‘Yes, it will keep us clear of Durand.’

‘Have you placed an order yet?’

‘I’m still composing it in my mind, Gervase,’ said Ralph with a grin. ‘It’s a choice between sheriff’s head on a plate or bishop’s tongue in a rich sauce. It was Bishop Wulfstan who informed against us. He ought to be silenced in perpetuity.’

‘Who discussed our involvement in the case with him?’

‘Canon Hubert. He probably preached a sermon.’

‘But he is so discreet as a rule.’

‘Not when he has an abbot and a bishop to impress,’ noted Ralph. ‘All discretion goes out of the window then. Hubert seeks preferment. He’d strip naked and dance a jig for them if he thought it would gain their approval. Still,’ he said, shaking himself, ‘enough bleating. I got no more than I deserved. And I’m not unaccustomed to being shouted at by irate sheriffs. On to other matters.’

‘You haven’t told me what undertakings you gave.’

‘None, Gervase.’

‘Didn’t the sheriff demand a promise from you?’

‘He tried to put the fear of death into me and assumed that would be enough. Durand doesn’t believe that we would have the gall and the stupidity to continue with our enquiries into the murder.’

‘Do we?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I still have the gall.’

‘Well, I can provide the stupidity.’ They laughed quietly. ‘But we must proceed more cautiously than ever. Without the blabbing mouth of Canon Hubert to land us in the dung heap.’ He looked up the stairs with some trepidation. ‘I’d better tell Golde where we are to dine.’

‘Before you do, answer me this.’

‘Make the question simple. I am quite befuddled.’

‘Something has been preying on my mind since our journey this afternoon. It was that remark of the lord Hamelin’s about needing to get back to Gloucester.’

‘What of it?’

‘How did he know of the King’s visit?’

‘From that pompous, puffed-up reeve, I expect.’

‘But how did Nigel himself find out? He is hardly an intimate of the sheriff’s. Nigel resents his power. My guess is that Durand told nobody apart from us. Not even the lady Maud, probably.’

Ralph quailed. ‘Let’s not discuss the question of wives.’

‘But you take my point?’

‘I do, Gervase.’

‘The lord Hamelin is concealing something from us.’

‘While distracting our attention with the lady Emma. If a general meeting of the Council has been summoned, he might have a legitimate reason to come to the castle. But that does not seem to be the case. Apart from Bishop Wulfstan, I know of nobody else who has been called here. The lord Hamelin will repay careful watching.’ His eyes rolled. ‘So, of course, will his wife. On which rather sensitive topic,’ he said with another glance up the stairs, ‘you’ll have to excuse me.’

‘I will see you both in the anteroom.’

‘I hope so.’

While his friend descended the stairs, Ralph went slowly up them, praying that the interval of time had helped to soothe Golde. Instead of entering the chamber, he knocked tentatively on the door and awaited her response. It was immediate.

‘Who is it?’ she called.

‘Me,’ he said with contrition.

The door opened at once and she pulled him gently inside.

‘You’re my husband, Ralph. There’s no need to knock.’

‘I didn’t wish to intrude.’

‘On what?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, brightening at her friendly manner.

‘Where have you been?’

‘Suffering at the hands of Durand, my love. And please don’t ask me why because it’s too painful to relate again.’ He shut the door and gave a shrug. ‘I came to say how sorry I was.’

‘I, too, am sorry, Ralph. I spoke out of turn.’

‘No, Golde. Your rebuke was well deserved.’

‘It gave me no pleasure to administer it.’

A sheepish grin. ‘I certainly had none in receiving it, I can tell you.’

‘Can we put it behind us?’

‘Only if you forgive me.’

‘In time, perhaps.’

‘I’ll settle for that.’ He took her in his arms and sealed their reconciliation with a kiss. ‘It will not happen again,’ he said. ‘As proof of which, I can tell you that the King is not expected until after nightfall.’

‘Why so late?’

‘He wishes to slip into the city unobserved, Golde. Whatever business brings him needs to be cloaked in secrecy for some reason. When I say that, I have said all that I know myself.’

‘I believe you.’

‘Beyond the fact that it affects us. A royal guest will naturally take precedence and a feast is being prepared in the hall. We three have been asked to eat separately in the anteroom.’ He indicated the door but Golde did not move. ‘Are you not hungry, my love?’

‘Yes, but I want proof of your penitence first.’

‘Must I don sackcloth and ashes?’

‘A simpler form of atonement will suffice,’

‘Name it, my love, and I will agree to it.’

‘Good,’ she said briskly. ‘Let us first eat with Gervase then visit them straight afterwards. They are half-expecting us.’

‘Who are?’

‘My sister and her betrothed. I want you to meet Forne.’

Ralph stiffened. ‘The arrogant young fool who dares to have serious qualms about your marriage to me?’

‘I knew that you’d like him,’ said Golde with a laugh.

Before the bell for Compline drew them to the abbey church for the last service of the day, Canon Hubert and Brother Simon walked side by side around the cloisters. Both were at peace.

Unaware of the sheriff’s reaction to their search for the killer, Hubert was still preening himself after his performance in front of Abbot Serlo and Bishop Wulfstan. He had made a profound impression on both of them and it would stand him in good stead.

Both men had influence. It would be used in his favour.

Simon’s tranquillity had returned the moment he set foot back inside the comforting walls of the abbey and shook off the horrid memories of the archdeacon’s venture into midwifery, an escapade which had appalled Simon and made him glad that he did not live in the diocese of Gwent. Abbey life was all to him. There was no danger of meeting any young Welsh mothers shrieking in labour there.

‘What is your opinion, Brother Simon?’ asked Hubert.

‘Of what, pray?’

‘This dispute we have spent so much time trying to resolve.’

‘I am only your scribe, Canon Hubert. I have no opinion.’

‘In the shire hall, perhaps not. In the privacy of the cloister, it is a different matter. You heard all that we did. What is your conclusion?’

‘Hamelin of Lisieux has prior claim.’

‘That is what I have come to accept.’

‘Only the Breton can mount a serious challenge.’

‘Not the Welshman?’

‘I found it too distressing to listen to all his evidence.’

‘A pity, Brother Simon. His arguments were sound and forcefully put. They had a certain glibness but you expect that from the Welsh. Credit where it is due. Abraham the Priest gave a good account of himself.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Though I could have done without the lurid description of his journey here.’

‘So could I, Canon Hubert!’

They turned a corner to perambulate along another side of the garth and found a diminutive figure waiting for them. Elaf stood there with a look of quiet apprehension. The monks stopped in front of him.

‘You wish to speak to me?’ said Hubert loftily.

‘If I may, Canon Hubert,’ replied the boy nervously. ‘You and Master Bret were asking me about Brother Nicholas.’

‘And?’

‘I remembered something else about him.’

‘Is it significant?’

‘I think so.’

‘Well? Be quick. Compline is at hand.’

‘A week before Brother Nicholas’s death, I saw him talking to someone outside the abbey. A well-dressed man. I have never seen him before. All that I remember is that they seemed to be having some kind of argument.’

‘What made you decide that?’

‘The way the man was waving his arms about.’

‘In anger, you mean?’

‘Yes. Brother Nicholas was trying to calm him down. When he turned to point at the abbey he caught sight of me by the gate and scowled. I ran back inside.’

‘And that was all?’

‘Yes, Canon Hubert.’

‘Brother Nicholas did not come after you to scold you?’

‘No, I hardly saw him after that. Then, with the shock of what we discovered in the church, it went out of my head, this meeting he had with the stranger.’

‘Did he appear to be a stranger to Brother Nicholas?’

‘Oh no. I think they knew each other.’

‘How could you tell?’

‘By the way they stood and talked.’

‘Can you describe this other man?’

‘Not really. They were some distance away.’

‘Was the fellow old or young?’

‘Old, I think. He had a beard.’

‘That tells us little. Almost every man in Gloucester seems to have a beard. Yet another deplorable habit of the Saxons. But you said earlier he was well dressed. A man of wealth?’

‘Yes.’

Hubert patted him on the head. ‘You did well to bring this to me, Elaf. Have you told any of this to Brother Frewine?’

‘As soon as I remembered it.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That I was to come to you or to Master Bret.’

The bell began to toll and monks headed towards the church from all directions. Hubert and Simon were about to join them when they became aware that the boy was hovering. He had more to tell.

‘This may have nothing to do with it,’ he said tentatively, ‘but I talked to Brother Owl … er, Brother Frewine, that is, about something else. Earlier this year, two novices disappeared from the abbey.’

‘Disappeared?’

‘So I thought. Their names were Siward and Dena. I believed that they must have run away.’

‘And didn’t they?’

‘Nobody knows for sure, Canon Hubert. They have never been found. Their parents still grieve for them.’

‘How tragic!’ said Simon.

‘Very tragic,’ added Hubert. ‘When you spoke to Brother Frewine, did he throw any light on their departure?’

Elaf’s lower lip began to tremble with dismay. A disturbing idea had been implanted in him by the Precentor. Hubert put a steadying hand on his shoulder and knelt down in front of him.

‘Does he know why they left, Elaf?’

‘He thinks they may have been kidnapped.’

The visit got off to a quiet start. Schooled by his betrothed, Forne was polite and engaging. Ralph, too, was on his best behaviour, pleased to see his sister-in-law once more and anxious not to upset her. Aelgar and Forne were astonished by his grasp of their language and it did much to smooth out some of the inevitable social wrinkles. They were in the parlour of the house where the guests from Hereford were staying; Golde felt completely at home there but Ralph was uneasy in what were her natural surroundings. Even in the friendly atmosphere, he was never quite able to relax. However, the visit had one unexpected bonus.

‘You know Querengar the Breton?’ said Ralph in surprise.

‘He has holdings in Archenfield.’

‘Have you met him?’

‘Once or twice,’ said Forne. ‘He struck me as a forthright man.

With a pleasant manner. I could not say that of many of them.’

‘Them?’ echoed Ralph.

‘Invaders.’

‘Forne!’ said Aelgar warningly.

‘The lord Ralph did ask.’

‘And I got a fair answer,’ said Ralph. ‘So you think of Querengar as an invader, do you? Even though he has lived in this country for over twenty years. That is almost as long as you, Forne.’

‘I was born here.’

‘Why is the Breton so unusual?’

‘Because most of the others who took our land from us revel in their conquest,’ said Forne bitterly. ‘They live in their fortified manor houses and treat us with disdain. In Archenfield, where I live, but especially in lowland Gwent, there are dozens of them, Normans, Bretons and, worst of all, the hated Flemings.’

‘They are not easy to love,’ agreed Ralph.

‘If they fought at Hastings, they were given our land.’

‘The spoils of war, Forne.’

‘Need we talk about this subject now?’ said Golde meaningfully.

‘No,’ added Aelgar.

‘But I must just point something out to this argumentative young man of yours,’ said Ralph easily. ‘You call it your land, Forne, but your ancestors stole it from the people who were settled here before them. So, in a sense, you, too, are enjoying the fruits of conquest, albeit at several removes. As for Querengar and the rest, they give valuable service by settling in less desirable parts of the kingdom like Wales and the Welsh borders. Most of their estates are held by military tenure, I’m sure you know what that means.’

‘Only too well!’

‘Can we change this topic now?’ pleaded Aelgar.

‘But I find it interesting.’

‘We do not,’ said Golde.

‘Stop it before you start to get angry,’ said Aelgar.

‘I’m not at all angry.’

‘Forne!’

‘Talk to your sister while we have our discussion.’

‘No!’

‘Aelgar will do nothing of the kind,’ said Golde, smarting at his dismissive tone. ‘Ralph and I came to visit both of you so that all four of us could get to know each other better. Aelgar and I will not be swept aside like a couple of children being sent out to play.’

Ralph grinned. ‘I’d like to meet the man who can sweep you aside, my love. But you are quite right. This is not a fit subject.’

‘We must return to it another time, my lord,’ said Forne with tenacity. ‘Then I can put my side of the argument.’

‘It has already been put at the Battle of Hastings.’

‘Ralph!’ snapped his wife.

‘That was an unworthy comment,’ he conceded. ‘I take it back.

And I would like to thank Forne for his comments on Querengar.

They were very useful. So tell me, Aelgar,’ he said, trying to introduce a more jocular note. ‘Where will this amorous young man take you off to when he marries you and throws you over his shoulder?’

‘We will live in Archenfield.’

‘Does that idea appeal to you?’

‘Very much.’

‘I know the area well. It holds pleasant memories for me.’ He winked at Golde. ‘It’s where your sister and I first got to know each other properly. If it were not so close to Wales, I could find Archenfield rather appealing myself.’

‘I hope you will visit us there,’ said Aelgar.

‘Gladly,’ replied Golde. ‘When time serves.’

‘And when the King sees fit to release me from these onerous duties,’ said Ralph with a sigh. ‘I long for the day when I can actually start to enjoy my own estates again. If it ever comes, both of you will be invited to visit us in Hampshire.’

Aelgar was touched. ‘That would be wonderful! Forne?’

‘Yes,’ he said without relish.

‘We would love to see you there,’ said Golde.

‘Almost as much as we’d love to see ourselves there,’ added Ralph.

Talk turned to the preparations for the wedding and a contentment settled on the room. Forne was disappointed that he was unable to argue at will with Ralph, but he made himself amenable and his devotion to Aelgar once again shone through.

The two sisters were in their element, each feeling more complete now that they were sharing their lives with a man they loved. It was a far cry from the days when they both worked in the brewhouse in Hereford. Ralph looked on with interest but took progressively less part in the conversation. He was back in Golde’s world now and still a relative stranger. He liked Aelgar, not only on her own account but because she mirrored so many of Golde’s qualities. About Forne he was undecided. Beneath the obliging manner was a resentment and pugnacity which he found irritating.

At the end of the evening, he and Golde took their leave and mounted their horses. It was not far to the castle but a walk through dark and dirty streets was not advisable. With Golde to protect, Ralph had taken the additional precaution of wearing his sword. The horses walked slowly along the lane, their hoofbeats amplified in the hollow night.

‘What did you think of Forne?’ asked Golde.

‘It is as you said, my love. He and your sister are well matched.’

‘Did you like him?’

‘When he made himself likeable.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I could have done with more respect from him,’ said Ralph.

‘He never quite recovered from the fact that I arrived with a sword.

It upset him. I could see that.’

‘You shouldn’t have goaded him, Ralph.’

‘I did nothing of the kind.’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘He needed no goading, my love. Forne was well and truly goaded before we even got there. My very existence goads him.’

‘You could have been more tactful.’

‘I’ll not let anyone shout me down, Golde.’

‘There was provocation, I know,’ she accepted. ‘All in all, it passed off well and I’m so grateful that you agreed to come with me.’

‘Did I have any choice?’

She laughed.

‘I have some sympathy with the fellow,’ he said. ‘Seen through his eyes, I must appear like something of an ogre. Is that how I appear to you?’

‘Now and then.’

It was his turn to laugh. Their horses swung into a narrow street and ambled slowly on. Ralph and Golde rode in silence and savoured the night air. It was the first time since they had been in Gloucester that they felt truly alone. The sensation was liberating.

‘Let’s escape,’ said Ralph on impulse.

‘From what?’

‘This city. Let’s ride off now, Golde.’

‘Where would we go?’

‘Anywhere to get away from it. I’m fed up with the endless round of responsibilities. I just want to be with you. Let’s go!’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Never more so, my love.’

‘But you turn your back on everything,’ she said reasonably.

‘It’s unthinkable. What about Gervase? Would you really desert him?’

‘I was forgetting Gervase.’

‘There’s Canon Hubert and Brother Simon as well.’

‘They don’t matter quite so much.’

‘Your duties matter, Ralph. That’s why you always discharge them so zealously. People depend on you and you never let them down. I know you too well. You’d never run away from anything.

Ralph Delchard is the sort of man who will stand and fight.’

‘Unfortunately,’ he sighed, giving up. ‘Ah well, it was a nice idea while it lasted. To start anew. To ride off in the moonlight with the woman of my dreams.’

‘The woman of your dreams is too tired. She needs her sleep.’

‘Don’t be so unromantic!’

‘Then choose a better time.’

Before he could answer, a drumming sound was heard in the middle distance. Many hooves were dancing their way into Gloucester. They nudged their own horses into a trot until the castle loomed up ahead of them. The noise grew louder, then the cavalcade appeared. Twenty or more riders surged across the Bearland, the open space in front of the castle where troops could be mustered or where the defending garrison could have clear sight of any besieging army. In the gloom, Ralph and Golde had no clear sight of the visitors but Ralph identified them at once. As they slowed down to clatter across the drawbridge, he turned to his wife.

‘King William!’

‘He has come late.’

‘By design.’

‘And with a sizeable entourage.’

‘I’ll be interested to see who rides with him.’

‘And will you tell me when you find out?’ she teased.

‘Immediately.’

Ralph’s smile congealed as soon as it was formed. Something had aroused his suspicion. When the last of the horsemen had ridden through the castle gate, a tall figure emerged from the shadows and strode swiftly across the Bearland. The man had been watching the arrival of the royal party. Ralph only saw the man in silhouette but his gait and bearing were distinctive. He had witnessed both at the shire hall.

Golde noticed that he now sat bolt upright in the saddle.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You’ve gone tense, Ralph.’

‘It was that man who walked in front of the castle.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘I think so.’

‘Who is he?’

‘Abraham the Priest.’

The long tables were bedecked with dishes of all kinds and wine flowed freely in the light of a hundred candles. A magnificent repast awaited the visitors. Though he had complained about the royal visit, Durand the Sheriff was also pleased by it because it was an indication of his own status in the King’s counsels. Sitting with his guests, the sheriff was at his most affable and his wife at her most charming. The long wait had left the hosts themselves feeling the pangs of hunger and they could now allay them in the best possible way. Yet there was no air of celebration in the hall. The delicious fare was consumed with thanks rather than with any jollity. The King was there on serious business. It showed.

Durand waited until the end of the meal before he broached the topic which had occupied his mind since he first heard of the possibility of a royal visit. He leaned respectfully across to his guest of honour.

‘Is there anything else you require, my liege?’

‘A soft bed and a quiet night.’

‘We all need those.’

‘Not all of us, Durand,’ said William, casting an eye over some of the members of his entourage. ‘There are a few here who would prefer a warm woman in that soft bed, then the night would be far from quiet.’

‘Hot blood runs in young veins.’

‘I should know. I have spilled it often enough.’

William the Conqueror, King of England and Duke of Normandy, spoke with gruff regret. He was a big, broad-shouldered man with extremely long arms. The aura of majesty was unmistakable but so was the fatigue of warfare. He was approaching his sixtieth year now and the cares of office showed in the craggy face, already lined by the succession of betrayals, reversals and disappointments he had suffered, and scored most deeply by the death of his wife, Matilda, a tiny woman for such a portly warrior but a true queen in every sense. William was a bundle of contradictions, peremptory yet pious, uncultured yet intelligent, harsh yet capable of great gentleness, a belligerent man who desired nothing more than the peace which constantly eluded him.

‘You have not told me the purpose of this visit,’ said Durand.

‘Do I need a purpose before I can come to Gloucester?’

‘Of course not, my liege.’

‘Is friendship not excuse enough, Durand?’

‘More than enough. But I am bound to observe that two members of your Council have arrived with you, and Bishop Wulfstan was already here at your request. May we expect others to join us?’

‘No,’ said William, sitting back in his chair. ‘With your own good self, I have four sage counsellors around me. That will suffice.’

‘To discuss what?’

‘Whatever we choose.’

‘I will press you no more on the matter,’ said Durand, backing off at the sign of evasion. ‘I just felt that I should point out that another of your erstwhile counsellors is in Gloucester at this time.’

‘Who is that?’

‘Hamelin of Lisieux.’

‘His opinion will not be sought,’ said William sharply. ‘I heard that he spends most of his time in Normandy with that pretty wife of his. What brings him here?’

‘A dispute over his holdings, my liege.’

‘But of course. I was forgetting that the second commissioners were sent to the county. Are they still here?’

‘Under this very roof. Except for Canon Hubert and their scribe.

They prefer to lodge at the abbey.’

‘A fortuitous decision,’ said Wulfstan, sitting on the other side of the King and easing himself into the conversation. ‘A foul murder was recently committed there. They have been able to assist in tracking down the fiend responsible.’

Durand crackled. ‘Their help is quite unnecessary.’

‘But Canon Hubert has such a quick mind.’

‘Too quick, Bishop Wulfstan.’

‘I have met the man,’ said William thoughtfully. ‘And I know Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret even better. All three are very able or I would not have given them such high office. Make use of them while they are here, Durand. You could not ask for more efficient deputies.’

‘I do not ask for any deputies at all.’

‘The crime must be solved swiftly,’ urged Wulfstan. ‘You should be grateful that these men are taking the trouble to help you.’

‘I am grateful,’ lied Durand.

‘So you should be,’ said William firmly. ‘Seek assistance from those best suited to give it to you. That is what I always do. I ask, I discuss, I consult. As a result, my decisions are the sounder and I do not feel that my authority has in any way been undermined. Is that your fear?’ he asked shrewdly. ‘A loss of control?’

‘Only a sheriff can investigate a homicide.’

‘Not when he is sitting in council with his king. We will spend a lot of time in this hall over the next day or two, Durand, because we have much to discuss. My needs have priority over those of the abbey. Even the bishop will acknowledge that.’

‘Freely, my liege,’ said Wulfstan.

‘I am sure that you have capable officers but they will lack the perseverance of Ralph Delchard and the others. Put your trust in them,’ he said, resting a hand on the sheriff’s arm. ‘They are not untried in such matters. If anyone can apprehend the killer, it is them.’

Durand’s food was organising an armed rebellion in his stomach.

Kenelm was in a quandary. Too tired to stay awake, he was too afraid to sleep lest it render him vulnerable to more of the hideous nightmares that afflicted him. As he lay on his mattress in the dormitory, he inhabited a kind of limbo between the two, dozing off, shaking himself instantly awake, then feeling the drowsiness creep over him once again. He had jerked himself out of his slumber for the third time when he heard the sound. Someone was moving stealthily across the floor. The creak of a board caused them to stop and wait before inching their way forward again. At first Kenelm thought it might be Elaf, but his friend was still on the mattress next to him, sleeping soundly, impervious to all around him. Who, then, was creeping out of the dormitory?

Raising himself on his elbows, Kenelm saw the figure flit through the doorway. He was bewildered. Owen was the last novice he expected to sneak out in the middle of the night. He was the most timid and well-behaved boy in the abbey, and nocturnal wandering was strictly forbidden. Kenelm wondered what could possibly make Owen court a beating from the Master of the Novices. He had to find out. Rising to his feet, he made for the door with greater speed than Owen, cleverly negotiating the floorboards which creaked. Kenelm caught up with him near the cloister garth. The other boy was patently frightened, darting nervously from one hiding place to another, but something impelled him to go on.

Kenelm followed until he saw where Owen was going. He stopped immediately. Nothing could make him venture into the cemetery at night. It held the accusing presence of Brother Nicholas.

Watching the other boy pick his way nimbly between the gravestones, Kenelm lost his nerve and turned tail. He ran all the way back to the dormitory but it was no refuge. New horrors assaulted him. Sleep of any kind was impossible.

Owen, meanwhile, was filled with a strange confidence. When he reached the mound of fresh earth, he gazed down at it without any sign of fear. Even in death, Brother Nicholas was still his friend. The only way to reach him now was by means of prayer, and Owen knelt on the damp grass with his palms together. His prayer was long and fervent. He was convinced that Brother Nicholas heard every word. When he opened his eyes and clambered to his feet again, he was smiling. He had talked at night to his friend as he had done so many times before. It was thrilling. Waving a farewell, he turned to scamper away but someone was waiting for him, a stout figure in a monastic cowl, barely visible in the darkness. Pale moonlight gave him a ghostly air.

Owen was unperturbed. He went hopefully towards the man.

‘Brother Nicholas?’ he asked.

Occupying a chamber near the base of the keep, Gervase Bret retired early to bed and fell swiftly asleep. Even the heavy murmur of voices from the hall did not disturb him. It took the fist and voice of Canon Hubert to pluck him from his dreams.

‘Gervase!’ called Hubert. ‘Wake up, Gervase!’

‘What?’ muttered the other, opening an eye. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Canon Hubert!’

‘Here at the castle?’

‘I must speak to you!’

‘One moment.’

Forcing himself awake, Gervase got out of bed and crossed to unbolt the door. Brother Hubert was supporting himself against the wall with one hand. He was covered in sweat and panting stertorously. Gervase beckoned him in and shut the door behind them. When he opened the window, the first rays of sun were streaking across the sky. They enabled him to see his visitor’s face.

‘Canon Hubert, are you all right?’

‘I’ve been running.’

‘I can see that. Sit down. Get your breath back.’

‘Thank you, Gervase.’

Gulping in air, Hubert lowered himself precariously on to a small stool and put a palm across his heart. A man who rarely moved at more than a stately waddle had broken into an undignified sprint. Gervase knew that only an emergency could have made him do that. He waited until his caller had a semblance of control over his breathing.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked.

‘Another disaster has befallen the abbey.’

‘Murder?’

‘We are not sure, Gervase. We pray that is not the case.’

‘So what happened?’

‘One of the novices was abducted in the night.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘No other explanation fits the facts,’ said Hubert, wiping an arm across his brow. ‘The boy’s name is Owen. His absence was noted at Matins and a search instituted. He is nowhere to be found in the abbey.’

‘Calm down,’ advised Gervase. ‘You may yet be mistaken. The boy may be playing a prank and hiding from you.’

‘Owen never plays pranks. Brother Paul, the Master of the Novices, tells me he is the most obedient of them all. Besides, where would he hide? They have looked everywhere.’

‘They looked everywhere for Brother Nicholas, if you remember, and he was concealed among them all the time. But you say he was abducted. Assuming that this Owen did leave the abbey, could he not have gone of his own accord?’

‘No, Gervase.’

‘Why not?’

‘To start with, he would not have been able to get out. All the doors are locked at night. Only the porter could have let him leave. And we are talking about a dedicated young boy here. He thrives on monastic life. Owen had no reason to go and every reason to stay.’ His jowls wobbled with consternation. ‘But there is much more disturbing intelligence, Gervase. He may not be the first.’

‘The first what?’

‘Victim. Two other novices disappeared in the past.’

‘Under what circumstances?’

‘Similar ones, from what I can gather. There at night but gone the next morning. Again, with no just cause to flee the abbey.

Everyone is convinced that all three boys were kidnapped.’

‘Why?’

‘I dare not even contemplate that.’

‘But didn’t you tell me that all the doors were locked?’

‘They are, Gervase. By the porter.’

‘Then how did someone get in to abduct them?’

‘How did someone get in to murder Brother Nicholas?’ said Hubert, shifting dangerously on the stool. ‘Abbot Serlo believes the crimes may be connected and I am bound to agree. That’s why I took to my heels to rouse you. I hope that you do not mind.’

‘Of course not, Canon Hubert. You did the right thing.’

‘I thought to speak first to the lord Ralph but I hesitated to knock at the door of a married man. It seemed improper. I could hardly be invited into his chamber as I have been here.’

‘Nevertheless, Ralph must be woken,’ said Gervase. ‘Have no fear. I’ll take the office upon me. Stay here and recover while I am about it.’

‘Do you think we are right?’

‘About what?’

‘A link between the murder and the abductions?’

‘There is only one way to find out. What I do know is that you’ve told me more than enough to get me out of bed. When he’s stopped cursing me for waking him, Ralph will say the same.

Hold fast.’

Still in his night attire, Gervase ran swiftly out on bare feet.

Abbot Serlo, Bishop Wulfstan and Brother Frewine stood in a line and stared balefully down at the ground like three ancient owls with only one mouse between them. They were outside the church, lost in thought, weighed down with a new grief, drawn together by suffering. Serlo’s pain was keenest. He was in loco parentis and one of his beloved children had been snatched away.

The Precentor felt numb. Owen was the last boy he would have wanted to lose and he feared that the novice’s trusting nature might have been his downfall. Older and wiser than either of them, the bishop tried to put fear aside so that he could think more clearly. Child abductions were not unique events in his long life. He did not dwell on how most usually ended.

The return of Canon Hubert brought all three of them out of their reveries. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had been given full details by their colleague but they wanted to hear them afresh.

After greetings had been exchanged, they let the abbot give his account. The evidence from Kenelm was what intrigued Ralph.

‘He followed Owen to the cemetery?’ he said.

‘So he told us, my lord,’ replied Serlo.

‘Whatever was the boy doing there?’

‘Only he would know that.’

‘Most lads of that age would not go near such a place in the dead of night. Especially on their own. Well, this Kenelm was too frightened to stay, it seems. I can understand that. Owen must be very brave.’

‘Hardly,’ said Frewine. ‘I have never met such a timid creature.’

‘Timid?’

‘Shy, modest and reticent.’

‘Yet he walks among the gravestones in the dark. An unusual boy, this Owen, clearly.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Hubert tells us that all the abbey doors are locked at night.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Serlo. ‘But the porter is always at the gate.’

‘Who holds the keys to the other doors?’

‘He does.’

‘Are there no duplicates?’

‘I have one to the rear entrance but rarely use it.’

‘Is it kept somewhere safe, Abbot Serlo?’

‘Extremely safe. It has never gone missing.’

‘And it is still where it should be?’

‘Yes, my lord. I checked.’

‘In that case, we are faced with only one conclusion. Someone had a means of getting into the abbey at night. He let himself in, seized the boy, then left by the same door.’

‘That, alas, is what we have decided.’

‘May I add another possibility?’ asked Gervase.

‘Please do,’ encouraged Wulfstan. ‘Your opinion is valued.

Canon Hubert has told us how much you have helped him with his investigation into the murder.’

Ralph choked. ‘ His investigation!’

‘What is this possibility, Gervase?’ asked Hubert, eager to move attention away from himself. ‘We do not see it.’

‘Suppose that the man we seek did not let himself into the abbey at all?’ suggested Gervase. ‘Because he was already inside it.’Serlo was affronted. ‘You accuse one of my monks?’

‘No, Abbot Serlo.’

‘The sheriff did. In plain terms.’

‘An outrageous allegation!’ said Wulfstan.

‘Let him finish,’ said Frewine quietly. ‘I do not think that Master Bret is pointing the finger at any of us. Are you?’

‘No, Brother Frewine. The person I suspect is an interloper. If you steal a tree,’ said Gervase, ‘the best place to hide it is in a forest. If you steal a cowl, the one place it will never be detected is in a monastery.’

‘We have a bogus monk in our midst!’ gasped Serlo.

‘Gervase may be on to something,’ said Ralph.

‘He would surely have been exposed,’ contended Frewine. ‘Each of us knows all the others.’

‘By day, perhaps,’ said Gervase, ‘which is why the interloper would not have mingled with you then. But if he let himself into the abbey just before the doors were locked, he could bide his time until an opportunity arose. An opportunity to kill Brother Nicholas, for instance. An opportunity to abduct Owen and, in all probability, the earlier boys who disappeared. It is mere supposition, of course,’ he continued, spreading his arms, ‘but I feel that it deserves consideration.’

‘Serious consideration,’ declared Hubert.

‘There, Gervase!’ said Ralph with light sarcasm. ‘You have the approval of the leader of the murder inquiry. Sheriff Hubert himself.’ The canon took an uncomfortable step backwards. ‘I agree with your reasoning about the disguise and will even accept that the man in question was inside the enclave before the doors were locked. But one thing is still unexplained. How did he get out of the abbey again?’

‘With a key.’

‘The only two in existence are accounted for.’

‘Then there must be a third.’

‘How was it obtained?’

‘A duplicate was taken from one of the others.’ He turned to Serlo. ‘Is there a locksmith in the city, Abbot Serlo?’

‘Two. We have employed both here in the past.’

‘Give us their names. We will need to speak to them.’

‘Both are entirely trustworthy.’

‘I’m sure that they are,’ said Ralph, ‘but how are they to know where a key comes from when a customer requests a duplicate?

A locksmith is acting in good faith. He is no accomplice here.’

‘I am sorry to disagree,’ said Frewine softly, ‘because Master Bret has been so plausible. But we are very particular about the security of this abbey. With such valuable items and holy relics to guard, we have to be. All the keys are kept on a single ring.

Day or night, it never leaves the hand of the porter who is on duty. How, then, could it have been copied by a locksmith?’

‘It was not,’ said Gervase. ‘Nobody would try to borrow a key from a bunch when a single one existed. The duplicate must have been made from the other key.’

‘But you heard Abbot Serlo tell you that it rarely leaves his lodging. And then it is only for personal use.’

All eyes turned to the abbot. A distant memory troubled him.

‘That is not strictly true, Brother Frewine.’

‘Others have borrowed the key?’ asked Ralph.

‘Once or twice.’

‘Recently?’

‘Oh no, my lord. Some time ago.’

‘When was the last time? A year ago?’

‘More like two.’

‘And who borrowed your key on that occasion?’

Abbot Serlo’s voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper.

‘I do believe it may have been Brother Nicholas.’