The Owls of Gloucester

Chapter Twelve

After leaving some of his men at the quayside to search all boats coming downriver, Ralph Delchard led the way back to the abbey at a steady trot. He and Gervase Bret believed that, in their eagerness to follow the trail of the kidnapper, they had overlooked some vital clues there.

‘I’d like to speak to those novices again,’ said Ralph as they rode through the crowded streets. ‘Kenelm and Elaf. I’m not sure that they told us everything they knew.’

‘No,’ agreed Gervase. ‘Kenelm in particular. I sensed that he might be holding something back. We need to get him on his own. When we questioned him before, we had Bishop Wulfstan and Brother Frewine there as well. It must have been very intimidating for him, facing the four of us like that. It drove him back into his shell.’

‘I’ll pull him out of it!’

‘He won’t be pulled, Ralph. He needs to be coaxed.’

‘Coaxing takes too much time.’

They arrived at the abbey, dismounted and tethered their horses. When they went through the gate, the first people they met were Bishop Wulfstan and Hamelin of Lisieux, talking seriously together. Seeing the newcomers, they broke off their conversation.

‘What news?’ asked Wulfstan, shuffling across to them.

‘We are making progress,’ said Ralph, ‘but it is slow, I fear.’

‘Canon Hubert told me you had found the locksmith who made the duplicate key. A clever deduction on your part but a devastating one for Abbot Serlo to accept.’

‘Yes,’ said Hamelin solemnly. ‘Bishop Wulfstan was just relating the sad story to me. A key to the abbey. They are lucky they have only lost a few novices. If someone was able to come in and out of here at will, they could have borne off the gold and silver plate, the holy vessels for the altar and the precious relics.’

Wulfstan was assertive. ‘I would trade them all for the safe return of those boys,’ he said, plucking at his lambskin cloak and dislodging some of its remaining fur. ‘You cannot put a price on human life. Other items can be replaced. The abduction of three young boys is a far more heinous crime. That is why the kidnapper must be run to ground.’

‘He will be, Bishop Wulfstan,’ said Ralph.

‘In time,’ added Gervase. ‘But we are glad to find you here, Bishop Wulfstan. Our fear is that Owen was taken by someone engaged in the slave trade. You have preached against that, I understand, and taken several measures to stamp it out.’

‘I have, Master Bret.’

‘It would help us to know what they are and to have some idea of how widespread the trade has been in this county.’

‘This is private talk,’ said Hamelin tactfully. ‘I wish you luck in your pursuit of this villain but will not intrude. You obviously have much to discuss with Bishop Wulfstan.’

Hamelin of Lisieux took his leave and slipped out through the front gate. Ralph and Gervase were surprised to find him at the abbey. When they met him at the shire hall, he did not strike them as a man of pious inclination. Wulfstan answered the question before they asked it.

‘The lord Hamelin is a devout man,’ he said gratefully, ‘albeit somewhat late in the day. He was waiting for me when I returned from the castle. He wishes to endow a new church in the Westbury Hundred and wanted to discuss the procedure with me.’

‘It sounds like a worthy enterprise,’ said Ralph huffily, ‘but I do think the lord Hamelin is being unduly hasty.’

‘Hasty, my lord?’

‘He is talking about building a church on land which has yet to be confirmed as his. The holdings in the Westbury Hundred are the subject of bitter dispute. Will his piety hold up if he is deprived of them?’

‘He assured me that there was no question of that because his claim will certainly be upheld by you.’

‘It remains to be seen,’ said Gervase. ‘At all events, it is heartening news for you, Bishop Wulfstan. The founding of a new church must always be an occasion of joy and it is to the lord Hamelin’s credit that he is donating some of his wealth in this way.’

‘Yes, Master Bret. He has acquired an unfortunate reputation in the past and is viewed by some as nothing short of a tyrant. I take him as I find him. A man with spiritual needs and philanthropic leanings.’

‘That was not my estimate of him,’ said Ralph.

‘Oh?’

‘When someone marries a woman like the lady Emma, spiritual needs obviously come second to more physical ones. But that is his business,’ he said dismissively. ‘Let us forget the lord Hamelin. Tell us about this trade in young boys, Bishop Wulfstan.

How long has it been going on and where is it seated?’

‘It has been going on far too long, my lord.’

‘Years?’

‘Several.’

‘I understand that Archbishop Lanfranc is fighting against it.’

‘He and I have exchanged many letters on the subject.’

‘Have there been many victims in your diocese?’

‘Alas, yes.’

‘Which part?’ asked Gervase.

‘All over.’

‘Mainly in Worcester?’

‘No, Master Bret. This county has suffered far more. Abbot Serlo and I have been gravely concerned. There seems to be no way of eradicating the evil completely.’ He sucked in air through his teeth. ‘We are convinced that the two boys who disappeared from the abbey in the past were abducted by someone involved in this abominable trade. And this latest victim, Owen, is now following them into a life of misery.’

When he first heard the sound he thought it must have been made by an animal. It began as a light tapping then faded away.

Owen’s mind turned back to his plight. He was defenceless.

When Brother Nicholas was alive, he had someone to protect and care for him. It was ironic that he had been seized when trying to pay his respects once more to his friend. The grave which had become a shrine to him had lured him to disaster. It was heart-rending. Owen sobbed quietly to himself until the noise stopped him.

It was much clearer this time, more insistent and rhythmical.

Fear clutched at him. Only an animal of some size could make a noise as loud as that. What if the creature made its way into his part of the mill? Owen would stand no chance against it. He would be a sacrificial victim. But the regularity of the sound argued against a wild animal. Time and again, something was banging hard against wood. When Owen realised what it must be, he had his first moment of relief since being taken from the abbey. He was not a lone victim. Somebody else was being held at the mill, aware of his presence and trying to attract his attention. Owen rolled on to the floor so that his back was to the wall. He jabbed his feet back hard by way of reply. There was a pause, followed by even more frenetic banging. Owen answered it with a series of grateful kicks.

A flicker of hope came. He had a friend.

Bishop Wulfstan’s account was a revelation. When he left them to call on the abbot, Ralph and Gervase were very glad that they had returned to the abbey. They now had a much clearer idea of what they were up against and how much money was involved in the trade. Gervase had listened to the bishop’s impassioned speech with special interest. He took out the list which had been compiled for him earlier by Abbot Serlo. Running his eye down it, he came to an immediate conclusion.

‘That’s how it was done, Ralph!’ he declared.

‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s how the victims were selected. I thought that the names were familiar when Bishop Wulfstan first mentioned them. You see?’ he said, thrusting the scroll at Ralph. ‘This is the list of the abbey holdings which Brother Nicholas used to visit. Over the last couple of years, most of those who were abducted came from one of these places. Brother Nicholas was the scout for the slave traders. He not only provided them with an occasional novice from the abbey. In the course of his travels, he would be able to spot other likely targets.’

‘But some of the victims didn’t come from abbey properties at all.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Gervase, ‘but I’ll wager they lived on land that the rent collector passed through while discharging his duties.

He was in the perfect position, Ralph.’

‘Alone and unsupervised.’

‘Completely trusted because he was a monk.’

‘Though not always liked.’

‘He could be affable when he wanted to be,’ recalled Gervase.

‘Think of Caradoc whom we met in one of the abbey’s outliers.

He and his wife thought Nicholas a jolly fellow. So did his four sons.’

‘Yet that other sub-tenant, Osgot, had nothing but scorn for the rent collector. And we know why. Osgot feared for his son.’

‘He didn’t fear that the boy would be abducted, Ralph, because he could not have suspected for a moment that a monk would be involved in the slave trade. What he feared was that Brother Nicholas would befriend the lad and lead him astray in other ways.’

‘Who can blame him?’

‘As for Caradoc, I think we can guess why his sons were not at risk. If they were built like their father, they would be strong and lusty, too likely to resist an attempt to snatch them. Bishop Wulfstan pointed out how young the victims always were,’ said Gervase, taking the list back from him. ‘Young and unable to defend themselves. Like Owen.’

‘Quite so, Gervase. And their youth would increase their value.’

‘Value?’

‘When they were sold,’ explained Ralph. ‘The younger the victim, the longer the service a new master would get out of him. I think you have hit the mark, Gervase. The rent collector was the hub of the wheel. He told his accomplice when and where to strike.’

‘Carefully choosing his victims from a widespread area so that no link would be made between them.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And making sure that not all came from abbey lands for fear that a pattern would be detected.’ He held up the list. ‘But there is pattern enough here. Or, indeed, in this abbey itself. Note how he spaced his victims out over a period of time, Ralph.’

‘Yes. First, it was Siward. Then almost a year elapsed before the second boy was taken.’

‘And a further year before Owen.’

‘Brother Nicholas was as cautious as he was cunning.’

‘So why was he murdered?’

‘He must have fallen out with his accomplice.’

‘Yet he was the provider, Ralph. Why kill a man who is such a vital part of your trade? The next rent collector will not be as corrupt and unscrupulous. The accomplice will have to look elsewhere for help.’

‘Perhaps he did not need Brother Nicholas any more,’ said Ralph thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it was time to look further afield for victims, on land that had no connection with the abbey and which Nicholas had no cause to visit. In short, he’d outlived his usefulness.’

‘I wonder.’

‘The rent collector was murdered and some of the money he’d earned was stolen from the hiding place in the bell tower.

Unknown to the killer, Nicholas had a second horde in his cell.’

They speculated for some time before coming to agreement.

Gervase was just putting the list away again when an animated figure came bursting through the abbey gate. Abraham the Priest was in a hurry. He gave a sigh of relief when he saw them.

‘Thank heaven I found you!’

‘What is the trouble?’ asked Gervase.

‘They have gone.’

‘Who have?’

‘I took your advice, Master Bret, and sought to prevent the attempt on the King’s life. But the person I needed to see is no longer in the place where he was hiding.’

‘What’s this?’ said Ralph, angering. ‘Have you been riding off to see your confederates?’

‘Friends, my lord. Not confederates.’

‘They are one and the same.’

‘It was at my suggestion,’ explained Gervase. ‘But the archdeacon was too late. We cannot blame him for that.’

‘I rode back as fast as I could to warn you,’ said Abraham. ‘It means that the attempt will go ahead. Have you warned the King?’

‘Yes,’ said Ralph sharply, ‘and if he knew where the information came from, he’d have you hanging from the nearest tree. You gave enough information for a warning but none whatsoever for an arrest.’

‘I hoped to avert this crime by myself.’

‘And failed.’

‘Yes, my lord. I own it willingly.’

Abraham was contrite but Ralph continued to abuse him until Gervase came to the man’s rescue, pointing out that security at the castle was now so tight that fears of a successful assassination attempt could be discounted. Owen’s real predicament, he argued, was far more important than the rumoured danger to the King. The others quickly came to the same view. Gervase explained to the archdeacon what they had learned from Bishop Wulfstan. When he heard about Brother Nicholas’s role as the supplier of victims, the Welshman searched avidly through his own memory of abductions.

At long last, the name of a possible suspect emerged.

‘Strang the Dane!’ he murmured.

Ralph was taken aback. ‘Strang?’

‘I have had my suspicions for some time, my lord, but lacked the proof I needed. He is the man we want, I am certain of it.’

‘But he is wealthy enough without getting involved in this vile business. What could be the attraction to someone in his position?’

‘Rich men always want more and this trade is very lucrative.

Look at his circumstances,’ reasoned Abraham. ‘He has holdings scattered all over the county and in the Welsh commotes so he has a legitimate excuse to travel around. The iron mines in the Forest of Dean provide him with ore which he ships downriver so he has regular sailings to Bristol. But I believe he carries an additional cargo.’

‘I am not persuaded,’ said Ralph.

‘One moment,’ recalled Gervase. ‘Think back to their appearance in the shire hall, Ralph. When they first heard that the archdeacon was to challenge their claim to land in the Westbury Hundred, both of them were discomfited. Strang was irate and Balki was plainly worried.’ He turned to Abraham. ‘Were they aware of your suspicions?’

‘They were certainly aware of my campaign against the slave trade. I spoke freely and openly on the subject. Strang would have known that I was on the alert.’

‘Another factor comes in here. Strang is desperate to regain land which would give him direct access to the river. I thought he wanted to defray the cost of transporting his ore overland but his eagerness may be the result of a secondary motive. The river is his best way of moving any kidnap victims. Who can stop a boat when it is surging along in the middle of the Severn?’ Gervase pieced it together in his mind. ‘The most obvious clue passed us by. Strang the Dane. Who else would trade with the Irish Vikings but one who spoke their language? You have given us the name we needed, Archdeacon. Strang must be apprehended.’

‘But he has already sailed from Gloucester,’ said Ralph.

Abraham started. ‘Sailed? Today?’

‘Yes, we saw him off from the quayside ourselves.’

‘But he may have had the boy aboard his boat, my lord.’

‘No, he didn’t. Gervase searched it thoroughly.’

‘Balki helped me,’ confirmed Gervase. ‘Before they set sail.’

‘Balki?’ The archdeacon was puzzled. ‘He is the estate reeve, is he not? Why should Balki be sailing a boat when he should be looking after his master’s holdings? Strang surely employs sailors to take his vessel up and down the river.’

Ralph was impressed. ‘That is sound reasoning, Archdeacon.

We were blind not to see what was in front of our eyes. Not only was Balki hoisting the sail, Strang himself was at the tiller.’

‘A man in his position doing such a menial task?’

‘Ordinarily, he would not,’ decided Gervase, ‘but this time he will be carrying more than iron ore so he cannot entrust the cargo to anyone else. He has to supervise the transaction in Bristol himself. That is why he was so furious at the delay in our proceedings, Ralph. He was anxious to get Owen aboard a ship to Ireland and on his way to slavery.’

‘But you searched his boat,’ said Ralph. ‘Owen was not there.’

‘Not when it left Gloucester.’

‘They mean to pick him up on the way,’ said Abraham.

‘Where?’

‘There is only one way to find out, my lord.’

It was a strange way to make conversation but it brought Owen a mild sense of pleasure. When he kicked the wall, he heard a response from the other side of the mill. If someone was thumping the wall, it was likely that they, too, were bound and gagged and unable to communicate in any other way. Both were imprisoned in the abandoned mill but a shared fate was somehow easier to bear. Although his legs were aching, Owen kept up steady contact with his unseen friend. It stopped him from dwelling too much on what horrors might lie ahead.

Another sound intruded and it caused him to break off at once.

Owen tried to sit up so that he could listen more carefully. His fellow prisoner had also heard the noise because he, too, had stopped banging the wall. Too weak and tired to be able to get himself upright again, Owen abandoned the attempt and lay there on the rotting floor. The sounds grew louder until he was able to identify them. Someone was coming. A boat thudded into the bank outside. Voices could be heard. Owen’s hopes rose. His ordeal was over. Rescue was at hand.

Then the two men came into the mill. The older of the two, a thickset individual with a grey beard, ordered his companion to carry the boy aboard then went swiftly out. Owen squirmed and kicked as much as he could but his resistance was futile. The spare man with the straggly red beard cuffed him into obedience, lifted him bodily and flung him over his shoulder. Owen was taken out to the waiting boat and carried aboard before being lowered roughly to the deck. A second boy emerged from another part of the mill, trussed up like Owen and slung over the shoulder of the other man. He, too, was dumped aboard. The two victims lay side by side, unable to move. The man with the straggly red beard pulled a tarpaulin over them so that they could no longer see.

Fresh sounds penetrated the sudden darkness. They were muffled by the tarpaulin but were soon easy to identify. Horses were coming at a gallop. The thickset man was yelling and his companion was making frantic efforts to cast off and set sail.

The two boys were bewildered.

Ralph Delchard’s horse was galloping hell-for-leather along the bank with Gervase Bret and Abraham the Priest close behind.

Four of Ralph’s men formed an escort, their swords already out, their blood up at the promise of action. They had spotted the boat from two miles away. When its sail was seen turning into the tributary where the mill was located, they knew that they had their only chance to catch it. Once in midstream, it would be beyond their reach.

Strang the Dane was bellowing orders, but they only helped to confuse Balki, who was still struggling with the mooring rope when the horses thundered up. For once Ralph overcame his fear of water. As the boat pulled away from the bank, he leaped down from his horse and flung himself headfirst after the vessel, catching the bulwark and hauling himself aboard. Balki grabbed an oar to try to push him away but he was no match for Ralph.

Tearing the oar from the man’s hands, Ralph flung it overboard then hurled Balki after it into the water. Gervase did not hesitate.

Ralph’s men would fight shy of the river in their heavy hauberks, but he was not handicapped by armour. Diving into the water, he swam towards the steward and grappled with him.

Ralph, meanwhile, confronted a more formidable opponent.

Strang the Dane had a dagger in his hand and was circling him menacingly.

‘The game is up,’ said Ralph, one eye on the blade. ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of Brother Nicholas and the abduction of several boys. Put up your weapon. You have no chance.’

‘Nor do you, my lord,’ said Strang, advancing slowly.

Ralph backed away. The advantage lay with Strang. In the seconds it would take Ralph to pull his sword from its scabbard, his adversary’s dagger would be thrust into him. The boat was now drifting helplessly towards the other bank, too far away for his men to reach it without risking the deep water. Ralph decided that his wisest response was to keep both hands free in the hope of catching Strang’s wrist when the weapon flashed. Even then, he knew that his chances were slim.

Two things came to his aid. Hearing the sounds of the rescue attempt, Owen began to buck and twitch violently under the tarpaulin in order to attract attention. Strang was momentarily diverted. At exactly the same time, the prow of the boat thudded into the bank and caused both men to stumble forward. Ralph was the first to recover, throwing himself at Strang and seizing the hand which held the dagger. There was a violent struggle and both fell to the deck, rolling over, kicking and punching, using all their strength to subdue the other. Strang was a powerful man but Ralph was fired with anger and revulsion. It put extra strength into his arms and enabled him to twist the dagger free.

Pummelling his face, he beat Strang into submission then rose to his feet. Ralph drew his sword and held it at the Dane’s throat but there was no further resistance. The man was exhausted.

His face was covered in blood and his hand had been gashed when Ralph snatched away his weapon. Ralph looked across at the tarpaulin, still moving as if by its own volition. He used the point of his sword to flip it back from its cargo. Owen and the other boy blinked as they saw daylight again.

Ralph grinned warmly. ‘You’re safe now, lads.’

Threshing sounds took his attention back to the river. Gervase had overpowered Balki but was having difficulty dragging him ashore. Help was at hand. Divesting himself of his Benedictine habit, Abraham the Priest jumped naked into the water and swam strongly across to lend his help. Gervase was grateful and Ralph hugely amused.

‘Delivering babies,’ he called, ‘and saving two drowning men.

Is there anything you can’t do, Archdeacon?’

Suddenly Ralph became aware that he was aboard a boat which was starting to drift into midstream again. His fear of the water returned at once. ‘What do I do now?’ he roared. ‘Help!’

Hamelin of Lisieux was talking to his wife when the visitor arrived.

They were staying not far from Gloucester in the manor house of a friend. Nigel the Reeve knew exactly where to find them. After a token exchange of civilities, he broke the news about the arrest and imprisonment of Strang the Dane. The lady Emma was horrified to learn that the man had been involved in the slave trade, but her husband immediately saw how it advantaged him.

‘This will speed things up at the shire hall,’ he said cheerily.

‘To be honest, Strang was the only person who might have ousted me from those holdings. I did, after all, take them from him in the first place.’

Nigel curled a lip. ‘He will have no need of land now.’

‘I will spare him enough for a burial plot.’

‘Does this mean that the commissioners will resume their work?’ asked the lady Emma. ‘Has any time been set?’

‘Yes, my lady,’ said Nigel. ‘Tomorrow morning. Soon after Prime.’

‘We will be there.’

‘Both of us,’ added Hamelin. ‘Unless there is a further delay.

No chance, I suppose, of Ralph Delchard being invited to the castle to take part in the King’s council?’

‘None, my lord.’

‘Good.’

‘From what I hear, their business is all but complete.’

‘That was the impression I got from Bishop Wulfstan when I spoke to him at the abbey. They are to confer again this evening then the King will away at dawn. A pity. I would have valued time with him myself. Well, thank you, Nigel,’ he said, indicating that the conversation was over. ‘It was good of you to bring the tidings, especially as they make my claim to that land irresistible now.

Be off about your business. I am sure that you have to inform Querengar and Abraham the Priest of the new developments.’

‘Only the Breton, my lord.’

‘Oh?’

‘The archdeacon was involved in the rescue of the boys.’

‘Something good has come out of Wales at last!’ sneered Hamelin. ‘That leaves Querengar. Is it really worth his while to turn up at the shire hall tomorrow? Advise him to ride home, Nigel. He will be spared a deal of humiliation that way.’

After bidding them farewell, the reeve withdrew. Hamelin looked across at his wife. ‘If he were not so useful to me, I could enjoy hating that man. He is an objectionable fellow.’

‘That’s too kind a judgement.’

‘Yet he brought excellent news, I’ll grant him that. It seems that our visit to Gloucester has been very worthwhile.’

She smiled gently. ‘So far.’

Abbot Serlo was glowing with pleasure and throbbing with gratitude. He looked around the assembled faces and spoke with deep feeling.

‘This is one of the most satisfying days of my life,’ he said. ‘A murder has been solved, a novice has been rescued from slavery and a second kidnap victim has been restored to his parents.’ He beamed at Ralph Delchard. ‘It is all thanks to you and Master Bret.’

‘And the Archdeacon of Gwent,’ noted Gervase. ‘He not only dived into the river to help me, he swam after the boat and clambered abroad to steer it back to the shore. Abraham the Priest is a born sailor.’

Canon Hubert snorted. ‘And all this when he was stark naked?

Hardly fit behaviour for a monk. I suppose that we may be glad that he did not feel obliged to deliver another baby at the same time.’

‘A baby, Canon Hubert?’ queried the abbot.

‘A private jest, Abbot Serlo.’

‘We are sorry that you were not there with us, Hubert,’ teased Ralph. ‘Our efforts really needed the controlling hand of the leader of the murder investigation.’

There were five visitors in the abbot’s lodging. Ralph, Gervase and Hubert had been joined by Bishop Wulfstan and Brother Frewine. The two older men heaped their own congratulations on the commissioners.

‘No mercy will be shown to them,’ promised Wulfstan. ‘Strang the Dane and his henchman will be tried, convicted and hanged.

A lot of parents will sleep more soundly after this day’s work.’

‘So will the monks of this abbey,’ said Frewine softly. ‘With your permission, Father Abbot, I would like to put a question of my own to these three heroes.’ Hubert basked in his inclusion.

‘We now know that it was Strang who was seen arguing with Brother Nicholas and that he killed our holy brother. But why?

The motive is unclear.’

‘It was to us,’ admitted Gervase. ‘At first.’

‘But I got the truth out of him,’ boasted Ralph. ‘It is amazing how willing some people are to talk when they have a swordpoint at their throat. Strang was furious with Brother Nicholas. He had waited patiently until it was safe to abduct another novice from the abbey, knowing that your rent collector would have won the confidence of his next victim. But Nicholas betrayed him.

Having befriended Owen for the purpose of selling him to Strang, he grew to like the boy too much and Owen, in turn, became fond of him. They were like father and son, meeting in secret at night in the bell tower just to be together. When Strang tried to force Nicholas to hand the boy over, he refused. He could not bear to part with a child he had come to love.’

‘He had some glimmer of humanity, then,’ observed Wulfstan.

‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘Owen adored him. He would not hear a word against his friend. Brother Nicholas, apparently, gave him a coin as a memento. It was the most precious thing Owen possessed. He told us that he buried it in the grave.’

Abbot Serlo was troubled. ‘That is a commendable gesture but it concerns me that a novice should believe that money is more precious than serving God in all humility. Owen has much to learn.’

‘Adversity has already been a strict teacher,’ said Frewine. ‘But do continue, my lord,’ he invited, turning to Ralph again. ‘I do not believe that you finished what you were saying.’

‘Gervase has told you the bulk of it, Brother Frewine,’ said Ralph. ‘And let me confess to you all that I misjudged your rent collector. When I heard the rumours about him, I thought his interest in young boys had an unnatural side to it. Which it did, in a sense, because what is more unnatural than selling them into slavery? But he had no designs on their innocence, Owen assured us of that. They just sat together and talked. Nothing more occurred. The closeness of their friendship may have annoyed Strang but it also gave him his opportunity.’

‘In what way?’ said Hubert.

‘He knew that Owen would want to mourn Brother Nicholas.

The only way that he could do that alone was to visit the grave or the church at night. Strang rightly guessed that the boy might be on the loose and he lay in ambush.’ He touched the bruise on his chin. ‘Strang is a powerful man, I can vouch for that. Owen had no chance against him.’

‘This has all ended most satisfactorily,’ said Abbot Serlo. ‘I am so grateful that Canon Hubert took an interest in this whole business.’

‘My colleagues are the real heroes,’ said Hubert with false modesty. ‘But I like to feel that I set everything in train. What pleases me is that my earlier judgement was proved sound.’

‘What earlier judgement?’

‘The same one you made yourself, Abbot Serlo. That the killer could not possibly have been a Benedictine monk?’

‘Yet he was,’ said Ralph. ‘When he committed murder and abducted a novice, Strang the Dane was wearing a cowl. To all intents and purposes, he was one of you.’

A loud chorus of protest came from Serlo, Wulfstan, Hubert and Frewine. It was left to Gervase to provide the balm to their injured pride.

‘Cuchullus non facit monachum,’ he said.

The quartet smiled instantly and clapped in approval.

‘What does it mean, Gervase?’ asked Ralph.

‘The hood does not make a monk.’

When he was summoned that evening by the Master of the Novices, Kenelm walked towards Brother Paul’s lodging on unsteady feet. He was certain that a long overdue punishment would now be administered. It was not only because he had twice ventured out of the dormitory at night that he feared reprisal.

What terrified him most was the thought that the strong-armed Brother Paul had caught wind of his earlier vow to flee from the abbey. Kenelm had changed his mind about that but he doubted if the master would give him time to explain. The mere suggestion of him absconding would be enough to stir his ire. As he knocked on Brother Paul’s door, Kenelm could almost hear the swish of the birch rod. Sweat ran freely down his back like so much blood.

The door opened and the bushy eyebrows lifted with pleasure.

‘Kenelm!’ greeted Brother Paul. ‘Come on in!’

He stood back to reveal another visitor. Seated in a corner was the waif-like figure of Owen, released from his torment and restored once more to the abbey. Kenelm was so pleased to see him again that he burst into tears. Brother Paul eased him forward.

‘Why not give him a proper welcome?’ he suggested.

Kenelm darted forward as Owen rose to his feet. They embraced warmly and held each other for a long time. Kenelm was thrilled to see him back in the safety of the cloister but it was Owen who had the greater delight. In that involuntary hug, a whole list of past slights was forgotten and forgiven. Kenelm liked him now.

Owen had a new friend.

It was a splendid feast with an appropriate air of celebration this time. His business in Gloucester concluded, King William was able to relax, and he presided happily over the banquet in the hall at the castle. They were all there: Durand the Sheriff, the nominal host, sat beside the King, with his wife on the other side of their guest. The other three members of the council were in attendance, Bishop Wulfstan among them, at last persuaded, to the advantage of all within reach of him, to remove his malodorous cloak while he was at table. Ralph, Gervase and Golde sat together. Canon Hubert had accepted the invitation to join them, as had Abbot Serlo, but Brother Simon had not dared to quit the abbey. Hubert felt his decision wise. Among the other guests were Hamelin of Lisieux and his wife. Unable to take his own eyes from the lady Emma, Hubert kept telling himself how much the scribe would be suffering if he were there.

Though the King was the guest of honour, he graciously directed attention to the commissioners, praising them for their good offices in solving two crimes and liberating the abbey from the grip of fear. Serlo was pleased with all he heard, but Hubert was peeved that his name was not mentioned and Durand was positively writhing with suppressed fury at the way Ralph and Gervase were garlanded for succeeding in duties that rightly fell to him. The sheriff’s fury was increased when he saw that Nigel the Reeve was enjoying his discomfiture so openly.

When the festivities finally ended, the guests slowly began to depart. King William came across to put a congratulatory arm around Ralph’s shoulders. He gave a chuckle.

‘I should take some credit myself,’ he observed.

‘Credit, my liege?’

‘Yes,’ said William. ‘Who was it who sent you to Gloucester in its hour of need? You came at exactly the right time, Ralph.’

‘But not to get embroiled in murder and abduction. We came here as commissioners, my liege. As it happens,’ he said, seizing a unique opportunity, ‘your own arrival here could not have been more timely. Tomorrow morning we sit in judgement on two men who have royal charters to what appears to be the same holdings.’

‘That will test your mettle.’

‘I was hoping you could save us an immense amount of trouble, my liege. All that you need do is glance at the two charters and tell us which one takes precedence.’

‘And rob you of the pleasure of working it out for yourselves?’

William’s chuckle was even riper this time. ‘I am sorry, Ralph. By the time you sit in the shire hall, I will be riding back to Winchester. A momentous decision was made in this hall earlier on. It needs to be implemented with all celerity.’ He walked away.

‘Farewell, my friend. Sleep well, for tomorrow you’ll be put through your paces.’

Before Ralph could detain him, the King was gone to speak to Bishop Wulfstan, before quitting the room with the sheriff, who escorted him to his apartment. As he watched them leave, Ralph remembered the warning from Abraham the Priest. There was no reason to doubt its sincerity. In view of the immense help given to them by the archdeacon, he no longer suspected him of complicity in the plot, and Ralph knew that he would be lurking outside the castle that night in the hope of intercepting the impetuous Welshman he feared might be trying to get in. Ideally, the assassin would be turned away.

Ralph’s attention shifted to the lady Emma. She was looking more beautiful than ever and he was pleased to see that she and her husband were spending the night at the castle, raising the possibility that they might meet again over breakfast. He was still drooling over the prospect when Golde came up to nudge him out of his reverie. Smiling at his sudden display of interest in her, she linked arms with him and led him out. In the privacy of their bed, he would forget all about the lady Emma. Golde was content. On their way up the stairs, they met Durand. The sheriff was dark-eyed and tight-lipped. Ralph could not resist enraging him even further.

‘All your assumptions about the murder were wrong, my lord sheriff,’ he said cheerily. ‘If you had not misled us so at the start, we’d have solved the crime for you in half the time.’

‘It is solved, my lord. That is the main thing.’

‘By two commissioners and a naked archdeacon.’

‘I would have effected the same arrests in due course.’

‘But you were preoccupied here with affairs of state.’

‘Good night, my lord.’ A cold smile for Golde. ‘My lady.’

‘Good night,’ she replied. ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’

‘You are most welcome.’

‘And the King?’ asked Ralph. ‘Is he well guarded?’

‘Of course,’ said Durand testily. ‘I have seen to that. Go back to your own work, my lord. This is my castle and I am responsible for everything which happens under its roof. You will not take my office on again. I resent it. I deplore it. I forbid it!’

Abraham the Priest kept up his lonely vigil well into the night.

Even when those leaving the castle had finally departed, he remained at his post, close enough to keep the castle under surveillance while keeping out of sight of the sentries who patrolled the ramparts with flaming torches. It was a warm night but low cloud was blocking out the moon. That fact alone, he feared, might tempt Madog to fulfil his threat. The archdeacon strained his eyes to penetrate the gloom but it was his ears which alerted him. There was a padding sound far off to the right, as if someone were keeping to the shadows and heading towards the castle walls. He moved stealthily forward until he caught sight of the man.

A hunched figure was conjured out of the darkness. Abraham did not hesitate. Scurrying up behind him, he threw a restraining arm around his neck and clapped his other hand over his mouth to prevent a yelp which would have alerted the guards. He dragged the assassin away.

The hoot of an owl brought him awake. Ralph was suddenly alarmed. He got out of bed at once and reached for his dagger, sensing that something was amiss without quite knowing why.

Golde was fast asleep. He unbolted the door and let himself out.

The steps felt cold beneath his bare feet but he did not dare to make a sound. It was dark at the top of the staircase but candles burned close to the apartment at the bottom where King William slept. Outside the room, he knew, would be an armed guard who was relieved at regular intervals by a deputy. Ralph crept on until he saw the first flickers of light reflected on the walls. He relaxed.

All was well. The candles burned, the guard was in place, the King was in no danger. His alarm was groundless.

Then the fingers of flame disappeared from the wall with dramatic suddenness. Someone had extinguished the candles.

Gripping his dagger more tightly, he went on down the stairs with a mixture of urgency and apprehension. When he reached the bottom, he almost tripped over something and realised that it was the guard. More than the candle had been snuffed out. As he knelt beside the man, he could feel the blood gushing from the slit throat. Ralph needed no more prompting. The assassination attempt was taking place after all. He flung open the door and charged into the room.

A single candle burned beside the bed but it contained no King of England. A sack of something had been placed beneath the blanket to give the impression that the bed was occupied. The man who had stabbed so viciously at the sleeping King now stood back in amazement and stared down at the empty bed. Ralph was on him in an instant, knocking him flat with the impetus of his attack, then trying to disarm him. But the assassin was a more wily opponent than Strang the Dane. He recovered at once to jab at his adversary and inflicted a flesh wound in Ralph’s arm. Dropping his dagger, Ralph jumped up and used his foot to deliver a kick to the other’s face. A loud grunt showed that his aim was accurate. Ignoring the trickle of blood from his arm, Ralph leaned over to blow out the candle and plunge the room into darkness.

They were on more even terms now. The assassin was armed but Ralph was elusive, darting around him as he rose from the floor and waiting for the moment to attack. It soon arrived. Alerted by the sounds of the struggle, guards came running. A blaze of light appeared in the doorway. It illumined a tall figure in a black cowl. Caught between the desire to kill Ralph and the need to escape, the man hesitated for a fatal second. Ralph was on him, seizing his wrist and bowling him to the ground before punching him with his other hand. Bright light bathed them and a dozen swords brought their struggle to an end.

‘Stop!’ yelled a peremptory voice. ‘Stand back, Ralph!’

Reluctant to get up, Ralph obeyed the King, wondering how he had just come through the door of the apartment in which he was supposed to be sleeping. But his main interest was in the identity of the man he had fought. Seeing the hopelessness of his position, the latter had dropped his dagger and was cowering on the floor. Ralph reached down to throw back his hood, expecting to see the face of a Welsh assassin.

But it was Hamelin of Lisieux who glowered up at him.

‘I am glad that I decided to quit this chamber,’ said the King.

‘He would have been a murderous bedfellow. Take him away!’

Hamelin was dragged out quickly by the guards, Ralph still trying to overcome his amazement. King William gave a weary smile.

‘Once again, I am in your debt, Ralph. You warned us that there would be an attempt on my life. I took the best precaution I could and moved from the bed he would expect me to be in.’

‘I never suspected Hamelin of Lisieux,’ admitted Ralph.

‘That is because you do not know his wife as well as I do.’

‘The lady Emma?’

‘A beautiful but ambitious lady.’

‘Is she involved in this plot?’

‘My guess is that she probably instigated it,’ said William. ‘That is why I did not allow her husband at the council table. Do you know what we discussed here in Gloucester?’

‘No, my liege.’

‘The invasion of the Vexin.’

‘I begin to see the connection.’

‘Guess from which part of France the lady Emma hails?’

‘The Vexin.’

‘Correct.’ He saw the blood on Ralph’s arm. ‘But you are injured.

The wound must be bathed and dressed.’

‘It is nothing, my liege,’ he said, stemming the flow with the palm of his other hand. ‘Tell me more about the lord Hamelin.’

‘There is little more to tell beyond the fact that I have doubted his loyalty for some time. It was given out that he spent much time in Normandy but my intelligencers say that he crossed into the Vexin with his wife.’ He glanced at the bed. ‘Now we know why. And to come in the guise of a monk shows his cunning.

The guard outside the door would not have had suspicion of him until it was too late. Hamelin of Lisieux was a treacherous monk.’

‘Cuchullus non facit monachum.’ said Ralph with a smile.

‘I did not take you for a Latin scholar.’

‘I have many talents. But what will happen to his wife?’

‘She will be executed alongside him. Would you like to have the pleasure of seeing the lady arrested in her chamber?’

‘It is a temptation I will resist,’ said Ralph. ‘A more beautiful woman awaits me in my own apartment. More beautiful and more loyal to her King. Besides,’ he added, holding up his arm, ‘with a wound like this to display, I can be assured of unlimited sympathy.’

Other guards now waited for orders at the door. Before Ralph could ease past them, the King stopped him with a final question.

‘Who did you think the assassin would be?’ he asked.

‘Someone else.’

Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were the first to arrive at the shire hall the following morning. Unaware of nocturnal events at the castle, Hubert had reached the conclusion that Hamelin of Lisieux had a legal right to the holdings which he had seized from Strang the Dane. He was aghast, therefore, when Ralph Delchard walked in with his arm in a sling and told him of the bungled assassination. Simon was almost as horrified at the injuries to his colleague as he was at the notion of an attempt on the King’s life. Ralph was touched by his concern.

‘It does simplify matters,’ Gervase pointed out.

‘Does it?’ said Hubert.

‘Yes. Strang the Dane has been removed from the race and the lord Hamelin has also fallen. The choice now rests between a Breton and a Welshman. Which would you choose?’

‘Neither, if I am honest.’

‘No decision is required of you, Hubert,’ said Ralph. ‘It has already been made by a higher authority.’

‘God?’

‘Not that high.’

‘King William,’ explained Gervase. ‘He was so grateful to Ralph for his brave intervention that he deigned to settle this dispute for us. He confirmed the charter to Querengar. The holdings go to the Breton.’

‘Summary justice,’ observed Hubert. ‘Will the King resolve all our disputes like that? He will save us a great deal of time if he does.’

‘He rode out of Gloucester at dawn,’ said Ralph. ‘Let us put the two surviving claimants out of their misery, shall we? Then we may move swiftly on to the other disputes before shaking the dust of this fair city from our shoes. When I looked into the jaundiced eye of the sheriff this morning, I had a feeling that we’d already outstayed our welcome.’

Querengar the Breton and Abraham the Priest were brought in to hear the verdict. Both sat in dignified silence, showing no emotion when Ralph awarded the holdings to Querengar. The Welshman congratulated him without rancour. When the two men left, Ralph followed them out so that he could have a parting word with Abraham.

‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Archdeacon,’ he began.

‘It was a fair judgement.’

‘You will not revile us because of it?’

‘I have too much respect for you and Master Bret to do that.

You helped to capture men who have been terrorising the Welsh commotes with their abductions. That reward alone was well worth the ride from Gwent. The news will be received joyfully when I announce it.’

‘Good. But what happened to your assassin?’

‘Ah,’ said the other. ‘You may well ask.’

‘Did he not even make it over the castle wall?’

‘He did not even arrive, my lord,’ confided Abraham. ‘I mounted guard myself until I saw someone sneak up in the dark. Thinking it might be the man I feared, I jumped on him.’

‘You are an aggressive man when you are roused, Archdeacon.’

‘Too aggressive for Tomos.’

‘Tomos?’

‘My companion. He fainted with fright. Since I had been out of Gloucester for most of the day, he had come in search of me. I only wish I had spoken to him before because he could have saved me from my sentry duty.’

‘How?’

‘While I was away, he received word from our friends that the plot had been abandoned. Wiser counsels had prevailed.’

‘Your disapproval forced them to reconsider.’

‘Partly that, my lord, but the consequences weighed most heavily with them, I suspect. In the excitement of the moment, they felt that they would be striking a blow for Wales by assassinating King William. They would be national heroes, lifting the foreign yoke from their native land.’

‘A complete illusion.’

‘I think they came to realise that. Had the plan been successful, it would not have liberated Wales at all, only subjected it to worse barbarities. One king would be dead but a more vengeful one would take his place.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I am glad that my friends recognised that.’

‘So am I, Archdeacon.’

‘It means that they went of their own volition and not because I betrayed them to you. I can ride home with a clear conscience.’

He looked deep into Ralph’s eye. ‘Thank you for all you have done, my lord.’

‘My thanks are due to you,’ said Ralph earnestly. ‘And not only because you rescued me from that boat. You acquitted yourself nobly in the shire hall.’ His face split into a broad grin. ‘This is a wondrous event. I am, for once, actually sorry to see a Welshman going home.’

‘I will give your regards to Archdeacon Idwal!’ teased the other.

Ralph’s grin vanished. His anger flared.

‘Goodbye!’ he yelled. ‘Ride hard!’