The Owls of Gloucester

Chapter Six

‘Did you explain this to the first commissioners who visited the county?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Why not?’

‘I was unfit to travel,’ said Querengar, indicating his wounded leg. ‘The accident happened only days before your predecessors arrived. I sent my reeve to the shire hall to represent me.’

‘Unsuccessfully.’

‘Alas, yes.’

‘Did you berate him?’ asked Ralph, remembering that Hamelin of Lisieux had seen fit to dismiss his own reeve for his inability to win ratification from the earlier commissioners. ‘Is he still in your employ?’

‘Of course.’

‘You bear him no ill will?’

‘Why should I? He did his best.’

‘Yet he failed.’

‘Not entirely,’ said the Breton. ‘My reeve must have made some impression or I would not be given this second chance to attest my claim. The fate of those hides in the Westbury Hundred remains in the balance.’

‘True.’

‘Until I persuade you who has the moral right to them.’

‘The moral right?’ echoed Canon Hubert.

‘Moral and legal,’ said Querengar, ‘though I’m sure that you will agree with me, Canon Hubert, that all law should have a moral basis.’

‘Quite so.’

‘I knew that you would appreciate that.’

He gave a little nod of gratitude. Querengar the Breton was an enigma. Unlike the two claimants already questioned, he said nothing to the detriment of his rivals. Where the testy Strang had fulminated and the urbane Hamelin had airily dismissed, Querengar made no mention of the others, preferring simply to state his own case to the commissioners and to rely on their estimation of its worth. He was a curiously modest man, one of the many Breton mercenaries who had fought at Hastings and been repaid with grants of land in England and, in his instance, in Wales. Yet there was nothing boastful or belligerent about him. He spoke with quiet authority.

Ralph Delchard looked down at the bandaged leg.

‘How serious was your wound?’ he asked.

‘Very serious, my lord. I all but lost my leg.’

‘Where did you come by it?’

‘A hunting accident.’

‘Were you hunting your lost hides, by any chance?’

‘No,’ said Querengar. ‘Wild boar. I have limited hunting privileges in the forest and try to make the most of them. My horse was startled by something and threw me. I fell awkwardly.’

‘You are not the only person to appear before us with a wound.

Strang the Dane stripped his sleeve to show us a battle scar from a visit to the Westbury Hundred. According to him, it was inflicted by men in the service of Hamelin of Lisieux.’

‘They were not involved in my accident, my lord.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Unless they lay in the bushes to frighten my horse.’

‘Strang thought your claim worthless,’ said Gervase, trying to gauge his opinion of the Dane. ‘He shrugged it off completely.’

‘He is entitled to do so.’

‘It does not annoy you?’

‘No, Master Bret. Nor does it goad me into angry words about him. I am conscious that Strang did have a legitimate right to those hides at one time. What he forgot to tell you was that they were subsequently taken from him and granted to me.’

‘Hamelin of Lisieux makes an identical claim.’

‘Have you no abuse to unload on him?’ said Ralph.

Querengar smiled wryly. ‘None that could compare with what Strang will already have offered. He has a sharper tongue and a hotter temper than me. Let them rail at each other. I refuse to engage in a war of words with either of them.’

‘What about Abraham the Priest?’ asked Gervase.

A long pause. ‘Is he involved here?’

‘Did you not realise that?’

‘No, Master Bret.’

‘Hamelin of Lisieux did.’

‘He has friends in high places. Nigel the Reeve is one of them.’

‘You seem surprised to hear the archdeacon’s name.’

‘I am.’

‘Could he have a genuine claim to the land?’

‘Only he can tell you that.’

‘But you are sceptical?’

‘The only claim which concerns me is my own, Master Bret. As for the Archdeacon of Gwent,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘he will certainly fight tooth and nail for what he believes may be his.’

‘Not another bellicose Welshman!’ groaned Ralph.

‘A civilised fellow. You will like him, my lord.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘What of you?’ said Gervase. ‘Do you like Abraham the Priest?’

The wry smile. ‘It is difficult not to, Master Bret. Even when you lose an argument with him, and I have lost a few in my time.

He is a gentle soul with a gift for persuasion. It is impossible to take offence against the man.’

‘Wait until I meet him!’ warned Ralph.

‘We are straying from the point,’ said Hubert, examining the charter which the Breton had brought for their perusal. ‘This document is similar to the one offered by Hamelin of Lisieux yet they cannot both be authentic. Which takes priority? Before we can decide that, we will need to study both charters in detail.

Each bears the royal signature.’ He sighed. ‘It is a pity that the King is not here himself to tell us why he gave away the same land twice.’

Ralph shot Gervase a covert look, unnoticed by the others.

‘If that is what he did, Canon Hubert,’ said Querengar.

‘Can you offer another explanation?’

‘No, but having met you and seen what upright men you clearly are, I am sure that you will find that explanation.’ There was no hint of flattery in his comment. ‘What else do you wish to ask me?’

‘Nothing at this point,’ said Ralph, ‘but we will need to call you before us again. I take it that you are remaining in the city?’

‘Yes, my lord. Nigel the Reeve knows where I stay.’

‘Then we can thank you for your testimony and bid you good day.’

During a flurry of farewells, Querengar the Breton struggled to his feet and used the crutches to propel himself towards the door. Gervase had to control the urge to offer his help. He admired the man, not least because of his own Breton ancestry, but he felt there was something missing from Querengar’s deposition.

Strang the Dane and Hamelin of Lisieux had said far too much.

Their rival was more economical with his words and less grandiose in his claims. It remained to be seen how the Archdeacon of Gwent measured against the others, but that treat, it soon transpired, would have to be postponed.

Nigel the Reeve made one of his ostentatious entrances.

‘I fear that I bring bad news,’ he announced, striding towards them. ‘Abraham the Priest has been unaccountably delayed and will not be here before nightfall.’

‘We are ready to examine him now,’ said Ralph.

‘That will not be feasible, my lord.’

‘Did you not summon him in time?’

‘Of course. He had ample warning.’

‘Yet he fails to present himself on the appointed day. What are we to make of this?’ he asked, turning to his colleagues. ‘Is this a deliberate attempt to flout our authority or is the Archdeacon of Gwent so absent-minded that he forgot that he was due in Gloucester today?’

‘You will have to ask him,’ suggested Nigel.

‘Not if it means sitting on our arses in here until it grows dark,’ said Ralph sourly, rising to his feet. ‘We will have to delay the ambiguous pleasure of making his acquaintance until tomorrow.’ He glared at Nigel. ‘See that he presents himself here when the abbey bell rings for Prime.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘If he does not, he will not be heard at all.’

‘I will emphasise that to him,’ said Nigel, turning to leave.

‘One moment,’ called Ralph, checking his departure. ‘Hamelin of Lisieux was here earlier and seemed to know that Abraham the Priest was now included in this dispute, a fact of which the other two claimants were noticeably ignorant.’

‘What point are you trying to make, my lord?’

‘That you disclosed privileged information to Hamelin.’

A curled lip. ‘Did I?’

‘He probably knew about the archdeacon before we did.’

Nigel was unruffled. ‘Does that matter?’

‘Yes,’ said Ralph angrily. ‘You are there to serve us, not to show favour towards someone who is due to appear before the commission. Impartiality is our touchstone and it should be yours as well.’

‘It always is, my lord.’

‘Not in this case. What else did you tell Hamelin of Lisieux?

What other unfair advantage did you give him over his rivals?

Are all your dealings based on whispered warnings to your friends?’

‘I deny that I have done anything wrong,’ said Nigel haughtily.

‘Please excuse me while I attend to more pressing matters.’

‘I’ll give him pressing matters!’ growled Ralph as the reeve went out of the door. ‘I’ll press that stupid head between my hands until his eyes pop out! I’ll wager he told Hamelin who sat on the commission and how best he could win us over.’

‘By dangling his pretty wife in front of you,’ said Hubert sharply.

‘Come, Brother Simon,’ he added before Ralph could reply, ‘we must take advantage of this early end to our deliberations. If we hurry back to the abbey, we may be in time to attend the funeral of Brother Nicholas.’

Gathering up their belongings, they exchanged farewells with their two colleagues and bustled out of the hall. Ralph was still fuming in silence. Gervase searched in his satchel.

‘Canon Hubert is right,’ he said, taking out a small parchment.

‘We must put aside our own concerns and think of Brother Nicholas instead. Here is the list of tenants you requested from Abbot Serlo,’ he continued, holding it up. ‘Why do we not make best use of this unexpected freedom and ride out to the holding last visited by Brother Nicholas?’

‘I am not in the mood for social visits.’

‘Then I will go alone, Ralph.’

‘Do so.’

‘I feel that it’s important.’

‘Wait,’ said his friend as Gervase was about to move off. ‘Forgive my choler. Our royal reeve made my blood boil with his impudence.

You are right, Gervase. This matter must be pursued. Besides, a ride will help to clear my pounding head. Instead of contemplating murder, as I am doing now, I will be more usefully employed trying to solve one.’

‘Try to forget Nigel the Reeve.’

‘I will, Gervase, and I’m sorry to be so churlish.’

‘Turn your thoughts elsewhere.’

Ralph grinned. ‘I will. To the lady Emma. She was an angel. I could have sat there and looked at her all day.’

‘That was her husband’s intention. Let us go.’

Abbot Serlo opened the neck of the pouch and tipped its contents on to the table in his lodging. Even though he knew what to expect, Brother Frewine was duly surprised. The hoard was far bigger than he had imagined. The abbot reached down to pick up a handful of coins.

‘New-minted here in Gloucester.’

‘How much is there, Father Abbot?’

‘The amount is immaterial,’ said the other, dropping the coins back on to the pile. ‘The fact of its existence is shocking enough.

Is this what you hoped to find when you searched Brother Nicholas’s cell?’

‘I hoped to find nothing at all.’

‘But you sensed that you might. I am grateful to you, Brother Frewine. Your instinct was more reliable than my own. I was foolish enough to think that I had established complete discipline in the abbey and that all the monks were wholly committed to our common purpose. Obviously,’ he said, his voice heavy with sadness, ‘I was mistaken. Brother Nicholas rebelled against my leadership.’

‘It may look that way, Father Abbot.’

‘No other conclusion can be drawn. A hoard of coins was found hidden in his cell. Private possessions are strictly forbidden by the rules of the Order.’ He pointed at the table in disgust. ‘What use is money to a Benedictine monk? How could it be spent?’

‘On the abbey, perhaps,’ said the Precentor tentatively. ‘Who knows? Could not Brother Nicholas have been saving it up in order to present it to us?’ He saw the disbelief on the other’s face. ‘No, probably not. I just hate to assume the worst about our dear departed brother, especially when his funeral is shortly to take place.’

‘You are a kind man, Brother Frewine,’ said the abbot, ‘and always search for the goodness in human beings. But the evidence is too overwhelming. Brother Nicholas betrayed his vows. Though we will mourn his death, we must also ask one of the questions it leaves behind him.’

‘What is that, Father Abbot?’

‘Where on earth did this money come from?’

‘I think that we can both hazard a guess at the answer.’

‘The rents?’

‘How else? Brother Nicholas must have been overcharging our tenants, entering the correct payments in the accounts and keeping the difference for himself.’

Serlo shook his head. ‘Look at the coins.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They are fresh from the mint. Which of our tenants has shiny new coins in his pocket? They usually pay us in old and battered coinage with hands made filthy by work on the land. And there is another thing,’ he said wearily. ‘Tenants are quick to complain.

If they felt that Brother Nicholas was putting up their rent unfairly, they would be banging on our gates in protest.’

‘All this is true.’

‘Put the money back in the pouch. It offends my sight.’

‘Yes, Father Abbot,’ said Frewine, gathering it up. ‘You will have to report this to the sheriff.’

‘Not until after the funeral. That takes precedence.’

‘What of the royal commissioners?’

‘Who?’

‘Those colleagues of Canon Hubert. They have shown a keen interest in the murder and are making enquiries on their own.

Should they not be told about this distressing evidence?’

Abbot Serlo frowned. ‘I will need to think about that.’

‘Did you know that Brother Nicholas was murdered?’ asked Gervase.

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘The sheriff’s officers told me when they came to question me.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘The same as I will tell you. I had nothing to do with his death.’

‘You were the last person to see him alive.’

‘So I am told.’

‘It is natural that enquiries should start here.’

‘Why?’ said the man resentfully. ‘There is no proof that I was the last person he met that day. Others must have seen him after me. The killer certainly did. Why bother me?’

‘Because we need your help, Osgot.’

‘I have work to do.’

‘So do we,’ snapped Ralph.

Osgot was taken aback to hear himself addressed in his own language by a Norman lord. Ralph Delchard had been silent until now, letting Gervase put all the questions to the truculent Saxon.

His answers had been reluctant. Osgot was a tall, stringy man in his thirties, worn out by toil but sustained by an innate pride.

Needing to repair some fencing on the land he rented from the abbey, he was peeved at the interruption. Arms folded, he eyed both of them sullenly.

‘When did Brother Nicholas leave you that day?’ said Gervase.

‘Ask the sheriff.’

‘We are asking you, ’ declared Ralph. ‘When was it?’

A silent battle of wills was resolved when Ralph took a menacing step towards him. Osgot’s reply was grudging.

‘Towards evening, my lord.’

‘Did he head back to the abbey?’

‘Probably.’

‘Did he?’

‘I expect so.’

‘Let me ask you for the last time,’ cautioned Ralph. ‘Did he?’

‘No,’ said Osgot. ‘He rode south.’

‘You remember that now, do you?’

‘I watched him go,’ said Osgot, pointing to the road. ‘That way.’

Gervase was puzzled. ‘Away from the abbey? Where could he have been going? This was the last holding he was due to visit that day. Why ride off in the wrong direction?’

Osgot gave a shrug, his face still a mask of indifference.

‘You didn’t like him, did you?’ said Gervase.

‘None of us did.’

‘Why not?’

‘He collected rents.’

‘Any other reason?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Very much, Osgot.’

‘He’s gone. I’m glad. That’s all I have to say.’

‘Glad that a monk was cruelly murdered?’ pressed Ralph.

‘Glad that he won’t come here again.’

‘Someone else will.’

‘I don’t care. I pay my rent.’

‘But you’d rather not pay it to Brother Nicholas, is that it?’

‘You say that none of you liked him,’ resumed Gervase. ‘What was the cause of his unpopularity? Was he harsh? Bullying? Sly?’

‘Not really.’

‘Did he ever try to charge you too much rent?’

‘No, never.’

‘So why this general dislike?’

There was a long pause, ended by Ralph’s snort of impatience.

‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘Something about him,’ admitted Osgot. ‘I can’t say what it was. But it made us all feel uneasy. Brother Nicholas was strange.’

‘In what way?’

But the man had elaborated all he could. Though they searched for more detail, Osgot had none to give. It was clear that he spent as little time as possible with the rent collector and was glad to see him ride away each time. Ralph and Gervase thanked him for his help and mounted their horses again. They were about to leave when a young boy came bounding into the field, flaxen hair shining in the sun and trailing in the breeze. Osgot’s son had the vitality and innocence which he himself must have possessed at one time. As the boy called out to him, Osgot threw a worried look up at his visitors. In that moment, they learned exactly why he despised Brother Nicholas so much. Osgot had seen the monk as a threat to his son’s innocence.

Now that the novelty had worn off, Golde was finding her stay at the castle slightly tedious. Maud was doing her best to entertain her guest but the latter soon tired of watching her hostess work at her embroidery and answering questions about her first marriage. There were moments when Golde felt as if the needle was threading its way through her heart. Willing to discuss her life with Ralph, she was very reticent on the subject of the husband who preceded him, a man whom she had not chosen and could never love and whose early demise she was unable to mourn with the full commitment of a grieving widow. Her discomfort was intensified by anxiety about her sister, due to arrive in Gloucester at any moment but so far unseen and unreported.

Fears for Aelgar’s safety lapped at Golde’s mind. Even with an escort, travellers were never entirely safe on the open road.

‘Were you sorry to quit Hereford?’ asked Maud, sewing away.

‘In some ways, my lady.’

‘It must have caused you much regret.’

‘Occasionally.’

‘Have you been back to the town since?’

‘Only once,’ said Golde. ‘When the commissioners visited Chester. Ralph provided me with an escort and I stopped off in Hereford on the way before riding on to rejoin them.’

‘Marriage has given you many opportunities for travel.’

‘And much more besides.’

‘I wish that I could say the same of my husband. The journey from Normandy was the only one of significance that I have made.

For the rest, my wanderings are largely circumscribed by the city boundaries.’ She looked up as if the thought had struck her for the first time. ‘To all intents and purposes, I am a species of prisoner.’

‘Surely not, my lady!’

‘How else would you describe me?’

Golde was spared the problem of manufacturing a tactful reply.

After knocking at the door, a servant entered the chamber with the news that two visitors were at the castle gate, asking to see Golde. Delighted that her sister had at last arrived, Golde excused herself and followed the man along the passageway and out into the fresh air. As she skipped down the steps which led from the keep, she caught a distant glimpse of Aelgar and her betrothed, waiting inside the gate with one of the sentries. Golde quickened her pace. A happy reunion was soon effected.

Introduced to Forne by her sister, Golde deluged them with questions while taking stock of the young man who would soon become her brother-in-law. Forne was a sturdy character with pleasant rather than handsome features. The receding fair hair revealed a high forehead and his eyes sparkled with devotion.

Golde was content. Though she wished that he trimmed his beard more closely, she could see his essential goodness reflected in his face. He loved her sister and she, in turn, was patently enthralled by him. It was enough.

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Aelgar, looking around the bailey with awe. ‘I am so proud that my sister can be invited to stay in such a place.’

‘It has its drawbacks,’ said Golde. ‘I’ve been here a couple of days and I’m already finding out what they are.’

‘Too many Norman soldiers,’ observed Forne drily.

‘That is true of Hereford as well.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘No more of that,’ ordered Golde with a laugh. ‘If you are to marry my sister, I’ll not be called “my lady”. You will be Forne to me and I will be Golde to you. Is that a fair exchange?’

Forne brightened. ‘Very fair.’

‘What of Ralph?’ said Aelgar.

‘He will not stand on ceremony. But where are you staying?’

‘In the town with Forne’s kinsman.’

‘Then let us go there so that we can have a proper talk. It seems such an age since we last met and I have a thousand questions for you.’

‘I have a few for you, too, Golde,’ said her sister.

‘Then why do we dawdle here?’ Yet when she tried to lead them out of the castle, they hesitated. ‘What is wrong?’

‘Are you going to walk?’ said Forne.

‘I have not lost the use of my legs.’

‘The streets are filthy. That dress is too beautiful to soil.’

‘Let me worry about that,’ said Golde, standing between them to link arms with them both. ‘What is a dirty hem beside the pleasure of seeing my only sister again? Not to mention the delight of meeting you, Forne. I would walk through a swamp to be with the pair of you. Come on. Tell me all about the journey from Hereford.’

And the three of them sauntered happily out through the gate.

Abbot Serlo surpassed himself. Conducting the burial service with due solemnity, he spoke so movingly in the abbey church that every eye was soon moist and every heart touched. The Precentor watched the service with growing admiration. When mass was sung, the abbot delivered a eulogy which was a masterpiece of careful selection. By stressing the finer qualities of Brother Nicholas, he made the less attractive aspects of the dead man’s character fade into temporary oblivion, and nobody listening would have guessed what dark secret had been unearthed by a search of his cell. Even those who disliked Nicholas the most — Kenelm and Elaf among them — found themselves consumed with genuine pity.

Since the church had no burial rights, part of the cemetery was set aside for the graves of deceased inhabitants of Gloucester, brought to the abbey by means of Lich Lane. Serlo led the solemn procession to the area reserved solely for the bodies of departed monks, a corner of the cemetery which was tended with loving care. The coffin was borne aloft on the shoulders of six monks before being lowered on ropes into the gaping slit in the earth.

More prayers were said in unison then the abbot committed the body to its last resting place. Those who died of natural causes excited sorrow enough among the monks, but the nature of Brother Nicholas’s death brought additional misery. Some of the older people around the grave had to be supported as that misery robbed them of strength and movement.

It was a long time before the assembled monks began to disperse in silence. Abbot Serlo went back to his lodging with Brother Frewine but most of the others adjourned to the church to pray once more for the salvation of the murder victim’s soul and the speedy capture of his killer. Everyone was so caught up in their own anguish that they took little note of anyone else around them. Nobody lingered to see the solitary figure who hovered in the deserted cemetery.

Owen was torn between grief and remorse. As he looked down at the grave, his tears poured forth once more. When handfuls of earth had been tossed reverentially on to the coffin, spades had taken over to complete the burial and to leave a mound which would in time disappear as the earth slowly settled into the cavity.

Owen glanced around to make sure that nobody was watching him, then he opened his hand to reveal something which had been burning a hole in his palm since the funeral began. It was a bright new coin from the Gloucester mint and he could no longer keep it. Scooping a hole in the mound of earth, he inserted the coin as deep as it would go then quickly covered it up.

Having paid his last respects, Owen trudged slowly away.

The horses moved at a steady trot through pleasant countryside towards Gloucester. Ralph and Gervase rode into a leafy arcade of trees and emerged to find that they could now see the River Severn on their left as it surged down the estuary. A small boat sailed past as Ralph watched.

‘I hate water,’ he said soulfully. ‘It frightens me.’

‘Nothing frightens you.’

‘It does, Gervase. Crossing the Channel in rough weather was a nightmare. It made my stomach heave for days. I have no wish to return to Normandy if it entails trusting my life to a piece of wood that floats on the sea. One thing I’ve learned is that I’m no sailor.’

‘Would you not like Golde to see where you were born?’

‘Of course.’

‘To show her the beauties of Normandy?’

‘Nothing would please me more.’

‘Nor her. Golde has more than once confided to me that she would love to cross the Channel with you to your homeland.’

‘This is my homeland now, Gervase.’

‘But you also have estates in Normandy.’

‘Administered by trusty people,’ said Ralph. ‘I keep in touch with them by letter. They manage well enough without me. No, I will be more than happy if I never have to take to the water again.’

‘Not even on a river?’

‘Not even then, Gervase. Especially one as churlish as the Severn. Look at it,’ he said, waving an arm. ‘Even from here you can see the strength of the current. I’ll remain on dry land.’

A stand of sycamores rose up on their left to obscure the river and allow their thoughts to turn once more to the murder that had brought them out to visit Osgot.

‘Brother Nicholas was an odd character,’ said Gervase. ‘Everyone took a dislike to him yet they will not tell you exactly why.’

‘We can guess Osgot’s reason.’

‘Not every tenant has a well-favoured son, Ralph. Why did the others turn away from him? Nobody likes to pay rent but they do not always despise the rent collector, especially if they inhabit abbey land. When I was at Eltham, our rent collector, Brother Saul, was one of the most popular monks in the abbey.’

‘Perhaps he did not look at young boys in a peculiar way.’

‘There’s more to it than that.’

‘Is there? Remember what those novices told you.’

‘I do, Ralph, but they only gave part of the story. I cannot believe that Brother Nicholas was entirely without friends. An abbey is a haven of tolerance. There must be someone within its precincts who liked him enough to overlook his unfortunate manner.’

‘What about the Precentor?’

‘Brother Frewine defended him, it is true, but I suspect that he would defend anyone in a Benedictine cowl out of sheer loyalty.

The abbot would probably do the same.’

‘He did, Gervase. I probed him hard but he would admit to no faults in his rent collector. Serlo pretended to admire the man but I sensed no real affection. Brother Nicholas was an outsider at the abbey.’

‘That brings us back to the sheriff’s conviction that the victim was murdered by one of his fellow monks.’

‘I refuse to believe that.’

‘So do I.’

‘Monks are more guileful. They would hide a dead body where it could never be found. No, it was not one of them, Gervase.’

‘We may both be proved wrong.’

‘If we are, it will not be by Durand. His investigation has so far achieved nothing beyond stirring up a lot of dust. We have already discovered things which completely eluded him and his officers.

And if we are to be given the dubious honour of a royal visit,’ said Ralph as they came out into open country once more, ‘our peppery sheriff will have his hands full at the castle. He’ll not be able to conduct this inquiry properly.’

‘Will the King come?’ asked Gervase.

‘He may, he may not. You know how changeable he is.’

‘I also know that he does nothing without a purpose, Ralph.’

‘Granted.’

‘So what purpose could bring him to Gloucester?’

‘Affairs of state.’

‘Can you guess what they might be?’

‘No, Gervase,’ said the other. ‘It sounds like a decision made on the spur of the moment. Why send a messenger to forewarn Durand of a possible visit when we could have brought the same information from Winchester? The King knew when and where we travelled.’

‘Some emergency may have arisen.’

‘That’s my fear.’

‘What could it be?’

‘Only time will tell, Gervase,’ said Ralph as the city loomed up in the distance. ‘As long as William does not interfere with our work at the shire hall. We have enough problems as it is. The last thing we need is someone looking over our shoulder. Even if it is a King.’

‘Supposing it were the lady Emma?’

Ralph beamed. ‘Ah, that’s another matter.’

‘I thought it might be.’

‘The lady Emma can look over my shoulder any time she wishes.

If I were not married to the most wonderful woman in England, I would harbour dark desires about that extraordinary creature we met at the shire hall today.’

‘Querengar the Breton?’ teased his friend.

‘The lady Emma!’

‘Oh, her.’

‘Beauty incarnate.’

‘A pleasing face, I agree.’

‘Pleasing! It could sow lust in the heart of a pope. I tell you, there was a brief moment when I wished I was still young and unmarried.’

‘But since you do have a wife?’ Gervase reminded him.

‘And such a wife!’ said Ralph, kicking his horse into a canter.

‘I’ll count my blessings and hasten back to her.’

Gervase spent the last mile trying to catch up with him.

The pleasure of seeing her sister again seemed to increase rather than pall. Secure in the love of a good man, Aelgar looked radiant and Golde could not have been more happy for her, knowing how much distress she had endured in the past. Her younger sister had been blessed with a pale loveliness which Golde had envied as a child until she realised what a mixed blessing it was.

Unwanted suitors had plagued Aelgar throughout her young life, and Golde would never forget the ardent Norman lord who tried to take by force what he could not win by courtship. Now, happily, having survived all that, her sister had found the man of her dreams. The doting Forne allowed her to blossom into full womanhood.

Golde quickly warmed towards Forne himself. Like the two sisters, he was born of noble stock with a wealthy father who had been largely dispossessed after the Conquest. Yet enough land remained in the possession of the family to ensure a relatively comfortable life, especially when added to the property in Archenfield which Aelgar herself had inherited from the man to whom she had been betrothed until his brutal murder. Present joy helped past tragedy to recede in her mind. If anyone deserved her share of marital bliss, Golde mused, watching the young lovers together, it was her sister. Happiness was long overdue.

‘Where will you live?’ she asked.

‘Together,’ said Forne with a fond grin.

‘In Archenfield?’

‘Where else?’

‘Hereford.’

‘No, Golde,’ said her sister. ‘It is time for me to make a complete break from there. My life is with Forne now.’

‘What will become of the house?’

‘It will be sold along with that eternal smell of beer.’

‘I learned to enjoy the odour.’

‘You were always the genuine brewer. Those I employ now have none of your skills. There have been complaints from the castle.’

‘Yes,’ said Forne. ‘I hear that your ale was incomparable, Golde.’

‘Ralph does not think so.’

‘Have you not won him over?’

‘No, he will touch nothing but wine.’

‘A true Norman!’

‘In most things.’

‘What sort of man is he?’ asked Forne guardedly. ‘Aelgar has talked much about your husband but she hardly knows him.’

‘I know enough to speak well of him,’ said his betrothed.

‘But you were not at first overjoyed when you learned that he was going to marry your sister. You had qualms. You told me so.’

There was a sudden pause, the first since they had met, and they squirmed on their benches as the discordant note was struck.

The three of them were bunched around the table in the house owned by Forne’s kinsman, Hadwig, a burgess in the city and a man of moderate wealth. The house was large enough to accommodate the two visitors in separate bays and Golde suspected that it was the first time they had spent a night under the same roof. It explained the tingle of excitement whenever they exchanged a glance, though there was no excitement now.

Aelgar stared guiltily at the bare table and Forne searched for words to heal the slight rift he had just opened.

‘I am sorry to speak out of turn, Golde,’ he said.

‘But you didn’t,’ she replied, contriving a smile. ‘If you are to join our little family, you must feel free to comment on all its members. And that includes Ralph. He will certainly not hold back any comments about you, I can promise you.’

‘I offended you.’

‘Not really.’

‘Please forgive me.’

‘What is there to forgive?’ asked Golde brightly, trying to dispel the awkwardness. ‘It’s hardly surprising that Aelgar had qualms about me because I had several myself. The last thing in the world I expected to do was marry a Norman. To ally myself with an enemy, so to speak.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s just that Ralph is the friendliest enemy I ever met, and the kindest possible husband.’

‘I hope to meet him very soon.’

‘You will, Forne.’

But she could see that he still had doubts about her and Golde felt even more uncomfortable. She had stepped back into an old life but part of her remained immovably in her new world. It was not just the fine clothes she now wore which set her slightly apart from her sister. There was something deeper, some change of perception, some subtle shift of loyalty. Forne was an irretrievable Saxon. Ready to love his future sister-in-law, he would never be able to shake off a latent resentment against her husband and that saddened Golde. It would colour her relationship with her sister. Aelgar looked up and reached out to put a hand on Forne’s arm. It was a telling gesture. She was his now.

Golde tried to move the conversation to more neutral ground.

‘What news of Hereford?’ she asked.

‘Little has changed,’ said her sister.

‘And our old neighbours?’

‘They send their love.’

‘Take mine back to them. I miss Hereford.’

‘I’m not sure that I will.’

‘Why not?’

‘Forne and I will be together.’

‘We may need to visit the town on occasion,’ he said. ‘Indeed, we may even be compelled to do so. I hope that does not happen but I put Aelgar’s safety before all else.’

‘Safety?’

He nodded sadly. ‘Our holdings are not far from the Welsh border. That has never worried me. I have Welsh neighbours and have always been on good terms with them. But there have been stirrings across the border. Raiding parties have been sighted.’

‘I thought that peace had finally been imposed,’ said Golde.

‘It has,’ he explained, ‘but there are some hot-blooded Welshmen who refuse to accept it. Rumours are spreading like wildfire.’

‘Rumours?’

‘Of a possible attack on Hereford.’

‘Not again!’ sighed Golde.

‘It is one of the reasons I was glad to bring Aelgar here,’ he said, putting a protective arm around her. ‘I wanted her out of Hereford until the danger blows over. We are completely safe in Gloucester.’

Hooves clacking on the hard road, the horses thundered on through the darkness. There were a dozen men in all, most of them armed and every one a seasoned rider. Night had started to close in on them and they were not entirely sure at what point they actually crossed the border into Gloucestershire and left Gwent behind. It was of no concern to them. In their hearts, they did not accept that the border really existed. As they urged their horses on, they believed that they were still in Wales.

They were some miles short of their destination when the tall figure at the head of the column brought it to a halt with a loud yell. Iron bits were tugged in soft mouths and the horses slowed instantly. The leader of the band turned to his tall companion.

‘Why have we stopped?’

‘Because this is where we part, Madog.’

‘There is still some way to go.’

‘We will ride on alone.’

‘But we are your escort.’

‘And I’m most grateful to you,’ said the other, raising his voice so that all could hear. ‘It is easier to ride faster in a pack.’

‘Why dispense with us then?’

‘You are no longer needed, Madog.’

‘Danger may lurk on the road ahead.’

‘We will be careful.’

‘You are both unarmed.’

‘We have God to protect us.’

‘You’ll need more than Him at your side when you meet those Normans,’ said Madog bitterly. ‘They’re treacherous. Look what they’ve done to Wales.’

‘I am never likely to forget that. Now, turn back.’

‘Let us at least get you within reach of Gloucester.’

‘We are within reach,’ soothed the other, ‘and if the two of us arrive alone, they might even let us into the city at this hour.

Ride there with your men at our back and we would certainly be spurned.’

‘We will not be far away.’

‘That is reassuring.’

‘You know where to find us.’

‘I do, Madog.’ They exchanged a wave. ‘Goodbye, my friend.’

‘ Yn iach! ’

The other riders gathered around to offer their own respectful farewells then the tall man was joined by the monk who had been at the rear of the column. Watched by their escort, the two of them set off at a more gentle pace and were soon swallowed up by the night. Unlike his companion, the monk was apprehensive.

‘Will we be safe on our own?’ he asked querulously.

‘Of course,’ said Abraham the Priest. ‘This should, by rights, be Welsh territory. We are travelling on home ground.’