The Hawks of Delamere (Domesday Series Book 7)

by Edward Marston

  Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were relieved to see a fellow member of the order in such a godless place and they smiled back at him. They would have at least one friend inside the castle. But their optimism was premature. As the monk rolled slowly towards them on sandalled feet, they noticed how much deference the castle guards seemed to be according him. There was something extremely odd about the imposing figure in the black cowl.

  Ralph introduced them in a clear, ringing voice. ‘We have come from Winchester on royal business,’ he announced, ‘and we are to lodge here at the castle as guests of the Earl of Chester.’

  The monk pushed back his hood and beamed up at them. ‘Welcome, friends!’ he said benevolently. ‘I am your host.’

  Earl Hugh’s raucous laugh was distinctly unmonastic.

  Chapter Two

  The visitors were completely dumbfounded. Expecting to meet a notorious reprobate, they were instead confronted by this hulking individual in a Benedictine habit. Ralph Delchard’s jaw dropped,Gervase Bret blinked in amazement and Canon Hubert’s eyebrows shot up to a precarious altitude. Brother Simon all but fainted and he had to hold tight to the pommel of his saddle to prevent himself from keeling over.

  A second shock was in store for the newcomers. Earl Hugh was not alone. His sheer physical bulk obscured the man who had stood behind him and now came into view as if emerging from the capacious folds of his master’s cowl. Short, slim and wearing his own cowl as if he had never known any other garment, Gerold was the earl’s chaplain and spiritual mentor. Though still in his thirties, his wizened face, greying wisps of hair and scholarly hunch made him seem much older. Earl Hugh might be a bogus monk but there was nothing false about the ascetic Gerold. He positively exuded religiosity.

  With his chaplain beside him, the earl’s manner changed at once. The roaring extrovert disappeared, to be replaced by a subdued figure with a penitential expression. His voice took on an almost sepulchral note.

  ‘You catch me at my devotions,’ he explained. ‘Permit me to introduce Brother Gerold. You will see a great deal of him during your time here at the castle.’

  ‘Welcome to Chester!’ said Gerold with a meek smile. ‘We have been looking forward to your arrival and hope that your stay with us will be a pleasant one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ralph. ‘We are glad to have reached you at last. I am Ralph Delchard. And these,’ he added, indicating each person as he was named, ‘are my colleagues. Master Gervase Bret, Canon Hubert of Winchester and our faithful scribe, Brother Simon.’

  ‘Your reputation has come before you,’ said Hugh. ‘The King holds you in high esteem and has entrusted you with important business in my county. Call on me to assist you in any way that I can.’

  ‘We appreciate that offer, my lord,’ said Ralph.

  ‘It is given in all seriousness.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now,’ continued the other, rubbing his palms gleefully and shedding his monkish restraint, ‘there is something else that you will appreciate. A banquet has been laid on in your honour this evening. All of you are cordially invited.’

  Ralph was pleased. ‘That is very kind of you, my lord.’

  ‘We are most grateful,’ said Gervase.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Hubert, ‘though in our case, alas, that gratitude is tinged with regret. Brother Simon and I are the guests of Bishop Robert and we are bidden to his table this evening. We must decline your generous invitation.’

  Earl Hugh stiffened and his beetle brows converged. ‘I am not used to refusals,’ he warned.

  ‘It is unavoidable, my lord,’ said Hubert.

  ‘And I am not used to yielding position to Bishop Robert. It is not right. It is not natural. I am sure that he could excuse you for this evening. Tell him that I have issued an express request and the worthy bishop will understand,’ he said meaningfully. ‘Places will be set at my table for you and for Brother Simon.’

  The very notion made Simon gasp in dismay.

  ‘We would not wish to offend the bishop,’ said Hubert.

  ‘Would you prefer to offend me?’

  ‘No, my lord. Offence is not intended, I assure you. We are deeply grateful for your kind invitation but the long journey has sapped our strength and left us weary. We would be poor companions at a banquet.’

  ‘Yet you are prepared to eat with Bishop Robert.’

  ‘A frugal meal, perhaps. Nothing more.’

  ‘I am displeased by this rejection, Canon Hubert.’

  ‘It is not a rejection, my lord.’

  ‘Then what else is it?’ demanded Hugh, glowering at him.

  Hubert blustered until Brother Gerold came to his rescue.

  ‘It is a perfectly reasonable explanation, my lord.’

  ‘I am not interested in explanations.’

  ‘You should be,’ the other reminded him softly. ‘Have you so soon forgotten the subject of my instruction today? We talked about the importance of understanding the needs and wishes of others. Tolerance is a virtue, my lord.’ He gave the earl a few moments to digest his words before pressing on. ‘Besides,’ he said, indicating the other monks, ‘Canon Hubert and Brother Simon have ridden here all the way from Winchester. I would wager anything that they carry letters of greeting from Bishop Walkelin to our own Bishop Robert.’

  ‘That is true,’ confirmed Hubert.

  ‘You should let them deliver those missives, my lord.’

  Hugh sulked. ‘Should I?’

  ‘Undoubtedly.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it is what I would advise.’

  The earl gave him a truculent stare but made no verbal protest. Brother Gerold had subdued him in a way that made the others look on with admiration.

  ‘Release them from any obligation, my lord.’

  Hugh scowled but eventually managed an affirmative nod. ‘I will expect them both another night.’

  ‘We can discuss that in private.’

  ‘I was looking forward to a theological discussion with Canon Hubert. News of his scholarship has preceded him.’

  Hubert beamed at the unexpected praise but Simon was even more outraged. Was the devil planning to quote scripture at them? It was unthinkable. Simon reflected inwardly that he would rather debate the value of the gospels with his horse.

  ‘Very well,’ said the earl at length. ‘I will not enforce your attendance at the banquet. Go to Bishop Robert, if you must. But I remain disappointed.’

  ‘Our profound apologies, my lord,’ said Hubert soothingly.

  ‘You may leave.’

  It sounded more like an order given than a permission granted.Hubert and Simon reacted with speed. After a flurry of farewells, they rode swiftly out of the castle they abhorred and headed for the sanctuary of the cathedral.

  Earl Hugh brought the niceties abruptly to an end. ‘You will be shown to your apartments,’ he said curtly, clapping his hands to bring servants running. ‘Your men will be bestowed in their lodging. Everything is in readiness. When you have unloaded your baggage, I would be happy to take you round my castle. If that offer appeals to you.’

  ‘Very much, my lord,’ said Ralph.

  ‘So be it.’

  Their host turned on his heel and strode off briskly across the courtyard. After offering them a placatory smile, Gerold went trotting after him. Ralph watched the pair of them until they vanished into the chapel.

  ‘What did you make of that, Gervase?’ he asked.

  ‘Earl Hugh does not like to be crossed.’

  ‘There is no love lost between him and Bishop Robert.’

  ‘That is clear from the disputes we are here to settle,’ agreed Gervase. ‘A trial of strength is obviously going on here between Church and State.’

  ‘Real power in Chester lies with the State.’

  ‘Yet the Church has a powerful ally.’

  ‘Bishop Robert?’

  ‘No, Ralph,’ said the other. ‘Brother Gerold. Unless I am much mistaken, he is the on
ly man with any appreciable influence over the earl. We can learn from him.’

  The search was entirely fruitless. For several long and anxious hours they combed the Delamere Forest, but without success. Gytha began to despair. Still only eighteen, she had been worn down by family responsibilities and her pretty face was beginning to lose its youthful bloom. Fear etched new lines around her eyes and mouth. She used the edge of her hood to wipe away the beads of perspiration on her forehead.

  She turned to the boy who trudged reluctantly beside her. ‘Was this the clearing?’ she said.

  ‘I do not know, Gytha.’

  ‘You must remember.’

  ‘I’m trying to.’

  ‘Try harder, Beollan.’

  He looked around and shrugged. ‘I can’t be sure.’

  ‘Is there nothing that you recognise?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘But you know every inch of the forest.’

  The boy turned away so that she would not see the guilt which flooded into his face. Beollan was barely ten, a tousle-haired lad in rough attire with cross-gartered stockings. He and his sister were the children of a Saxon cotarius, a cottager without any land. Beollan carried a stick to aid him in his search but he had used it without conviction to poke among the bushes. It was almost as if he did not really wish to find what they were seeking.

  Gytha finally lost patience with him. ‘What are you hiding?’ she challenged.

  ‘Nothing!’ he retorted.

  ‘I know you too well, Beollan. You’ve been behaving strangely since we left the house. I think that you’re keeping something back from me. Are you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve told you all I can.’

  ‘Have you?’ she said, taking him by the shoulder to spin him round. ‘When you came back home, you were in a terrible state. You could hardly get the words out. What really happened out here in the forest?’

  ‘I told you,’ he bleated. ‘I lost them.’

  ‘You would never do that.’

  ‘I did, Gytha. I swear it.’

  ‘You’re lying.’

  ‘I’m not, I tell you.’

  ‘Why?’ she said, grabbing him by the arms to shake him.

  ‘Let go of me.’

  ‘Why, Beollan?’

  ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘Tell me the truth.’

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘We must find them.’

  ‘Stop shaking me.’

  She released her hold and he rubbed his arms to ease the pain inflicted by her strong grip. Head down, Beollan avoided his sister’s blazing eyes. Gytha’s interrogation continued.

  ‘Where did you last see them?’ she pressed.

  ‘Somewhere in this part of the forest.’

  ‘Be more exact.’

  ‘I wish I could.’

  ‘Why did you lose touch with them?’

  ‘I wandered off.’

  ‘They would never let you do that.’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘Stop deceiving me,’ she said. ‘I am sick with worry. I need all the help that I can get. Not lies and deception.’

  ‘There’s nothing else I can tell you.’

  ‘Are you quite certain?’

  ‘Yes, Gytha.’

  She looked around with heightened anxiety. ‘You have places where you hide any game you kill. Take me to the nearest one.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘Take me, Beollan.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s important.’

  ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Take me,’ she demanded. ‘We might find some clues.’

  ‘I don’t know where the nearest hiding place is.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘You’ve forgotten far too much.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know full well what I mean,’ she said, confronting him again. ‘You’ve been holding something back ever since we started to search for them. And I want to know what it is. Now,’ she added, hands on hips, ‘are you going to tell me or do I have to beat it out of you?’

  Torn between guilt and apprehension, the boy began to tremble visibly. Then he burst into tears. Before she could stop him, he turned tail and scampered off wildly into the undergrowth. Gytha raced after him but he was far too quick and elusive for her. His knowledge of the forest gave him a thousand places in which to hide. She would never find him until he was ready to come out of his own accord. Gasping for breath, she abandoned the chase and rested against an elm. When she had recovered, she retraced her steps to the clearing.

  Then she resumed the feverish search on her own.

  Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret were conducted to their respective apartments high up in the keep of Chester Castle. Both had a clear view of the city itself, a sizeable place with a population of some fifteen hundred or so. Winchester was considerably larger, as befitted the nation’s capital, but Chester was easily the biggest community in the north-west. Like the former, it had its castle, cathedral, churches, civic buildings and higgledy-piggledy arrangement of houses. Each also had a resident king. All that Earl Hugh’s authority lacked was a formal coronation.

  As Ralph and Gervase gazed down from their windows, the market clamour rose up from below and the pungent smells of town life drifted up to their nostrils. Beyond the city, they could see the long road which twisted its way towards Wales before disappearing among some foothills. The winding track had been trampled flat by the feet of warriors over many centuries. It was only a matter of time before it would echo once more to the march of armies.

  Hugh d’Avranches was justifiably proud of his fortress. As soon as he had changed out of his Benedictine cowl, he sent for his guests and escorted them on a tour of his home. Ralph was duly impressed with the fortifications. The battlements were high, solid and patrolled by alert guards. On the southern and western sides, the River Dee was itself an additional defence and the earl explained how the wooden bridge across it could be closed –or even destroyed – to hamper any attack.

  ‘Yes,’ he growled. ‘Sooner than let an enemy use it to cross the river, I’d burn it to the ground.’

  ‘Are you ever likely to be in that situation?’ said Ralph.

  ‘Never.’

  ‘How can you be so confident?’

  ‘I have taken steps to keep everything under strict control here on the border. Anyone who has dared to raise a sword against me has been savagely dealt with, Ralph. I am a great believer in the value of scapegoats. Brutality is the only language that the Welsh understand.’

  ‘That is not true, my lord,’ averred Gervase.

  Hugh bristled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We had some dealings with the Welsh during our stay in Hereford. They proved amenable to reason in the end.’

  ‘I do not waste my breath on reasoning,’ said the other dismissively. ‘Actions speak louder than words. Violent action has the most persuasive voice of all.’

  ‘That is a matter of opinion, my lord.’

  ‘I can see that you are no soldier, Gervase.’

  ‘I am eternally grateful for that.’

  ‘Someone has to keep those Welsh devils at bay.’

  ‘That can often be achieved by diplomacy, my lord.’

  ‘Not on this troublesome border,’ said Hugh. ‘I long ago found that sharp weapons are the best diplomats. They achieve results in the most effective way.’

  Gervase was tenacious. ‘But they also leave a legacy of resentment which can work against you in the long term,’ he said. ‘Peace which grows out of mutual interest is far more lasting and valuable than a truce which is imposed by indiscriminate force.’

  Teeth bared in a snarl, the earl rounded on him. ‘Do you dare to question my methods?’ he snapped.

  ‘Of course not, my lord.’

  ‘How much experience have you had of subduing the Welsh?’


  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘I have had over fifteen years at it,’ boomed Hugh, inflating his chest. ‘Fifteen years of keeping the peace and protecting the citizens of Chester. To save the lives of the people under my care, I have had to take the lives of others. But that is in the nature of conquest.’

  ‘Indeed, it is, my lord,’ said Ralph, keen to appease him before he lost his temper completely. ‘Gervase was not criticising you in any way. He was merely pointing out that our dealings with the Welsh during our stay in Herefordshire were on a very different footing.’ He shot his friend a warning glance. ‘Is that not so, Gervase?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have special memories of that visit to Hereford.’

  ‘Why so?’ asked Hugh.

  ‘Because that is where I met my wife.’

  ‘A Welsh girl?’

  ‘A Saxon lady, my lord.’

  The earl chuckled. ‘I endorse your choice, Ralph. I can speak up for Saxon ladies. Their men may be uncouth and hairy but their womenfolk are sometimes very beautiful.’ His chuckle became a lecherous snigger. ‘And very amenable.’

  ‘Golde will be joining us in a day or two.’

  ‘I look forward to meeting her.’

  They continued their tour of the fortifications, then descended into the courtyard. Stables, storerooms and lodging for the garrison were arranged neatly round the perimeter. Everything was scrupulously in order. Soldiers were practising with their weaponry. Horses were being groomed. The clang of hammers could be heard from the armoury. There was an air of readiness about the whole place.

  Ralph showed an immediate interest but something else aroused Gervase’s curiosity. He pointed to the chapel on the other side of the bailey. It was a large stone structure with a bell in its tower.

  ‘I am glad to see that religion has a place inside your stronghold,’ he remarked.

  ‘A crucial place,’ agreed Hugh piously. ‘A castle without a chapel is like a body without a soul. My soldiers are not callous murderers who kill for pleasure. Brother Gerold blesses all their enterprises. They ride out under the banner of God. Like crusaders.’