The Hawks of Delamere (Domesday Series Book 7)

by Edward Marston

  ‘We had no warning of this.’

  ‘You are receiving it now.’

  ‘Why were we not consulted?’ demanded Ralph angrily. ‘We are the King’s agents. Our business has royal authority. It cannot be arbitrarily suspended on a whim of yours.’

  ‘What Ralph means,’ said Gervase, seeing the rancour in Hugh’s eye and adopting a more reasonable tone, ‘is that this interruption is highly inconvenient.’

  ‘It was forced upon me, Gervase.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘The Welsh archer who tried to kill me in the forest. The warriors who came out yesterday to assess the defences of Rhuddlan Castle. The murderer who stabbed my messenger in the back on the road to Rhuddlan. The villains who tried to intercept the couriers whom my nephew, Robert, sent to me. The army that is gathering on the other side of the border.’ He glared at Ralph. ‘Do I need more justification than that?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ said the other, assimilating the news. ‘I had no knowledge of these other worrying incidents.’

  Hugh was bitter. ‘Well, now you do. So perhaps you will stop telling me that Raoul Lambert was struck down on purpose and that my fears of a Welsh rebellion are groundless. Talk to the men who came last night from Rhuddlan. They will soon convince you that the danger is real.’

  ‘We both accept that, my lord,’ said Gervase.

  ‘Yes,’ added Ralph, cowed into a murmur.

  ‘My first task,’ said Hugh with a sweep of his arm, ‘is to protect this city from attack. Precautions have to be taken and restrictions imposed. We all suffer inconvenience but there is no other way. Until we see what the Welsh intend to do, Chester must lock itself indoors.’

  ‘Can we be of any assistance, my lord?’ offered Ralph.

  ‘Only by keeping out of my way.’

  Hugh let out a bellow of rage at two soldiers who accidentally dropped the basket of stones they were carrying up the steps to the battlements. He charged off to berate the men. The commissioners took the opportunity to drift away in order to confer in a quiet corner.

  ‘What do you make of this?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘Earl Hugh seems to expect a full invasion.’

  ‘When he holds the Prince of Gwynedd in his dungeon? He boasted to me that Chester was safe from attack as long as Gruffydd ap Cynan was in captivity.’

  ‘That view will have to be revised.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘Canon Hubert and Brother Simon will be greatly alarmed by this turn of events,’ said Gervase. ‘Should we send word for them to come here?’

  ‘They would refuse to do so. I believe that they would rather endure an attack from Wales than turn to Hugh for protection. They think him a species of devil.’ He watched the irate earl, howling at some sentries. ‘When I see him like this, I am inclined to agree with them.’

  ‘Where does this leave our notions about Raoul Lambert?’

  ‘In tatters, Gervase.’

  ‘I wonder.’

  ‘We were wrong and Hugh was right.’

  ‘That is how it may appear at the moment.’

  ‘That is how it is, I fear.’ Ralph thought of his wife. ‘Golde will be alarmed by all this activity. I had better go back and explain what is happening.’

  ‘She came to Chester at a bad time.’

  ‘Is there ever a good time to visit this accursed city?’

  Ralph departed on that note of cynicism and Gervase was able to take a closer look at what was happening all around him. Earl Hugh was a most effective general. The speed and thoroughness of his preparations were impressive. Gervase was still admiring the sense of controlled urgency when he became aware of a man at his elbow. The sentry was in his hauberk, eyes set apart by the thick iron nasal of his helm.

  ‘Master Bret?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You have a visitor.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘You will have to come to the gate to find out,’ said the man. ‘We have orders to admit nobody to the castle. And you must not go far outside it yourself. But the visitor implores you to come.’

  ‘Is it Canon Hubert? Or Brother Simon?’

  ‘Neither.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘A young woman.’

  Gervase was surprised. He knew no young women in Chester. Mind racing, he followed the sentry back to the gate. When he was allowed to leave by the postern, a familiar face was waiting to greet him with a weary smile.

  ‘Gytha!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I had to see you,’ she said.

  ‘Did you walk all the way to Chester?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It will have taken an age. What time did you leave?’

  ‘Well before dawn.’

  ‘It must be important, then.’

  ‘I think it is.’

  Several people were milling around the gate, arguing with the sentries and pleading to be let in. Gervase took her by the arm to move her away from the hubbub. When they paused in the doorway of a house, he was able to take a considered look at her. Flushed and exhausted, she still had an extraordinary resemblance to Alys. Gervase’s blood coursed and he was momentarily confused, not sure whether he was doting on his betrothed or showing an improper interest in a vulnerable young woman. Gytha’s embarrassment suggested that she, too, was grappling with warm feelings which caused her some concern.

  ‘How is your brother?’ he inquired.

  ‘He is better now that the funeral is over.’

  ‘Over? Already?’

  ‘Father Ernwin saw no reason to delay it.’

  ‘I applaud his wisdom.’

  ‘He has been very kind to us.’

  ‘Was it an ordeal for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am sorry I was not there to comfort you.’

  She looked up at him. ‘So am I,’ she said softly, ‘but you have already done so much for us.’

  ‘I wish that I could have done more, Gytha.’

  Their eyes locked and both felt the pull of attraction.

  ‘I am very grateful,’ she said at length. ‘We both are. Beollan and me. You had no obligation to help us.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You were in distress.’

  ‘But we were complete strangers to you.’

  ‘It makes no difference.’

  Their eyes met again but she was suddenly afraid of the intensity of his gaze and the surge of her emotions. She lowered her head shyly. Gervase wanted to reach out to console her but fought against the impulse, reminding himself that there was a narrow dividing line between offering comfort to a lovely young woman and deriving pleasure from any contact with her. He had pledged himself to Alys and knew that he had to resist the fleeting appeal of Gytha.

  ‘Why did you come?’ he asked.

  ‘To tell you the full story.’

  ‘Story?’

  ‘Of what happened in the forest the day that my father and brother were killed. I have talked to Beollan.’

  ‘He has spoken to me himself.’

  ‘But you did not hear the whole story,’ she said, ‘and I felt it important that you should. It may help. Besides …’

  She raised her head to look at him once more.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I wanted to see you again,’ she said simply.

  ‘I’m glad that you came.’ He touched her shoulder with his fingertips then became serious. ‘What did Beollan tell you?’

  ‘He saw an archer sneaking away in the forest.’

  ‘He caught a glimpse, he said.’

  ‘It was more than that. The archer ran within a few yards of him. Beollan had a close look.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He misled you.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘What you believed he saw was a Welshman with a bow in his hand, making his escape through the trees.’
<
br />   ‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘That is what I assumed.’

  ‘Beollan held back one vital detail.’

  ‘What was that, Gytha?’

  ‘The archer was a woman.’

  Birdsong rang through the Forest of Delamere to celebrate a bright and peaceful morning. Deer grazed safely, pigs were foraging eagerly and smaller animals were free to roam and nibble wherever they wished. Leaving her pony tethered, she walked leisurely through the undergrowth and let the sun play fitfully on her face as it poked its way through a fretwork of branches. When she came to the edge of a clearing, she was more circumspect, pausing to make sure that all was well before emerging from cover.

  The old woman was outside her hovel, trying to milk the fractious goat which was tied to a stake and cursing it aloud whenever it shifted its position again. Her visitor approached across the grass with a welcoming smile. When the old woman saw her, she gladly abandoned her chore and gave the goat a valedictory slap. The two friends spoke in Welsh.

  ‘Good morning!’ said the newcomer.

  ‘It is good to see you again.’

  ‘No problems, I hope?’

  ‘None, Eiluned.’

  ‘I am glad. I would hate to have put you in danger.’

  ‘Do not fear for me,’ said the old woman. ‘I have learned to look after myself.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What about you, Eiluned?’

  ‘I got back safely. They were very pleased.’

  ‘You are a brave girl.’

  Eiluned smiled. She was a stocky young woman with dark brown hair and eyes of a matching hue. Her face was pleasant rather than pretty and her attire was plain. There was a quiet determination in her manner and she neither spoke nor moved like a woman seeking the admiration of men.

  She glanced across at the half-made basket which stood outside the cottage. A low stool was set beside it.

  ‘What did you do with my basket?’ she asked.

  The old woman grinned. ‘I threw it away.’

  ‘Was it so bad?’

  ‘You would never be able to sell such poor workmanship.’

  ‘I would never be able to finish the basket in the first place,’ said Eiluned. ‘After a couple of hours, my fingers were aching. It is more difficult than it looks. I was grateful when the soldiers finally came and went. Then I was able to put the basket aside.’

  ‘It served its purpose.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The old woman led the way into her fetid hovel. It was a wooden hut with a thatched roof in need of repair and a sunken floor. The small window admitted scant light and air. A few mean sticks of furniture stood around. The old woman waddled across to the rough mattress on the floor and knelt down beside it. She groped around in the straw on which the mattress was laid and pulled out a bow. Taking it from her, Eiluned stroked the weapon fondly then helped her companion up from the floor.

  ‘No arrows?’ said the old woman.

  ‘I shot the only two I needed.’

  ‘You must have been sure of your aim.’

  ‘My father taught me well,’ said Eiluned, pleased to have the bow in her hands again. ‘He brought me up as the son he never had. Other girls learned to cook, sew and make baskets. I practised with a dagger and a bow.’ Her jaw tightened. ‘I am glad that my skills can be put to such good use. Had he lived, my father would have been proud of me.’

  She came out into the fresh air again and inhaled deeply.

  ‘What will happen now?’ asked the other, following her out.

  ‘I cannot tell you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The less you know, the better for all of us.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do.’ She gave the old woman a brief hug. ‘Thank you again for your help. You saved my life. I will not forget.’

  ‘Goodbye, Eiluned.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Will you come again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I am always ready.’

  ‘We will not put you in such danger again.’

  Eiluned walked to the edge of the clearing and turned.

  ‘Good luck!’ called the old woman.

  ‘We may need it,’ murmured the other. With a farewell wave, she darted swiftly off into the trees and was soon lost from sight.

  Ralph Delchard took a long time to get used to the notion.

  ‘A female archer!’ he exclaimed. ‘Never!’

  ‘That is what the boy saw,’ said Gervase.

  ‘It is what he thought he saw. But how much credence can we place on the word of a frightened lad? He was in a panic when he fled from the others in the forest. He would have been too terrified to notice anything.’

  ‘I disagree, Ralph. I spoke with him.’

  ‘Then why did he not mention this fantasy of his before?’

  ‘It is not a fantasy.’

  ‘A woman using a bow and arrow? No, Gervase!’

  ‘It would not be the first time in these isles,’ the other reminded him. ‘Warrior queens have ruled here in ancient times. They took up arms and rode out to battle in their chariots.’

  Ralph was scornful. ‘Is that what this archer is supposed to have done? Ridden up in her chariot and fired a deadly arrow as she raced past? You insult my intelligence, Gervase.’

  ‘I was astonished myself at first,’ confessed his friend, ‘but Gytha swore to me that that was what her brother said. The reason Beollan did not tell me the truth earlier is obvious. He did not trust me enough. Why should he? I am staying under the roof of the man who ordered the death of his father and brother. He was bound to be suspicious of me.’ Gervase was convinced. The archer was a woman, Ralph.’

  ‘That is patent nonsense.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it takes strength to pull a bow.’

  ‘It takes strength to do all the household chores that most women do each day. The weaker sex is not as weak as you suppose. Beollan really did see a woman with a bow.’

  ‘Only in his imagination.’

  ‘Why should he invent such a tale?’

  ‘To confuse us still further.’

  ‘No, Ralph. The boy has sharp eyes. He was trained as a lookout. He would not make a mistake.’

  ‘He did on this occasion. Women do not shoot arrows.’

  ‘Is it any more difficult than brewing beer?’

  Ralph was checked. He had forgotten Golde. Only a robust woman could have run the business as effectively as his wife had done in Hereford. She would not have survived in such a tough, competitive trade if she had been meek and mild in her approach. Both in mind and body, Golde was undeniably strong.

  They were in Gervase’s apartment at the castle. Sounds of activity rose up from the bailey. Ralph crossed to the window and looked down at the busy scene. When he saw quivers of arrows being set out in readiness at intervals along the battlements, he turned back to Gervase. He shifted the ground of his argument slightly.

  ‘Great skill is needed in archery,’ he said.

  ‘Women can acquire skills as easily as men.’

  ‘A bow is a deadly weapon, Gervase.’

  ‘That was proved in the forest.’

  ‘Not by any female archer,’ maintained Ralph. ‘Skill must be matched with an instinct to kill. Women are brought up to nurture life, not to take it. Look at Golde. She has power enough to kill but has far too gentle a disposition ever to use that power.’

  Gervase smiled. ‘I am not so sure about that,’ he teased. ‘Judging from her expression at the table last night, I think she would cheerfully have murdered the brewer who provided that dreadful beer.’

  ‘She would have drowned him in his own brewhouse!’

  ‘I rest my case.’

  ‘Be serious, Gervase,’ returned the other. ‘There is every difference between a momentary impulse such as Golde felt and a calculated act of murder. What sort of woman would have the nerve to assassinate someone?’

  ‘One with a strong mot
ive. It has happened many times before, Ralph. Emperors and kings have fallen victim to wives or discarded mistresses.’

  ‘They did not lurk in the forest with a bow and arrow.’

  ‘No,’ conceded Gervase. ‘Women tend to favour poison or a stealthy dagger over archery, but the result is the same.’

  Ralph could manage no reply. He wrestled with his doubts for a few minutes before looking across at his friend.

  ‘Are you completely persuaded about this?’ he said.

  ‘Gytha would not lie to me.’

  ‘Supposing her brother lied to her?’

  ‘To what end? Beollan told her honestly what he saw.’

  ‘A woman running away.’

  ‘Leaving two men to pay for the crime she had committed,’ said Gervase. ‘His father and brother were executed, Ralph. Hanged by the neck then hacked to pieces. Do you think that Beollan will ever forget the archer who was responsible for their deaths? They unwittingly covered her escape.’

  ‘Only on the first occasion.’

  ‘First?’

  ‘When the hawk was killed,’ said Ralph. ‘What about the second incident when Raoul Lambert fell to an arrow? If, as you argue, the same archer claimed both victims, how did she escape the second time when there was nobody to divert attention from her? You heard Earl Hugh. They searched under every bush in that part of the forest and found nothing.’

  ‘Yes, they did.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Two women making baskets outside a cottage.’

  ‘So?’ The truth slowly dawned on him. ‘You think …’

  ‘It is only a guess, Ralph, but it has taken firm hold on my mind. What better way to elude capture? The soldiers were searching for a male archer. They would not look too closely at a woman who was working away at a basket. If you were hunting a wild boar, would you stop to look at rabbits?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She outwitted them.’

  Ralph pondered. ‘You may be right,’ he said at length.

  ‘What other explanation is there?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Then we are faced with a dilemma.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Do we divulge this intelligence to Earl Hugh or not?’

  ‘I think not,’ decided Ralph. ‘I would love to see the expression on his face when I tell him that his huntsman was killed by a woman, but I will forgo that pleasure until we are quite certain of our facts.’