The Hawks of Delamere (Domesday Series Book 7)

by Edward Marston

  Robert de Limesey rose to the occasion magnificently. His reedy voice echoed down the nave and he delivered such a moving encomium that several tears had to be wiped away. Judged by the praise heaped upon him, Raoul Lambert had been a remarkable man, loyal, upright, caring, devout and free from any blemish. His skills as a huntsman were legendary. Cheshire, it was emphasised, was suffering a huge loss.

  Ralph and Gervase were not caught up in the general emotion. When Mass was sung and the coffin taken out to be lowered into its grave, they lurked on the fringes and took a more objective view of it all.

  ‘This huntsman sounds like a paragon,’ noted Ralph.

  ‘That is not the picture of him which we have,’ said Gervase. ‘Read between the lines of our documents and Raoul Lambert emerges as a rapacious landowner who treats his sub-tenants with a disdain bordering on cruelty.’

  ‘Who, then, was Bishop Robert talking about?’

  ‘Someone close to Earl Hugh and thus above reproach.’

  ‘But why, Gervase?’

  ‘We can only guess.’

  ‘What was the nature of the friendship between earl and huntsman that makes for such a grand funeral? And why does a bishop describe the dead man in such glowing terms?’

  ‘Diplomacy.’

  Ralph was about to rid himself of a few cynical remarks about the episcopacy when he became aware of a pungent smell. At first he thought it was emanating from the corpse, but the coffin had been sweetened with herbs to counter the stench of death. What now assaulted his nostrils was the powerful stink of Idwal’s lambskin cloak, a garment that looked more ragged by the day and which acquired new and more terrible odours by the hour.

  The Welshman stepped in between the two men, his voice, for once, low and gentle, his manner uncharacteristically subdued.

  ‘A funeral is a humbling experience for us all,’ he said.

  ‘There was no humility here,’ observed Ralph. ‘This man went into his grave with pomp worthy of a leading baron. I do not look to have such a service when I pass away.’

  ‘You misunderstand me, my lord,’ said Idwal. ‘What is humbling is the reminder that all flesh must perish. The wealthiest in the land, no less than the poorest, go to their Maker at the end of their days.’

  ‘Raoul Lambert went before his time,’ said Gervase.

  ‘Sadly, he did. But we may profit from that.’

  Gervase was surprised. ‘In what way, Archdeacon Idwal?’

  ‘His body lies here beside the cathedral.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Outside the city walls,’ added Idwal. ‘Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo implored Earl Hugh not to get drawn into a war because their cathedral might be attacked. So might the grave of Raoul Lambert. Earl Hugh was deaf to their entreaties but the notion that the corpse of his dear friend might be abused by a marauding army may make him think again. That is why I am here.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Gervase.

  ‘This is our last opportunity.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Swaying the earl to our purpose. Look,’ said Idwal with a nod in Hugh’s direction, ‘others are already trying to take advantage of the moment.’

  The funeral was over and the congregation was slowly dispersing. Earl Hugh remained beside the grave with Robert de Limesey, Archdeacon Frodo and Brother Gerold around him. All four seemed to be engaged in a silent conference.

  ‘They are willing him to let me speak to Gruffydd ap Cynan,’ said Idwal. ‘I will bide my time until Earl Hugh is about to leave, then I will add my own plea.’

  ‘That might not be appropriate,’ suggested Gervase.

  ‘It would be disastrous,’ said Ralph. ‘The very sight of a Welshman would make him reach for his sword. Keep well away from him, Idwal. And, for God’;s sake, do not stand upwind of him in that revolting cloak of yours.’

  ‘Leave the persuasion to others,’ agreed Gervase.

  Idwal was offended. ‘My intercession could be crucial.’

  ‘It would be!’ sighed Ralph.

  ‘Does he not want this war averted?’

  ‘At this precise moment, no. He is too full of anger over the murder of Raoul Lambert. Revenge is at the forefront of his mind.’ Ralph put a hand on the archdeacon’s shoulder. ‘Do not let him see you here, Idwal. He will take it as a personal insult. Withdraw while you may.’

  ‘It might be politic,’ said Gervase. ‘What persuasion can be applied will come best from Bishop Robert and the others.’

  ‘But I am the only man who can talk with Gruffydd.’

  ‘If and when permission is granted. And it will not be if Earl Hugh is aware of your presence here.’

  Idwal protested but they eventually convinced him that a tactical retreat was in the best interests of everyone. When the Welshman slipped away and the fierce aroma from his cloak gradually lost its intensity, Ralph and Gervase turned back to watch the figures beside the grave.

  An animated conversation was now taking place. Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo were presenting their case with renewed vigour. Earl Hugh seemed to be resisting their arguments and they soon withdrew into the cathedral. Brother Gerold now took over, talking to his master in a more confiding way and indicating the open grave as he spoke. Earl Hugh became reflective. Instead of arguing back, he was now simply listening.

  Viewing it all from a distance, Ralph and Gervase were given some insight into the subtle power which the chaplain exercised over the earl. The funeral was an emotional event and even a man as flint-hard as Hugh d’Avranches was moved. Brother Gerold took him by the arm to lead him away from the grave and continued to pour words of advice into his ears. Hugh’s face was grim and it was difficult to see what effect the chaplain’s plea was having on him.

  Suddenly, it was all over. Earl Hugh muttered something to Gerold then strode off to join the other mourners. As he swept past Ralph and Gervase, his eyes were dark and menacing.

  ‘The appeal has been rejected,’ said Ralph.

  ‘I fear that it has, Ralph.’

  ‘He is like a hawk in the sky. Eager for a kill.’

  ‘That is what frightens me.’

  Brother Gerold came across the grass towards them. ‘I did not expect to see you here,’ he said.

  ‘We wished to pay our respects,’ explained Ralph.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gervase, ‘and to hear Bishop Robert give his paean of praise. We learned much about Raoul Lambert.’

  ‘So did we all,’ said Gerold quietly. ‘But I am glad to find you, Gervase. It will save me the trouble of searching for you at the castle. Our wish has been granted.’

  ‘Has it?’

  ‘Earl Hugh has agreed that we may at least try to solve this crisis by diplomatic means.’

  Ralph was astounded. ‘He has authorised a meeting between Archdeacon Idwal and the prisoner?’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘What is my role?’ said Gervase.

  ‘To observe and record what passes between them.’

  ‘Watch them,’ counselled Ralph. ‘They will be slippery.’

  ‘I have a lot of respect for Idwal,’ said Gervase. ‘For all his deficiencies, he has great integrity and is as committed to preserving the peace between the two nations as anyone. No,’ he continued, reflecting on what lay ahead, ‘the Archdeacon of St David’s is not the problem here. The unknown quantity is Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Returning from the cathedral, Ralph Delchard met his wife on the stairs in the keep. He was just in time to snatch a few words with Golde.

  ‘Are you deserting me, my love?’ he complained.

  ‘Only for a short while.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To sit with the Lady Ermintrude.’

  ‘She was at the funeral.’

  ‘That is why she asked me to visit her,’ said Golde. ‘She is bound to be upset by the experience. Company can sometimes help to alleviate grief.’

 
‘Your company can alleviate anything,’ he said, stealing a kiss.‘Be off to do your good deed for the day. No, wait,’ he added as a thought surfaced, ‘you may be able to help us.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By probing our hostess about Raoul Lambert.’

  ‘What do you wish to know about him, Ralph?’

  ‘Why he and Earl Hugh were such close friends,’ said her husband.

  ‘And why a huntsman merited a funeral service in a cathedral.’

  ‘The Lady Ermintrude may not be able to provide the answers,’warned Golde. ‘She and the earl lead largely separate lives. He only tells her what he wishes her to know.’

  ‘It will not hurt to ask.’

  ‘If the moment arises.’

  ‘Oh, it will, Golde. You’ll make certain of that.’

  A second kiss sent her trotting up the stairs.

  Golde was soon admitted to Ermintrude’s chamber by a gentlewoman who immediately left the two of them alone. The atmosphere was sombre. Ermintrude was seated in a chair, gazing wistfully out of the window as if playing with fond memories of lost joys. Golde went quietly across to her.

  ‘I intrude upon your sadness, my lady,’ she said. ‘Would you prefer me to go away again and return when you feel more ready for company?’

  Ermintrude looked up at her with surprise. ‘I did not hear you come in, Golde.’

  ‘You sent for me, my lady.’

  ‘There is nobody I would rather see at this moment.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Sit down. Please. Beside me.’

  Golde moved the stool close enough to her to be able to touch her if the need arose. As she settled down, she took a closer look at Ermintrude and saw no signs of real grief. If the funeral had been a harrowing event for her, the older woman had made an astonishing recovery.

  Ermintrude gave a sad smile and supplied an explanation. ‘I went to the funeral out of a sense of duty, Golde.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘My husband requested it.’

  ‘Then you had no choice.’

  ‘I grieve over the death of any man – especially one who is felled by an assassin – but I will not pretend to have known Raoul Lambert well enough to mourn his passing.’

  ‘It is better to be honest about these things.’

  ‘I wore the correct face at the funeral,’ said the other with slight asperity. ‘Hugh can ask no more of me.’

  ‘He is blessed in his wife.’

  ‘My husband may think otherwise.’

  ‘Then he is seriously at fault.’

  Ermintrude reached out to squeeze her arm in gratitude. ‘In the time that we have been here,’ she said, ‘there have been far too many funerals. I have lost count of them. And if, as seems likely, war is to break out once again, there will be many more.We will be the losers, Golde.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Wives, mothers, daughters, lovers. When our menfolk take up arms, many will be doomed to die. All that we can do is sit here impotently and suffer the consequences.’ She looked deep into Golde’s eyes. ‘Did you tell your husband about our earlier conversation?’

  ‘Which one, my lady? We have had several.’

  ‘When we talked about his being a born soldier.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Golde. ‘No, I did not.’

  ‘Were you afraid to raise the subject?’

  ‘I suppose I was.’

  ‘What would he have said?’

  ‘Exactly what you predicted, my lady. If there is to be a battle,Ralph would feel compelled to be involved in it. That is why I have been praying that hostilities may somehow be prevented.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It now seems like a forlorn hope.’

  ‘You will get used to those, Golde.’

  ‘Forlorn hopes?’

  ‘They are an inextricable part of marriage.’

  ‘I have not found that with Ralph,’ said Golde loyally.

  ‘Was it different with your first husband?’

  She lowered her head. ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘That means he was chosen for you.’

  ‘By my father.’

  ‘Did you protest against the match?’

  ‘Loudly. But in vain.’

  ‘What did your father say?’

  ‘That I could not hope for a better husband. I had to accept his hand and be grateful.’ Golde’s face crumpled at the memory. ‘I never expected to marry a brewer, my lady. Before the Conquest, my father was a thegn with holdings all over the county. He had wealth and influence. When I was born, I was destined to marry a member of the nobility.’

  ‘And you did.’

  ‘Only by complete chance.’

  ‘That sometimes contrives better than we ourselves. Well,’ said Ermintrude without irony, ‘I am sure that the Norman aristocracy does not arouse the same pride in your breast as the Saxon nobility but I, for one, am grateful that you have come into the former. How else would I have met you?’

  ‘You would not have done so, my lady. Unless you were seized with a passion to ride to Hereford in search of beer.’

  Ermintrude gave a polite laugh. ‘I am never seized by passions,Golde. And that one sounds the most unlikely of all. Let us just be thankful that our paths did cross. Though I could wish they had done so at a less complicated time.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘I fear for him,’ said Ermintrude softly. ‘Though I am no longer a true wife to him, I fear for my husband’s life.’

  ‘Earl Hugh is in no immediate danger, surely?’

  ‘That depends on the arrow.’

  ‘What arrow?’

  ‘The one which killed Raoul Lambert in the forest. Was it really intended for him or was it aimed at Hugh? My husband is convinced that he was the target.’

  ‘Then he will not be caught off guard again.’

  ‘No,’ said Ermintrude, ‘but there is the battle itself.’

  ‘The battle?’

  ‘My husband is inclined to be reckless in the field. That can prove fatal. Anything might happen to him.’

  ‘Not according to Ralph.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He was very impressed with the quality and discipline of Earl Hugh’s men. They amount to a formidable army. Ralph does not believe the Welsh would have much chance against them in open combat.’

  ‘There are other ways of fighting, Golde.’

  ‘Other ways?’

  ‘Raoul Lambert was not killed in open combat.’

  ‘That is true.’

  ‘The Welsh are crafty.’

  ‘That is what Ralph always says of them.’ Golde recalled the favour which her husband had asked of her. ‘My lady,’ she said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What sort of man was Raoul Lambert?’

  ‘I am not the best person to tell you.’

  ‘From what you have heard, was he honest and God-fearing?’

  ‘He was a rare huntsman, I know that,’ said Ermintrude, fishing in a sea of vague memories. ‘I cannot speak for his honesty but I would question his devotion. Nobody who takes part in the revelry which Raoul Lambert enjoyed here can claim to be wholly devout. Like so many of my husband’s friends, he was wedded to excess.’

  ‘You know more about him than you think.’

  ‘He was pleasant enough when I spoke to him.’

  ‘Yet he was not a pleasant man,’ speculated Golde. ‘That is what your tone would seem to suggest.’

  ‘He was a deep man.’

  ‘In what sense?’

  ‘Raoul Lambert kept a great deal hidden.’

  ‘But not from your husband.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ conceded the other. ‘Hugh had the very highest opinion of him. He entrusted things to Raoul which he would confide in nobody else.’

  ‘What sorts of things?’

  ‘I have no idea, Golde.’

  ‘Did your husband give you no indication at all?’

  ‘None,’ said Ermintrude briskly. ‘And now that you h
ave put to me the questions that Ralph asked you to put, perhaps we can talk about something more seemly. Raoul Lambert is dead and he should be allowed to rest in peace.’ She gave an understanding smile. ‘I do not blame you, Golde. You are a faithful wife and did as your husband requested. But no more of it, please. I have suffered the pangs of such fidelity.’

  Golde was cowed. ‘I am deeply sorry, my lady.’

  ‘There is no need.’

  ‘Would you like me to withdraw?’

  ‘No, Golde,’ said the other. ‘I wish you to cheer me up by telling me how to brew beer. Perhaps it is not too late for me to master the art for myself.’

  Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, tempered his anger with discretion. Wanting to vent his spleen again upon the door of his cell, he knew that such violence would only result in his being fettered and that was an indignity he wished to avoid at all costs.What annoyed him most was the abrupt loss of his privileges. Instead of being allowed out daily for exercise in the bailey, he was kept permanently in his dungeon. In place of food of good quality, he was now fed on scraps. And fresh straw was no longer brought into his tiny domain on a regular basis to combat the fetid atmosphere.

  Once an important prisoner of state, he was now treated like a common criminal and it rankled. When he heard feet approaching along the passageway, he rushed to put his face to the grille in the door to shout a protest but it died in the back of his throat.Antagonising the guards would only worsen his plight. He backed away to the wall and glowered.

  A key was inserted into the lock and the door creaked open to admit one of the guards. The man clearly disapproved of the duty which he had been given.

  ‘You have visitors,’ he grunted.

  Not understanding, Gruffydd darted forward involuntarily.

  ‘Get back, you Welsh rogue!’ said the guard, pushing him in the chest. ‘If it was left to me, you would be allowed to see nobody. I would simply lock you in here and throw the key away. Now be quiet and do as you are told.’

  The Welshman resisted the urge to spring at him.

  ‘Are you ready?’ called a voice from the passageway.