The Hawks of Delamere (Domesday Series Book 7)

by Edward Marston

  ‘No,’ insisted the other. ‘It is our responsibility. I will get it myself, Gervase. You may be better employed soothing the lord Ralph.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Earl Hugh refused to let him ride out with the army.’

  ‘How has he taken it?’

  ‘He is mortified.’

  Gervase understood why. He waved Hubert off then went in through the postern gate and walked towards the castle. The streets were largely deserted. Fear kept most people indoors. Even the yapping dogs seemed to have fled. Gervase was rather surprised, therefore, when he saw a young woman strolling idly past the castle and throwing it a casual glance. She seemed oddly out of place. He watched her until she turned a corner and vanished, wondering why she was wearing a voluminous cloak on such a warm day.

  After the third feigned attack by the raiding parties, Robert of Rhuddlan began to lose his patience. He ordered a troop of his own men to saddle up so that they could issue forth and intercept one of the bands when next they rode past the castle. If he could inflict losses on the enemy, they might be forced into a direct fight. He was still giving orders outside the stables when the captain of the guard summoned him to the rampart. Robert went quickly up the steps.

  ‘What is happening?’ he said.

  ‘I do not know, my lord.’

  ‘Are they playing more tricks on us?’

  ‘Not this time, I think,’ said the captain. ‘It seems as if they are joining into one large force.’

  ‘They mean to attack at last,’ decided Robert.

  ‘Do not be so sure, my lord.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Look!’

  When the bands of warriors came together, they faced the castle in a long line and waved their weapons aloft. After jeering derisively, they swung their horses around and rode off to the west. Robert felt cheated of his confrontation with them. Once again, they had comprehensively deceived him.

  ‘They never intended to fight us,’ he said.

  ‘Why, then, did they come here, my lord?’

  ‘To keep us penned in here.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘I wish I knew.’

  Danger was over but mystery remained. Robert of Rhuddlan would have much to report to his uncle when Earl Hugh finally reached him. What troubled him most was the feeling that he had been the victim of a cruel hoax.

  His opportunity came at last and he seized it eagerly. When Idwal of St David’s saw that the cathedral was completely empty, he hurried off to his tiny chamber to collect the object which he had left there. Back within a matter of minutes, he let himself quickly into the vestry and lowered the latch softly behind him.

  The oak chest stood in a corner, stout enough to deter most people but posing an irresistible challenge to Idwal. Putting down the object on the floor, he took a long-bladed knife from beneath his cloak and probed the lock with its point. It was slow work, calling for skill and patience. Idwal evinced both in the gloom of the vestry and was suitably rewarded in time by the sound of the lock clicking open.

  ‘At last!’ he said to himself.

  Lifting the lid, he gazed into the chest and saw exactly what he had hoped to find. The Gospel of St Teilo, an illuminated manuscript which bore a picture of the saint himself, seated on his episcopal throne. Idwal’s heart lifted and he reached out to pick up the unique relic but a noise from the cathedral checked him. He crept to the door and inched it open until he could peer into the nave.

  Canon Hubert was coming down the aisle towards him with a satchel over his shoulder. Idwal’s first reaction was one of desperation but his agile brain soon framed itself to the emergency. Closing the door, he went back to the oak chest.Hubert, meanwhile, having genuflected in front of the altar, made his way to the vestry. He tapped lightly on the door then opened it to enter the chamber.

  A startled Idwal stepped back guiltily from the box. ‘Hubert!’he exclaimed.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was just … looking round.’

  ‘Who opened that chest?’ asked Hubert, suspicion flooding.

  ‘I found it like this.’

  ‘Archdeacon Frodo would never have left it in that state. It contains the cathedral’s relics, including a copy of the Gospel of St Chad.’

  ‘St Teilo.’

  ‘St Chad of Lichfield.’

  ‘St Teilo,’ corrected Idwal, taking the Gospel out from beneath his cloak. ‘A Welsh saint from Llandeilo Fawr.’

  ‘What are you doing with it?’

  ‘Restoring it to its rightful place in Wales. It was taken from there centuries ago by a Saxon monk, hunting for relics. I am taking it home.’

  Hubert blenched. ‘You are stealing it?’

  ‘Merely repossessing it, Hubert.’

  ‘It amounts to the same thing.’

  ‘Not to me,’ said Idwal pedantically. ‘Theft is a crime and I would never sink to that. Reclaiming stolen goods is a matter of honour. That is all that I am doing.’

  ‘I will report you to Archdeacon Frodo.’

  ‘Why? He will not miss the Gospel.’

  ‘He is bound to,’ said Hubert. ‘The moment that he opens the chest, he will see that it has gone.’

  ‘But it has not,’ explained Idwal, reaching into the chest to take out a copy of the Gospel identical to the one he already held. ‘You see? Though I take one relic, I replace it with another. The one I have brought is a clever forgery. If I exchange it for the genuine Gospel, nobody will know the difference.’

  ‘I will,’ boomed Hubert. ‘And I will not condone such a heinous offence. Put the relic back before you damage it.’

  ‘But it belongs in Llandeilo,’ pleaded Idwal.

  ‘It is the property of this cathedral and I’ll not stand by and watch it being stolen. Put it back!’

  He stood over Idwal until the archdeacon consented to replace the Gospel which he had just lifted out of the chest. Hubert closed the lid firmly and the lock clicked into place.

  ‘Thank heaven I came,’ said Hubert, preening himself. ‘I was searching for Archdeacon Frodo but I found you here instead, trying to steal the most precious relic that the cathedral possesses. This is a heinous crime.’

  ‘I was acting with the best of intentions.’

  ‘You should be reported to your bishop for this outrage.’

  ‘He will have a full account of what happened here.’

  ‘I trust that he will take the appropriate action. Really, Archdeacon Idwal,’ clucked Hubert sanctimoniously, ‘I am surprised at you. I have accused you of many things but I never thought that you would stoop to bare-faced theft.’

  Idwal was penitent.’ I am sorry.’

  ‘You should be thoroughly ashamed.’

  ‘I am, Hubert. I persuaded myself that what I was doing was justified. Especially as I was taking one Gospel and replacing it with another that was almost identical.’ He held up the copy in his hand. ‘Will you forgive me, Canon Hubert?’

  ‘Only God can do that.’

  ‘Will you tell Bishop Robert about this?’

  ‘I must. It is my duty.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Idwal sadly. ‘I see that. You are right. It is as well that I am leaving Chester today. My face no longer fits and I have caused enough trouble.’

  ‘That is certainly true.’

  Idwal gazed longingly at the chest then ran a covetous hand along its surface. Hubert clicked his tongue and the archdeacon backed away at once.

  ‘I leave you in peace,’ he said.

  ‘I will not pretend to grieve at this parting.’

  ‘Nor would I expect you to, Hubert. Give my regards to Brother Simon and … do not think too harshly of me.’

  Idwal went swiftly through the door and closed it behind him. Canon Hubert basked in his own righteousness for a few minutes then went to the chest to stroke it. He had the satisfaction of knowing that he had just prevented a dreadful crime from being committed and dispatched the troublesome Welshman out of t
he city at the same time. They were achievements of which he felt inordinately proud.

  An hour later, Archdeacon Idwal was riding happily out of the city with the genuine Gospel of St Teilo packed away in his satchel. Having switched them before Hubert came into the vestry, he was able to take exactly what he had come for and to leave the replica in the oak chest. Nobody at the cathedral would ever know that their Gospel was a fake and that Hubert’s proud claims were really the boasts of a gullible man who had been thoroughly tricked.

  Idwal’s cackle of delight sent his horse into a gallop.

  Ralph Delchard had overcome his disappointment at being left behind at the castle. He was beginning to think that his presence there was fortuitous. Gervase Bret agreed.

  ‘I believe that it is part of an elaborate plot.’

  ‘What is, Gervase?’

  ‘The way that Earl Hugh has been lured out of Chester.’

  ‘But the Welsh are massing on the border.’

  ‘Are they?’

  ‘So it is reported.’

  ‘That is how they wish it to seem, ’ argued Gervase, ‘in order to cause a distraction. Study the pattern of events. A favourite hawk is killed. What better way to enrage Earl Hugh? His close friend is murdered to keep that rage bubbling. His messenger is killed on the way to Rhuddlan to give the impression that an army is on the march.’

  ‘It may well be, Gervase.’

  ‘I wonder.’

  ‘Why has the road to Rhuddlan been blocked?’

  ‘To convince Earl Hugh that a rebellion is stirring on the other side of the border. Am I making sense, Ralph?’

  ‘Too much sense,’ said the other. ‘You are thinking like a soldier for once. It is what I should have been doing instead of feeling sorry for myself at being left behind. Creating a diversion is one of the arts of war. The Welsh appear to have created a number of them.’

  ‘To what end, though?’

  Their eyes locked and they realised the answer to the question simultaneously. Ralph leaped up from his chair and reached for his sword. Gervase opened the door of the chamber and led the way down from the keep.

  ‘What will we do, Ralph?’

  ‘Dispatch messengers after Hugh. Urge him to turn back. They have only been gone a couple of hours. Fast horses will soon start to gain on them.’

  ‘Suppose he refuses?’

  ‘He is not stupid. He will see the wisdom of our advice.’

  ‘And meanwhile?’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ said Ralph, delighted at the prospect of action, ‘we must hope that we get there in time.’

  The first arrow pierced the guard’s throat and sent him gurgling to the ground. Dafydd hurried forward to drag the body out of sight. The second arrow picked off another man with uncanny accuracy. Once again, it was left to Dafydd to haul the corpse away. Eiluned stepped back into the doorway as she fitted another arrow to her bow. Two of the obstacles had been removed without any difficulty. She awaited further orders from Sion.

  From his position in the upper room of a house, he had a good view of the castle. When a third guard emerged from the postern gate, Sion gave the signal and Eiluned’s arrow claimed yet another victim. Dafydd was on hand to pull the man behind a stone trough. He looked up at the house and saw the wave from Sion. It was time to move in.

  All three of them were soon crouched outside the postern gate. Sion used the hilt of his dagger to pound the studded oak. A bolt was drawn, a key put in a lock and the heavy door swung back far enough for them to slip through. Once inside, they paused to take stock of their surroundings.

  The plan had worked. Earl Hugh and his army had departed, leaving only a minimal garrison at the castle. What guards remained were patrolling the walls and looking outwards. They did not see the figures emerging from the shadows by the postern gate. Sion went first with Dafydd close behind him, both carrying daggers in their hands. Eiluned was several yards behind them, ready to provide cover, keeping low as she ran and scanning the bailey with sharp eyes. The three of them reached the entrance to the dungeons unchallenged.

  Leaving their archer on sentry duty, Sion and Dafydd opened the door and slowly descended the steps. Only one guard was in the passageway and he was knocked senseless with a blow from Sion’s mailed fist. Hooked on the man’s belt was a large iron key ring. While Dafydd grabbed the keys, Sion ran to the cell where he knew their prince was kept. Peering through the grille, he saw Gruffydd ap Cynan fast asleep in the straw.

  ‘My lord!’ he called. ‘Wake up, my lord!’

  ‘Surely, they have not killed him?’ said Dafydd, trying the different keys in the lock. ‘My lord! We’ve come for you!’

  The figure turned lazily in the straw and they were reassured. Dafydd eventually found the right key and the door was opened. They dashed in to kneel beside the Prince of Gwynedd. Sion shook him by the arm.

  ‘Wake up, my lord!’ he urged.

  Ralph Delchard obeyed at once, opening his eyes and launching himself upwards with such force that he knocked Sion off his feet. A punch to the stomach took all the wind out of Dafydd’s lungs and bent him double. Ralph chopped down hard on the back of his neck and sent him reeling.

  Sion had now recovered enough to realise that they had been outwitted. Hurling himself at Ralph, he got a grip on his throat and started to apply pressure but he reckoned without his victim’s strength. With a loud grunt, Ralph lifted him bodily and hauled him against the wall, cracking open his head and spraying blood everywhere.

  He looked down in disappointment at the two groaning figures in the straw. ‘I was hoping for more fight out of you than that,’ he mocked. ‘Why give up so easily?’

  Before they could recover, the two men were overpowered by the guards who rushed in from the adjoining cell where they had been hiding. Sion and Dafydd were pinioned within seconds. Their attempt at liberating the Prince of Gwynedd was over.

  Crouching beside the entrance to the dungeons, Eiluned wondered what was causing the delay. A voice behind her made her swing round, an arrow already fitted into her bowstring.

  Gervase Bret was watching her with keen interest.

  ‘I was hoping that we would meet,’ he said in Welsh.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘An admirer of your skill. I have never heard of anyone shooting arrows with such precision. The one that killed Raoul Lambert was even better than that which brought Earl Hugh’s hawk down out of the air.’

  ‘I have an arrow for you as well,’ she warned, pulling back the bowstring. ‘Stand back.’

  ‘You cannot kill us all,’ he said easily.

  She stole a glance around her and saw that she was now ringed by archers. There was no escape. Bow still ready, she fell back on cold defiance.

  ‘I am proud of what I did,’ she boasted. ‘Raoul Lambert deserved to die. It was my duty to cut him down.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He abducted my father. We never saw him alive again.’

  ‘Are you sure that Raoul Lambert was responsible?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ she said. ‘There were others. Many others. That is what he did. Killed to order. Why else would Earl Hugh have so much time for him? Raoul Lambert was his executioner.’

  Gervase walked slowly towards her then made a sudden grab for her bow but she was too quick. Eluding his hand, she ran up the steps to the battlements and stood with her back to them. Guards closed in from both sides and Gervase went up the steps after her. He tried to reason with her.

  ‘Give yourself up,’ he advised. ‘You have no chance.’

  ‘I’ll never surrender.’

  ‘You won’t get out of here alive.’

  ‘I won’t need to.’

  She discharged her last arrow high into the air and Gervase looked up to follow its flight. When he turned back to Eiluned, she had disappeared from sight, having flung herself violently from the battlements to avoid arrest. Gervase looked down to see the broken body on the ground below, oozing blood and twisted into an unnatura
l shape.

  Ralph joined him to gaze down at the hideous sight.

  ‘Two captured and one dead,’ he said. ‘One more left.’

  ‘Who is that?’ asked Gervase.

  ‘Their confederate. They must have had somebody inside the castle to tell them exactly where Gruffydd was being kept and how best they could gain entry. It was the same man who sent them word about the hunting parties, and was always listening outside my door to see what he could pick up. I set four guards to watch the postern gate and arrest him as soon as he had let the conspirators in.’

  ‘Who is he, Ralph?’

  ‘See for yourself.’

  There was a shriek of protest as Durand was dragged across the bailey and taken down into the dungeons. The dwarf unleashed a torrent of abuse at Ralph but the latter only smiled benignly.

  ‘I had guessed his identity even before he gave us the proof of his treachery just now. It was Golde who put me on to him,’ said Ralph airily. ‘She told me that I should never trust a man who allows bad beer to be served.’

  Epilogue

  A single week effected the most profound changes in Chester.Restored to the shire hall, the commissioners sat in judgement on a stream of cases and managed to put right some glaring anomalies missed by their predecessors. Land formerly in the possession of Raoul Lambert was either returned to its original holders or their heirs, or distributed between other tenants with claims against him.

  Ralph Delchard was at his most effective, Gervase Bret was a penetrating examiner of evasive witnesses, Canon Hubert was pleased that the Church was able to recover so much land which had been seized unjustly from it and Brother Simon was happy to be engaged in the work which had brought him to Chester in the first place. The four of them worked well as a team and they left the city in no doubt that the King’s writ ran as far as Cheshire.

  After losing Raoul Lambert and being duped so effectively by the Welsh, Earl Hugh was strangely subdued and Brother Gerold’s influence over him gradually increased again. The conscience which had smitten him intermittently in the past no longer seemed quite so incompatible with his behaviour. Though the banquets continued unabated and the hunting expeditions resumed, the earl nevertheless seemed to have mellowed slightly. He was even observed talking to his wife on one occasion.