‘No mercy will be shown to them,’ promised Wulfstan. ‘Strang the Dane and his henchman will be tried, convicted and hanged. A lot of parents will sleep more soundly after this day's work.’
‘So will the monks of this abbey,’ said Frewine softly. ‘With your permission, Father Abbot, I would like to put a question of my own to these three heroes.’ Hubert basked in his inclusion. ‘We now know that it was Strang who was seen arguing with Brother Nicholas and that he killed our holy brother. But why? The motive is unclear.’
‘It was to us,’ admitted Gervase. ‘At first.’
‘But I got the truth out of him,’ boasted Ralph. ‘It is amazing how willing some people are to talk when they have a swordpoint at their throat. Strang was furious with Brother Nicholas. He had waited patiently until it was safe to abduct another novice from the abbey, knowing that your rent collector would have won the confidence of his next victim. But Nicholas betrayed him. Having befriended Owen for the purpose of selling him to Strang, he grew to like the boy too much and Owen, in turn, became fond of him. They were like father and son, meeting in secret at night in the bell tower just to be together. When Strang tried to force Nicholas to hand the boy over, he refused. He could not bear to part with a child he had come to love.’
‘He had some glimmer of humanity, then,’ observed Wulfstan.
‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘Owen adored him. He would not hear a word against his friend. Brother Nicholas, apparently, gave him a coin as a memento. It was the most precious thing Owen possessed. He told us that he buried it in the grave.’
Abbot Serlo was troubled. ‘That is a commendable gesture but it concerns me that a novice should believe that money is more precious than serving God in all humility. Owen has much to learn.’
‘Adversity has already been a strict teacher,’ said Frewine. ‘But do continue, my lord,’ he invited, turning to Ralph again. ‘I do not believe that you finished what you were saying.’
‘Gervase has told you the bulk of it, Brother Frewine,’ said Ralph. ‘And let me confess to you all that I misjudged your rent collector. When I heard the rumours about him, I thought his interest in young boys had an unnatural side to it. Which it did, in a sense, because what is more unnatural than selling them into slavery? But he had no designs on their innocence, Owen assured us of that. They just sat together and talked. Nothing more occurred. The closeness of their friendship may have annoyed Strang but it also gave him his opportunity.’
‘In what way?’ said Hubert.
‘He knew that Owen would want to mourn Brother Nicholas. The only way that he could do that alone was to visit the grave or the church at night. Strang rightly guessed that the boy might be on the loose and he lay in ambush.’ He touched the bruise on his chin. ‘Strang is a powerful man, I can vouch for that. Owen had no chance against him.’
‘This has all ended most satisfactorily,’ said Abbot Serlo. ‘I am so grateful that Canon Hubert took an interest in this whole business.’
‘My colleagues are the real heroes,’ said Hubert with false modesty. ‘But I like to feel that I set everything in train. What pleases me is that my earlier judgement was proved sound.’
‘What earlier judgement?’
‘The same one you made yourself, Abbot Serlo. That the killer could not possibly have been a Benedictine monk?’
‘Yet he was,’ said Ralph. ‘When he committed murder and abducted a novice, Strang the Dane was wearing a cowl. To all intents and purposes, he was one of you.’
A loud chorus of protest came from Serlo, Wulfstan, Hubert and Frewine. It was left to Gervase to provide the balm to their injured pride.
‘Cuchullus non facit monachum,’ he said.
The quartet smiled instantly and clapped in approval.
‘What does it mean, Gervase?’ asked Ralph.
‘The hood does not make a monk.’
When he was summoned that evening by the Master of the Novices, Kenelm walked towards Brother Paul's lodging on unsteady feet. He was certain that a long overdue punishment would now be administered. It was not only because he had twice ventured out of the dormitory at night that he feared reprisal. What terrified him most was the thought that the strong-armed Brother Paul had caught wind of his earlier vow to flee from the abbey. Kenelm had changed his mind about that but he doubted if the master would give him time to explain. The mere suggestion of him absconding would be enough to stir his ire. As he knocked on Brother Paul's door, Kenelm could almost hear the swish of the birch rod. Sweat ran freely down his back like so much blood.
The door opened and the bushy eyebrows lifted with pleasure.
‘Kenelm!’ greeted Brother Paul. ‘Come on in!’
He stood back to reveal another visitor. Seated in a corner was the waif-like figure of Owen, released from his torment and restored once more to the abbey. Kenelm was so pleased to see him again that he burst into tears. Brother Paul eased him forward.
‘Why not give him a proper welcome?’ he suggested.
Kenelm darted forward as Owen rose to his feet. They embraced warmly and held each other for a long time. Kenelm was thrilled to see him back in the safety of the cloister but it was Owen who had the greater delight. In that involuntary hug, a whole list of past slights was forgotten and forgiven. Kenelm liked him now. Owen had a new friend.
It was a splendid feast with an appropriate air of celebration this time. His business in Gloucester concluded, King William was able to relax, and he presided happily over the banquet in the hall at the castle. They were all there: Durand the Sheriff, the nominal host, sat beside the King, with his wife on the other side of their guest. The other three members of the council were in attendance, Bishop Wulfstan among them, at last persuaded, to the advantage of all within reach of him, to remove his malodorous cloak while he was at table. Ralph, Gervase and Golde sat together. Canon Hubert had accepted the invitation to join them, as had Abbot Serlo, but Brother Simon had not dared to quit the abbey. Hubert felt his decision wise. Among the other guests were Hamelin of Lisieux and his wife. Unable to take his own eyes from the lady Emma, Hubert kept telling himself how much the scribe would be suffering if he were there.
Though the King was the guest of honour, he graciously directed attention to the commissioners, praising them for their good offices in solving two crimes and liberating the abbey from the grip of fear. Serlo was pleased with all he heard, but Hubert was peeved that his name was not mentioned and Durand was positively writhing with suppressed fury at the way Ralph and Gervase were garlanded for succeeding in duties that rightly fell to him. The sheriff's fury was increased when he saw that Nigel the Reeve was enjoying his discomfiture so openly.
When the festivities finally ended, the guests slowly began to depart. King William came across to put a congratulatory arm around Ralph's shoulders. He gave a chuckle.
‘I should take some credit myself,’ he observed.
‘Credit, my liege?’
‘Yes,’ said William. ‘Who was it who sent you to Gloucester in its hour of need? You came at exactly the right time, Ralph.’
‘But not to get embroiled in murder and abduction. We came here as commissioners, my liege. As it happens,’ he said, seizing a unique opportunity, ‘your own arrival here could not have been more timely. Tomorrow morning we sit in judgement on two men who have royal charters to what appears to be the same holdings.’
‘That will test your mettle.’
‘I was hoping you could save us an immense amount of trouble, my liege. All that you need do is glance at the two charters and tell us which one takes precedence.’
‘And rob you of the pleasure of working it out for yourselves?’ William's chuckle was even riper this time. ‘I am sorry, Ralph. By the time you sit in the shire hall, I will be riding back to Winchester. A momentous decision was made in this hall earlier on. It needs to be implemented with all celerity.’ He walked away. ‘Farewell, my friend. Sleep well, for tomorrow you'll be put through your paces.’
Before Ralph could detain him, the King was gone to speak to Bishop Wulfstan, before quitting the room with the sheriff, who escorted him to his apartment. As he watched them leave, Ralph remembered the warning from Abraham the Priest. There was no reason to doubt its sincerity. In view of the immense help given to them by the archdeacon, he no longer suspected him of complicity in the plot, and Ralph knew that he would be lurking outside the castle that night in the hope of intercepting the impetuous Welshman he feared might be trying to get in. Ideally, the assassin would be turned away.
Ralph's attention shifted to the lady Emma. She was looking more beautiful than ever and he was pleased to see that she and her husband were spending the night at the castle, raising the possibility that they might meet again over breakfast. He was still drooling over the prospect when Golde came up to nudge him out of his reverie. Smiling at his sudden display of interest in her, she linked arms with him and led him out. In the privacy of their bed, he would forget all about the lady Emma. Golde was content. On their way up the stairs, they met Durand. The sheriff was dark-eyed and tight-lipped. Ralph could not resist enraging him even further.
‘All your assumptions about the murder were wrong, my lord sheriff,’ he said cheerily. ‘If you had not misled us so at the start, we'd have solved the crime for you in half the time.’
‘It is solved, my lord. That is the main thing.’
‘By two commissioners and a naked archdeacon.’
‘I would have effected the same arrests in due course.’
‘But you were preoccupied here with affairs of state.’
‘Good night, my lord.’ A cold smile for Golde. ‘My lady.’
‘Good night,’ she replied. ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’
‘You are most welcome.’
‘And the King?’ asked Ralph. ‘Is he well guarded?’
‘Of course,’ said Durand testily. ‘I have seen to that. Go back to your own work, my lord. This is my castle and I am responsible for everything which happens under its roof. You will not take my office on again. I resent it. I deplore it. I forbid it!’
Abraham the Priest kept up his lonely vigil well into the night. Even when those leaving the castle had finally departed, he remained at his post, close enough to keep the castle under surveillance while keeping out of sight of the sentries who patrolled the ramparts with flaming torches. It was a warm night but low cloud was blocking out the moon. That fact alone, he feared, might tempt Madog to fulfil his threat. The archdeacon strained his eyes to penetrate the gloom but it was his ears which alerted him. There was a padding sound far off to the right, as if someone were keeping to the shadows and heading towards the castle walls. He moved stealthily forward until he caught sight of the man.
A hunched figure was conjured out of the darkness. Abraham did not hesitate. Scurrying up behind him, he threw a restraining arm around his neck and clapped his other hand over his mouth to prevent a yelp which would have alerted the guards. He dragged the assassin away.
The hoot of an owl brought him awake. Ralph was suddenly alarmed. He got out of bed at once and reached for his dagger, sensing that something was amiss without quite knowing why. Golde was fast asleep. He unbolted the door and let himself out. The steps felt cold beneath his bare feet but he did not dare to make a sound. It was dark at the top of the staircase but candles burned close to the apartment at the bottom where King William slept. Outside the room, he knew, would be an armed guard who was relieved at regular intervals by a deputy. Ralph crept on until he saw the first flickers of light reflected on the walls. He relaxed. All was well. The candles burned, the guard was in place, the King was in no danger. His alarm was groundless.
Then the fingers of flame disappeared from the wall with dramatic suddenness. Someone had extinguished the candles. Gripping his dagger more tightly, he went on down the stairs with a mixture of urgency and apprehension. When he reached the bottom, he almost tripped over something and realised that it was the guard. More than the candle had been snuffed out. As he knelt beside the man, he could feel the blood gushing from the slit throat. Ralph needed no more prompting. The assassination attempt was taking place after all. He flung open the door and charged into the room.
A single candle burned beside the bed but it contained no King of England. A sack of something had been placed beneath the blanket to give the impression that the bed was occupied. The man who had stabbed so viciously at the sleeping King now stood back in amazement and stared down at the empty bed. Ralph was on him in an instant, knocking him flat with the impetus of his attack, then trying to disarm him. But the assassin was a more wily opponent than Strang the Dane. He recovered at once to jab at his adversary and inflicted a flesh wound in Ralph's arm. Dropping his dagger, Ralph jumped up and used his foot to deliver a kick to the other's face. A loud grunt showed that his aim was accurate. Ignoring the trickle of blood from his arm, Ralph leaned over to blow out the candle and plunge the room into darkness.
They were on more even terms now. The assassin was armed but Ralph was elusive, darting around him as he rose from the floor and waiting for the moment to attack. It soon arrived. Alerted by the sounds of the struggle, guards came running. A blaze of light appeared in the doorway. It illumined a tall figure in a black cowl. Caught between the desire to kill Ralph and the need to escape, the man hesitated for a fatal second. Ralph was on him, seizing his wrist and bowling him to the ground before punching him with his other hand. Bright light bathed them and a dozen swords brought their struggle to an end.
‘Stop!’ yelled a peremptory voice. ‘Stand back, Ralph!’
Reluctant to get up, Ralph obeyed the King, wondering how he had just come through the door of the apartment in which he was supposed to be sleeping. But his main interest was in the identity of the man he had fought. Seeing the hopelessness of his position, the latter had dropped his dagger and was cowering on the floor. Ralph reached down to throw back his hood, expecting to see the face of a Welsh assassin.
But it was Hamelin of Lisieux who glowered up at him.
‘I am glad that I decided to quit this chamber,’ said the King. ‘He would have been a murderous bedfellow. Take him away!’
Hamelin was dragged out quickly by the guards, Ralph still trying to overcome his amazement. King William gave a weary smile.
‘Once again, I am in your debt, Ralph. You warned us that there would be an attempt on my life. I took the best precaution I could and moved from the bed he would expect me to be in.’
‘I never suspected Hamelin of Lisieux,’ admitted Ralph.
‘That is because you do not know his wife as well as I do.’
‘The lady Emma?’
‘A beautiful but ambitious lady.’
‘Is she involved in this plot?’
‘My guess is that she probably instigated it,’ said William. ‘That is why I did not allow her husband at the council table. Do you know what we discussed here in Gloucester?’
‘No, my liege.’
‘The invasion of the Vexin.’
‘I begin to see the connection.’
‘Guess from which part of France the lady Emma hails?’
‘The Vexin.’
‘Correct.’ He saw the blood on Ralph's arm. ‘But you are injured. The wound must be bathed and dressed.’
‘It is nothing, my liege,’ he said, stemming the flow with the palm of his other hand. ‘Tell me more about the lord Hamelin.’
‘There is little more to tell beyond the fact that I have doubted his loyalty for some time. It was given out that he spent much time in Normandy but my intelligencers say that he crossed into the Vexin with his wife.’ He glanced at the bed. ‘Now we know why. And to come in the guise of a monk shows his cunning. The guard outside the door would not have had suspicion of him until it was too late. Hamelin of Lisieux was a treacherous monk.’
‘Cuchullus non facit monachum.’ said Ralph with a smile.
‘I did not take you for a Latin scholar.’
‘I have many talents. But what will happen to his wife?’
‘She will be executed alongside him. Would you like to have the pleasure of seeing the lady arrested in her chamber?’
‘It is a temptation I will resist,’ said Ralph. ‘A more beautiful woman awaits me in my own apartment. More beautiful and more loyal to her King. Besides,’ he added, holding up his arm, ‘with a wound like this to display, I can be assured of unlimited sympathy.’
Other guards now waited for orders at the door. Before Ralph could ease past them, the King stopped him with a final question. ‘Who did you think the assassin would be?’ he asked.
‘Someone else.’
Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were the first to arrive at the shire hall the following morning. Unaware of nocturnal events at the castle, Hubert had reached the conclusion that Hamelin of Lisieux had a legal right to the holdings which he had seized from Strang the Dane. He was aghast, therefore, when Ralph Delchard walked in with his arm in a sling and told him of the bungled assassination. Simon was almost as horrified at the injuries to his colleague as he was at the notion of an attempt on the King's life. Ralph was touched by his concern.
‘It does simplify matters,’ Gervase pointed out.
‘Does it?’ said Hubert.
‘Yes. Strang the Dane has been removed from the race and the lord Hamelin has also fallen. The choice now rests between a Breton and a Welshman. Which would you choose?’
‘Neither, if I am honest.’
‘No decision is required of you, Hubert,’ said Ralph. ‘It has already been made by a higher authority.’
‘God?’
‘Not that high.’
‘King William,’ explained Gervase. ‘He was so grateful to Ralph for his brave intervention that he deigned to settle this dispute for us. He confirmed the charter to Querengar. The holdings go to the Breton.’
‘Summary justice,’ observed Hubert. ‘Will the King resolve all our disputes like that? He will save us a great deal of time if he does.’
‘He rode out of Gloucester at dawn,’ said Ralph. ‘Let us put the two surviving claimants out of their misery, shall we? Then we may move swiftly on to the other disputes before shaking the dust of this fair city from our shoes. When I looked into the jaundiced eye of the sheriff this morning, I had a feeling that we'd already outstayed our welcome.’
The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10) Page 26