The Hawks of Delamere

by Edward Marston

‘That is my feeling as well,’ said Gervase. ‘Apart from anything else, I want to protect Gytha and her brother.’

  ‘Hugh would haul the pair of them in for interrogation and I would not wish that on anybody. I have seen his methods.’

  ‘There is another consideration, Ralph. Their parents were buried in secret yesterday at their parish church.’

  ‘Hugh ordered that the bodies lie in a ditch.’

  ‘Exactly. If he learns the truth, he is likely to have them dug up and thrown back where he left them.’

  ‘We are agreed on one thing then. Hugh hears nothing.’

  ‘Until we verify the facts.’

  ‘And how do we do that, Gervase?’

  ‘We go to the cottage where those two women made baskets,’ said the other. ‘That is where we must start.’

  ‘How on earth would we find the place alone?’

  ‘We would not, Ralph. We need a guide.’

  ‘Brother Gerold?’

  ‘Not this time,’ said Gervase. ‘We must seek help from someone who lives in the Forest of Delamere itself. Someone who is indirectly involved in this business. Someone with her own reasons for finding out the truth.’

  The affection in his friend’s voice made Ralph smile.

  ‘Would her name be Gytha, by any chance?’

  Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, finally lost his patience. Picking up the little stool, he used it to bang on the door of his cell, yelling at the top of his voice at the same time. The noise brought two of his gaolers hurrying down the dark passage towards him.

  ‘Stop that noise!’ ordered one of them.

  ‘Or we’ll stop it for you!’ warned the other.

  ‘What has got into him?’

  When they peered through the grille in the door, their prisoner backed away and tossed the stool aside. He pointed upwards and gestured for them to unlock the door. They shook their heads. Snatching up the stool again, he hurled it at the door with all his might and it splintered against the stout timber. One of the guards turned to his companion.

  ‘He’s run mad. Fetch Earl Hugh.’

  ‘Try to calm him down,’ said the other, hurrying away.

  ‘I’ll calm him down!’ muttered the first man, fingering his sword. ‘If he keeps up this clamour, I’ll calm him down for good. Do you hear that, Gruffydd?’ he shouted. ‘We like peace and quiet down here.’

  The prisoner came to the grille and issued a stream of abuse in Welsh. His gaoler laughed then spat contemptuously at the floor. Gruffydd ap Cynan ranted even more wildly.

  Earl Hugh eventually came to see what the commotion was about. Bearing a flaming torch, he strode along the corridor with a howl of anger. Four soldiers marched at his heels.

  ‘Open the door!’ he ordered.

  ‘He’s in a dangerous mood,’ warned the gaoler.

  ‘So am I. Do as I say!’

  The door was unlocked and the prisoner tried to rush out, but Earl Hugh forced him back with the naked flame. Walking into the noisome cell, he stood over the Welshman and glowered at him. Gruffydd ap Cynan was not afraid. He met his captor’s gaze without flinching.

  ‘What is the trouble here?’ demanded Hugh.

  ‘He is complaining, my lord,’ said the gaoler, ‘because we haven’t taken him for exercise today. I don’t understand a word of his language but that’s what he seems to be saying. He wants to stretch his legs and breathe in some clean air.’

  ‘He is a prisoner here and not a guest,’ snarled Hugh. ‘And he will certainly not enjoy the freedom to stroll about in the bailey as long as his countrymen threaten us.’ His hands moved in graphic gestures. ‘Do you hear that, you Welsh pig?’ he said, holding the torch near Gruffydd’s face. ‘You will stay locked up down here. No light, no exercise and no privileges of any kind.’ He wagged a finger. ‘And no more complaints or I will get really angry.’

  Gruffydd ap Cynan knew little of the language in which he was being addressed but his captor’s meaning was clear. He stood there in dignified silence as his visitors went out and locked the door after them.

  The gaoler followed Earl Hugh along the corridor.

  ‘What will we do if he gets violent again?’

  ‘Put him where he belongs – in chains!’

  Chapter Twelve

  The more Golde saw of the Lady Ermintrude, the more she warmed to her. It was not simply the bonding of two women in a largely male environment, though that was a definite factor in a shifting military situation. There was a deeper kinship, unrecognised at first by either of them, then undeclared when it did slowly impinge upon their consciousness. They sought each other out, talked, compared, speculated together, and developed, in a surprisingly short time, a real friendship. Neither of them dared to probe the roots of that friendship which was, by its very nature, only temporary. They just enjoyed it while they could, like two strangers marooned on a desert island, united in adversity and making light of any individual differences.

  Ermintrude was tolerant of her guest’s occasional stumbles in Norman French and Golde made allowances for the sometimes jarring values of a woman brought up in a dominant aristocratic culture which she, as a Saxon, had come to hate. Golde was helped by the fact that her companion had none of the arrogance and high-handedness so often associated with conquest. If anything, there was a faint air of apology about the Lady Ermintrude, as if she was graciously aware that she was trespassing on someone else’s property.

  ‘Tell me more about brewing,’ she invited.

  ‘Oh, my lady!’ said Golde. ‘We should be here all day.’

  ‘Listening to you is far more interesting than watching the soldiers exercising in the yard. I am intrigued by the idea of your actually taking over your husband’s business when he died. Did you have a natural inclination for the trade?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  ‘How, then, did you come to master it?’

  ‘Of necessity,’ said Golde with a sad smile. ‘My first husband was not wealthy and I had a younger sister to provide for as well as myself. Brewing was a means of survival, my lady. I had picked up the rudiments of it from my husband but I never thought to make a living from it.’

  ‘Yet clearly you did.’

  ‘In time.’

  ‘Your beer must have been of a high quality if you supplied it to Hereford Castle.’

  ‘It was, my lady. But only after I had learned the trade by a process of trial and error. Hereford had other brewers and they mocked the glaring mistakes I was bound to make at first. But I rarely made the same mistake twice and their sniggers soon turned to irritation when I began to take customers from them.’

  Ermintrude was delighted. ‘You got the better of men at their own trade?’

  ‘And women,’ explained Golde. ‘I was not the only female brewer in the city. It is a job that requires patience and intuition. Women tend to have an abundance of both.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ermintrude, lowering her eyelids and clasping her hands in her lap. ‘Patience is indeed a virtue. I have struggled to show it myself. As for intuition,’ she added with a dismissive shrug, ‘that has always been beyond me.’

  ‘Surely not, my lady!’

  ‘I lack instinct, Golde.’

  ‘That is patently untrue.’

  ‘On the surface, perhaps. Deep down, it is another matter.’

  ‘Yet you are so responsive to others,’ said Golde, taken aback by the confession. ‘You seem to know exactly what your guests want before they can even guess at it themselves.’

  ‘That is easy. One can be trained to do that.’

  ‘What is it that you are unable to do, my lady?’

  ‘Make the right decisions.’

  There was a dull finality in her voice which signalled the end of that phase of the conversation. Though Ermintrude retained her usual poise, there was a hint of real suffering behind the impassive mask. Golde waited until her hostess was ready to speak again. They were in the latter's apartment, high up in the keep bu
t well within earshot of the constant activity down in the bailey.

  Ermintrude cast a rueful glance at the window. ‘Do you mind being married to a soldier?’ she asked.

  ‘Ralph’s fighting days are behind him, my lady.’

  ‘Then why does he keep himself in such fine condition?’

  ‘Out of a sense of pride.’

  ‘No, Golde. It springs from an eternal readiness. We are both married to Norman soldiers and they are a breed apart. Such men never retire from the field. Warfare is in their blood. They cannot escape it.’

  ‘Ralph has managed to do so,’ said Golde.

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘I heard that he fought a duel in Herefordshire.’

  ‘That was different, my lady.’

  ‘He bore arms again. Wherein lies the difference?’

  ‘It was the only way to resolve a crisis.’

  ‘That is the common excuse for all battles,’ said Ermintrude with a weary smile. ‘They resolve one crisis then create a dozen others. And so it goes on. I have watched my own husband being drawn into one unnecessary engagement after another. Hugh is an inveterate soldier. He cannot help it. The blast of war is like a love song to him.’ She looked Golde directly in the eyes. ‘I suspect that Ralph Delchard is a man of similar stock.’

  ‘No, my lady!’ protested Golde loudly, shocked at the comparison of her husband with a man she considered to be grotesque and uncouth. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, realising that her reaction might well cause offence to a loyal wife. ‘I know that Ralph came to England as a soldier, but he has now chosen a more peaceful way of life.’

  ‘Not if he travels around the country.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Danger lurks everywhere. Ride any distance and, sooner or later, you are likely to have to defend yourself from attack. Even with their escort, Ralph and Gervase must surely have been the intended prey of outlaws.’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Golde. ‘On our way to York.’

  ‘Did your husband have to draw a weapon in the city?’

  ‘Only to ward off some lions.’

  ‘Lions?’

  ‘Two of them, my lady. Ralph was trapped in a cage with them.He fought to save his own life.’

  ‘He may well have to do that again.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Can you not hear that din down below?’ said the older woman.‘They are preparing for battle. Chester is very close to the Welsh border and there are thousands of roaring lions on the other side of it. What will happen if they launch an assault on this castle?’

  ‘There is no chance of that, surely?’

  ‘Hugh seems to think so.’

  ‘Ralph believes it highly unlikely.’

  ‘But he, with respect, has only been in Cheshire a short while. My husband has been here for several years. He knows the Welsh of old.’ She scrutinised Golde’s face again. ‘In the event of a battle, what will Ralph do? Stay in his apartment with you? Or take up arms and join in the fray?’

  Golde blushed as she accepted what the answer must be.

  ‘I did not mean to upset you,’ said Ermintrude with a soft hand on her wrist, ‘but it is as well to face the truth about one’s husband. It makes for a certain amount of discomfort but it spares you the shock of unpleasant discoveries.’

  It was as close as Ermintrude was prepared to go towards the subject of her husband’s rampant infidelities and she immediately backed away again.

  ‘Ralph Delchard is a fine man,’ she said enviously. ‘You chose well, Golde.’

  ‘He likes to think that he did the choosing.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘It was a mutual decision.’

  ‘The only kind with any true validity.’ Her manner brightened.‘I wish that I had been a brewer.’

  Golde was amazed. ‘You, my lady?’

  ‘Yes. I would love these delicate hands of mine to have learned something other than merely how to sew a fine seam. I do admire your enterprise.’

  ‘I was forced into the trade.’

  ‘Nevertheless, you succeeded. Against all the odds. You did something useful, Golde. At the end of the working day, you must have had great satisfaction.’

  ‘I did,’ agreed the other, ‘but I also had the abiding smell of beer in my nostrils, my apparel and my hair. Brewing follows you home at night, my lady. I would much rather have been able to pass the time sewing a fine seam.’

  The noise outside took on a fresh urgency. Golde tensed.

  ‘Have no fear,’ said Ermintrude soothingly. ‘My husband has the situation in hand. He is at his best in these situations.’

  Golde nodded. ‘So is Ralph,’ she admitted to herself.

  Rules which applied to the citizens of Chester were waived for two royal commissioners and the six knights who escorted them. The gate was duly opened and the party rode out at a brisk trot towards the Forest of Delamere. Aware of the risk they were taking in being abroad in such troubled times, they remained watchful. Ralph Delchard still had doubts that a Welsh attack was imminent and evinced no fear, but Gervase Bret was much more cautious. They had been in the saddle for half an hour before he stopped inspecting every bush and tree in case it was a potential hiding place.

  ‘Do not fret, Gervase,’ said Ralph as they cantered along a forest path. ‘We are safe enough, I warrant you.’

  ‘And how safe is that?’

  ‘You have seven strong swords to protect you.’

  ‘Earl Hugh had fifty but it did not stop someone from firing an arrow at him. Or at Raoul Lambert.’

  ‘Is that what you are afraid of?’ teased Ralph. ‘A female with a bow? Well, I do not blame you. It has happened before and the wound was fatal.’

  ‘What wound?’

  ‘Yours, man. When Alys strung her bow and shot a dart of love at you, Gervase Bret was felled on the spot. You were a shrewd and conscientious young lawyer until you were struck down by her missile. No wonder you fear the sound of a bowstring!’

  Gervase grinned. ‘You make a jest of everything.’

  ‘It soothes the nerves.’

  ‘Yours or mine?’

  ‘Both.’ Ralph nudged him. ‘Do you miss Alys?’

  ‘Very much.’

  ‘Does this Gytha remind you of her?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gervase, involuntarily, then tried to cover his confusion by gabbling. ‘Not that there are any real points of comparison. Gytha comes from humble stock and has led a life of drudgery while Alys has been more fortunate. There is a slight physical resemblance between them but it is negligible. No, Ralph, she does not really remind me of Alys. No other woman could do that. Alys is unique.’

  ‘So are you.’ Ralph gave him an affectionate punch. ‘That is why the pair of you are so well matched.’

  ‘I could say the same of you and Golde.’

  ‘Hardly! That is a case of the attraction of opposites.’

  ‘Not from where I stand.’

  ‘Then you have been misled, Gervase. We came together in spite of ourselves. My brains and Golde's beer made an irresistible combination.’

  His laughter disturbed some nearby rooks which took to the air with a fanfare of protest, leaving the bough on which they had been perched vibrating for a full minute. Gervase abandoned the badinage with his friend in order to concentrate on his pathfinding.Having only been to Gytha’s cottage once, he was not entirely certain that he could find it again, but his memory was sound and he soon began to identify tiny landmarks.

  After a long ride without incident, they eventually came out into the clearing where the hovel stood. There was no sign of Beollan but Gytha immediately poked her head out of the dwelling. Alarmed at the sight of the armed soldiers, she relaxed when she recognised Gervase, and his warm smile of greeting reassured her. Gytha came out of the door and Ralph was able to make a full appraisal of her before emitting a low murmur of approval.His soldiers were also struck by the unexpected sight of a lovely yo
ung woman emerging from such a mean hovel.

  Gervase introduced Ralph Delchard to her and she eyed him warily. His candid smile of admiration was rather disturbing.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked.

  ‘Your help,’ answered Ralph, astonishing her with his knowledge of her language. ‘And we have ridden a long way to ask for it, Gytha.’

  ‘You do not need to tell her that,’ said Gervase. ‘Gytha has walked to Chester and back twice already this week. She knows exactly how long a distance it is.’

  ‘How can I help you?’ she wondered.

  Gervase explained that they were looking for a woman in a certain part of the forest but had no idea who she was. He gave the few facts about her that he possessed but did not divulge their reason for wishing to see her. Gytha guessed that they wanted to question the woman about something and she became defensive, instinctively opposing the wishes of Norman soldiers. It took time for Gervase to persuade her of the importance of their mission.

  ‘I do not know this person,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘Can you at least take us to that part of the forest?’ coaxed Gervase. ‘We would be very grateful.’

  ‘Beollan would be a surer guide.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Putting flowers on the grave. I have just come back from the churchyard myself. Beollan will soon follow.’

  ‘Let us meet him on the way.’

  Gervase dismounted and offered his horse to her but Gytha was too embarrassed to accept his invitation in front of the others. Instead, she set off purposefully and they trailed along behind her, Gervase still on foot, Ralph watching the bob of her head and the beguiling swing of her hips. When they met Beollan near the church, he was frightened by the sight of the soldiers and all but bolted. His sister had to grab him to keep him there and the two of them had a conversation that was far too breathless and hasty for Ralph to understand. He turned to Gervase for elucidation.

  ‘Beollan will take us,’ said the latter. ‘As long as we can guarantee his safety and that of Gytha.’

  ‘I will do more than that,’ conceded Ralph, taking a purse from his belt and extracting a coin. ‘If he leads us to the woman in question, there will be a reward.’