The Lions of the North (Domesday Series Book 4)

by Edward Marston

  “It might have been you, Ralph!”

  “No, my love.”

  “If someone can kill my lord Tanchelm, he could just as easily have attacked you.”

  “That is not true, Golde.”

  “You are bound to have enemies in York.”

  “We have hardly any friends here,” he admitted. “We are royal commissioners with duties relating to the gathering of taxes. Unpopularity is assured. Especially in a city that already has good reason to hate Norman overlordship.”

  “What if you are the next target?”

  “I will not be.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Instinct.”

  “Promise me that you will take care.”

  “Do not fret.”

  “Promise me, Ralph.”

  He kissed her on the lips and stroked her hair.

  “I will,” he said. “But it is an unnecessary promise. I always take great care, Golde. When you have borne arms as long as I have, it becomes second nature.”

  “My lord Tanchelm was a soldier also.”

  “But caught off guard. That would never happen to me.”

  She nestled into him for comfort and he ran a hand gently up and down her naked back. Anxiety made her tense and unresponsive. He tried to put her mind at rest.

  “I am here, my love. I am safe. I am yours.”

  “When you next venture out, you will be in danger.”

  “No, Golde.”

  “Take me with you. Let me be another pair of eyes.”

  “That is the last thing I will do. I warned you before we set out that my work is paramount. It is something in which you can never be involved. You would make a charming sentry, my love, but you would also be a severe distraction to me. Besides, I do not need more eyes to watch over me.”

  “I think you do.”

  He chuckled quietly. “You are worse than Aubrey. He offered to put fifty men at my disposal. I told him that there was only one kind of escort I would even consider.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Romulus and Remus.”

  “The lions?”

  “Yes, Golde. Imagine me walking through York with those two, like dogs on a leash. Nobody would dare to come near me.” He nibbled at her ear lobe. “Not even you.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Do lions not frighten you?”

  “I live with one.”

  He kissed her with sudden passion and hugged her close. They lay entwined for several minutes in contented silence. When he spoke, it was in an affectionate whisper.

  “Are you glad that you came here with me?”

  “Very glad.”

  “In spite of what has happened?”

  “Yes, Ralph.”

  “I must warn you that we may have to stay in York rather longer than we had planned.”

  “I will be patient.”

  “You were so uncomfortable in the castle at first.”

  “I am more reconciled now.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Herleve has spoken with me. We have become friends.”

  “I knew that you would melt that reserve of hers in time.”

  “You helped, Ralph.”

  “Me? How?”

  “It does not matter,” she said with a yawn.

  “But I want to know.”

  “We are both tired. Let us get some sleep.”

  “Not until you tell me about Herleve.”

  “There is nothing to tell.”

  “Why are you being so evasive?”

  “Ralph …”

  “Tell me what she said.”

  “I do not want to make you angry.”

  “Angry? Why should I be angry?”

  “You will see.” Golde took a deep breath before she plunged on. “Herleve saw us together in the chapel. That was what changed her mind about me, Ralph. And about us. She came to apologise for treating me with such indifference. When she saw me arrive at the castle in your train, she thought that I was nothing more than your paramour.”

  “She called you that?” he growled.

  “I knew that you would be angry.”

  “It is an insult to both of us.”

  “Hear me out and you will soon forgive her.”

  “I'll not let anyone say that of you, Golde.”

  “She misunderstood. Herleve saw two people sharing a bed without the blessing of the Church. She is a deeply religious woman. It was an affront to her.”

  “But she changed her mind, you say?”

  “Yes, Ralph. She saw how much we loved each other. And when she found us kneeling together in the chapel …”

  “Well?”

  “Herleve said that we looked like man and wife.”

  There was a long pause. His anger had evanesced into a reflective sadness. She ran a palm across his chest.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “I had a wife once. Elinor was my whole world.”

  “Herleve spoke fondly of her.”

  “We were kindred spirits in every way. I never thought to find such love again. No man deserves that amount of good fortune. Least of all me.”

  “And have you found that love again?” she murmured.

  “I think so.”

  “That gladdens me.”

  “Golde …”

  “No,” she said, stopping his lips with a kiss. “Say no more. It is enough. The rest can wait.”

  Gervase Bret was unable to sleep. Though his body was tired and his energy sapped by the wine, his mind remained active. The corpse that lay on the floor of the shire hall was such a vivid memory that it would not let him rest. Four commissioners had been sent to Yorkshire to deal with the large number of irregularities that had surfaced in the returns for the county. Why had Tanchelm of Ghent been singled out from the others? What special knowledge did he have that made him a threat while he lived? How had the killer known exactly when and where to find him alone? Whom had Tanchelm arranged to meet?

  These and other questions tormented him. Persuaded that Tanchelm's papers might yield the answers, he studied them by the light of his candle, putting them back in sequence and trying to establish why some documents had been rent apart while others had been merely sullied. He was just beginning to impose some order on the confusion before him when he heard a footstep outside his door. He reached for his dagger.

  “Who's there?” he called.

  “It is me,” said Philip the Chaplain.

  “So late?”

  “I saw the light under your door.”

  “What did you want?”

  “I have something for you.”

  Gervase put his dagger aside and unbolted the door. When his visitor had been admitted, he closed it again. Philip looked slightly apprehensive.

  “I was hoping you would still be awake.”

  “Why?”

  “This could not wait until morning,” said Philip. “I thought to go to my lord Ralph's apartment but I decided that you might be a more appropriate person.”

  “Appropriate?”

  “I was laying out the body of Tanchelm of Ghent. It occasioned me some sadness. I had spoken with him a few times since he had been staying here and found him to be a devout and serious man.” A smile crinkled his cheek. “That is unusual among the soldiers I normally meet. The chapel is not a part of the castle that has regular visitors.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was in the mortuary, removing his apparel so that I could wash and prepare the body for tomorrow.”

  “And?”

  “I found something concealed in his tunic.”

  “What was it?”

  “You must see for yourself, Master Bret.”

  The chaplain handed over the letter clasped in his hand. He seemed relieved to get rid of it and shifted his feet uneasily. Gervase looked down at the missive.

  “Did you read it?”

  “I gave it the merest glance,” said Philip defensively. “That was enough to t
ell me that it belonged more properly in your keeping. My lord Tanchelm was a colleague of yours. His personal effects will travel back with him to Lincolnshire but this letter, I think, must remain here with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Read it and you will understand.”

  “Very well,” agreed Gervase. “You said a moment ago that I was a more appropriate person.”

  “Yes, Master Bret.”

  “In what way?”

  “I can trust you.” “My lord Ralph is also trustworthy, I can assure you.”

  “That may be,” said the chaplain, “but he would never grant me the favour that I must ask of you.”

  “Favour?”

  “Say nothing of my part in this. You have the letter. Nobody needs to know how it came into your possession. I would not be involved in this in any way.”

  “I respect that wish.”

  “Thank you, Master Bret. I knew that you would. My lord Ralph might not. The pull of loyalty might prove too strong for him. He is a friend of my lord Aubrey and might feel obliged to confide in him. That would embarrass me.”

  “Your name will be kept out of this.”

  The chaplain gave a nervous smile of gratitude and left the room. Gervase found his behavior quite baffling and sought an explanation in the letter. Crouching beside the candle, he unfolded it to read it through. When he saw the seal properly for the first time, his mind raced. The words on the obverse side were extremely familiar to him.

  HOC NORMANNORUM WILLELMUM NOSCE PATRONEM SI

  It was a personal letter from King William himself.

  Romulus and Remus were in a mutinous state the next morning. Having been liberated from their cage for the night, they showed little enthusiasm for returning to it and not even Ludovico's harsh commands could quell them at first. They roared their defiance, then paced around the perimeter of the ditch with calm unconcern. When Ludovico came right down to them, they even dared to run away from him. He was livid.

  Aubrey Maminot watched with exasperation. He was anxious to see his pets incarcerated again so that the body of Tanchelm of Ghent could be carried down the steps from the keep. As long as the animals were loose, nobody could leave the building. With a combination of threat and blandishment, the keeper of the beasts eventually managed to coax Remus back into the cage but his brother remained at large. It was only when Ludovico approached him with his whip that Romulus finally succumbed. He bounded up the incline to join Remus and to snarl for food.

  Ludovico waved to his master. Aubrey went off to apologise to his guests. Minutes later, Tanchelm was brought out in a wooden casket and carried down to the courtyard before being placed in a cart. Philip the Chaplain led the little procession in its wake. Ralph Delchard, Golde, Gervase Bret, Aubrey and Herleve had risen early to see the body leave. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon had come from the minster to add their blessing. Brother Francis also wanted to share a valedictory moment with Tanchelm.

  When the casket was tied in position and covered with a thick cloth, the chaplain led the tiny congregation in a small prayer. The cart then rolled on out of the castle to begin its sad journey to Lincolnshire. Tanchelm's horse was towed along behind it. Still numbed by the murder, his men-at-arms fell in behind the body of their erstwhile master. It was clear from their stricken faces that they had held him in the highest regard.

  Shedding remorse, Aubrey thought only of retribution.

  “Now we can begin the hunt for the killer!” he said.

  “It will not be easy,” sighed Ralph.

  “He is out there somewhere. We will find him.”

  Aubrey went off to marshal his men. The chaplain took the two women back into the keep and Canon Hubert led his companions quickly out of the castle. Gervase was left alone with Ralph. It was the first chance they had had to speak alone that morning and Gervase seized it at once.

  “We have been looking in the wrong direction,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My lord Tanchelm's death had nothing to do with his office as a commissioner. That was a false trail.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Intelligence has come into my hands that points us along another path altogether. A letter was found upon the body. It was sent by King William himself.”

  “To Tanchelm?”

  “Yes, Ralph,” he said. “He was formally instructed to sit in commission with us and to discharge that duty with zeal. But it was only a cloak for his real purpose in coming to York.”

  Ralph frowned. “Real purpose?”

  “My lord Tanchelm was a spy.”

  Chapter 8

  INGA WAS STUNNED. When she arrived the next morning, she found both the shire hall and the adjoining building locked. There was no sign of the tribunal and no trace of their men-at-arms. Having come to hear judgement, with Sunnifa and Brunn the Priest beside her, she was baffled by the disappearance of the commissioners. Reminded of their earlier setback, her mother began to weep.

  “They have gone,” she said. “They have left York.”

  “That is impossible, Mother.”

  “It is the same as before. We have come too late.”

  “You heard them as well as I. We were told to report here first thing this morning.”

  “Then where are they, Inga?”

  “I do not know.”

  “They have washed their hands of us and ridden away.”

  “No,” insisted her daughter. “They would not do that. Master Bret is an honourable man. I talked with him alone. He is kind and thoughtful. He would never do anything as cruel as that.” She turned to the priest. “Would he?”

  “I think not,” said Brunn. “Keep faith, Sunnifa.”

  “This was my only chance,” sobbed the older woman. “If we fail here, we will never regain our inheritance.”

  “Take heart, Mother,” said Inga. “We'll not fail.”

  “Watch and pray,” advised the priest.

  “I have been doing that for years,” said Sunnifa.

  Inga was decisive. “There is no point in standing out here in the middle of a busy street. If the commissioners are not here, it is because they are not coming. Go back to the lodging while I try to find out what has happened.”

  “Will you be safe on your own?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “To the castle.”

  After giving her mother a reassuring hug, Inga set off down the street, deafened by the noise and buffeted by the shoulders of the swarming citizens. She had almost reached the bridge when she felt something press hard against her arm. She stopped to look up at Nigel Arbarbonel, seated astride his horse. His sword touched her to gain her attention.

  “Where are you running to, Inga?” he teased.

  “That is my business.”

  “It is no use going to the castle. The commissioners will not see you. They have suspended their tribunal.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the murder.”

  “Murder!” she said in alarm.

  “Have you not heard about it?”

  “Not a word.”

  “The whole city is buzzing with the news.”

  “We have kept close to our lodging and only stirred from it this morning. When was this murder?”

  “Yesterday evening. One of the commissioners was killed.”

  “Dear God!” she exclaimed. “Not Master Bret!”

  “No, Inga,” said Nigel. “Not him. Nor, alas, was it Ralph Delchard. I could willingly have spared either of them.”

  “Then who was it?”

  “Tanchelm of Ghent. A member of the other tribunal. He sat in commission in the shire hall and that is where he was murdered.”

  “By whose hand?”

  “They do not know and they have curtailed their business until they find out. That could take a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Days, at least. Weeks, even.”

  “And we h
ave to wait for judgement until then?”

  “Go home, Inga,” he urged, sheathing his sword. “You wait here in vain. They have more important concerns than your mother's false claims to my land. When the commissioners resume their work again, they will have forgotten all about you. Go home.”

  “Not until a settlement is reached.”

  “It has been reached. And I am riding back to my estate to celebrate.” He pointed a finger. “You and your mother were very stupid to come here. I will not forget.”

  Tugging on the reins, he turned his horse and trotted off in the opposite direction. Inga was demoralised. She was shaken by the news about the murder and even more so by the consequences of it. Nigel Arbarbonel was quitting York with alacrity. As far as he was concerned, the dispute was over. He had won.

  Ralph Delchard read the letter with surprise and irritation.

  William, by grace of God king of the English and duke of the Normans, sends greetings to Tanchelm of Ghent and the assurance of friendship.

  I order you to accompany and assist my tribunal, going into Yorkshire to look into abuses that have been revealed in the Exchequer returns for that county in relation to the Great Survey of my kingdom. Render what service you may to the following, my commissioners, Ralph Delchard, Gervase Bret and Canon Hubert of Winchester, sitting with them as an equal partner in their judgements.

  I further order you to conceal your true purpose, the gathering of most secret intelligence concerning the safety of my kingdom, which we lately discussed at London.…”

  By the time he finished, Ralph's temper was

  up. “Why did he not tell us?” he demanded.

  “My lord Tanchelm is expressly ordered not to.”

  “I do not mean him, Gervase. I talk of the King himself. He spoke to me in person before we set out from Winchester. Why did he not have the grace to tell me that we were carrying a spy in our cargo?”

  “Because he chose not to, Ralph.”

  “I had a right to know. I could have helped Tanchelm. Hell and damnation! I could have shielded the fellow from attack.” He waved the parchment in the air. “This is not a letter—it is a death warrant!”

  “Only because someone divined his deeper reason for coming to the North. What does that suggest to you?”

  “Tanchelm grew careless.”

  “Quite the opposite, Ralph. He was achieving success.”