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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: Domesday
- Sprache: Englisch
Hugh Lupus, Earl of Chester, is enraged when his hawk is killed by an arrow in the Forest of Delamere. When two poachers are caught, he orders their execution yet neither of them fired the arrow. As Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret come to Cheshire to settle a series of disputes between Church and State, they are guests of the Earl. But when they explore the castle and discover that the Prince of Gwynedd is being held there as a hostage, a number of questions arise. Who is trying to rescue him? Why is Idwal, the over-zealous Welsh priest, lurking in the city? And whose arrow is responsible for a gruesome human death in the forest?
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Seitenzahl: 369
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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PRAISE FOR EDWARD MARSTON
‘A master storyteller’
Daily Mail
‘Packed with characters Dickens would have been proud of. Wonderful [and] well-written’
Time Out
‘Once again Marston has created a credible atmosphere within an intriguing story’
Sunday Telegraph
‘Filled with period detail, the pace is steady and the plot is thick with suspects, solutions and clues. Marston has a real knack for blending detail, character and story with great skill’
Historical Novels Review
‘The past is brought to life with brilliant colours, combined with a perfect whodunnit. Who needs more?’
The Guardian
5
THE HAWKS OF DELAMERE
EDWARD MARSTON
To S. L. B.
A saintly guide to the mysteries of Cheshire
This man, with the help of many cruel barons, shed much Welsh blood. He was not so much lavish as prodigal. His retinue was more like an army than a household, and in giving and receiving he kept no account. Each day he devastated his own land and preferred falconers and huntsmen to the cultivators of the soil and ministers of heaven.
Orderic Vitalis
Contents
Prologue
It took three strong men to help him into the saddle. Hugh d’Avranches, Earl of Chester and master of all he surveyed, was now so fat and cumbersome that he could barely waddle along. When he came lumbering into the courtyard, he supported himself on the sturdy shoulder of Dickon the Falconer. The rest of the hunting party were already mounted and they waited patiently until the three servants hoisted their master onto his horse, a mighty destrier specially chosen to bear the excessive weight of its noble rider.
Hugh gazed around the assembly with a twinkling eye. ‘Are you in the mood for sport, my friends?’ he asked.
‘We are, my lord!’ came the unanimous reply.
‘Sport by day and more sport by night, eh?’ said their host 12with a lecherous grin. ‘Hawking in one forest then hunting in the dark in another!’
Crude sniggers greeted the ribald comment but Hugh’s own laughter rose above it. Like the man himself, it was vast and overwhelming, beginning somewhere deep in the cave of his lungs before spreading quickly through the crevices and valleys of his mountainous frame until he shook uncontrollably with mirth. The sound reverberated throughout Chester Castle.
Earl Hugh was amused. It was a good omen.
They were all there. Robert Cook, Richard Vernon, Hamo of Mascy, Gilbert Venables, Ranulph Mainwaring, William Malbank, Reginald Balliol, Bigot of Loges and Hugo of Delamere were leading barons in the shire, holding their land directly from the earl and regular members of his court. Dozens of other important guests had come from far and wide to enjoy the fabled hospitality of Chester Castle and to share in the pursuits and appetites of its notorious master.
‘Are we ready?’ boomed Hugh.
‘Ready and waiting, my lord,’ said William Malbank, acting as spokesman for all. ‘We will follow where you lead.’
‘You will have to catch me first!’
Pulling sharply on the reins to turn his horse’s head towards the castle gate, Hugh jabbed his heels into its flanks and set off at a canter. Taking up the challenge, the rest of the party went after him amid a cacophony of yells, giggles and hoofbeats. They were soon scattering the crowd uncaringly in the streets of a city which had long ago been taught never to complain at the antics of the earl and his retinue.
By the time they reached their destination, the cavalcade 13had slowed to a trot. The Delamere Forest was a wide stretch of woodland which ran all the way from the River Mersey in the north to the southernmost fringes of the county. Bounded on the east by the River Weaver and on the west by the River Gowy, the forest was a series of woods, coppices, clearings and open land where several hamlets or small villages had taken root. Delamere was the favoured hunting ground of Earl Hugh. Those who dwelt in the forest feared his visits and always took care to keep well out of his way.
Riding beside Hugh at the head of the long procession was William Malbank, a tall, thin, wiry man in his thirties, wearing the distinctive helm and hauberk of a Norman baron. Malbank was in a boastful mood.
‘You have met your match at last, my lord,’ he said.
‘Never!’ replied the earl with chuckling confidence.
‘My gerfalcon is a magical creature.’
‘No bird can compete with my hawk.’
‘This one can,’ argued Malbank. ‘I have not met a creature who can take partridge, snipe and rabbit with such speed. She comes out of the sky like an avenging angel.’
‘There is nothing angelic about my hawk,’ said Hugh, glancing over his shoulder at the bird carried on its perch by his falconer. ‘She is the devil incarnate and leaves havoc in her wake. No other bird is safe in the air when she is on the wing. Hares, squirrels and badgers are no match for her and I would even back her against a wildcat.’
‘Do not wager against my gerfalcon,’ warned the other.
‘She is a mere sparrow beside my hawk.’
‘We shall see, my lord.’ 14
They plunged into the forest and followed a winding path through the undergrowth until they emerged into a heath. Earl Hugh raised an imperious hand and the raucous banter which had marked their journey ceased at once. Hawking was a serious business. It demanded quiet and concentration. The noise of their approach had already frightened most of the game away. A watchful silence was now needed so that prey might be lured back to the area.
They waited for him to begin the day’s sport. Nobody dared to unleash his hawk before Hugh d’Avranches. In everything he did, the earl had to be first and foremost. A stillness eventually fell on the Delamere Forest, broken only by the song of invisible birds and the occasional jingle of a tiny bell as one of the hawks shifted its feet on its perch. Hugh remained alert, his piggy eyes scanning the heath in all directions, his ears pricked for tell-tale sounds.
When he was ready, he gave the signal and Dickon the Falconer untied the hawk, coaxed it onto his arm, then passed the bird to his master. Its claws sank into the thick leather gauntlet as it settled on its new perch but it did not stay there for long. A crane went flapping across the sky in search of marshland and Hugh responded swiftly. Slipping the hood from his hawk, he flicked his arm to send it soaring up into the heavens after the larger bird.
The crane saw the danger in time and altered its course to dip and weave but the hawk did not go in pursuit. It had spotted a more enticing prey in the long grass and it hovered above its target for a full minute before descending with stunning speed. The hare had no chance. The impact knocked it senseless and the talons squeezed the life out of it. One more hapless victim had been claimed by the earl’s hawk. 15
‘Did you ever see such a strike?’ he asked proudly.
‘Let my gerfalcon have a turn,’ said Malbank.
‘What will it hunt – mice?’
‘Do not mock, my lord. My bird has been trained to kill almost any prey. She is the equal of your hawk.’
‘Impossible, William!’
‘Do you wish to place a wager?’
‘It would be an act of cruelty against a friend.’
‘Can it be that you are afeared?’ teased the other.
‘I fear nothing!’ retorted Hugh, his voice darkening to an angry snarl. ‘Are you accusing the Earl of Chester of being frightened, William?’
‘Only in jest, my lord.’
‘Then I will throw that jest back in your teeth. If you invite a wager, you shall have it. Pit your gerfalcon against my hawk, if you must, but offer a stake worthy of the contest.’
‘Whatever you suggest,’ said Malbank with an appeasing smile. ‘Name it, my lord, and it is agreed.’
‘Very well,’ decided Hugh, stroking his flabby chin. ‘If your bird proves to be the finer of the two, you can have the best horse in my stables.’
‘That is a worthy prize indeed!’
‘I will take something of like merit from you.’
‘My own best horse?’
‘No, William,’ said Hugh, slapping him on the back. ‘Your best mistress. Every time I ride her, I will reflect on your folly in parting with such a sublime creature.’
Malbank writhed in discomfort and wished that he had never been so bold as to offer the challenge, but the wager had been set and 16it was sealed by the general hilarity of the company. It would grieve him to lose his mistress and she would never forgive him if she were subjected to the merciless attentions of the man who was nicknamed Hugh the Gross for reasons not entirely related to his sheer physical bulk. There was no turning back now. Malbank was trapped.
Earl Hugh made the trap more deadly. After taking advice from Dickon, his shrewd falconer, he insisted that they ride on to another part of the forest. Malbank’s bird was a high-bred Norwegian gerfalcon. In open country, it would be seen at its most effective. In more wooded locations, however, its long wings would put it at a severe disadvantage. Hugh’s short-winged hawk would be able to manoeuvre much more easily among the trees.
So it proved. The gerfalcon was a fine bird of prey but it had been principally trained to hunt waterfowl on a lake. The hawk, by contrast, was in its element and showed the greater speed and accuracy throughout. Regretting his rash wager, Malbank soon conceded defeat and shuddered as he imagined how tearfully his mistress would react when he told her that her favours had been surrendered to Hugh the Gross.
The earl was delighted at the outcome and sent his hawk up into the sky for one last celebratory kill. It rose, searched with a ruthless eye, observed its prey and hovered menacingly. Hugh looked up at it with the beaming delight of a father watching a child at play, but that delight soon changed to gaping horror. Before the hawk could make one more murderous descent, an arrow suddenly came hurtling up through a gap in the trees and knocked it out of the sky. One feathered weapon of destruction was itself summarily destroyed by another.
Hugh d’Avranches watched in disbelief as his beloved hawk 17came spinning downwards with the arrow embedded in its breast. He let out a roar of fury which mingled with the shouts of dismay and indignation from his companions. Recovering quickly, he issued a curt command.
‘Silence!’
The tumult ceased at once. There was no sign of the archer but Hugh hoped that sound might betray his position. It was a long wait but it finally yielded bounty. Dickon the Falconer was the first to detect them. He had the keen ears that were vital to his trade and had learnt to sleep lightly so that he would pick up the faintest sound of a falcon’s bells in the night. What he heard this time was the muted crackling of bracken underfoot.
‘Over there!’ he hissed, pointing to some wild hedgerow. ‘There are two of them. Trying to creep away.’
‘Catch them!’ ordered Hugh.
Four of his knights kicked their horses into life. Pursuit was short and arrest was brutal. Terrified that they had been discovered, the two figures who had been sneaking away in the ditch behind the hedgerow now took to their heels in a mad but doomed dash for freedom. Before they had gone more than thirty yards, they were kicked violently to the ground and swiftly overpowered. Stripped of their weapons and dazed by the assault, they were dragged unceremoniously through the undergrowth.
Both were Saxon peasants in the rough garb of men who tilled the soil. The older of the two was in his forties, a solid, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard covering most of his face. His companion, barely half his age, bore such a close resemblance to him that he had to be his son. They were lifted upright to face the ire of the Earl of Chester. 18
‘You killed my hawk!’ he thundered.
The father recovered enough to shake his head and gabble his innocence, but his Saxon tongue was incomprehensible to Norman ears. Earl Hugh was, in any case, not in the mood to listen. Sentence was passed without the refinement of a trial. The quiver of arrows slung across the older man’s back was all the evidence that the judge needed. After giving himself the pleasure of buffeting each of them viciously to the ground, Hugh indicated a tall tree with an overhanging bough.
‘Hang the rogues from that!’
‘My lord!’ bleated the younger man piteously.
But they were the last words he ever spoke. Snatching a lance from one of his knights, Hugh used the end of it to knock him unconscious. Rope was brought, the men were pinioned, then both were hauled up high by the neck to the derisive cheers of the huntsmen. The victims turned and twitched helplessly in the wind as the rope slowly choked them to death. The father tried to plead their innocence to the last but no words came out of his parched mouth.
Even that grim punishment was not enough to satisfy the bloodlust of the Earl of Chester. He drew his sword and lashed at both men indiscriminately until they were dripping carcasses. When his anger had run its course and the mutilation was complete, his voice was cold and peremptory.
‘Cut them down and throw them in the ditch!’ he decreed. ‘Let them rot among the vermin where they belong. Leave them unburied so that their offence can stink to heaven.’
Chapter One
Ralph Delchard was in an unusually tetchy mood.
‘What are we doing here?’ he said with irritation. ‘Why did we have to come to this godforsaken part of the country?’
‘To serve the king,’ Gervase Bret reminded him.
‘The king! He’s had more than enough service out of me. Twenty years of it, Gervase. Loyal and unquestioning devotion. It’s high time the king started serving me for a change. Why am I always given the most boring assignments?’
‘Try to see it as an honour, Ralph.’
‘Honour!’ snorted the other.
‘You were chosen because you are trusted.’
‘It is completely unjust.’ 20
‘Nothing could be more just,’ said Gervase reasonably. ‘Ralph Delchard was appointed as a royal commissioner yet again for one solitary reason.’
‘Nobody else was fool enough to take on the work.’
‘You were the best man for the task in hand. Doesn’t that make you feel proud? Are you not pleased that the king has shown such confidence in you?’
‘No, Gervase.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I have had my fill of riding the length and breadth of England on royal business. I am weary of travel – and so are my buttocks. They are smarting like raw wounds. I need a rest. I yearn for the pleasures of retirement.’
Gervase Bret smiled indulgently. What his friend really yearned for was the company of his wife, Golde, but she was visiting her sister in Hereford and would not be joining the party until later in the week. Ralph missed her. Genial and buoyant when she was beside him, he became moody and irascible whenever they were apart. The further north they rode, the greater distance they put between man and wife.
Ralph lapsed into a brooding silence. The two commissioners were at the head of the cavalcade as it followed a meandering track through woodland. They were eighteen in total. To ensure safe travel on the long journey, fourteen knights from Ralph’s own retinue acted as escort and their presence in Chester would emphasise the importance of the embassy. In helm and hauberk, they were fretful after hours in the saddle.
At the rear of the column, ambling reluctantly along on their 21mounts behind the sumpter horses, were the portly Canon Hubert and Brother Simon, the spectral scribe. They were even more unhappy about their latest assignment than Ralph Delchard. It was stretching their duty of obedience to the absolute limit.
Simon shivered so violently that his bones rattled. ‘Are the stories about Earl Hugh all true?’ he asked.
‘Alas, they are!’ sighed Hubert.
‘Is he really such a monster of depravity?’
‘Yes, Brother Simon.’
‘But I understood that he was married.’
‘The state of holy matrimony has not, I fear, imposed any restraint on his carnal appetite,’ said Hubert sonorously. ‘It is common knowledge that the Earl of Chester has numerous mistresses and a large brood of illegitimate offspring.’
Simon shivered afresh. ‘And this vile creature is to be our host in the city?’
‘Happily, no. We will be the guests of Bishop Robert.’
‘But we are bound to come into contact with Earl Hugh.’
‘Unhappily, yes.’
‘I will feel contaminated to be in the same room as him.’
‘I feel appalled to be in the same county. Yet,’ added Hubert with a wheezing practicality, ‘we must respect his position. Hugh d’Avranches is more than merely an earl. Cheshire is a county palatinate. King William has no land under his direct control here. To all intents and purposes, Earl Hugh is king. He is a law unto himself.’
‘Will he accept the authority of royal commissioners?’
‘He must, Brother Simon.’
‘And if he does not?’ 22
Canon Hubert displayed his most ecclesiastical scowl.
‘Then we have all made a very long journey in vain!’
The riders ahead of them came to a sudden halt and Hubert had to tug on the reins to prevent his donkey from colliding with the rump of a bay destrier. Simon brought his straggly mare to a standstill and feared the worst.
‘Is there trouble up ahead?’ he wondered nervously.
‘We are well protected, Brother Simon.’
‘The countryside is crawling with outlaws.’
‘That’s why we brought such a sizeable escort with us. I am sure there is an explanation for this pause.’
Gervase Bret’s horse came trotting back towards them.
‘We have decided to break the journey here,’ he said. ‘It will give everyone a chance to stretch their legs before the last few miles to Chester.’
Most of the riders were already dismounting. Tethering their horses, they took advantage of the stop to satisfy the wants of nature among the trees. Canon Hubert rolled off his braying donkey and tied the animal to a bush.
‘Brother Simon and I are deeply disturbed,’ he confided.
‘About what?’ asked Gervase.
‘The character of Hugh d’Avranches, Earl of Chester.’
Gervase shrugged. ‘He is no saint, certainly, but he has served the king exceedingly well. North Wales has been quiescent since Earl Hugh inherited the earldom. He rules the border with a strong hand.’
‘We have no complaint about his military exploits,’ said Hubert with a sniff. ‘It is to the other activities to which he puts that strong hand that we take exception.’ 23
‘The earl’s private life is his own.’
‘Even when it spills so outrageously into the public arena? Come, Gervase, you must have heard the gossip.’
‘Heard it and disregarded it, Canon Hubert.’
‘How can one disregard such villainy?’
‘We are not here to make moral judgements about Earl Hugh,’ observed Gervase quietly. ‘Our task is simply to determine who owns what land in this county and how much tax they should pay on it.’
‘It is not as straightforward as that,’ said Simon, as he dropped from the saddle with astonishing nimbleness. ‘We are not able to separate Earl Hugh from his actions.’
‘Indeed, we are not,’ boomed his companion. ‘Actions, may I remind you, Gervase, have consequences. In the case of the Earl of Chester, those consequences are all too apparent. He has populated the whole county with his illicit progeny. I was expecting to see their faces peep out from behind every hedge.’ He raised a homiletic finger. ‘More to the point, he has misappropriated land on a vast scale and the major victim has been Bishop Robert.’
‘Earl Hugh is not directly concerned in any of the cases that will come before us,’ noted Gervase. ‘If he were, then we would not be able to accept his hospitality at the castle. Show me where his name appears in our documentation.’
‘It does not,’ confirmed Simon.
‘Exactly!’
‘I have been through every inch of those documents.’
‘Earl Hugh is far too cunning to be caught working his wickedness directly,’ said Hubert with vehemence. ‘He uses 24others as the instruments of his evil will. They bear the blame while he pockets the benefits.’
‘That is only your supposition, Canon Hubert.’
‘I feel it in my bones, Gervase.’
‘We need a more reliable test than that.’
‘My instincts are never wrong.’
‘Until now,’ said Gervase, gently, ‘your instincts led you unswervingly along the path of justice and truth. In the past, you would neither prejudge someone you had not met nor reach hasty decisions about a case without sifting all the evidence very carefully.’
‘The evidence here is overwhelming, Gervase.’
‘Everyone deserves a fair hearing.’
Canon Hubert bit back a reply and nodded soulfully.
‘I am properly rebuked,’ he admitted. ‘You are correct. I should not condemn a man solely on the basis of common report. Reputation can often distort the truth. Look at King William.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Simon, ‘he has a fearful reputation.’
‘Those of us privileged enough to get close to him have been able to appreciate his finer qualities. Earl Hugh may yet turn out to have some redeeming features.’ His voice hardened. ‘Though I harbour grave doubts on that score.’
‘Suspend your judgement,’ suggested Gervase.
‘I will try.’
‘We must be strictly impartial.’
‘You will not find me wanting.’
‘I am sure we will not,’ said Gervase. ‘You understand the implications of our work better than any of us.’
‘That is so true!’ chimed in Simon with an admiring glance 25at his colleague. ‘Canon Hubert is an exemplary arbiter.’
‘He is, Brother Simon. And his even-handedness was nevermore in demand. Almost every case which comes before us sets Church against State. We must show favour to neither side.’
‘It would never cross my mind to do so,’ asserted Hubert.
‘Quite so,’ said Gervase.
‘I judge every dispute on its individual merits.’
‘So do we all.’
‘This assignment will be no different from any other.’
‘No different, Canon Hubert.’
‘My integrity speaks for itself.’
‘Loud and clear!’ declared Simon.
Hubert basked in the unquestioning reverence of the scribe for a full minute before a tiny crack appeared in the facade of his impartiality. His eyes rolled and his cheeks inflated.
‘I am prejudiced against no man,’ he remarked with an upward tilt of his chin, ‘but I will not be seen to approve of drunkenness and debauchery. It is a mockery of all Christian precept. I condemn the earl’s behaviour.’
‘Robert de Limesey is not entirely without fault,’ said Gervase softly. ‘Even bishops go astray at times.’
‘Bishop Robert is above reproach. His name has no place in this discussion, Gervase, and I am disappointed that you strive to bring it in. All things are relative,’ continued Hubert as if addressing a larger congregation than two people from his woodland pulpit. ‘Place the two men side by side and you see what so dramatically divides them.’
‘What?’ asked an open-mouthed Simon.
‘Self-respect. Earl Hugh is sadly deficient. He lacks even 26a vestige of self-respect or he would not indulge so openly in licentious behaviour.’ The finger came into play again. ‘Compared with him – whatever minor indiscretions the bishop may have committed in the past – Robert de Limesey is an archangel.’
Robert de Limesey, Bishop of Chester, was a tall, thin, stately man of middle years with an odour of sanctity about him that was intermingled with a whiff of distant scandal. As he sat at the table with his Bible open before him, he wore the saturnine expression of someone who was not entirely content with his lot yet was unable substantially to improve it. There was an air of resignation in the sag of his shoulders. He stared at Holy Writ through lacklustre eyes. For once in his life, the Revealed Word failed to restore his spirits and provide sure guidance.
There was a polite tap on the door, then it swung back on its hinges. The bishop did not even look up when a short, stout, red-faced man in his thirties padded in to stand before him. Archdeacon Frodo waited in patient silence until Robert deigned to notice him. An obedient little smile lit up the archdeacon’s chubby countenance.
‘Well?’ said the bishop.
‘You asked to hear news of their approach, Your Grace.’
‘And?’
‘They will enter the city within the hour.’
‘Much good will that do us!’
‘Have more faith in the commissioners.’
‘I wish that I could, Frodo,’ said the other, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. ‘But they will probably get no 27further than their predecessors. Earl Hugh will tie them up in knots as he did the first commissioners.’
‘They were shrewder than you give them credit for,’ said the archdeacon. ‘They took the measure of Earl Hugh. He did not fool them for one moment. These second visitors have come to call him to account.’
‘Nobody has ever done that with any success.’
‘It has to happen one day, Your Grace.’
‘Yes, Frodo – at the Last Judgement.’
‘That is effectively what this survey is,’ reminded the other with outspread palms. ‘It is no mere inventory. Its enquiries have been so thorough and its scope so wide that it is a veritable Domesday Book. All our earthly deeds are entered neatly in its abbreviated Latin.’ He clasped his hands across his paunch. ‘Our deeds – and our misdeeds.’
The bishop grimaced. ‘They will need a separate volume to record the misdeeds of our noble earl in their gruesome entirety. Each day brings fresh horrors from the castle. I pray continually for divine intervention but the Lord sees fit to allow Earl Hugh to continue unchecked and unchastised.’
‘Until now.’
‘Do you really believe that these newcomers will be able to exert some influence over him?’
‘They are royal commissioners.’
‘The only royalty in Cheshire is the earl himself.’
‘He is still a subject of King William.’
‘He has never behaved like one.’ Rising to his feet, he made an effort to shake off his pessimism. ‘I am sorry, Frodo. I must not despair of Ralph Delchard and his colleagues before they 28have even arrived. Who knows? Perhaps they can achieve the impossible. Perhaps they can muzzle that wild bear who holds sway over us. At the very least, they deserve our full support.’
‘I will ensure that they are given it.’
‘You must be my intermediary here, Frodo.’
‘Gladly, Your Grace.’
‘I will work zealously in the background but you must represent me in public. It would not be politic for me to be seen to be in direct opposition to the earl. Neither politic nor healthy. I must haunt the shadows. Speak on my behalf.’
‘With full voice.’
‘I trust you implicitly.’
Frodo allowed himself a complacent smile. Trained by the bishop himself, he was a skilful negotiator and a tactful diplomat. Robert de Limesey might have greater experience but his archdeacon had a tenacity and resourcefulness which made him, in some ways, even more formidable in debate. In the forthcoming dispute, the Church would indeed have a cunning advocate. The bishop felt partially reassured.
‘What do we know of these commissioners?’ he asked.
‘They have built an excellent reputation.’
‘For what?’
‘Honesty, independence and firm action.’
‘Where else have they been?’
‘Hereford and York are the only places that have come to my ears,’ said Frodo. ‘I have friends in both cathedral chapters and their letters were full of praise for this Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret. In Hereford, it is reported, they helped to stop an uprising on the Welsh border.’ 29
‘Men of action, clearly.’
‘And considerable guile, I suspect.’
‘Is Canon Hubert held in the same high regard?’
‘Not exactly, but he is reckoned to be an upright judge and a man of great moral certitude.’
‘Such a person is much needed in Chester.’
‘We already have one, Your Grace.’
‘Thank you, Frodo,’ said the bishop, responding to the flattery with a weary nod. ‘But the sad truth is that my moral certitude is slightly frayed at the edges. Living cheek by jowl with Earl Hugh is enough to make any man question his beliefs.’ He drew himself up to his full height. ‘Canon Hubert must be given a cordial welcome. I had mention of him in a letter from Bishop Walkelin of Winchester. He commended the good canon to me.’
‘There is approval from an even higher source.’
‘Higher than a bishop?’
‘Yes,’ explained Frodo. ‘No less a person than Archbishop Lanfranc. Hubert was sub-prior at Bec when Lanfranc was the prior there. Canon Hubert’s history is impeccable.’
‘Not too impeccable, I trust, Frodo.’
‘Your Grace?’
‘I like at least a hint of human fallibility.’
‘We all bear that defect.’
‘Indeed, we do. Indeed, we do.’
Bishop Robert crossed to the window to gaze out of it as he reflected on his own occasional wandering from the strait path of righteousness. An imperfect Christian, he had learnt to accept his imperfections and to be highly suspicious of those whose lives 30seemed to be impelled by greater piety and purity. A man with an impeccable history was a disturbing phenomenon. He began to wonder if he was going to like Canon Hubert as much as he had first thought. More important, he feared that he might not be able to influence such a person in the way that he hoped.
Frodo seemed to read his companion’s mind. ‘Leave him to me, Your Grace,’ he whispered.
Seen from a distance, Chester was a handsome city, surrounded by a high stone wall and cradled in a loop of the River Dee. Its dominant feature was the castle, built by the Conqueror over fifteen years earlier as the key fortress on the troublesome road to North Wales. Conforming to the motte and bailey design that was so characteristic of Norman military architecture, it rose high above the wall in the south-west corner of the city where it could command both the port area and the bridge across the river. Like the castle, the bridge was constructed of solid timber hewn from the extensive forests in the county.
Ralph Delchard brought his party to a halt in order to take stock of the place that was to be their home for at least a couple of weeks. Reactions to the prospect varied. Gervase Bret was fascinated, running a keen eye over every detail that was visible from their standpoint. Canon Hubert found nothing in the scene to enlist his interest. To him, Chester was no more than the lair of a wild animal who had assumed unlimited power. Brother Simon was plainly terrified at the thought of having to meet the dangerous creature which bore the title of earl, and wished that they could abandon their task and ride straight back to the safety of Winchester. 31
To the knights who made up the escort, Chester had no special significance. They were simply grateful that they had at last reached their destination and could look forward to rest and refreshment. Ralph took a wholly different attitude. He had been there once before. His second visit to the city was marred by uncomfortable memories of the first, when he had been part of a conquering army that crushed all before it. Chester might have a stark beauty when viewed from afar but closer acquaintance would reveal a grim legacy.
With the exception of Yorkshire, no county in England was as badly devastated by the Normans as Cheshire. Signs of that devastation had been seen everywhere on their journey but they would be most marked inside the city itself, where no fewer than two hundred houses had been destroyed. Ralph was not proud of his small part in the hostilities which had killed many citizens and made over a thousand others homeless. His guilt stirred.
Marriage to a Saxon wife had profoundly altered his view of his military career. Golde had made him feel sympathy for an indigenous population whom they had subdued with ruthless efficiency. Ralph could no longer dismiss what happened as the inevitable result of the fortunes of war. When an earlier assignment took the commissioners to York, he had been tormented by memories of his role in the Harrying of the North, the most brutal and merciless operation ever mounted by the king. Something of the same grief afflicted Ralph now. He would be riding into the city with blood on his hands.
Gervase nudged his horse alongside his friend. ‘What are we waiting for?’ he asked. 32
‘Nothing,’ said Ralph curtly. ‘Follow me!’
With severe misgivings, he led the column on.
Gervase was under no illusions as to what they would find in the city. He had seen all the Domesday returns for the county in the Exchequer at Winchester and knew that Chester was described in more detail than almost any other city in England. What was omitted from the account was almost as eloquent as what was included. When they finally reached the bridge and clattered across it, Gervase was not surprised by what they saw on the other side.
The narrow winding street had a number of empty or dilapidated houses and other wounds of war were on display. Though the market was busy and the crowd thick, the atmosphere was curiously sombre. A resentful hush fell as the newcomers rode in through the gate. People pushed quickly to the side of the street and watched in sullen silence as the cavalcade passed. Citizens accustomed to the furious and uncaring canter of the earl and his cronies were taken aback by the civilised trot of the visitors. Murmuring their gratitude, they went back to their haggling at the market stalls.
Ralph Delchard, meanwhile, took his company in through the main gate of the castle and reined in his horse. The rest of the party followed suit. The courtyard was alive with soldiers and there was an impressive air of order, but the person who caught their attention was standing no more than a dozen yards away. He was a massive man in the habit of a Benedictine monk and he turned to greet them with a gesture of welcome that had a strong resemblance to a papal blessing.
Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were relieved to see a fellow 33member of the order in such a godless place and they smiled back at him. They would have at least one friend inside the castle. But their optimism was premature. As the monk rolled slowly towards them on sandalled feet, they noticed how much deference the castle guards seemed to be according him. There was something extremely odd about the imposing figure in the black habit.
Ralph introduced them in a clear, ringing voice. ‘We have come from Winchester on royal business,’ he announced, ‘and we are to lodge here at the castle as guests of the Earl of Chester.’
The monk pushed back his cowl and beamed up at them. ‘Welcome, friends!’ he said benevolently. ‘I am your host.’
Earl Hugh’s raucous laugh was distinctly unmonastic.
Chapter Two
The visitors were completely dumbfounded. Expecting to meet a notorious reprobate, they were instead confronted by this hulking individual in a Benedictine habit. Ralph Delchard’s jaw dropped, Gervase Bret blinked in amazement and Canon Hubert’s eyebrows shot up to a precarious altitude. Brother Simon all but fainted and he had to hold tight to the pommel of his saddle to prevent himself from keeling over.
A second shock was in store for the newcomers. Earl Hugh was not alone. His sheer physical bulk obscured the man who had stood behind him and now came into view as if emerging from the capacious folds of his master’s habit. Short, slim and wearing his own habit as if he had never known any other 35garment, Gerold was the earl’s chaplain and spiritual mentor. Though still in his thirties, his wizened face, greying wisps of hair and scholarly hunch made him seem much older. Earl Hugh might be a bogus monk but there was nothing false about the ascetic Gerold. He positively exuded religiosity.
With his chaplain beside him, the earl’s manner changed at once. The roaring extrovert disappeared, to be replaced by a subdued figure with a penitential expression. His voice took on an almost sepulchral note.
‘You catch me at my devotions,’ he explained. ‘Permit me to introduce Brother Gerold. You will see a great deal of him during your time here at the castle.’
‘Welcome to Chester!’ said Gerold with a meek smile. ‘We have been looking forward to your arrival and hope that your stay with us will be a pleasant one.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ralph. ‘We are glad to have reached you at last. I am Ralph Delchard. And these,’ he added, indicating each person as he was named, ‘are my colleagues. Master Gervase Bret, Canon Hubert of Winchester and our faithful scribe, Brother Simon.’
‘Your reputation has come before you,’ said Hugh. ‘The king holds you in high esteem and has entrusted you with important business in my county. Call on me to assist you in any way that I can.’
‘We appreciate that offer, my lord,’ said Ralph.
‘It is given in all seriousness.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Now,’ continued the other, rubbing his palms gleefully and shedding his monkish restraint, ‘there is something else that 36you will appreciate. A banquet has been laid on in your honour this evening. All of you are cordially invited.’
Ralph was pleased. ‘That is very kind of you, my lord.’
‘We are most grateful,’ said Gervase.
‘Yes,’ agreed Hubert, ‘though in our case, alas, that gratitude is tinged with regret. Brother Simon and I are the guests of Bishop Robert and we are bidden to his table this evening. We must decline your generous invitation.’
Earl Hugh stiffened and his beetle brows converged. ‘I am not used to refusals,’ he warned.
‘It is unavoidable, my lord,’ said Hubert.
‘And I am not used to yielding position to Bishop Robert. It is not right. It is not natural. I am sure that he could excuse you for this evening. Tell him that I have issued an express request and the worthy bishop will understand,’ he said meaningfully. ‘Places will be set at my table for you and for Brother Simon.’
The very notion made Simon gasp in dismay.
‘We would not wish to offend the bishop,’ said Hubert.
‘Would you prefer to offend me?’
‘No, my lord. Offence is not intended, I assure you. We are deeply grateful for your kind invitation but the long journey has sapped our strength and left us weary. We would be poor companions at a banquet.’
‘Yet you are prepared to eat with Bishop Robert.’
‘A frugal meal, perhaps. Nothing more.’
‘I am displeased by this rejection, Canon Hubert.’
‘It is not a rejection, my lord.’
‘Then what else is it?’ demanded Hugh, glowering at him. 37
Hubert blustered until Brother Gerold came to his rescue.
‘It is a perfectly reasonable explanation, my lord.’
‘I am not interested in explanations.’
‘You should be,’ the other reminded him softly. ‘Have you so soon forgotten the subject of my instruction today? We talked about the importance of understanding the needs and wishes of others. Tolerance is a virtue, my lord.’ He gave the earl a few moments to digest his words before pressing on. ‘Besides,’ he said, indicating the other monks, ‘Canon Hubert and Brother Simon have ridden here all the way from Winchester. I would wager anything that they carry letters of greeting from Bishop Walkelin to our own Bishop Robert.’
‘That is true,’ confirmed Hubert.
‘You should let them deliver those missives, my lord.’
Hugh sulked. ‘Should I?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it is what I would advise.’
The earl gave him a truculent stare but made no verbal protest. Brother Gerold had subdued him in a way that made the others look on with admiration.
‘Release them from any obligation, my lord.’
Hugh scowled but eventually managed an affirmative nod. ‘I will expect them both another night.’
‘We can discuss that in private.’
‘I was looking forward to a theological discussion with Canon Hubert. News of his scholarship has preceded him.’
Hubert beamed at the unexpected praise but Simon was even more outraged. Was the devil planning to quote Scripture 38at them? It was unthinkable. Simon reflected inwardly that he would rather debate the value of the gospels with his horse.
‘Very well,’ said the earl at length. ‘I will not enforce your attendance at the banquet. Go to Bishop Robert, if you must. But I remain disappointed.’
‘Our profound apologies, my lord,’ said Hubert soothingly.
‘You may leave.’
It sounded more like an order given than a permission granted. Hubert and Simon reacted with speed. After a flurry of farewells, they rode swiftly out of the castle they abhorred and headed for the sanctuary of the cathedral.
Earl Hugh brought the niceties abruptly to an end. ‘You will be shown to your apartments,’ he said curtly, clapping his hands to bring servants running. ‘Your men will be bestowed in their lodging. Everything is in readiness. When you have unloaded your baggage, I would be happy to take you round my castle. If that offer appeals to you.’
‘Very much, my lord,’ said Ralph.
‘So be it.’
Their host turned on his heel and strode off briskly across the courtyard. After offering them a placatory smile, Gerold went trotting after him. Ralph watched the pair of them until they vanished into the chapel.
‘What did you make of that, Gervase?’ he asked.
‘Earl Hugh does not like to be crossed.’
‘There is no love lost between him and Bishop Robert.’
‘That is clear from the disputes we are here to settle,’ agreed Gervase. ‘A trial of strength is obviously going on here between Church and State.’ 39
‘Real power in Chester lies with the State.’
‘Yet the Church has a powerful ally.’
‘Bishop Robert?’
‘No, Ralph,’ said the other. ‘Brother Gerold. Unless I am much mistaken, he is the only man with any appreciable influence over the earl. We can learn from him.’
The search was entirely fruitless. For several long and anxious hours they combed the Delamere Forest, but without success. Gytha began to despair. Still only eighteen, she had been worn down by family responsibilities and her pretty face was beginning to lose its youthful bloom. Fear etched new lines around her eyes and mouth. She used the edge of her hood to wipe away the beads of perspiration on her forehead.
She turned to the boy who trudged reluctantly beside her. ‘Was this the clearing?’ she said.
‘I do not know, Gytha.’
‘You must remember.’
‘I’m trying to.’
‘Try harder, Beollan.’
He looked around and shrugged. ‘I can’t be sure.’
‘Is there nothing that you recognise?’
‘Not really.’
‘But you know every inch of the forest.’
