The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10) Read online

  ‘He and my sister seem very well matched.’

  ‘Like us, you mean?’

  ‘Nobody is like us, Ralph.’

  ‘No, we are quite unique.’

  ‘Unusual, that is all.’

  ‘We are a model for all young lovers.’

  ‘Hardly!’ she argued. ‘Who would emulate us? Let's be honest here. We're much more likely to excite curiosity than imitation.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Not every woman in my position would consider marrying you.’

  ‘None of them would get the chance!’

  ‘I'm serious, Ralph. You belong in here, in the castle and all that it stands for, while I come from out there with the other citizens. A lot of people would say that I betrayed my nation when I became your wife. There was a time when my own sister might have believed that, and I know that Forne has grave doubts on the subject.’

  He bridled. ‘What business is it of his!’

  ‘Forne is to be my brother-in-law.’

  ‘Then he will have to learn to respect you.’

  ‘He does, I am sure.’

  ‘So what are these grave doubts of his?’

  ‘He let slip a remark that put into words what I could already see in his face. He has severe qualms about us. It's only natural.’

  ‘I can see that I will have to talk to this Forne.’

  ‘No, Ralph. Not in any spirit of anger.’

  ‘I'll not have him criticising my wife!’

  ‘He was not doing that,’ she said, putting her face closer to his. ‘Why not let me tell you exactly what happened before you rush to judgement? That is what you do in the shire hall, isn't it? Hear all the evidence before deciding on your verdict. Do the same here. Pretend that you're in the shire hall now, Ralph.’

  ‘I daren't. I will fall asleep.’

  ‘Not with me beside you,’ she said, giving him a sharp dig in the ribs. His grunt of pain made her smile. ‘That's better. Now, listen.’

  Golde described her reunion with Aelgar and the subsequent visit to the house in the city. She tried to sing Forne's praises but she was conscious of having to invent much of her enthusiasm. Ideal as a husband for her sister, she feared that he might not turn out to be a perfect brother-in-law. Golde knew that everything would depend on what he and Ralph felt about each other. At the end of her account, her husband was slightly more well-disposed towards Forne, but he was far from expressing outright approval. Ralph wanted to reserve his opinion until he actually met the young man.

  ‘Do you think they will be happy together?’ he asked.

  ‘Very happy.’

  ‘That is all that matters.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, stroking his arm. ‘Aelgar has chosen well. And they are like us in one thing, if in nothing else.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Their truthfulness. They are completely honest with each other.’

  ‘So they should be.’

  ‘It is not always so in marriage.’

  ‘It ought to be, Golde. True love permits no secrecy.’

  ‘Not every union is blessed with true love,’ she sighed. ‘And even if it is at the start, circumstances can change. Take our host and his wife. The lady Maud adored him when they first met and he courted her with as much ardour as any lover. But now?’

  ‘His responsibilities divert his attention.’

  ‘His wife expects that. What rankles with her is that he refuses to say anything about his work. It is a closed book to the lady Maud and she would dearly like to flick through the pages. When I told her about us, she was very envious.’

  ‘Envious?’

  ‘Of my good fortune in having a husband who trusted me.’

  ‘Implicitly.’

  ‘I assured her that there was nothing you held back from me. It would hurt me deeply if there was. You confide in me as your wife and I confide freely in you. That way we spring no unpleasant surprises on each other, do we?’

  ‘No, my love.’

  ‘Holding something back is a form of lying, really. A deception. A concealment of truth. I told the lady Maud that you were very honest. Whatever the situation, you'd never lie to me. Would you, Ralph?’

  Ralph thought about the possible arrival of King William in Gloucester and ran a tongue over dry lips. He had still not raised the subject with her and felt it unwise to do so now, even though he was breaking the vow they had once made to each other.

  ‘Well?’ she said, prodding him. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Why did you hesitate?’

  ‘I'm tired, Golde.’

  ‘Then let us get some sleep,’ she said, snuggling into him with a purring contentment. ‘You have to make an early start tomorrow.’ She was about to doze off when she remembered something. ‘I almost forgot, Ralph. They brought worrying news from Hereford.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There has been more trouble on the Welsh border.’

  ‘Not again!’

  ‘Raiding parties have been sighted.’

  ‘The Welsh are a bellicose nation.’

  ‘I hope they do not strike this far south.’

  Ralph quivered. ‘As long as they do not contain Archdeacon Idwal,’ he moaned. ‘Renegade bands can easily be repelled but no fortifications are proof against Idwal. He is an invasion army in himself.’

  ‘Do not get so agitated. I merely pass on rumours.’

  ‘Well, I hope that they are proved false, Golde. But we're far too close to the Welsh border to be able to relax. Forne lives in Archenfield, well placed to catch the first whiff of revolt.’

  ‘There's no serious danger, surely?’ she said. ‘If there were, the sheriff would be marshalling his men in readiness, yet there is no sign of that. Besides, if there was any hint of a real invasion, would not the King himself ride from Winchester with an army?’

  Ralph fell silent. Long after his wife had drifted off to sleep, he brooded on what she had said. He had even more reason to wish that King William would not descend on the city now.

  As far as their duties would permit, Canon Hubert and Brother Simon tried to enter into the life of the abbey. Like the other monks, they rose early to attend Matins and shuffled towards the church with heads bowed and hands tucked into their sleeves. When the service was over, they slipped quietly out to prepare for the day ahead while the rest of the holy brothers remained in church for Lauds. They were about to cross the cloister garth when Abbot Serlo hailed them. Stopping at once, they waited for him to catch them up.

  ‘I wanted a quiet word with you,’ began Serlo.

  ‘As many as you wish, Father Abbot,’ said Hubert.

  ‘First, let me say how pleased I was to see both you and Brother Simon at the funeral service yesterday. I know that you have pressing duties in the shire hall, yet you found time to pay your respects to poor Brother Nicholas.’

  ‘We were honoured to be part of the congregation and, though it is hardly a subject for congratulation, I must commend you on the way you conducted the service. It was most impressive.’

  ‘And very moving,’ said Brother Simon.

  ‘You handled a difficult situation with the utmost tact,’ continued Hubert. ‘Your whole treatment of this wretched business has been quite exemplary.’

  ‘Thank you, Canon Hubert,’ said the abbot, ‘but I do not feel that I have behaved in an exemplary manner. It is a novel predicament for me and I am not entirely sure how to cope with it. But prayer and meditation have taught me this. We must explore every possible means of tracking down the man who killed Brother Nicholas.’

  ‘I agree, Father Abbot.’

  ‘That is why I value a moment with you now. Something has come to light, something so disturbing that my first instinct was to keep it from you because it reflects badly on the abbey and hence on me.’

  ‘I refuse to believe that.’

  ‘So do I, Father Abbot,’ endorsed Simon.

  ‘Hear me out.’ Serlo clea
red his throat then spoke rapidly. ‘Brother Frewine, our Precentor, as wise a man as any here, felt that the sheriff's officers may have missed something in their search of Brother Nicholas's cell and, prompted by some inner conviction, he requested permission to carry out his own search. Certain that he would find nothing, I was proved horribly wrong. Concealed behind a stone in the wall was a bag of coins, amounting to a substantial amount.’

  ‘Saints preserve us!’ murmured Simon.

  ‘This is a grim discovery,’ said Hubert. ‘Do you or the Precentor have any idea where the money came from?’

  ‘None, Canon Hubert. I need hardly tell you that personal wealth is anathema within the enclave. And before you ask me,’ said Serlo as a question formed on the other's lips, ‘we do not believe that it was a stolen portion of the abbey rents. The leather pouch contained new coins, all minted here in Gloucester. Our tenants would not pay with such money. It came from another source, I fear, but what could that source be?’

  ‘And is it in any way connected to Brother Nicholas's death?’

  ‘That is the question with which I have been wrestling.’

  ‘Quite rightly, Abbot Serlo. But you must acquit yourself of any blame here. It is wrong to hold yourself responsible.’

  ‘The fault lies with Brother Nicholas,’ suggested Simon.

  ‘Answerable to you, of course,’ said Hubert, ‘but capable of independent action over which you had no control. The nature of his work is crucial here. Spending so much time outside the abbey, he was beyond your ken, vulnerable to unholy impulses, drawn into some kind of corrupt practice. Thank you for confiding in us, Father Abbot. Though it is disturbing news, it is also an invaluable clue and I will pass it on to the lord Ralph as soon as I may.’

  ‘This mystery grows murkier by the day,’ said Serlo with a hand to his brow. ‘I do hope that someone can solve it before too long.’ ‘So do we,’ said Hubert solemnly. ‘But tell us more about Brother Nicholas's work as a rent collector. How far afield did he go and was he absent from the abbey for any length of time? Why was he assigned to the work in the first place? It is a position of such trust …’

  It was a dull morning when Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret set off from the castle, the overcast sky reflecting the former's mood. He was churlish and preoccupied and Gervase knew better than to attempt any conversation on their ride. Hoping to take out his irritation on the posturing reeve, Ralph was annoyed to see that he had sent a deputy in his place, a polite young man, too obliging to merit any reproach and too eager to deserve the torrent of abuse Ralph intended to unleash on his master. The bell for Prime was ringing as the commissioners took their places in the shire hall beside Canon Hubert and Brother Simon. Ralph ordered that Abraham the Priest be summoned before them, deciding to release his bile upon the Archdeacon of Gwent instead.

  As soon as the archdeacon and the monk who accompanied him entered the shire hall, Ralph began his attack.

  ‘You were instructed to be here yesterday!’ he accused.

  ‘We know, my lord,’ said Abraham gently. ‘We regret the delay.’

  ‘Regret is not enough. I demand an explanation.’

  ‘Then you will have one as soon as you have the grace to explain to whom the explanation is being given.’

  ‘To royal commissioners.’

  ‘Do they possess names?’

  ‘Damnation! Tell us your paltry excuse.’

  ‘Are we allowed to sit while we do so, my lord?’

  ‘Sit, stand or turn somersaults. But stop prevaricating.’

  ‘There is no prevarication here, my lord,’ intervened Hubert, ‘and I do think it best that the archdeacon and his companion take a seat.’

  He waved them to the front bench, performed the introductions and imposed a calmer note on the proceedings. Abraham was a tall, dignified man in his fifties, with a head supremely suited to a tonsure and a manner which combined spirituality and worldliness in the correct proportions. Brother Tomos was younger, plumper and distinctly more anxious. He had none of the archdeacon's composure. Lacking his master's command of Norman French, he was struggling to understand what was being said.

  Impressed by the archdeacon's bearing, Gervase sought to make him feel more welcome and to prevent further browbeating from Ralph.

  ‘We are pleased to see you here at last,’ he said with a smile, ‘and we are sure that only a serious mishap could have held you up.’

  ‘It was more of a blessing than a mishap,’ said Abraham.

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘Yes, Master Bret. We set off in plenty of time but our journey took us through a village where a young woman was with child. No sooner had we arrived than she went into labour. We could hardly leave her.’

  ‘Did you linger in order to baptise the child?’ said Ralph.

  ‘No, my lord. In order to deliver it.’

  Ralph was startled into silence, Hubert paled with embarrassment and Brother Simon began to gibber incoherently. The very notion of childbirth was deeply upsetting to the scribe. To have it raised so easily by the archdeacon caught him completely off guard.

  Gervase was fascinated. ‘You delivered the child?’

  ‘Of course. Who else would take on the office?’

  ‘Was there no doctor? No midwife?’

  ‘None within call,’ said Abraham. ‘The child came slightly ahead of time and took them all unawares. As Tomos will tell you, the mother was in great distress. We heard her cries as we entered the village.’ Simon added to them with an involuntary howl. ‘I could hardly abandon her in her hour of need. She lives in my diocese. That means I must turn doctor, midwife, nurse or anything else on occasion, even if it means putting my shoulder to a plough.’

  Hubert gaped. ‘A plough was involved in this delivery?’

  ‘No, Canon Hubert. I was simply trying to explain that I will become what is needed at any particular moment to relieve those in my care. A midwife was called for and that is what I became.’ ‘Was it a safe delivery?’ wondered Gervase.

  ‘Do not tell us!’ cried Simon.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Abraham. ‘Is it not always a moment of joy when we bring a new Christian into the world?’

  ‘Yes, Archdeacon, but we need not dwell on the means by which that joy is achieved. It does not bear thinking about.’

  ‘But it was such a privilege to be involved in the process.’

  Simon emitted another yell and lapsed into open-mouthed horror.

  ‘Was it a boy or girl?’ said Gervase.

  ‘A lusty boy, so anxious to come into the world that he would not bide his time. Mother and baby are both well, Master Bret, but it was a difficult labour. We had to tarry. When I realised that we would not reach Gloucester to answer your summons, I sent an apology ahead of me.’

  ‘It was duly received,’ said Hubert, ‘so perhaps we can put aside your eccentric habit of delivering babies and turn our minds to the question of certain hides in the Westbury Hundred?’

  ‘Of course, Canon Hubert.’

  ‘Do you have a justifiable claim?’ said Ralph.

  ‘Yes, my lord. It begins with a moral right.’

  ‘You Welshmen will preach about morality!’

  ‘But it is grounded in legality.’

  ‘Then why did you not advance it to the earlier commissioners?’ said Ralph. ‘Were you too busy bringing other children into the world?’

  ‘Fortunately, no. I was visiting the Bishop of St David's. I did not even know about this Great Survey until I returned.’

  ‘St David's?’ said Gervase with interest. ‘In that case, you may have met—’

  ‘That is not germane to this inquiry,’ interrupted Ralph savagely before another archdeacon could be named. ‘We have Welshmen enough under this roof, Gervase, without adding more. Most especially that one.’

  Abraham was puzzled. ‘Why do you have a prejudice against us?’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘Forgive me, my lord, but I feel hostility. Tomos?’<
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  His companion gave a nervous nod of agreement.

  ‘The lord Ralph is not hostile to anyone,’ said Gervase, shooting him a look of reproof. ‘He strives to be impartial and objective, as do we all. That is why we can assure you of a fair hearing, Archdeacon, be you Welsh, Irish, Dane or Breton. You talk of a legal claim. Have you documentary proof of it?’

  ‘Of course. Tomos.’

  The monk produced a charter from his satchel and handed it to his master. After unrolling it to remind himself of its contents, Abraham rose to pass it over before resuming his seat on the bench. Gervase glanced at the document and noted the seal at its base.

  ‘This was issued by King Edward,’ he observed.

  ‘It ratifies a right to property long-held by my predecessors.’

  ‘Strang the Dane also has a charter from King Edward.’

  ‘Set one against the other.’

  ‘It is not as simple as that,’ explained Gervase. ‘The lord Hamelin bases his claim on a charter from King William, as does Querengar the Breton. Each seems to have validity.’

  ‘I am well acquainted with both men.’

  ‘And with Strang the Dane, I expect.’

  Abraham's face darkened. ‘I know him best of all.’

  ‘But like him the least, by the sound of it.’

  ‘We have had our differences, I will admit, but they touch on other matters and do not belong here in this hall.’

  ‘Are you familiar with Strang's reeve?’

  ‘Balki? Oh yes! We all know Balki, alas.’

  ‘He is certainly aware of you, Archdeacon,’ said Gervase, recalling the discomfort shown by the reeve at the mention of Abraham's name. ‘And not at all happy to be ranged against you here.’

  ‘With cause. I intend to take his master's land from him.’

  ‘Strang alleges that it has already been taken away by Hamelin of Lisieux and, given the chance, Querengar the Breton will seize it from all three of you. Which one of you are we to favour?’

  ‘The one with the most legitimate claim,’ said Hubert.

  Abraham smiled. ‘Then that will be me.’

  ‘Tell us why, Archdeacon.’

  ‘Without any mention of childbirth,’ begged Simon.

  ‘Very well,’ said the Welshman calmly. ‘Let us go back to the reign of King Edward for that is when the problem first arose …’