The Lions of the North (Domesday Series Book 4) Read online

  To be in Golde's company was ordeal enough for him: To be addressed directly by her was like a sudden descent into purgatory with no intervening stops. Brother Simon shut his eyes tight, crossed himself and began to pray vigorously. Ralph came across to tease him but the clatter of hooves diverted his attention away from the Benedictine monk.

  Clad in helm and hauberk, with his cloak trailing behind him in the wind, a tall, stately man in his forties was cantering up the hill on his destrier. At his back, riding in formation, were a dozen soldiers with an array of weapons. Sumpter-horses were pulled along behind the cavalcade, which scattered pedestrians in the narrow street. When they reached the waiting commissioners, the newcomers came to a halt and drew up in a semicircle. Their leader nudged his mount forward and bestowed a disarming smile upon them.

  “Welcome to Lincoln!” he said affably. “I am Tanchelm of Ghent.”

  Aubrey Maminot was a genial man of middle years with an almost boyish eagerness about him. Time had silvered his hair and etched lines into his face but it had stolen none of his restless energy. As he discussed preparations with his steward, he paced up and down the hall at the castle, his gown billowing and his heels clacking on the oaken boards.

  “Venison served with frumenty,” he decided.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Or maybe lamb would be more to their taste.”

  “We will have both, my lord. With a dozen other dishes beside them.”

  “Spiced rabbit must be an offer as well,” said Aubrey. “I want my guests to be well fed during their stay.”

  “When will they arrive?”

  “In a day or two at most.”

  “And how many of them will be staying at the castle?”

  “That remains to be seen, Bodin. Ralph Delchard's letter spoke of five or six but they will bring a sizeable escort as well. I want them to have all the comforts of the castle. Ralph is an old friend of mine and deserves the best that we may offer here in York.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  “They will banquet in here on their first evening.”

  “Everything will be put in readiness.”

  Bodin was a dark and slightly sinister individual but Aubrey had always found him a most efficient steward of his household. Quiet, watchful and discreet, Bodin had a quick mind that enabled him to adapt to the ever-changing whims of the castellan. If five or fifty guests arrived at the gate of the castle, he would be able to accommodate them.

  “How long will they stay, my lord?” he wondered.

  “As long as they choose.”

  “Of course.”

  “My home is theirs while they are in the city.”

  Bodin gave a polite bow and backed away, electing to make the kitchen his first call. Aubrey Maminot continued to strut around the hall with proprietary zeal. Razed to the ground on more than one occasion, the castle had been rebuilt with greater solidity and a sense of permanence. Its castellan liked to think that he had transformed the keep into something more than a mere fortress. The hall and the apartments had touches of style and luxury that were not usually met with so far north.

  As he glanced across at the long table, he imagined it laden with a magnificent banquet set out with exquisite taste, steam rising from a selection of appetising dishes that would tempt the most jaded palate. For a few moments, the room seemed to fill with music, song, dance and the happy laughter of his guests. It would be good to share a goblet of wine and a wealth of reminiscence with Ralph Delchard. He chuckled as he recalled the last occasion on which he had met his friend. A knock on the door invaded his reverie.

  “Come in!” he snapped.

  The door opened to reveal a short, stocky figure in a sleeveless coat of toughened hide that showed off his taut muscles. Black hair and a black beard framed his handsome, swarthy face. Broad wristlets of studded hide set off the matted hair on his forearms. The man somehow combined the appearance of a serf with the arrogance of a lord. Legs set apart, he stood there with his hands on his hips.

  Aubrey Maminot smiled at his visitor with an almost paternal affec- tion and bustled across to him.

  “Ludovico!”

  “You sent for me.”

  “I wanted to know how they are.”

  “Fine, my lord. Fine.”

  “Have they settled down?”

  “They are sleeping. I did not disturb them. I will feed them later when they wake up.”

  “Call me. I would like to be there.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  There was no trace of obeisance in Ludovico's manner. Secure in his position and confident of Aubrey Maminot's indulgence, the little Italian had an air of independence about him that was envied by the rest of the castle. He also had a success with the ladies that aroused a darker envy among some of the men. Because he could offer a service that nobody in York could match, Ludovico basked in his master's favouritism and wallowed in the female attention that he invariably excited.

  “Who was he?”

  “We do not yet know,” confessed Aubrey.

  “What was he doing in the castle?”

  “That, too, remains a matter for speculation.”

  “How did he get inside?”

  “There, we are on firmer ground,” said Aubrey with a flash of anger. “He scaled the wall by means of a rope and walked the rampart unchallenged. The captain of the guard has been disciplined. The dolt had the temerity to blame the heavy rain last night. I expect vigilance in all weathers.”

  “Was the man alone?”

  “No, Ludovico. He had an accomplice. A figure was seen hurling himself over the top of the palisade. When they searched outside with torches, they found a place where someone had landed heavily and slithered down into the ditch. Apparently, his only concern was to save his own skin. He obviously abandoned his friend to his grisly fate.”

  “The intruder paid dearly for his boldness,” said the other. “He came up against a line of defence that can never be breached.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “And to you, my lord. Who brought us here?”

  “I did,” said Aubrey with a complacent grin, “and it was the most sensible decision I ever made. I know that you miss Italy and hate our Yorkshire winters, but I tell you this, Ludovico. With the three of you beside me, I sleep so much more soundly in my bed.”

  “That is why we are here, my lord.”

  “It is part of the reason.” He became brusque. “I have instruction for you. Important visitors will soon arrive at the castle. They are here on royal business and must be given every assistance. But they need entertainment as well.”

  “I follow, my lord.”

  “The animals must be on their very best behaviour.”

  “Leave that to me.”

  “I always do, Ludovico.”

  “Have they ever seen lions before?”

  “No,” said Aubrey, cheeks glowing with pride. “Not like mine. Nobody has ever seen lions like mine!”

  Tanchelm of Ghent was an amiable man who went out of his way to befriend his companions. Introduced to them in turn at Lincoln, he quickly identified Canon Hubert as the person who would be most difficult to win over. As they left the city and rode north along Ermine Street, he fell in beside Hubert's donkey and struck up a conversation.

  “I must offer my profound apologies,” he began.

  “Apologies?”

  “For foisting myself upon you like this. It is not by choice. King William gave orders that I should join your commission. Left to myself, I own, I would much rather have stayed on my estates, immersed in my books.”

  “Your books?”

  “I am a reading man, Canon Hubert. I would willingly put a soldier's life behind me for good and spend the rest of my days in the simple joys of study and meditation.”

  “Indeed?”

  Hubert was impressed. Tanchelm of Ghent was a Flemish mercenary who had fought beside the Duke of Normandy at Hastings and been richly rewarded. The likelihood wa
s that he would be a boorish warrior with a compulsion to take control and to have everything on his terms. Instead, he turned out to be an intelligent and sensitive man who spoke Norman French without a whisper of a Flemish accent. When Tanchelm described some of the titles in his library, the canon was even more impressed.

  “You have read Boethius?” he said in surprise.

  “Many times.”

  “And the Venerable Bede?”

  “I can quote parts of Historia Ecclesiastica verbatim.”

  “I wish that all soldiers exchanged the sword for the written word quite so readily,” said Hubert with a meaningful glance at Ralph Delchard up ahead of him. “But some, I fear, are beyond recall.” He turned to look shrewdly at Tanchelm. “May I ask what your appointed role is, my lord?”

  “To lend what assistance I may.”

  “Yes, but in what capacity?”

  “The King advises me that I sit in commission as an equal partner with you but I realise that that would be an act of gross presumption on my part.”

  “Presumption?”

  “You are all experienced,” said Tanchelm respectfully, “while I am a mere novice. You have sat in judgement before; I have little knowledge of legal matters. I have so much to learn, Canon Hubert, but I am a willing pupil. I have that in my favour. Be patient with me and I will soon grow to be of some practical use to you.”

  “I am sure that you will, my lord.”

  “In the meantime, overlook my folly and pardon my ignorance. Have no fear that I will challenge your decisions. I defer to you and the others at all times.”

  “That is very reassuring.”

  “My presence may lend additional weight to the commission but I cannot promise that my voice will supply any illumination. I am content to be guided by wiser heads.”

  Canon Hubert was delighted to hear these remarks and he questioned Tanchelm closely to make sure that the sentiments he was expressing were genuine and not simply a means of ingratiating himself. Prompt with his answers, their new colleague seemed quite sincere. His soft-spoken manner endeared him to Hubert, who spent much of his time battling with the blunt and assertive Ralph Delchard. It was refreshing to meet a soldier who did not treat an argument as an excuse for a verbal cavalry charge. The canon began to see Tanchelm as a potential ally against the nominal leader of the commission. Only one more query needed to be raised.

  “Why do you think that you were chosen for this work?”

  Tanchelm gave a wry smile. “You must ask that of the King himself, for he did the choosing.”

  “You must have some idea why his eye settled on you.”

  “I have done him good service in the past.”

  “As a paid soldier.”

  “Yes,” conceded the other easily. “I do not deny that I fought for money. It is a more tangible reward than honour. My wealth enabled me to buy the time to educate myself, so I feel that the end more than justified the means. But I have not only been employed on the battlefield, Canon Hubert.”

  “Oh?”

  “I speak five languages. A legacy of having lived and fought in a number of countries. The King has seen fit to use me, in a small way, as a kind of ambassador.” He gave a shrug. “I can only think that my mean skills in foreign courts recommended me for this assignment. Beyond that, my sole qualification is the one that we all share.”

  “And what is that?”

  “We are outsiders,” said Tanchelm. “None of us was born or brought up in Yorkshire. We have no personal interest in the county that could blur our perception or sway our judgement. That is vital.”

  “Impartiality is our touchstone.”

  “Even so.”

  Hubert inhaled deeply. “Let me tell you why I was selected to assist in the compilation of this Great Survey.…”

  Modesty had never gained more than the most superficial purchase on Canon Hubert and, as a result, his crushing self-importance went largely unchecked. He trumpeted his virtues for a mile or more without the slightest sense of his own vanity. Tanchelm showed remarkable patience and forbearance. Hubert warmed to him even more.

  When they stopped to take refreshment, Tanchelm strode across to join Ralph Delchard and Golde. Locked together in their own private world, they had ridden at the head of the column and set a steady pace. It was now time to relax and to mix with their fellow travellers. They gave Tanchelm a smile of welcome.

  “What do you think of Lincolnshire?” he said.

  “It has much to commend it,” replied Golde.

  “No,” said Ralph, shaking his head. “The county is too flat and too featureless for my liking. All this undrained fenland. The place is virtually a peninsula. Why on earth did you choose to live here?”

  “I like it,” said Tanchelm. “More to the point, so does my wife. She would not live anywhere else.”

  “Why not?” wondered Golde.

  “She was born here.”

  “You wife is a Saxon?”

  “No, my lady. She comes of Viking stock. We are standing at the very heart of the old Danelaw. Look at the names of the places around here, listen to the speech of the people. The Danes left heavy footprints in this county.”

  “I'm surprised they did not sink up to their waists in water,” said Ralph. “I do not like wet terrain. It makes me feel seasick.”

  They chatted happily until they were ready to mount and move on. Ralph and Golde again led the way but Tanchelm now took up a position at the end of the cavalcade. Gervase Bret and Brother Simon were absorbed in earnest discussion. He nudged his horse gently between them.

  “Do I intrude?” he said.

  “Not at all, my lord,” said Gervase. “Ride with us.”

  “I would hate to interrupt a private conversation.”

  “It was more of a friendly debate, one that Brother Simon and I have been having for some time.”

  “May I know its substance?”

  “The Benedictine rule.”

  “A worthy subject for argument.”

  “I was destined for the cowl myself at one point but I drew back from taking my vows. Brother Simon has just been reminding me of some of the rewards of monastic life.”

  “They are beyond my reach, alas.”

  He turned to Simon with a half-smile of regret but the monk was far too timorous to make any comment. The presence of Tanchelm and his men-at-arms was reassuring at one level but it was also overwhelming. Brother Simon was travelling in the company of over thirty people, yet there were only two of them—Canon Hubert and Gervase Bret—with whom he had anything in common. He felt lost and vulnerable.

  Seeing his profound discomfort, Gervase tried to steer the conversation away from the hapless monk.

  “We are pleased to have you with us, my lord,” he said.

  “It is an honour to sit in commission with you.”

  “That is an opinion you may care to revise when you have spent endless days in a draughty shire hall, listening to property disputes. It can be tedious work.”

  “The boredom is not unrelieved,” said Tanchelm. “From what I hear, your investigations have a habit of throwing up a certain amount of excitement.”

  “Unhappily, yes.”

  “You have something of a reputation.”

  Who told you that, my lord?”

  “I have many friends in Winchester. In any case, it was implicit in the orders that I received from the King himself.”

  Gervase was astonished. “King William spoke of us?”

  “Yes,” said Tanchelm. “By name. He holds you in high regard. Why else should he choose to send you to Yorkshire? There are other teams of commissioners dispersed throughout other counties to look into questionable claims sent into the Exchequer. Yet they were not singled out for the long journey to York. That reward fell to you.”

  “It could also be seen as a punishment.”

  “The King trusts you, Master Bret. He has always been able to recognise able lieutenants. That is how I know that Ralph Delchard
, Canon Hubert, Brother Simon here and your good self must be a formidable team.” He gave Gervase a smile of admiration. “I repeat. It is an honour to join you.”

  Ermine Street, the great highway between London and York, showed scant respect for any variations in contour. It arrowed its way north with Roman straightness and dealt with obstacles in its path by cutting through them. They were able to make steady progress before spending the night at a small village in the north of the county.

  Inclement weather delayed their start on the next day and enforced a change of route. When they reached the Humber Estuary, they found it so broad and uninviting, so wild and so windswept, that Ralph Delchard, a reluctant sailor, abandoned the plan to cross by means of the ferry and instead struck west along the bank of the river. The detour slowed them still more and sapped the vestiges of their good humour. By the time they finally reached Howden in the East Riding, they were bedraggled and dispirited.

  Like everyone else in the party, Golde fell asleep the moment she climbed into bed. They were staying at the local manor house, a long, low building with a thatched roof and a sunken floor. A fairly primitive structure, it made no concessions to comfort and had a musty atmosphere that made them cough when they first encountered it. It nevertheless seemed like a palace to travellers on the verge of fatigue.

  Golde was sharing a small bay with Ralph. When she awoke in the night, she was alarmed to find that he was no longer beside her. She dressed quickly and went in search of him, feeling her way to the door in the gloom. He was nowhere inside the building. Golde eventually found him at the rear of the house, sitting pensively on a chopping block and staring straight ahead of him. The storm had abated and a crescent moon now picked out everything in sharp profile.

  She ran across to him on tiptoe and touched his arm.

  “What ails you?” she said.

  “Nothing, my love.”

  “Then what has brought you out here?”

  “I could not sleep.”

  “After a day like the one we had?”

  “I felt the need for some fresh air.” He stood up and slipped an arm around her. “But there is no need for you to be out here at this hour.”