The Lions of the North d-4 Page 21

  “Who?”

  “I cannot say. All I saw was the commotion. When they brought out a body, I knew it must be him. I left York at once.”

  “Would you come back again?”

  “No.”

  “I would guarantee your safe conduct.”

  “Norman justice would never help me.”

  “Not if you stay out here in the wilderness.”

  Olaf Evil Child looked around at his men. Some were sleeping on the ground, some were chatting, some were eating the last of the day’s catch. Eric was sharpening an axe. Beyond them, in a secluded corner, Inga was talking agitatedly to Ragnar Longfoot.

  “Go now while you still have some light,” said Olaf.

  “Will you ride with me?”

  “No, but I’ll send someone to guide you.”

  “How can I reach you again?”

  “There will be a way.”

  Inga came across with Ragnar limping beside her. Gervase could see the deep sadness hanging upon her.

  “Have you learned what you came to find out?” he said.

  “Yes,” she replied sadly. “It will not bring Toki back to me. But at least I understand.”

  “Light is failing,” noted Olaf. “Go now or you will not reach York before dark.”

  “I will show them the way,” volunteered Ragnar.

  Gervase thanked Olaf for his help but Inga had far more cause for gratitude. To be delivered up into the hands of Nigel Arbarbonel was a fate she could not bear even to reflect upon, and Olaf had saved her from it. She kissed him once more on the cheek. He grinned apprecia-tively.

  “You may visit us again, Inga,” he said warmly.

  When they mounted, Gervase looked down at him.

  “Why did you return our apparel?” he asked.

  “It did not fit me,” said Olaf.

  “Why did you steal it in the first place?”

  “I hoped the packs might contain the missing charters to my land.

  Stealing one’s own property back is not really theft.”

  “We must go,” urged Ragnar Longfoot.

  “We will, I promise you,” said Gervase. “I must just ask Olaf one last favour….”

  Ralph Delchard was racked by guilt and apprehension. He blamed himself for letting Gervase Bret ride off without an escort and he feared that some terrible accident had befallen his friend. Darkness was enveloping the castle and there was still no sign of Gervase. Climbing up the wooden steps, Ralph walked anxiously along the boards, peering over the palisade with more hope than expectation. It was too late.

  The city gates were being locked. Gervase would not come back that night. Ralph had a sudden premonition that he would never come back.

  After pacing up and down, he screwed his eyes to pierce the darkness. Nothing was visible save the stark profile of the city. The sounds of night were descending on York. Revellers were noisy. Music played somewhere. Dogs roamed and yelped. A single bell tolled. Ralph turned away. He wanted to mount up and lead his men in a search but he knew that it would be a hopeless exercise. They must wait until dawn.

  He descended the stairs in a state of dejection. There was nothing that he could do. He was about to abandon all hope when a familiar voice rang out from beyond the wall. Ralph ran back up the steps and gazed over the top of the palisade once more. He could just make some shapes in the darkness. They seemed to be moving about.

  “Is that you, Gervase?” he shouted.

  “Yes. Tell them to open up.”

  “What have you got with you?”

  “Another gift from Olaf Evil Child.”

  “Gift?”

  “Yes,” said Gervase. “Our horses.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gervase Bret had much to recount but Ralph Delchard listened without interruption. He winced when he heard of the ambush, and his jaw dropped when the death of Nigel Arbarbonel was reported in detail. Ralph’s own day in York seemed dull and unproductive when compared to the adventures with Olaf Evil Child. Relieved to welcome his friend back unharmed, he was now feeling a distinct envy of him.

  “You should have taken me with you!” he insisted.

  “I would never have got near Olaf if I had.”

  “Do not speak so fondly of the man.”

  “He helped us, Ralph.”

  “To curry favour.”

  “Olaf Evil Child is wrongly maligned.”

  “Stop apologising for him, Gervase. It annoys me. Have you so soon forgotten? The villain stole our horses.”

  “No, Ralph. He only borrowed them.”

  “I will only borrow his head when I meet him!”

  When the sumpter-horses were stabled, the men had gone straight to Gervase’s apartment in the keep to exchange news. Ralph was delighted that he would not have to explain his friend’s absence to Aubrey Maminot and to account for the fact that he had allowed him to leave the city so unprotected. Envy soon turned to affection and Ralph reached out to embrace Gervase.

  “By all, it is good to see you again!”

  “It is good to be back inside four walls,” said Gervase as they parted.

  “But what have you learned today?”

  “That I never wish to get that close to fish again.”

  “Fish?”

  “Yes,” said Ralph with a grimace. “I traced Tanchelm’s footsteps to the harbour. Anyone in York could have picked up my scent when I left. Canon Hubert certainly did.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “At the minster. I engaged his services.”

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  Gervase was astounded. “You told him?”

  “I did not need to. He has sharper wits than I gave him credit for, Gervase. He does not know what Tanchelm’s main reason for coming to Yorkshire was, but he is certain that it was not to settle property disputes.”

  “What did he actually say?”

  “Very little. Hubert can be discreet.”

  “And you employed him?”

  “He offered to help. I set him onto Brother Francis.”

  “Why?”

  “A number of things puzzled me about the fellow,” said Ralph. “Do you recall a tussle with Nigel Arbarbonel in which he always seemed to hold the whip hand over us?”

  “It was almost as if he was primed in advance.”

  “He was-by Brother Francis.”

  “Our scribe? But he seemed such a helpful man.”

  “So did Tanchelm of Ghent.”

  “Are you sure of this?” said Gervase, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Brother Francis had no access to our papers.”

  “He listened. We forgot he was there.”

  “Only because we trusted him implicitly.”

  “That was our fatal error,” said Ralph. “Hubert sounded him out earlier and missed Vespers in order to bring me his opinion. Our genial monk was another spy.”

  “Working for my lord Nigel?”

  “Indirectly. Everything came through another source.”

  “And who was that?”

  “It grieves me to say this, Gervase, and I am still not entirely convinced myself but … the man appears to be Aubrey Maminot.”

  “Does he even know Brother Francis?”

  “They are friends.”

  “I cannot imagine him going anywhere near a monk.”

  “Francis did not always wear the cowl. He served as a soldier under Aubrey’s command. Old loyalties remain. He is a useful source of gossip and information.”

  “But he was assigned to us through the good offices of the archbishop himself.”

  “Aubrey has great influence in York. My guess is that he arranged for Brother Francis to sit with us when he heard that we were in need of a scribe. Who would not trust a monk? I must confess that he took me in.”

  “Canon Hubert has done well to expose him.”

  “He has, Gervase. When I taxed Aubrey himself about our merry monk, he explained away their friendship in terms of the abbey. He told me that Brother F
rancis had once borne arms, but he made no mention of having served with him. Is that not strange? It was Hubert who dug out the truth.”

  Gervase was alarmed. “Everything we have said in the privacy of our deliberations has come back here?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “And then?”

  “It was passed on to Nigel Arbarbonel.”

  “No wonder he was able to frustrate our purpose,” said Gervase.

  “Well, he will not do so again.”

  Ralph gave a grudging nod. “That is one thing I have to thank Olaf Evil Child for. He has rid us of my lord Nigel. What I still would like to know is why Aubrey was so thick with that smooth-voiced popinjay.

  What was there between them that made my good friend, as I thought him, betray us?”

  “Something that my lord Nigel said may help us there.”

  “Oh?”

  “When he thought he would best Olaf in combat, he talked as if he were about to slay an animal. He said that my lord Aubrey would pay well for Olaf’s pelt.”

  Ralph weighed the significance of the remark. It hurt him deeply to think that his host might have been working covertly against them and he was still hoping that he might have been mistaken. But the evidence was now overwhelming.

  “Golde was our other ally,” he said.

  “Ally?”

  “Hubert delivered Brother Francis. She served up the cook. What better person to talk to about the guests at this castle than the man who has to feed them? Golde put me on to him by accident. I spent a fruitful hour in the kitchen.”

  “What did the cook say?”

  “All sorts of things, Gervase. Mostly complaints. Aubrey has a habit of waking him up to prepare midnight feasts for guests who have just arrived.” He raised an eyebrow. “What sort of men only travel by night?

  The cook gave me dates and times and one other fact of note.”

  “Let me tell you what it is,” said Gervase, anticipating him. “My lord Tanchelm also spoke with him.”

  “Yes.”

  “So his attention, too, was directed to this castle. He found out what we are only just beginning to learn. And they killed him for it.”

  There was a roar from below as Romulus and Remus were given a measure of freedom for the night. They ran down the mound, then padded around the ditch at the bottom, baring their teeth in snarls of warning. Gervase crossed to the window to look down but the darkness hid them. He thought of the mutilated body he had seen in the morgue.

  “Do you know why Toki came here?”

  “That intruder?”

  “Yes,” said Gervase. “He and Ragnar Longfoot climbed into the castle that night. Only men with a powerful reason would take such a huge risk. Inga found out why they came here.”

  “To kill Aubrey?”

  “No. To steal something. Ragnar spoke of charters and of treasure.

  Toki was convinced that there was some kind of hoard at the castle and that it was vital to find it. So he came like a thief in the night.”

  “And found Romulus and Remus instead.”

  “Yes, Ralph.”

  As if hearing their names, the lions roared in protest and raced around the ditch in search of prey. Gervase was still at the window as the noise reverberated. It set off a thought that had not occurred to him before.

  “You say the cook talked of midnight feasts?”

  “For late arrivals at the castle.”

  “How did they get in?”

  “What?”

  “The lions patrol the ditch every night,” reminded Gervase. “When they are released, nobody can enter or leave the keep. If travellers came into the castle so late, how did they get in here in order to be fed by the cook?”

  Aubrey Maminot waited impatiently while the servants cleaned the cage. By the light of torches, the two men used brooms to sweep the soiled rushes into a pile before putting them in a wooden barrow. The floor of the cage was then sluiced with water. When that was dry, fresh rushes would be scattered. The servants departed with their barrow.

  “I thought they would never finish,” said Aubrey.

  “Blame me,” said Ludovico. “I banged their heads together yesterday and told them to be more thorough in their work. Romulus and Remus must have a clean cage every morning. The servants will not be slack again.”

  “Stand over them when they strew the fresh rushes.”

  “I will.”

  “They must never be allowed in there alone.”

  Aubrey went into the cage with Ludovico behind him. Both were carrying flaming torches. With the floor now cleared of its bedding, the trapdoor was revealed in full. It was very large and secured by two heavy bolts. Aubrey drew them back and lifted the door. He went down a few of the stone steps before turning back.

  “Lock it after me, Ludovico.”

  “I always do.”

  “You know the signal for my return.”

  “I will be here.”

  “Then I bid you farewell.”

  “Good night,” said Ludovico. “Give her a kiss from me.”

  Philip the Chaplain knelt before the altar and offered up his final prayer of the day. With an indifference born of repetition, he crossed himself, rose from the altar rail and genuflected towards the crucifix high above him. When he turned to leave the chapel, he was startled to see Gervase Bret standing in the doorway.

  “It is late, Master Bret,” he said.

  “I hoped that I would still catch you here.”

  “I was about to retire for the night.”

  “Then I will be brief.” Gervase stepped into the chapel and closed the heavy door behind him. “It concerns the letter that you kindly gave to me.”

  Philip was agitated. “Do not talk of it. You promised that you would never mention where it came from.”

  “Nor will I. The letter is destroyed. Nobody else will ever see it or connect it with the chaplain.” Philip relaxed visibly. “I came first to thank you once again.”

  “Your discretion is all the thanks I need.”

  “We require some further help.”

  “We?”

  “My lord Ralph and I.”

  Alarm returned. “You told him of my part in this?”

  “Not a word.”

  “I have my place here in the castle, Master Bret.”

  “I know.”

  “Nothing must jeopardise that.”

  “I fear that something may,” said Gervase softly. “Though it will not be our doing. The threat comes from within.” The chaplain gulped slightly. “That is why we need your assistance. You have been here for several years. You know the operation of the castle as well as anybody.”

  “I close my eyes to what does not concern me.”

  “In the interests of justice, I must ask you to open them slightly. You know what I speak of. Three bodies have lain in your morgue this past week. One was that of an old servant who had lived out his allotted span.”

  “He passed away quietly in his sleep.”

  “The other two were not as fortunate,” said Gervase. “The first was mauled by lions, the second was throttled. Violent deaths in both cases.”

  “But quite unconnected.”

  “I begin to wonder.”

  “Why?”

  “Both men were searching for something inside this castle. Both were punished for their curiosity. What were they after, do you think?”

  “I cannot say, Master Bret.”

  “Can you not hazard a guess?”

  “I am the chaplain here and nothing more.”

  “Your duty is to the castellan,” said Gervase. “I understand that. You owe your place to him. But is there not a higher duty that overrides my lord Aubrey?”

  “Higher duty?”

  “To truth. To justice. To God.”

  Philip took a step back and glanced around nervously.

  “Should murder go unpunished?” pressed Gervase.

  “No, it should not.”

  “Should evil g
o unchecked?”

  “No,” whispered the other, “it should not.”

  “Then tell me about them.”

  “Who?”

  “Visitors to the castle. Unusual guests who arrive at strange hours of the night. Men whose horses are covered in the sweat of long, hard journeys. Strangers.” He put a hand on the chaplain’s shoulder. “Tell me about them.”

  Ralph Delchard waited until he heard the sound of her breathing change slightly. Golde was asleep. Detaching his arms from around her, he rolled her gently onto her back and slipped out of the bed. His mind would not let him rest. Aubrey Maminot was an old and trusted friend of his. The thought that his host might be involved in deception and manipulation was abhorrent to Ralph. At one level, he simply could not believe it. When he considered that murder and even treason might be laid at Aubrey’s door, his brain revolted. It was impossible. A perverse illusion.

  Action was the only way to relieve his turmoil. If the castellan was innocent of the charges, then that innocence needed to be established at the earliest opportunity. If he was guilty, then the appropriate steps would have to be taken. He had to find out. Even with Golde beside him, Ralph could not lie in a warm bed and drift off to sleep.

  He fumbled for his apparel and dressed as quickly as he could. Reaching for his dagger, he thrust it into his belt. Ralph let himself out of the room, shut the door quietly behind him, then moved across to the candle that burned in an alcove. With its modest light to guide him, he set off down the stairs, pausing every time his weight coaxed a squeak out of the boards.

  The apartment was high in the tower and it took him some minutes to work his way slowly down past the other bedchambers, the solar, the hall, the chapel, the kitchen and the tiny rooms where servants slept four to a bed. He could smell the cage before he reached it. Even with its fresh rushes, it retained the unmistakable flavour of Romulus and Remus. He crept up to it and peered through the bars.

  Letting himself into the cage, he went quickly across to make certain that the door to the outside was securely locked. Ralph did not want the lions to return and catch him in their lair. Romulus and Remus were truculent hosts. When he was satisfied that they could not reach him, he knelt on the floor and brushed back the rushes, looking for the trapdoor he had seen earlier. His hand fell on a bolt and he cleared the floor around it.