The Dragons of Archenfield (Domesday Series Book 3) Page 24

  “Idwal was right,” he said. “Ambition is a sin.”

  “That depends on the nature of the ambition, my lord.”

  “Mine was based on a craving for power. I fought to acquire this demesne so that I could surround myself with a vast moat of land and hide here within my citadel.” He gave a bleak smile. “Not all that land was acquired honestly.”

  “We have taken note of that, my lord,” said Gervase.

  “Maurice Damville was partly to blame,” continued Orbec. “As long as he was my neighbour, I could not rest for one second. I had to patrol my estates like an army of occupation lest he steal them away as he stole so much else. Now that Damville is gone, my imperatives have changed.”

  “You were the victim of his malice, my lord.”

  “There was more to it than that, Gervase. He did not devise his plan simply to spite Richard Orbec and bring the fury of the Welsh down on me. He had a wider ambition than that.”

  “What was it?”

  “To become Earl of Hereford.”

  “By inciting violence on the border?”

  “Precisely by that means,” said Orbec. “Why do you think he spent so much time on his fortifications? Ewyas Harold was the bulwark against the Welsh. If they had ridden around it and laid waste on my estates, Damville would then have sallied forth and harried them back across the border. He would have been given the credit for ending a Welsh incursion that he himself had provoked.”

  “And thereby strengthened his claim to be made earl.”

  “The shire has lacked a controlling hand since Roger of Breteuil was disgraced and imprisoned. The king has been careful not to appoint another earl. Welsh hostility along a sensitive border might well change his mind. He would need a powerful man with a stronghold in a strategic position.”

  “Maurice Damville.”

  “Yes, Gervase,” said the other. “Warnod was killed to set the plan in motion. Angharad was captured to unsettle the Welsh and you were abducted to stop a royal commission from straying too close to Ewyas at a crucial time. And all to serve one overriding ambition.”

  “To be the Earl of Hereford.”

  “And to hold the whiphand over all of us.”

  Gervase was grateful for the insight into Damville's designs, but there were questions about Orbec himself that had still to be addressed. His host seemed to read his mind.

  “You are wondering why, Gervase.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Why do I lead the life of a hermit when I have such wealth and position? Why do I skulk away?”

  “Maurice Damville is only part of the explanation.”

  “She was the rest of it.”

  “She?”

  “Cecilia.”

  “Your betrothed?”

  “Yes,” said Orbec, staring into his wine. “It was because of Cecilia that I came to England to start anew and build afresh. My problem was that I brought her with me. In my mind and in my heart I even kept the apparel she would have worn to our wedding.”

  “The white gown and mantle that Angharad put on?”

  “Now they are gone and Cecilia has at last left this house.” He drained his cup then rolled it between his palms as he relived his story. “I had everything, Gervase. Power and standing. Fine estates near Bayeux. A beautiful woman to share it all with me. But good fortune always produces envy. And it came from the one place I did not expect.”

  “Within your own family?” suggested Gervase.

  “My half-brother, Stephen. I gave him so much, but he wanted far more. While I was away in England, he took it all by force. Including my beloved Cecilia.”

  “Could she not resist him?”

  “Four men-at-arms held her down while he raped her. She could not live with the shame of it, Gervase. By the time I got back to Normandy, Cecilia had taken her own life and I had lost everything in Bayeux that I held most dear.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I turned into a devil. I visited the horrors of hell upon Stephen and those four men. I made them suffer such pain that they begged me to kill them.”

  The cup fell from his hands and bounced to the floor with a hollow clack. Gervase watched it roll across the flagstones and stop in front of the fireplace. Orbec was staring down at the hands which had been responsible for the slaughter.

  “I now understand why you fled to England,” said Gervase. “And why you built that chapel in your house.”

  “I pray for the souls of those five men every day,” said Orbec. “They deserved to die, but not in that hideous way. They released something inside me that I have tried to keep locked away ever since. Damville came close to setting it free again, but I held it in.” He looked up at Gervase. “I pray for Cecilia as well. The chapel is dedicated to her memory. But I pray, above all else, for forgiveness.”

  Richard Orbec's gifts to the cathedral now took on a new light. They were self-imposed acts of penance. The new ceiling for which he was paying would be an epitaph to the woman he loved and the five men he slew. The tiny chapel was at once a house of God and a cage for the Devil.

  Epilogue

  CANON HUBERT WAS IN SUBLIME FORM AT THE SHIRE HALL THE NEXT MORNING. HIS spirits had been lifted by the news that Gervase brought with him from the Golden Valley. Idwal the Archdeacon had decided not to return to Hereford before continuing his journey around his native country. Hubert felt like a besieged castle that had just been providentially liberated. His good humour was further increased by Ralph Delchard's willingness to hand over the business of the morning to him without let or hindrance.

  An exhausting day and a joyously long night had persuaded Ralph to yield pride of place to his colleague for once. Gervase, too, was happy for the canon to undertake the searing examination of Ilbert the Sheriff.

  “I hold in my hand a charter,” said Hubert.

  “I see it well,” grunted Ilbert.

  “Have you set eyes on this document before?”

  “Never!” he lied.

  “Did you know of its existence?”

  “Only by rumour.”

  “Can you guess at its import?”

  “I believe that it relates to the carucates of land in the north of Archenfield, at present in the hands of Richard Orbec.”

  “It touches on a few adjacent manors as well,” said Hubert, pointedly. “At present in the hands of Ilbert Malvoisin.”

  “Can this document have legal substance?” blustered the sheriff. “If it is so important a charter, why have we not been allowed to view it before?”

  “Some of us did view it,” Ralph said, wickedly.

  “You are fully entitled to peruse it now,” said Hubert. “Along with all the other charters that relate to your land. Did you not think to be shearer by occupation, my lord sheriff?”

  “A shearer?”

  “Your fingers are so nimble with a pair of shears. You have snipped away some of the richest wool in the county. And done it so skillfully that the rest of the fleece looks almost untouched.” Hubert held up another document and smiled benignly. “Let us begin with your work among the sheep of Leominster …”

  Ilbert Malvoisin was destroyed by a combination of sardonic wit and legal charter. His subtle seizures of property had been concealed from the earlier commissioners, but laid bare by the unremitting searches of Ralph Delchard and his colleagues. It was Hubert who turned shearer now, clipping away merrily until several carucates of land, three mills, two churches, and a small castle lay on the floor to be returned to their rightful owners.

  The sheriff shivered in the cold air like a shorn ewe.

  “You look distressed,” teased Ralph. “May I send for a tankard of ale to revive you?”

  It was a humbled sheriff who limped out of the shire hall. His rank did not save him. Abuse of his position encouraged the commissioners to confiscate with severity and fine with compunction. They would also relay details of his malpractices to the Exchequer at Winchester where they would fall under the eye of t
he king himself. The sheriff might even lose his shrievalty.

  Brother Simon had made copious records throughout, but he now threw aside his quill to congratulate his companion.

  “You were magnificent, Canon Hubert.” “I did no more than my duty.”

  “You exposed the ugly face of corruption.”

  “We must root out abuse of power wherever we find it.”

  “Simon is right,” agreed Ralph. “You were fearless.”

  “That is not entirely true,” admitted Hubert. “One nagging fear was always at the back of my mind. I was afraid that a certain archdeacon might take it into his mind to pay a final call on me. When may we leave this confounded place, my lord? It makes me feel uncomfortable.”

  “We shall soon be quit of it,” said Ralph.

  “Yes,” added Gervase. “Richard Orbec will not detain us long. The turn of events has changed his attitude towards the acquisition of land. He will cede all that we ask without argument or delay.”

  “That thought contents me,” said Hubert. “Winchester beckons. I will be more than happy to bid farewell to that fire-breathing Idwal and to all the other dragons of Archenfield.”

  Gervase Bret could not resist correcting him.

  “Ergyng,” he said.

  Two more hours in session brought their business to a most satisfactory conclusion. Richard Orbec was anxious to set matters right and he put up no defence against the confiscation of part of his land. It would now pass to Aelgar, along with some of the manors reclaimed from Ilbert the Sheriff. She would become a wealthy young woman. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret collected their baggage from the castle then waited at its main gate with the men-at-arms. Having gathered up their things from the cathedral, Canon Hubert and Brother Simon joined the rest of their party. Everybody was anxious to be on the way, but Ralph would not budge. He held them all back.

  “Why this delay, my lord?” complained Hubert.

  “Be patient, man.”

  “We should be on the road to make best use of daylight.”

  “Then ride off on your own,” said Ralph, testily. “I will catch you up in no time at all.”

  “What keeps you here?”

  “My own affairs.”

  “Come,” said Gervase, taking charge. “We'll set forth. Our presence here intrudes upon Ralph's wishes.”

  The cavalcade moved off with Canon Hubert in the lead, his chubby legs urging his donkey forward. He took a last look at the cathedral over his shoulder and quivered at the memory of the little archdeacon whose florid argument had set them all by the ears. Winchester would be a safer haven. Even Idwal could not claim that city as part of Wales.

  Left alone at the gate, Ralph Delchard waited with growing irritation. He had sent word to Castle Street and expected a swift response. None came. A bargain which had been struck in the long reaches of the night was being repudiated. Irritation was supplanted by doubt. Did he make too great a demand on her? Had he taken Golde for granted? Was she having second thoughts in the light of day?

  He waited until the uncertainty could be borne no longer. His horse took him to the house within a minute. Ralph wanted to hammer on the door, but his knock was instead timid. It was Aelgar who answered his summons.

  “Good day, my lord,” she said.

  “Is your sister within?”

  “No. Golde went out some time ago.”

  “To the brewhouse?”

  “Into the city. I do not know where.”

  “Did she not leave a message for me?”

  “None, my lord.” Aelgar smiled. “But I must thank you for the message which you kindly sent me.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said absently. “The terms of Warnod's will were upheld. You will inherit all his land in Archenfield.”

  “This has saved my life. Golde was so happy for me.”

  “Did she speak of no happiness for herself?”

  The girl grew embarrassed. Wanting to offer him good news, she could only distress him with bad tidings. Golde had left the house without explanation.

  She had not come to Ralph. What further upset him was the likeness between the two sisters. As Ralph looked at the beautiful Aelgar, he saw a younger version of Golde. His sense of loss was acute.

  “I wish you good day,” he said.

  “God speed, my lord!”

  Ralph did not look back. His horse trotted along the streets until it came to the city gate. He went through it and quickened the animal's pace to a canter. When it came to the moment of decision, Golde would not surrender her independence. A night in his arms had been merely a token of her affection. He had been foolish to build so much hope on it.

  The others would be a mile or more ahead of him now. He was about to spur his horse into a gallop when he saw her. Golde was waiting beneath an apple tree beside the road. Dressed for travelling, she sat astride her palfrey. A packhorse was loaded with her belongings.

  Ralph was overjoyed. He cantered to her and reined in his horse. Golde gave him a welcoming smile. He put an arm around her waist. The kiss she offered him was frank and uninhibited. It made him feel ashamed of his doubts about her.

  “Your sister said that you left the house.”

  “I have.”

  “Did you not tell her where you were going?”

  “I had no time.”

  “But Aelgar will wonder what has become of you.”

  “No, Ralph,” she said. “My sister does not need me now. She is well provided for. I may ride away with a clear conscience.” Golde gave him another kiss. “She will understand.”