The Hawks of Delamere Read online

  ‘Bridges?’ gasped Bishop Robert.

  ‘Build them or burn them?’ muttered Hubert.

  Idwal beamed. ‘See me as a peacemaker.’

  It was a feat of perception beyond all three of them.

  Ralph Delchard had to make a concerted effort simply to open one eye. It was several minutes before he could raise the second lid even a fraction. Both eyes throbbed in time with the pounding of his head. His stomach felt as if a herd of horses was stabled inside its inadequate space and his mouth was parched. In such a fragile state, he found that his memory was uncertain. All he knew was that he had drunk far too much, far too fast, at the banquet on the previous night. How he had got to his apartment he did not know, but one thing was clear. He needed to sleep for at least a week if he was to recover.

  Duty called with a harsh, insistent voice. It simply had to be heeded. Cursing his misfortune, Ralph dragged himself upright then almost collapsed from the exertion. His stomach now turned to a whirlpool and his brain seemed to be on fire. He reached clumsily for the pitcher of water on the table and poured it over himself, plastering his hair to his forehead and momentarily blinding himself. Relief slowly came. By the time he had dried his face, he was feeling marginally more like a human being and even managed to stagger to the window without falling over.

  What he saw below jerked him into a semblance of life. Gervase Bret, looking as bright and alert as ever, was talking to Canon Hubert and pointing up at the keep. The two of them strolled towards the mound and ascended the steps. Within a minute, they would be banging on his door and Ralph could not let either of them see him in such a wounded state. Sheer pride forced him fully awake. As he struggled manfully into his attire, he fought off pain and discomfort.

  When his colleagues arrived outside, he was almost ready.

  ‘It is time for breakfast, Ralph,’ called Gervase.

  ‘I have already eaten,’ he lied, vowing inwardly never to let food or drink pass his lips ever again. ‘Go ahead without me. I will join you shortly.’

  ‘Did you sleep well, my lord?’ said Hubert.

  ‘Too well, Hubert. And you?’

  ‘A restless night, I fear.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I will tell you when you come out.’

  Half an hour later, Gervase had eaten his breakfast, Ralph had shaken off the worst of the banquet’s legacy and Hubert was telling them about the unexpected guest from Wales. Attended by Ralph’s men, they left the castle and followed the directions they had been given to the shire hall. Hubert was still shaken by his exchange with Idwal.

  ‘It was like meeting a ghost,’ he recalled.

  ‘Thank heaven he is not staying at the castle,’ said Ralph. ‘I would be more than happy never to set eyes on that ragged pestilence again. Archdeacon Idwal is a menace.’

  ‘But a helpful one,’ Gervase remembered.

  ‘Helpful!’

  ‘Yes, Ralph. He came to our assistance in Hereford.’

  ‘He was a thorn in our flesh from start to finish.’

  ‘A Welsh thorn,’ said Hubert. ‘The sharpest kind.’

  ‘What is he doing in Chester?’ asked Ralph.

  ‘Haunting us.’

  They arrived at the shire hall to find Brother Simon awaiting them. Satchels of documents were slung from his shoulders. There was such an expression of anguish on his face that they thought he was suffering from some malady, but the real cause of his grief was standing a few yards away. A young woman in the garb of a Saxon peasant was loitering hopefully with a boy at her side. Her proximity to Simon was enough to transform him into a furnace of embarrassment. Females were anathema to him. No monk had more willingly taken the vow of celibacy. When he saw Canon Hubert approaching, he scuttled hastily across to him.

  The young woman, meanwhile, accosted Ralph and Gervase. ‘May I have a word with you, good sirs?’ she pleaded.

  Ralph had learned enough of the Saxon tongue from his wife to be able to understand her entreaty, but he left the reply to Gervase. With a Saxon mother and a Breton father, Gervase was conversant with both languages.

  ‘What is the trouble?’ he asked her.

  ‘My name is Gytha and this is my brother, Beollan,’ she said. ‘We are in great distress and need your help.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Our father and brother have disappeared.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the Forest of Delamere.’

  ‘Perhaps they merely went astray.’

  ‘There is no chance of that,’ she explained. ‘Our home is within the bounds of the forest. We know its paths by heart. Our father and brother have been missing since yesterday and we fear that something dreadful has happened to them.’

  ‘Why come to us?’ wondered Gervase. ‘We are strangers to the city. Take this inquiry to the castle.’

  ‘We already have and we were turned away.’

  ‘Then seek out the sheriff.’

  ‘He, too, spurned us,’ she complained. ‘We were told that royal commissioners would be coming to the shire hall this morning so we appeal to you as a last resort.’

  ‘This is none of our business,’ decided Ralph, grasping the gist of what she was saying. ‘We came to sit in judgement on claimants to property, not to search for missing persons.’

  ‘Please, my lord!’ she begged.

  ‘Stand aside,’ he advised.

  ‘We implore your help.’

  ‘There is nothing that we can do.’

  Ralph pushed gently past her and went into the shire hall with Hubert and Simon at his heels, but Gervase lingered. Gytha’s plight concerned him and her brother’s attitude puzzled him. While she was on the verge of tears, the boy had an air of quiet resignation. It was almost as if he had given up hope of ever seeing his father and brother again.

  Gytha clutched at the sleeve of Gervase’s black gown. ‘We fear for their lives!’ she wailed.

  ‘When did you last see them?’

  ‘Early yesterday morning. When they left the cottage.’

  ‘Where did they go?’

  ‘Into the forest. All three of them.’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘Beollan went with them.’

  Gervase turned to him. ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘I … lost sight of them,’ stuttered the boy.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I … can’t remember.’

  ‘What were the three of you doing in the forest?’

  When the boy shifted his feet and studied the ground guiltily, Gervase had his answer. They were poaching. He thought of the two men whom Earl Hugh had hanged in the forest when his hawk was brought down with an arrow. Could they be the missing father and brother? He hoped not and he certainly did not wish to alarm Gytha and Beollan unnecessarily by mentioning the possibility. He needed more facts before he could help them.

  ‘Leave this matter with me,’ he suggested.

  ‘You’ll find out the truth?’ she said anxiously.

  ‘I will do what I can.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you, thank you!’

  Tears of gratitude streamed down her face and Gervase felt a surge of sympathy. Beollan, by contrast, was watching him with a mixture of dislike and distrust. Gervase sensed that the boy was hiding something, but this was not the place to try to wrest his secrets from him. A degree of reassurance was all that he could offer at this stage.

  ‘I will make inquiries,’ promised Gervase.

  ‘Shall I wait for you here?’ she said.

  ‘No, Gytha. My colleagues and I have work to do in the shire hall. I may not be able to look into this matter until much later on. Tell me where you live and I will get a message to you somehow.’

  She was touched. ‘You would do that for me?’

  ‘If it will ease your mind, I will do it with pleasure.’

  ‘You are so kind, sir.’

  ‘I cannot guarantee that I will find out what you want.’

  ‘But you will try. That
is all I ask.’

  ‘I will try, Gytha. Very hard.’

  She explained where she lived and gave him precise instructions about the route he should take. Gervase listened intently. Struck by her pale beauty, he was also startled by her resemblance to Alys. She had the same blue eyes, the same curve of chin and the same complexion. When he thought how distraught Alys would be if he ever went missing, he had some insight into Gytha’s misery. It made him resolve to help her.

  ‘We will go back home directly and wait,’ she said.

  ‘Do that,’ he counselled. ‘God willing, you may even find that your father and brother are there ahead of you.’

  There was hope in his voice but none in his heart. Gervase felt certain that she would never see them again.

  The excesses of the banquet left no mark on Hugh d’Avranches. He was up at the crack of dawn and riding out with his guests for a morning in the forest. Deer were plentiful. While his huntsmen stalked their quarry with leashed dogs, Hugh and his friends waited in a clearing.

  When the deer were sighted, word was sent to the hunting party and they mounted their horses at once. The dogs were taken in a circle to intercept the herd’s line of retreat. All three breeds, the lyme, the brachet and the greyhound, were kept on their leashes until the right moment.

  Earl Hugh was impatient for action. Holding a lance aloft, he threw out a challenge to his companions.

  ‘I will kill the largest stag of all,’ he boasted.

  ‘Only if you get to it first, my lord,’ said William Malbank. ‘My lance is just as deadly as yours.’

  ‘You could not kill a mouse, let alone a stag.’

  ‘Watch me, my lord.’

  ‘Are you so sure of yourself, William?’

  ‘I am, indeed.’

  ‘I admire a man with confidence.’

  ‘Nobody has more than William Malbank.’

  ‘Then you will risk another wager?’

  ‘No,’ said the other, checked by the memory of his severe loss on the previous morning. ‘There is no need for a wager.’

  ‘Do you have no more mistresses to spare?’

  Malbank blenched and the others ridiculed him but the earl stopped the laughter at once with a wave of his lance. Staghunting required stealth. He did not want the herd to be frightened away before he had made his first kill.

  In the middle distance, one of the huntsmen advanced on foot with a pair of lyme-hounds to drive the deer towards the hunting party. The horn was soon raised and a loud blast echoed through the greenwood. It was the signal they had been waiting for and they did not hesitate. The deer fled, the hounds were released and the chase was on.

  For all his bulk, Hugh kept his horse at the front of the pack, slashing at overhanging foliage with his lance and urging his mount into reckless pursuit. The whole forest reverberated with the clamour. Frightened deer darted wildly and baying dogs slowly closed in. Hot blood coursed through the veins of the hunting party. For many of them, the thrill of the chase was enough in itself, but not for Earl Hugh.

  He needed a kill to satisfy his bloodlust and no slender deer would content him. Only a stag would suffice. He charged on through the forest with increasing speed until the hounds finally cornered their quarry in a clearing. It was a full-grown stag with huge antlers which it used to jab at the snarling dogs, catching the first to attack and tossing it yards across the grass. But there was no defence against Hugh the Gross. Reining in his horse in front of the beast, he raised his arm and needed only one vicious thrust of the lance to pierce the stag’s breast and drain the life out of it.

  By the time that William Malbank arrived, the earl had dismounted to stand beside the fallen animal. Huntsmen swiftly leashed the dogs again to prevent them from eating the stag.

  ‘What did I tell you, William?’ said Hugh.

  ‘I was a fool even to accept your challenge, my lord.’

  ‘No hunter can ever get the better of me.’

  He gave a laugh of celebration but it died in his throat as an arrow suddenly came whistling through the air to miss him by a matter of inches. It buried itself instead in the chest of one of the huntsmen and knocked him off his feet.

  The man was killed instantly.

  Chapter Five

  It was a productive day at the shire hall. The town reeve had everything in readiness for the commissioners and they were able to examine a steady stream of witnesses without delay or interruption. Several minor disputes were settled and they were left with the feeling of having made substantial progress in a relatively short time. More complex cases still awaited them but they seemed less daunting now that such a promising start had been made.

  The shire hall itself was very similar in design and construction to the many other places in which they had deliberated. Long, low and airless, its small windows admitted poor light and its sunken floor had undulations which could trip the unwary, but efforts had been made to introduce some elements of comfort for the distinguished visitors. The four chairs behind their long table each had a cushion and a second table bore refreshment in the form of wine, beer and a liberal supply of girdle breads and honey cakes. Candles stood in holders should more illumination be required.

  Benches were set out in front of the commissioners for use by the many disputants and witnesses who would be called during their stay in the city. Six of Ralph’s men remained on guard at the back of the hall while the remainder took it in turns to provide sentry duty outside the building. Their presence was far more than merely decorative. Past experience had shown that armed soldiers were often needed to subdue an unruly gathering or to separate angry disputants who traded blows. At that first session, however, they were not called upon to provide either service to the commissioners.

  Ralph Delchard called an end to the day’s judicial work. His headache had finally subsided and his stomach was no longer in rebellion, but he still resisted the temptation to touch any of the refreshment which had been supplied for them. Canon Hubert needed no encouragement to consume all of Ralph’s share and most of Brother Simon’s as well as his own.

  The four of them gathered up their documents and rose to leave the table. Ralph gave a nod of congratulation.

  ‘We have done well,’he announced. ‘Let us hope that every day is as painless as this one.’

  ‘It is highly unlikely,’said Hubert.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Gervase. ‘When we deal with major disputes where far more is at stake, we are bound to encounter greater difficulties.’

  ‘Nothing that is beyond our capacity to handle,’ said Ralph complacently. ‘I foresee no real problems.’

  Then you have not studied the cases carefully enough,’ Hubert reproved him, slipping the last honey cake into his mouth. ‘We will soon be dealing with disputants who have the backing of Earl Hugh and it is an open question whether they accept our authority without protest or simply ignore our judgements and appeal to their master.’

  ‘We speak for the King,’ said Ralph firmly. ‘Our decisions must be accepted without complaint or resistance.’

  ‘Nobody will surrender land without complaint, my lord.’

  ‘Or pay taxes without resistance,’ said Gervase..

  ‘The status of royal commissioners must be respected,’ resumed Ralph. ‘So far, it has been. Most importantly, by Earl Hugh himself. We must never forget that he is the King’s nephew and trusted vassal. Even our headstrong host will surely do nothing to offend his uncle.’

  ‘I would question that presumption,’ said Hubert.

  ‘You question everything.’

  ‘I have learned to take nothing for granted, my lord.’

  ‘We have noticed.’

  ‘Someone has to safeguard our interests.’

  ‘That is my task,’ said Ralph, stung by the criticism, ‘and I perform it with diligence. But I do not make a fetish of suspicion. You spy danger on every side, Hubert. You see peril where none exists. I know how to distinguish petty inconvenience from real threat.’ />
  ‘We will have our share of both before we are done.’

  ‘Let us not rush to meet adversity,’ suggested Gervase, trying to terminate the latest argument between two men whose relationship was uneasy at the best of times. ‘Today has seen definite progress. We should be heartened by that.’

  ‘I am, Gervase,’ said Brother Simon. ‘We have had a most effective and profitable session. I am deeply sorry that we have suspended our work for the day.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it means that Canon Hubert and I must return to the cathedral to face further torment.’

  ‘Torment?’

  ‘From that turbulent archdeacon from Wales.’

  ‘Do not remind me!’ groaned Hubert.

  ‘You could always stay at the castle,’ taunted Ralph.

  Simon shuddered. ‘That would be even worse!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hubert gloomily. ‘We are caught between a tyrant and a torturer. Archdeacon Idwal is the lesser of two evils. His oppression is only verbal.’

  ‘And spiritual,’ corrected Simon. ‘Whenever that madman is near me, my soul shrinks into oblivion.’

  ‘I have the urge to reach for my sword,’ said Ralph.

  ‘And I to flee on my donkey,’ said Hubert.

  Gervase Bret was the only apostate among them. ‘Strange!’ he remarked. ‘Why do you shun him so? I have always rather enjoyed Idwal’s company. I like the man.’

  Ralph was aghast. ‘You like him?’

  ‘Incredible!’ said Simon.

  ‘Unnatural!’ boomed Hubert. ‘That voluble Welshman is the human equivalent of the seven plagues of Egypt. How can anyone welcome such suffering?’

  ‘You wrong him,’ said Gervase stoutly. ‘Idwal has many fine qualities and I saw them on display in Herefordshire. He is a true Christian with a profound knowledge of the scriptures. You must not condemn a man because he has a lively mind.’

  ‘It is the lively tongue that we fear,’ said Simon. ‘It never stops, does it, Canon Hubert?’