The Lions of the North d-4 Page 6

They have an element of surprise.” His brow furrowed, then he shook his head dismissively. “No, it is only a wild guess. Take no notice of it.

  My reasoning is too simple. Because Olaf Evil Child is descended from the Danish Vikings, I wondered if he might be scouting for his friends from across the water.”

  “He has no friends,” said Aubrey scornfully. “Except those who ride at his back. Olaf Evil Child is an outcast. He insists that he was dispossessed of land that was legally willed to him by his father. That is arrant nonsense. He has no legitimate claim. And he will never own a square inch of Yorkshire soil while I am here to stop him.”

  “I am hopelessly wrong,” said Tanchelm, conceding his error with an apologetic shrug. “He is obviously no agent for the Danes. Olaf is merely a man with a grudge.”

  “A hundred of them!”

  “Some of which concern you, I fancy,” said Ralph.

  “Quite a few.”

  “I, too, can bear a grudge.”

  “Not as well as Olaf,” said Aubrey. “He has been a thorn in my flesh for the best part of a year. I would not be in the least surprised if he attacked your party on the road because he knew that you would be my guests in York. It was yet another way of baiting Aubrey Maminot.” His lip curled. “Sooner or later, he will try it once too often and then he will be mine.”

  “Leave a piece of him for me,” said Ralph.

  “No, old friend,” warned the other. “Olaf Evil Child is already spoken for in this castle. If you catch him, he is yours. But if I snare him, he will be the next meal for Romulus and Remus.”

  “They are remarkable pets, Aubrey.”

  “England holds nothing else like them, Ralph.”

  “Tell me this. How is it that two wild beasts, who can eat a man alive, are yet tame when you handle them? What sorcery do you prac-tice?”

  “No sorcery,” said Aubrey with a chuckle. “Ludovico taught me the secret. Lions are like women. They need constant attention. Stroke them every day and they will purr like cats. Neglect them in any way and they will sharpen their claws in readiness to draw blood.”

  “You want to see him?” asked the chaplain, aghast.

  “Yes, please. If at all possible.”

  “Have you any idea what state the body is in?”

  “I know it was badly mauled.”

  “That is too mild a description of what happened. The poor creature was literally torn limb from limb. I have looked on death in many weird forms but I have never seen anything as grotesque as this.”

  Philip the Chaplain gave a shudder at the memory. “I could not eat for two days after.”

  Gervase Bret was persistent. Once his curiosity was aroused, he was not easily deflected from satisfying it. While Ralph and the others were down in the bailey, he decided to call on the chaplain to see what further light could be cast on the incident that led to the grue-some death of an intruder. He was astonished to learn that the remains of the deceased were still in the tiny mortuary below the chapel.

  “Why did you not bury the body?” he asked.

  “In case somebody came forward to claim it. Not that my lord Aubrey would have released it, but he was anxious to know the man’s identity and his reason for entering the castle in such a headstrong way. Word was spread throughout the city.”

  “No one came forward?”

  “Not a soul.”

  “For fear of suffering a similar fate?”

  “Or of being forced to view a loved one in that pitiful condition,” said Philip. “Who can tell? The point is that decay has set in badly and the burial must take place first thing tomorrow or the mortuary will not hold in the stench.”

  “You have odours enough to contend with here,” said Gervase. “The lions’ cage nearby is not exactly a perfumed arbour.”

  “It will seem so after you have viewed the corpse.”

  “Lead on.”

  Philip the Chaplain was a short, podgy man of forty with a world-weary air. Whatever upsurge of faith had brought him into the priest-hood, it had long since spent itself and there was now a sense of duty rather than dedication about his manner. He was a caring man but he had forgotten exactly why he should care and what his mission in life properly ought to be.

  Taking a lighted candle from beside the altar, he opened a door and led Gervase down a narrow circular staircase. The chapel was heavily impregnated with the aroma of burning incense and Gervase soon discovered why. Philip unlocked a heavy door and swung it slowly back on its hinges, averting his head as he did so. The stink came out to hit them like a punch and Gervase recoiled. He coughed uncontrol-lably for minutes.

  “Do you still wish to go in?” said Philip.

  “Please.”

  “Let us be quick about our business.”

  “We will be.”

  “It is the body on the left.”

  Gervase had not realised that the morgue had another occupant.

  Two stone slabs stood side by side with a tenant lying on each one. As the candle was held up to throw its light more widely, Gervase had no trouble picking out the correct remains. The body on the right was that of an old servant who died peacefully in his sleep. The shroud clung tightly enough to describe a long angular frame with two large feet that pointed up towards heaven with the quiet certainty of a welcome.

  On the other slab, the body did not lie so docilely at rest. It seemed to be half the size of its neighbour and was covered by a shroud that was soaked with blood. Herbs were strewn all around it but they could do little to sweeten its noisome reek. Hell itself might reject such a foul smell. Gervase looked up at the chaplain but the latter had seen all that he wished to of the mangled remains. Eyes closed, he was reciting the Lord’s Prayer to himself in an undertone.

  “Pater noster, qui es in caelis: sanctificetur nomen tuum: adveniat regnum tuum …”

  Bracing himself for the worst, Gervase took the shroud between his fingers and peeled it slowly back. As he saw a face that was half eaten away, his stomach began to churn but he forced himself to go on.

  Romulus and Remus had been voracious diners. One arm had been ripped off and both legs had been chewed down to the bone. Part of the torso had been bitten open and the chest was one huge, scarlet hole. It was a repulsive sight but Gervase kept looking as he tried to reconstruct, in his mind’s eye, something at least of the victim’s appearance.

  The man had been young, healthy and fair-haired, with a lean body agile enough to bring him up over the castle wall. Though smeared with gore, the surviving part of his face hinted at good looks that would surely be missed by a sweetheart or a wife. He might be alone and deserted now but the young man exuded a strong sense of belonging to a community. Gervase was overtaken by a sudden urge to find that community so that they could be informed of the fate of the nameless figure on the slab. Pity soon gave way to crippling queasiness.

  Gervase bent double and started to retch.

  “Have you seen enough?” asked Philip the Chaplain.

  It was less of an enquiry than a command to leave and Gervase obeyed it without complaint. Pulling the shroud gently back over the cadaver, he lurched out of the mortuary and fell against the wall for support. When he had closed the door behind them, Philip practically had to carry his visitor up the stairs.

  Back in the chapel, he snuffed out the candle with absentminded skill. The incense enveloped them both and smothered the fetid stink of decay.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” he said with offhand sympathy.

  Gervase shook his head. “I did warn you.”

  “I am glad I saw him-God rest his soul! He merits a Christian burial.”

  “He will get one, Master Bret. Though I do not think that body will lie easy in its grave.”

  “What was he doing here?” said Gervase.

  “Trying to get into the keep.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “The murder of my lord Aubrey. That is what everyone is saying. It is not the first time someone has
tried to kill him.” He rolled his head.

  “For myself, I have doubts.”

  “Why?”

  “To begin with, an assassin would be better armed for his task. One dagger would not have got him anywhere near my lord Aubrey. And why try to strike when his victim was safely locked away in the most fortified part of the castle? It is suicide.”

  “Did he know that the keep was guarded by lions?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Then he clearly did not live in York. Their roars could be heard as far away as the minster. Everybody in the city must know there are two wild beasts in here.”

  “The victim did not.”

  “We have learned something else about him, then,” said Gervase.

  “Little by little, I will rebuild that face and body of his until he is whole again. By that time, I dare swear, I will have found a name as well.”

  “Why are you going to such trouble on his behalf?”

  Gervase smiled wanly. “Because nobody else will.”

  It was late. Ralph Delchard and Golde lay naked in each other’s arms, slowly getting their breath back after their exertions. Covered in perspiration, they were locked together for several minutes. He kissed her tenderly on the lips before rolling over onto his back. She nestled into his glistening shoulder.

  “Are you happy?” he whispered.

  “Yes, Ralph. Are you?”

  “I thought I just answered that question.”

  She brushed her lips against his chin. “You did.”

  “Are you glad that you came to York?”

  “I am glad to be with you,” she said.

  “That is not what I asked.”

  There was a pause. “York is a beautiful city and I am delighted to have seen it but …”

  “Go on. I hear a note of reservation in your voice.”

  “But …”

  “Speak freely. There are no secrets between us.”

  “I would rather lodge elsewhere,” she said.

  “Elsewhere?” He was stunned. “Why? ”

  “Because I would be more comfortable.”

  “No place in York has the comforts that this castle can offer. Aubrey has spent a fortune on the place and he is overjoyed to have us here.

  We could not ask for a more attentive and open-handed host.”

  “Yet I still feel unwelcome.”

  Ralph gasped. “After all he has done for us?”

  “My lord Aubrey has been kindness itself,” said Golde. “The same, alas, may not be said of his wife.”

  “Herleve has always been a little strange.”

  “She disapproves of me, Ralph.”

  “No, my love.”

  “She does. She is so cold and distant with me that I might almost be one of the servants. I will not be looked down on by anybody. It is demeaning.”

  “Take no notice of her.”

  “Why is she so full of reproach towards me?”

  “Reproach towards us,” he corrected. “We share a bed without first taking vows of marriage. Herleve is devout. She frowns on our behaviour.

  In her eyes, we are sinners.”

  “And in your eyes?”

  “Lovers.” He kissed her. “Forget Herleve.”

  “How can I when I am her guest?”

  “We are the guests of Aubrey Maminot,” he explained. “A fine man and a brave soldier, who happened to choose unwisely. He should never have wed Herleve. She is more fit for the convent than for the marital couch. Rise above her reproof. Pretend that she is not here.”

  “What am I to do for companionship?”

  “You have me.”

  “At night,” said Golde, holding him closer, “but not in the day. You warned me how busy you would be once you began the work that brought us here.”

  “That is true.”

  “Then I will be locked up alone in here.”

  “I’ll ask Aubrey to devise entertainment for you. We’ll surround you with so many pleasures that you will beg me to stay longer when our business is completed here.”

  “Do not wager on that.”

  “Aubrey is an old friend,” he reminded. “If we lodged somewhere else, it would wound him to the quick.”

  She sighed. “Yes, I see that….”

  “So you will stay to keep me warm?”

  “Always!”

  He rolled over and pulled her on top of him so that he could run his hands over her smooth-skinned body. Ralph was about to kiss her again, when a loud roar from below caused them to jerk back for a second. Romulus and Remus had been let out for the night to act as guards once more.

  “You cannot leave me now,” he said with a laugh. “The lions would not let you, Golde. You will have to stay in here with your own king of the beasts.”

  Herleve soon faded completely from their minds.

  Since the night when intruders climbed in, additional guards had been assigned to patrol the walls of the castle. Torches burned in the courtyard below to throw a patchy light on the various buildings, but there was little illumination beyond the palisade itself. When the moon was hidden behind a blanket of cloud, the guards found themselves staring into an impenetrable blackness. It was tedious work and they complained bitterly to each other but they did not dare to leave their posts. They knew better than to provoke the ire of the castellan. The soul of benevolence to his guests, Aubrey Maminot could be less indulgent towards his soldiers. Those who failed him might find themselves on night duty at the castle in perpetuity.

  “Did you hear anything?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “I’m not sure. Listen.” A pause. “There it is again!”

  “I heard nothing.”

  “Listen!”

  “I am listening.”

  “Shut up! You’ll miss it.”

  “Miss what?”

  “Listen! ”

  The hissed command silenced the young guard. He and his companion were patrolling the wall above the castle gate. It was a cold night and they stayed on the move to keep themselves warm. Now, however, they were motionless as they peered out into the darkness and strained their ears to catch any sound other than the murmuring conversations of their fellows guards and the occasional whinny of a horse in the stables. The younger man soon tired of the exercise.

  “There’s nothing there.”

  “There was,” argued his companion.

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did it sound like?”

  “A noise, that’s all. Fetch a torch.”

  “It’s gone now.”

  “Fetch it!”

  The younger man strode quickly along the wall to collect a torch that was burning in an iron holder. When he returned to the area of the gate, he held it high so that they could look over the palisade and down into the ditch. The light was too poor for them to pick out anything and they eventually gave up, returning the torch to its holder before continuing their patrol. There was nothing outside the castle. The older guard decided that his ears were playing tricks on him.

  Dawn revised his judgement. As the first fingers of light began to pluck at the darkness, the guards caught a glimpse of something lying just outside the gate. It was quite still and seemed harmless but they could take no chances. Alerting their fellows with a shout, they trotted down the steps to the gateway. A dozen guards came running with enough torches to turn night into a sunlit day.

  More men arrived with weapons drawn and they formed a line as the gates were unbolted and opened. Eager for action, the young guard was the first to venture out, using his spear to jab menacingly at the objects on the grass. Torchlight showed him that he was launching no brave attack on a potential enemy. All that his spearpoint had touched was one of three large bundles.

  Olaf Evil Child had come calling.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In order to get through the volume of work that confronted them, the two sets of commissioners made an early start that morning. The be
ll for Prime seemed scarcely to have died away before they were leaving their respective lodgings to make their way to their places of business. Canon Hubert led the delegation at the shire hall and occupied the central position at the table. Tanchelm of Ghent and Brother Simon were happy to sit in silence with him, the former so that he could learn through close observation, the latter so that he could record the proceedings on the sheets of parchment that lay before him.

  The adjoining building was smaller, darker and decidedly less suit-able. It was occasionally used as a meeting place for the city’s four judges, who enjoyed custom beyond the normal privileges of a burgess, but its musty atmosphere suggested that it might also have done duty as a grain store. Ralph Delchard was plainly disgusted with its interior.

  “I will not preside in a stable!”

  “It will suffice,” said Gervase Bret.

  “For horses, yes. For royal commissioners-no!”

  “You were the one who offered the shire hall to our colleagues. It is too late to change your mind now.”

  “The place is covered in dust.”

  “According to the reeve, it has not been used for some time.”

  “Fifty years or more, by the look of it.”

  “We will manage somehow.”

  “I’d sooner sit in judgement in the fish market.”

  Two servants arrived and mumbled their apologies before cleaning the room as best and as quickly as they could. Ralph sneezed at the cloud of dust sent up by the broom but his howl of protest was cut short by the arrival of their scribe. Brother Francis was a big, solid man of middle years with a genial smile and a willing manner. Ralph could never bring himself to enjoy the company of a Benedictine monk but the newcomer at least promised to be rather more forthcoming than Brother Simon.

  Introductions were made and Francis beamed helpfully.

  “How may I best serve you?” he asked.

  “I want you to look, listen and set down anything that I tell you,”

  ordered Ralph. “Bear in mind that what you write will have the force of a legal document. It must be clear and exact.”

  “I understand, my lord.”

  “You have brought all that you need?”

  “Yes,” said Francis, tapping the leather satchel that hung from his shoulder. “Everything is here. I am honoured to take part in matters of such weighty importance.”