Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

‘There would be an armed uprising.’

‘Let the matter rest there.’

‘But I can save you from a catastrophic error.’

‘The catastrophic error was in inviting you here,’ said Hubert under his breath.

‘What was that?’ demanded Idwal, sensing hostility.

‘I was just wondering what brought you here,’ replied the canon through clenched teeth. ‘Since you espouse the cause of your nation with such vigour — not to say fanaticism — I am surprised that the Bishop of Llandaff allows you out of his diocese. Does he not have need of you there?’

‘I am no longer attached to Llandaff.’

‘Yet you are still an archdeacon.’

‘Yes, Hubert,’ said Idwal with pride, ‘but of an even nobler diocese. I was called by Bishop Wilfrid to work with him in St David’s.’

‘Then what are you doing in Chester?’

‘Fulfilling his wishes. Bishop Wilfrid enjoined me to visit all the English dioceses along the border with Wales in order to forge closer links with them. That is why I am here, my friends,’

he said, getting to his feet again and releasing his ear-splitting cackle of pleasure. ‘I have come to build bridges between the two nations.’

‘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.