Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

The boy was a reluctant guide but his sister scolded him until he agreed to help. Expecting to walk all the way, Gytha was astonished when Gervase took her by the waist and hoisted her up on to the saddle of his mount, clambering back up behind her to hold the reins. She had never been on a horse before, still less had such courtesy shown to her by a royal agent. Her nervousness was matched by a strange feeling of privilege.

Beollan spurned the offer of riding with Brother Gerold and instead set off at a steady trot. It was like following a young dog.

The boy went scampering off through the forest and took them through its labyrinthine interior with sure-footed confidence.

Without him they would never have been able to find such a complicated route through the undergrowth.

Gytha said nothing but Gervase could feel the warmth of her body and sense her excitement. The ride on the horse might somehow help to distract her a little from the bad news which he suspected might lie ahead for her. Beollan, too, anticipated grim tidings. Fifty yards or so short of Tarvin Hollow, he came to a halt and refused to go any further.

‘Take us all the way,’ she ordered.

‘No, Gytha.’

‘What is wrong with you?’

‘I will stay here,’ he said.

‘Why? What are you afraid of?’

‘Leave this to us,’ advised Gervase.

He and Brother Gerold dismounted and went forward on foot.

They came to a large clearing, beyond which was the deep hollow which gave the place its name. But it was not the depression in the ground which caught their attention. Both noticed the marks on an overhanging bough where something had chafed the bark.

They exchanged a glance and moved in closer.

Dried blood covered the ground beneath the bough and there were signs of something being dragged off in the direction of a nearby ditch. The two men followed the trail with tentative steps.

They soon found what they sought and feared.

‘Dear God in heaven!’ said Gerold, crossing himself.

‘May the Lord have mercy on their souls!’

The bodies were lying in the ditch at unnatural angles. Both were covered with ugly wounds and sodden with blood. The faces were hideous masks, distorted by the manner of their deaths then attacked by forest vermin. One man’s eyes had been pecked out, the other’s nose had been nibbled off. They were less like human faces than pieces of raw meat.

Gervase’s first thought was for the orphans. ‘I’ll cover them up,’ he said. ‘Gytha and Beollan must not be allowed to see them in this state. It would be cruel.’

Hugh d’Avranches rolled the jewelled cup between his palms and gazed down at his wine as if searching for something in its liquid heart. He was seated alone in the hall at the castle, reflecting on the events of the day and considering what response he should make to them. Anger had now hardened into bitter recrimination.

Though he accepted that he was a natural target for assassination, whether from motives of envy, hatred or political expediency, he was highly indignant that an attempt had actually been made on his life. Years of unchallenged power on the Welsh border had given him the feeling that he was utterly invulnerable. One arrow had destroyed that illusion.

The Earl of Chester was human, after all.

When their master was in such a black mood, his servants knew better than to disturb him, but one had the courage to knock on the door and let himself in. He conducted Ralph Delchard into the hall and coughed discreetly to attract Earl Hugh’s attention.

‘My lord,’ he said, keeping just out of reach. There was no reply.

He raised his voice a little. ‘Forgive this interruption, my lord.’

His words still went unheard. Earl Hugh was far too preoccupied.

Ralph dismissed the servant with a wave and the man scurried away gratefully, closing the door behind him with a bang which echoed through the hall. Hugh did not even look up. Ralph walked round the table to stand in front of his host and waited until his presence was finally registered.

Earl Hugh was not at his most sociable. ‘Well?’ he growled.

‘I came to offer you my sympathy, my lord,’ said Ralph.

‘Sympathy?’

‘And support. I know what it is to lose a good man in a cowardly attack. If there is anything I may do to help, you have only to call on me.’

‘Thank you.’

‘My knights are at your command, should you need them.’

‘I have no shortage of soldiers, Ralph,’ said the other.

‘Hundreds will come running to my call. But I cannot deploy them against an invisible enemy. That archer disappeared as if he had never existed.’

‘His escape must have been planned in advance.’

‘How did he know I would be in that part of the forest? That is what baffles me. I was pursuing a stag. It was pure chance that I finished up where I did.’

‘But you would have been easy to track, my lord.’

‘Easy?’

‘The noise of the chase must have been heard a mile away.’

‘True.’

‘Someone stalked you. Yet he could not have done so on foot.

Only a horse could have kept up with the speed of the hunt. Did your men see any sign of a stray animal when they searched?’

‘They neither saw nor heard another horse.’

‘Then how did the assassin come and go so quickly?’

‘Sorcery!’

‘There is no such thing, my lord.’

‘What other explanation is there?’ Earl Hugh drained the wine at a gulp then reached for the flagon to replenish his cup. He indicated the chair opposite and Ralph sat down. It was time to examine the outrage with cold objectivity. Lust for revenge needed to be muffled.

‘Has such an attack been made on you before?’ asked Ralph.

‘Never.’

‘And you had no warning?’

‘None.’

‘How often do you hunt in the Delamere Forest?’

‘Almost every day.’

‘Without incident?’

‘Invariably,’ said Hugh. ‘Whether I go hawking or hunting, I always bring back plenty of game. Nobody dares to interfere with my sport. The forest is mine to play in all day.’

‘How many of you rode out today?’

‘Forty or fifty.’

‘You were well protected, then.’

‘I am my own best protection.’

‘What happened yesterday?’

‘Yesterday?’

‘Your hawk was killed by an arrow,’ Ralph reminded him. ‘The same archer may have stalked you today. Take me through the events of yesterday. How many of you were in the party on that occasion? Where exactly did the archer strike? What was his avowed purpose?’

‘To ruin a day’s hawking.’

‘But why kill your hawk when he could just as easily have aimed his arrow at you? And how did he escape, as he must have done if he was back today with his deadly bow? I need more detail, my lord.’

Hugh regarded him through narrowed lids for a long while. ‘Then you will have it,’ he decided eventually.

Ralph leaned forward in his chair and listened with the utmost concentration as his host recounted in copious detail what had transpired on the previous day. Hugh moved on to describe the foul murder which had disturbed that morning’s stag hunt. The parallels were clear.

‘You are right,’ concluded Ralph. ‘The same archer was almost certainly involved on both occasions.’

‘There will not be a third,’ said Hugh grimly.

‘I hope not, my lord.’

‘We will track down this Welsh assassin.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Ralph thoughtfully, ‘but I am not entirely convinced that he hails from across the border.’

‘You saw the arrow. It came from a Welsh bow.’

‘But the weapon could just as easily have been held by a Saxon,’