Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

argued Ralph. ‘Or a Dane. Or even a Norman. What better way to throw suspicion on to someone else?’

‘What are you saying?’

‘That there is one simple reason why you were unable to find this phantom Welshman. He does not exist. The man who fired those arrows was not lying in wait in the forest, my lord. You may have taken him with you.’

‘In the hunting party?’

‘Yes,’ reasoned the other. ‘In a group as large as that, it would not have been difficult for one man to detach himself and shoot an arrow from a concealed position.’

‘That never crossed my mind.’

‘Give it due consideration now, my lord.’

‘One of my own friends?’ said Hugh, trying to adjust his mind to the possibility. ‘No, you are mistaken, Ralph. I know them all.

They are loyal to a man. That assassin was Welsh.’

‘Or a Norman in the pay of the Welsh.’

‘I refuse to believe it.’

‘Look to your entourage,’ advised Ralph. ‘It may yet contain the cunning archer. When your men began their search, they would not have looked for one of their own. No sorcery was involved here, my lord. The assassin simply made you all look in the wrong direction.’

Earl Hugh pondered for several minutes before reaffirming his view with a shake of his head. None of his men betrayed him. He would not even entertain the possibility.

‘Who was the murder victim?’ asked Ralph.

‘Raoul Lambert, my finest huntsman.’

‘I know that name. Does he hold land in the forest?’

‘He did,’ said Hugh. ‘Raoul was one of my tenants with substantial holdings within the bounds of Delamere and beyond.

He gave sterling service and I always reward that generously.’

‘Some of his property was in dispute.’

‘Raoul had a legal right to every acre in his possession.’

‘The Church claims otherwise.’

‘It would.’

‘If memory serves me,’ said Ralph, scratching his head, ‘this same Raoul Lambert was due to be called before us tomorrow to dispute the matter with Archdeacon Frodo. It seems an odd coincidence that he should be the man who was killed.’

‘Are you suggesting that Frodo fired the arrow?’

‘Of course not, my lord. But the death of Raoul Lambert may well advantage the Church. Where is the body now?’

‘In the mortuary.’

‘Has it been examined by a physician?’

‘Yes,’ said Hugh, ‘but he has told us nothing that we did not know already. The arrow pierced Raoul’s heart. Death was almost instantaneous.’

‘What reason would someone have to kill him?’

‘None whatsoever, Ralph. He was a popular man, liked and respected by all. But, then, he was not the intended victim. His death was purely accidental.’

‘Was it?’

‘The arrow was aimed at me.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘It passed within inches.’

‘Only because you stood so close to Raoul Lambert.’

‘Someone tried to assassinate me,’ insisted Hugh.

‘That may be so,’ said Ralph, ‘but there are two questions that still need to be answered. The first is this. If Raoul Lambert was an accidental victim, why was the arrow aimed so accurately at his heart?’

Hugh was jolted. Hauling himself to his feet, he glowered across the table at his guest. Ralph was telling him things which he did not wish to hear. His pride was wounded by the suggestion that he might not, after all, have been the target for an assassin’s arrow. It was a species of insult.

‘What is the second question?’ he demanded.

‘Only a skilful archer could pick off a hawk in mid-air in the way that you have described. Do you agree?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then ask yourself this, my lord,’ said Ralph, running an eye over Hugh’s massive frame. ‘When he can shoot an arrow with such unerring accuracy at a small bird, why does he miss the much larger and easier target which you present?’

As soon as they saw Brother Gerold walking towards them, they knew that some terrible discovery had been made. Each reacted in a quite different way. Gytha immediately lunged forward and tried to run past the monk, but he caught her by the wrist to detain her. Beollan, by contrast, slunk back to the bushes where the horses had been tethered. His sister’s urge to see what they had found was offset by his unwillingness to confront a hideous truth. The boy was smouldering with guilt.

Gytha tried to break away from Brother Gerold’s grasp.

‘Let me go,’ she pleaded.

‘In a moment, my child.’

‘Have you found them?’

‘We believe so.’

‘Where are they?’

‘You will see them in a moment.’

‘I have a right,’ she argued. ‘Leave go of me. They are my father and my brother.’

‘You may not recognise them as such.’

His words were gentle but they had the force of a blow. Gytha stopped struggling and backed away. He released her wrist. She brought both hands to her face in horror then steeled herself to know the worst.

‘Dead?’ she whispered.

‘I fear so.’

‘Both of them?’

‘Unhappily, yes.’

‘Why?’

‘They were in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

‘How were they killed?’

‘Unkindly.’

He glanced over his shoulder to see Gervase beckoning him forward. Taking the girl by the arm, he led her slowly into the clearing and across to the ditch. Gytha mustered what little composure she could. Beollan shadowed them cautiously.

Gervase had worked quickly. Ferns had been used to cover the faces and chests of the two corpses, obscuring the worst of the mutilation. A fallen branch had been placed across the right leg of the older man to hide the fact that the limb had all but been hacked off. Gervase stood in the ditch between the two supine figures as Gytha and Beollan approached.

She forced herself to look down at the scene below. It was definitely her father and brother. Enough of their bloodied attire was still visible to make identification certain. Gervase held up a knife with a long blade.

‘I found this on one of them. Do you recognise it?’

‘My father’s,’ she whispered.

‘I feared that it might be.’

‘Who did this to them?’ she wailed.

‘I believe that they were caught poaching, Gytha.’

‘We can look into that at a later stage,’ said Gerold, taking charge and putting a consoling arm around the girl. ‘We have found them, that is the main thing, and we can now arrange for them to have a Christian burial instead of being left out here in the forest. Come, my child,’ he said, turning her away from the ditch. ‘You have seen enough. Be brave. You are the head of the family now. Be strong for your brother.’

Gytha nodded and wept silently in his arms. With words of comfort, Gerold escorted her in the direction of the horses.

Gervase was glad that he had brought the chaplain with him. His help was invaluable in every way. Gerold was schooled in the arts of consolation.

Beollan ventured close enough to take one glance at the dead bodies then moved hastily away. Gervase went after him. The boy’s behaviour aroused his curiosity. There was no real surprise in Beollan’s face when he viewed the corpses. He seemed to be getting visual confirmation of something he already knew.

Gervase caught up with him and put a hand on his arm. ‘One moment, Beollan.’

The boy spun round and stared at him with suspicion. ‘What do you want?’ he mumbled.

‘Information.’

‘I know nothing.’

‘I think you do,’ said Gervase quietly. ‘And it may help us to understand what actually happened here.’

A frightened look came into the boy’s eye. After a glance at the ditch where the bodies lay, he turned on his heel and tried to run away, but Gervase was far too quick for him. Grabbing him firmly by the shoulders, he eased Beollan behind the trunk of an oak tree so that their conversation was neither seen nor overheard and forced the boy to face him.