Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

‘Convey your tidings to Bishop Robert. They may have some relevance for him. Or to Canon Hubert,’ said Ralph, grasping at any straw to rid himself of the persistent Welshman. ‘He will argue about the Church for as long as you like. Llandaff, St David’s, Bangor, Brecon or Bethlehem. Hubert is your man.’

‘We have spoken already.’

‘Speak to him again, Idwal.’

‘Oh, I will, I will.’

‘He relishes a debate with you.’

‘I have noticed, my lord.’

Idwal cocked his head to one side and scrutinised Ralph through glinting eyes. He said something in Welsh under his breath then let out a rich chortle.

‘Hereford!’ he teased. ‘That is why you try to elude me, is it not, my lord? Hereford! You have never forgiven me for spying in advance what it took you days even to notice.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Love. Marriage. Happiness. I saw the possibility of all three dancing in your eyes and in those of the dear lady who is now your wife. I can claim some credit for bringing you together, my lord. In some sort, I played the part of Cupid.’

‘Heaven forbid!’

‘I brought the pair of you turtle doves together.’

‘This is intolerable!’ groaned Ralph.

‘Deny it if you will but I know. I was there.’

‘Could I ever forget!’

Idwal took a step backwards. ‘I will trouble you no more at this time, my lord,’ he said abruptly. ‘I bid you farewell.’

‘At last!’

‘We can resume our conversation in the full light of day. When you are less taxed by your affairs and refreshed by sleep. Both you and Earl Hugh, I trust, may be more amenable tomorrow.’

‘Only a madman would wager on it.’

Idwal grinned. ‘I have always had a streak of madness.’ He became serious. ‘One last thing,’ he warned. ‘You need me. I can talk with men of consequence on both sides of the border. Nobody else in this castle can do that. Impress it upon Earl Hugh. I am the key to continued peace in Cheshire. If he grants me permission to see Gruffydd ap Cynan, I will help to prevent more warfare.’

Before Ralph could ask him how, his tormentor flung one side of his evil-smelling cloak over his shoulder and marched away with Messianic certainty in his stride. Ralph was left alone on a cold staircase. It was ironic. Pursued by the effusive archdeacon, his instinct had been to strike out at the man, but now that the chase had been called off he felt a vague sensation of guilt.

Idwal was only trying to show friendship. And he might indeed be able to glean information from the Prince of Gwynedd which could be of benefit to his captors. Idwal was by instinct a man of peace, as he had proved in Herefordshire. He did not really merit the summary rejection which had been meted out to him. Ralph could never warm to the man himself but the fact remained that Golde actually liked him. The Welshman had been the first to discern the strength of feeling between the pair of them. Like it or not, Ralph had to concede that Idwal was part of their private history.

He went up to his apartment in reflective mood. There were times when his military training was a severe handicap. Attack and defence were his only natural options. Both were ineffective against someone like Archdeacon Idwal. The only way to keep such a man at bay was to use methods as cunning and devious as his own. Ralph had to devise a new strategy.

He was still puzzling over what it might be when he opened the door of his chamber. All thought of Idwal vanished in an instant.

Standing before him was the one person who could cleanse his mind of its accumulated worries and fire him with real pleasure.

It was Golde. She was wearing a pale blue gown over a chemise of white linen. She had taken off her wimple to reveal fair hair which was curled at the front and coiled at the back. She was smiling invitingly at him.

‘Golde!’ he exclaimed.

‘I have been waiting for you.’

‘You were not supposed to arrive until tomorrow.’

‘We made good time on the road.’

‘When did you get to Chester?’

‘Above an hour ago.’

‘You have been in the castle all that time?’

‘I asked to be shown to your apartment.’

‘Why did you not send for me?’

‘I wanted to surprise you, Ralph,’ she said, moving towards him. ‘Have I managed to do that?’

‘Oh, yes!’

‘Are you pleased to see me?’

No more words were needed. Ralph enfolded her in his arms and kissed away the long absence. Chester was a barren place without her. She had made the effort to reach the city a day earlier than planned in order to rejoin her husband. Ralph was thrilled. The unexpected pleasure of being with his wife once more was so overwhelming that he even began to look more kindly upon Idwal. Perhaps the Welshman did, after all, deserve some small credit for uniting them. It was, at least, one thing which could be said in his favour.

Canon Hubert believed in the value of meticulous preparation.

Disputes over the ownership of property could be extremely complicated and the bitterness generated by the contesting parties sometimes threatened to cloud the issues at stake. To avoid confusion or distraction, it was imperative to master the underlying facts of each case well in advance. That was the procedure which Hubert always followed. Having spent some hours studying the major dispute which would come before him on the morrow, therefore, he was understandably peeved to learn that judgement in that particular instance would have to be postponed.

Annoyed at the waste of his valuable time, he immediately set off to the castle to complain to Ralph Delchard, but the latter was too happily engaged in a domestic reunion to answer his summons. Hubert was never easily deflected from his purpose.

He took his protest instead to Gervase Bret.

‘Come in, Canon Hubert.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I did not think to see you at the castle again.’

‘Nor I to return here. It is not a place I would choose to visit unless I was compelled to do so.’

‘You are here under compulsion?’

‘Yes, Gervase.’

‘Why?’

‘I am moved to register a serious complaint.’

‘Take a seat and tell me all.’

Hubert lowered himself on to the large stool which stood against one wall. It was a small chamber, high up in the keep, and the canon’s presence made it seem much smaller. Gervase leaned against the wall beside the window. In the light of the candles, Hubert’s rubicund face seemed to be glowing.

‘Well?’ said Gervase.

‘A message was sent to me by the lord Ralph,’ said the other.

‘The case involving Raoul Lambert has unaccountably been dropped from our proceedings tomorrow. The postponement has caused me gross inconvenience.’

‘It was unavoidable.’

‘Why?’

‘Were you given no reason for the change of plan?’

‘None, Gervase. I have come in search of it.’

‘Then the first thing you must know is that Raoul Lambert will never be able to advance his claim to the holdings in question.

He was killed in the Forest of Delamere this morning during a hunting trip.’

Hubert was startled. ‘Killed?’ he gasped.

‘His body lies in the mortuary.’

‘A hunting accident?’

‘No. He was murdered.’

‘Saints preserve us!’

Gervase gave him a brief account of what had happened and Hubert saw that he had no real cause for protest. Death had brutally rearranged their schedule for them. What now exercised his mind were the dark motives which might lie behind that death.

‘It was an attempt to assassinate Earl Hugh himself?’

‘That is how it appears, Canon Hubert.’

‘This is frightful intelligence.’