Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

Gytha sat on the front bench in the tiny nave, cradling her brother who was too frightened either to look or to listen. To comfort Beollan, she had to control her own grief and that required a supreme effort. It was only when the coffins were finally lowered into the ground and earth was tossed on to them that the loss of her father and elder brother hit her with its full impact. Her control suddenly vanished. She burst into tears, began to sway violently, lost her footing and all but fell into the grave after them.

It was Beollan who showed strength then, putting an arm round her to steady her and muttering words of comfort. Gytha slowly recovered. When the service was over, the ancient priest braved the long walk to escort them all the way back to the cottage and offered what little consolation he could. He promised to call again the next day to see how they were faring. Gytha and Beollan were left alone. An hour passed before either of them could even speak.

Gytha broached a subject which she had put aside after the discovery of the bodies in the ditch. It could not be ignored any longer.

‘Beollan.’

‘Yes?’ he murmured.

‘Tell me what really happened that day.’

‘I have, Gytha. I lost sight of them.’

‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘That is not the truth. You are still hiding something from me. There will be no secrets in this house. I must know. Tell me everything. I am not going to blame you or chastise you.’

‘There is nothing to tell.’

‘Yes, there is. I saw you speak to Master Bret when he came to see us. You told him the truth. I could see it in his face. He knows what I have a right to know. I am your sister.’ She took him by the shoulders to stare deep into his eyes. ‘Why are you so guilty? What did you do that day?’

The memory brought tears to the boy’s eyes and he tried to turn away, but his sister was determined to wrest the truth from him. She held him firmly and saw his resistance fade.

‘What did you do, Beollan?’

‘I ran away,’ he whimpered.

‘When?’

‘When the earl’s hawk was killed. We were hiding in a ditch and I bolted like a coward.’

‘That was not cowardice.’

‘They were caught and I escaped, Gytha.’

‘I thank God for that small mercy!’ she sighed. ‘Think how much worse it would have been for me if all three of you had been captured. Your age would not have saved you, Beollan. You would have been hanged with them.’ She gave him a hug. ‘I love you and I do not blame you. God has spared you for a purpose. You were right to run.’

‘I feel so ashamed.’

‘There is no cause.’ She released her hold. ‘What else did you tell Master Bret?’

‘That I saw someone sneaking away in the forest.’

‘Sneaking away?’

‘Carrying a bow.’

‘The archer who shot that arrow!’ she decided. ‘He was the one who should have been hanged from that tree. Not Father and our dear brother Arkell. They were innocent. Master Bret will know that now. You were a witness.’

Beollan nodded and squeezed her arm affectionately. He had expected his sister to be angry with him, but she was instead kind and understanding. It made all the difference. He was closer to her than he had ever been before and felt able to part with one last secret.

‘There is something that I have not told anyone,’ he said.

Towards the end of another day, Robert de Limesey carried out his routine inspection of the work being done on his beloved cathedral. There was little perceptible change behind the scaffolding but he felt somehow reassured each time he visited the scene. It was heartening to reflect that while he was conducting services within the cathedral, a team of able men was improving the outer fabric of the building. The blessed time would come when the scaffolding was finally removed and the bishop could view the renovations in their full glory.

The place was deserted now. Ropes dangled idly and pulleys were silent. Stone lay about on the grass in abundance, some of it already dressed to shape and ready to be hoisted up into position, some of it fresh from the quarry, waiting for the mason’s hammer and chisel to fashion it appropriately. Bishop Robert loved to watch the craftsmen at work, taking an ugly lump of stone and slowly releasing its hidden beauty until it was fit to adorn the cathedral church of St John.

He was still musing on the majesty of the architecture when Archdeacon Frodo came padding across the grass.

‘Is there anything to see, Bishop Robert?’ he asked.

‘Progress. Slow, steady, unhurried progress.’

‘I will be glad when the stonemasons finish,’ said the other.

‘They have a noisy occupation. We will never hear the angels sing above the din of those hammers.’

‘Listen more carefully, Frodo.’

The archdeacon smiled. ‘I will,’ he said. ‘But I bring word from Father Ernwin. The funeral was held this afternoon and he sends thanks for the permission you kindly gave.’

‘I could hardly refuse it. Those two men who were hanged in the forest may have been poachers but they are still entitled to a Christian burial. It would have been sinful to leave them in a ditch to rot.’

‘That is what Earl Hugh intended.’

‘I am glad we were able to frustrate that intention.’

‘It was one of the commissioners who found the bodies.’

‘So I understand,’ said the bishop. ‘Master Gervase Bret. A young man of true Christian impulse. Canon Hubert has nothing but praise for his colleague and I can see why. He offered help to a family who were spurned by everyone else. Out of pure compassion, he turned Good Samaritan.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘It is a sad business, Frodo. But at least the bodies are now buried safely in the ground. They have been laid to rest. The surviving members of the family can now begin to mourn.’

‘Father Ernwin said the same in his message.’

‘He is a good shepherd and tends his flock well.’ He glanced around to make sure that they were not overheard. ‘Frodo,’ he said quietly, ‘I am sure that you appreciate how important it is to keep this from Earl Hugh.’

‘You may rely on my discretion.’

‘I always do.’

‘Father Ernwin also understands the situation.’

‘Good,’ said the bishop. ‘When he had their corpses tossed in that ditch, Earl Hugh meant them to lie there as a hideous warning to others. He would be highly displeased to hear that they had been recovered by their family and given a decent burial.’

‘He will hear nothing from my lips,’ promised the archdeacon, ‘but then, he is too busy to listen to anything that we might have to say. The murder of Raoul Lambert has blocked out all else from his mind.’

‘It troubles me as well, Frodo.’

‘There will be severe repercussions.’

‘We have already suffered one of them,’ noted the bishop. ‘Our appeal against Raoul Lambert’s annexation of Church property will now go unheard. And you will have to forgo the pleasure of exposing his rapacity to the commissioners in the shire hall.’

‘Some of our property may yet be returned, your grace.’

‘I pray that all of it will.’

‘Leave that to me and to the commissioners.’

‘I will, Frodo.’ He washed his hands nervously in the air. ‘What is the true story, do you think?’

‘True story?’

‘Of the murder in the forest. Was it, in fact, do you suppose, a bold attempt on the life of Earl Hugh?’

‘I can only guess,’ said Frodo. ‘Though I have talked with two people who were in the hunting party and they are firmly of the opinion that it was a bungled assassination. It has enraged Earl Hugh beyond measure.’

‘That is not difficult to do.’