Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

‘Who, then, was Bishop Robert talking about?’

‘Someone close to Earl Hugh and thus above reproach.’

‘But why, Gervase?’

‘We can only guess.’

‘What was the nature of the friendship between earl and huntsman that makes for such a grand funeral? And why does a bishop describe the dead man in such glowing terms?’

‘Diplomacy.’

Ralph was about to rid himself of a few cynical remarks about the episcopacy when he became aware of a pungent smell. At first he thought it was emanating from the corpse, but the coffin had been sweetened with herbs to counter the stench of death.

What now assaulted his nostrils was the powerful stink of Idwal’s lambskin cloak, a garment that looked more ragged by the day and which acquired new and more terrible odours by the hour.

The Welshman stepped in between the two men, his voice, for once, low and gentle, his manner uncharacteristically subdued.

‘A funeral is a humbling experience for us all,’ he said.

‘There was no humility here,’ observed Ralph. ‘This man went into his grave with pomp worthy of a leading baron. I do not look to have such a service when I pass away.’

‘You misunderstand me, my lord,’ said Idwal. ‘What is humbling is the reminder that all flesh must perish. The wealthiest in the land, no less than the poorest, go to their Maker at the end of their days.’

‘Raoul Lambert went before his time,’ said Gervase.

‘Sadly, he did. But we may profit from that.’

Gervase was surprised. ‘In what way, Archdeacon Idwal?’

‘His body lies here beside the cathedral.’

‘So?’

‘Outside the city walls,’ added Idwal. ‘Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo implored Earl Hugh not to get drawn into a war because their cathedral might be attacked. So might the grave of Raoul Lambert. Earl Hugh was deaf to their entreaties but the notion that the corpse of his dear friend might be abused by a marauding army may make him think again. That is why I am here.’

‘I do not understand,’ said Gervase.

‘This is our last opportunity.’

‘For what?’

‘Swaying the earl to our purpose. Look,’ said Idwal with a nod in Hugh’s direction, ‘others are already trying to take advantage of the moment.’

The funeral was over and the congregation was slowly dispersing.

Earl Hugh remained beside the grave with Robert de Limesey, Archdeacon Frodo and Brother Gerold around him. All four seemed to be engaged in a silent conference.

‘They are willing him to let me speak to Gruffydd ap Cynan,’

said Idwal. ‘I will bide my time until Earl Hugh is about to leave, then I will add my own plea.’

‘That might not be appropriate,’ suggested Gervase.

‘It would be disastrous,’ said Ralph. ‘The very sight of a Welshman would make him reach for his sword. Keep well away from him, Idwal. And, for God’s sake, do not stand upwind of him in that revolting cloak of yours.’

‘Leave the persuasion to others,’ agreed Gervase.

Idwal was offended. ‘My intercession could be crucial.’

‘It would be!’ sighed Ralph.

‘Does he not want this war averted?’

‘At this precise moment, no. He is too full of anger over the murder of Raoul Lambert. Revenge is at the forefront of his mind.’

Ralph put a hand on the archdeacon’s shoulder. ‘Do not let him see you here, Idwal. He will take it as a personal insult. Withdraw while you may.’

‘It might be politic,’ said Gervase. ‘What persuasion can be applied will come best from Bishop Robert and the others.’

‘But I am the only man who can talk with Gruffydd.’

‘If and when permission is granted. And it will not be if Earl Hugh is aware of your presence here.’

Idwal protested but they eventually convinced him that a tactical retreat was in the best interests of everyone. When the Welshman slipped away and the fierce aroma from his cloak gradually lost its intensity, Ralph and Gervase turned back to watch the figures beside the grave.

An animated conversation was now taking place. Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo were presenting their case with renewed vigour. Earl Hugh seemed to be resisting their arguments and they soon withdrew into the cathedral. Brother Gerold now took over, talking to his master in a more confiding way and indicating the open grave as he spoke. Earl Hugh became reflective. Instead of arguing back, he was now simply listening.

Viewing it all from a distance, Ralph and Gervase were given some insight into the subtle power which the chaplain exercised over the earl. The funeral was an emotional event and even a man as flint-hard as Hugh d’Avranches was moved. Brother Gerold took him by the arm to lead him away from the grave and continued to pour words of advice into his ears. Hugh’s face was grim and it was difficult to see what effect the chaplain’s plea was having on him.

Suddenly, it was all over. Earl Hugh muttered something to Gerold then strode off to join the other mourners. As he swept past Ralph and Gervase, his eyes were dark and menacing.

‘The appeal has been rejected,’ said Ralph.

‘I fear that it has, Ralph.’

‘He is like a hawk in the sky. Eager for a kill.’

‘That is what frightens me.’

Brother Gerold came across the grass towards them. ‘I did not expect to see you here,’ he said.

‘We wished to pay our respects,’ explained Ralph.

‘Yes,’ said Gervase, ‘and to hear Bishop Robert give his paean of praise. We learned much about Raoul Lambert.’

‘So did we all,’ said Gerold quietly. ‘But I am glad to find you, Gervase. It will save me the trouble of searching for you at the castle. Our wish has been granted.’

‘Has it?’

‘Earl Hugh has agreed that we may at least try to solve this crisis by diplomatic means.’

Ralph was astounded. ‘He has authorised a meeting between Archdeacon Idwal and the prisoner?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘What is my role?’ said Gervase.

‘To observe and record what passes between them.’

‘Watch them,’ counselled Ralph. ‘They will be slippery.’

‘I have a lot of respect for Idwal,’ said Gervase. ‘For all his deficiencies, he has great integrity and is as committed to preserving the peace between the two nations as anyone. No,’

he continued, reflecting on what lay ahead, ‘the Archdeacon of St David’s is not the problem here. The unknown quantity is Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd.’

Returning from the cathedral, Ralph Delchard met his wife on the stairs in the keep. He was just in time to snatch a few words with Golde.

‘Are you deserting me, my love?’ he complained.

‘Only for a short while.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To sit with the Lady Ermintrude.’

‘She was at the funeral.’

‘That is why she asked me to visit her,’ said Golde. ‘She is bound to be upset by the experience. Company can sometimes help to alleviate grief.’

‘Your company can alleviate anything,’ he said, stealing a kiss.

‘Be off to do your good deed for the day. No, wait,’ he added as a thought surfaced, ‘you may be able to help us.’

‘How?’

‘By probing our hostess about Raoul Lambert.’

‘What do you wish to know about him, Ralph?’

‘Why he and Earl Hugh were such close friends,’ said her husband.

‘And why a huntsman merited a funeral service in a cathedral.’

‘The Lady Ermintrude may not be able to provide the answers,’

warned Golde. ‘She and the earl lead largely separate lives. He only tells her what he wishes her to know.’

‘It will not hurt to ask.’

‘If the moment arises.’