Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

‘Oh, it will, Golde. You’ll make certain of that.’

A second kiss sent her trotting up the stairs.

Golde was soon admitted to Ermintrude’s chamber by a gentlewoman who immediately left the two of them alone. The atmosphere was sombre. Ermintrude was seated in a chair, gazing wistfully out of the window as if playing with fond memories of lost joys. Golde went quietly across to her.

‘I intrude upon your sadness, my lady,’ she said. ‘Would you prefer me to go away again and return when you feel more ready for company?’

Ermintrude looked up at her with surprise. ‘I did not hear you come in, Golde.’

‘You sent for me, my lady.’

‘There is nobody I would rather see at this moment.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Sit down. Please. Beside me.’

Golde moved the stool close enough to her to be able to touch her if the need arose. As she settled down, she took a closer look at Ermintrude and saw no signs of real grief. If the funeral had been a harrowing event for her, the older woman had made an astonishing recovery.

Ermintrude gave a sad smile and supplied an explanation. ‘I went to the funeral out of a sense of duty, Golde.’

‘I see.’

‘My husband requested it.’

‘Then you had no choice.’

‘I grieve over the death of any man — especially one who is felled by an assassin — but I will not pretend to have known Raoul Lambert well enough to mourn his passing.’

‘It is better to be honest about these things.’

‘I wore the correct face at the funeral,’ said the other with slight asperity. ‘Hugh can ask no more of me.’

‘He is blessed in his wife.’

‘My husband may think otherwise.’

‘Then he is seriously at fault.’

Ermintrude reached out to squeeze her arm in gratitude. ‘In the time that we have been here,’ she said, ‘there have been far too many funerals. I have lost count of them. And if, as seems likely, war is to break out once again, there will be many more.

We will be the losers, Golde.’

‘We?’

‘Wives, mothers, daughters, lovers. When our menfolk take up arms, many will be doomed to die. All that we can do is sit here impotently and suffer the consequences.’ She looked deep into Golde’s eyes. ‘Did you tell your husband about our earlier conversation?’

‘Which one, my lady? We have had several.’

‘When we talked about his being a born soldier.’

‘Oh, that,’ said Golde. ‘No, I did not.’

‘Were you afraid to raise the subject?’

‘I suppose I was.’

‘What would he have said?’

‘Exactly what you predicted, my lady. If there is to be a battle, Ralph would feel compelled to be involved in it. That is why I have been praying that hostilities may somehow be prevented.’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘It now seems like a forlorn hope.’

‘You will get used to those, Golde.’

‘Forlorn hopes?’

‘They are an inextricable part of marriage.’

‘I have not found that with Ralph,’ said Golde loyally.

‘Was it different with your first husband?’

She lowered her head. ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘That means he was chosen for you.’

‘By my father.’

‘Did you protest against the match?’

‘Loudly. But in vain.’

‘What did your father say?’

‘That I could not hope for a better husband. I had to accept his hand and be grateful.’ Golde’s face crumpled at the memory. ‘I never expected to marry a brewer, my lady. Before the Conquest, my father was a thegn with holdings all over the county. He had wealth and influence. When I was born, I was destined to marry a member of the nobility.’

‘And you did.’

‘Only by complete chance.’

‘That sometimes contrives better than we ourselves. Well,’ said Ermintrude without irony, ‘I am sure that the Norman aristocracy does not arouse the same pride in your breast as the Saxon nobility but I, for one, am grateful that you have come into the former. How else would I have met you?’

‘You would not have done so, my lady. Unless you were seized with a passion to ride to Hereford in search of beer.’

Ermintrude gave a polite laugh. ‘I am never seized by passions, Golde. And that one sounds the most unlikely of all. Let us just be thankful that our paths did cross. Though I could wish they had done so at a less complicated time.’

‘So do I.’

‘I fear for him,’ said Ermintrude softly. ‘Though I am no longer a true wife to him, I fear for my husband’s life.’

‘Earl Hugh is in no immediate danger, surely?’

‘That depends on the arrow.’

‘What arrow?’

‘The one which killed Raoul Lambert in the forest. Was it really intended for him or was it aimed at Hugh? My husband is convinced that he was the target.’

‘Then he will not be caught off guard again.’

‘No,’ said Ermintrude, ‘but there is the battle itself.’

‘The battle?’

‘My husband is inclined to be reckless in the field. That can prove fatal. Anything might happen to him.’

‘Not according to Ralph.’

‘Go on.’

‘He was very impressed with the quality and discipline of Earl Hugh’s men. They amount to a formidable army. Ralph does not believe the Welsh would have much chance against them in open combat.’

‘There are other ways of fighting, Golde.’

‘Other ways?’

‘Raoul Lambert was not killed in open combat.’

‘That is true.’

‘The Welsh are crafty.’

‘That is what Ralph always says of them.’ Golde recalled the favour which her husband had asked of her. ‘My lady,’ she said.

‘Yes?’

‘What sort of man was Raoul Lambert?’

‘I am not the best person to tell you.’

‘From what you have heard, was he honest and God-fearing?’

‘He was a rare huntsman, I know that,’ said Ermintrude, fishing in a sea of vague memories. ‘I cannot speak for his honesty but I would question his devotion. Nobody who takes part in the revelry which Raoul Lambert enjoyed here can claim to be wholly devout. Like so many of my husband’s friends, he was wedded to excess.’

‘You know more about him than you think.’

‘He was pleasant enough when I spoke to him.’

‘Yet he was not a pleasant man,’ speculated Golde. ‘That is what your tone would seem to suggest.’

‘He was a deep man.’

‘In what sense?’

‘Raoul Lambert kept a great deal hidden.’

‘But not from your husband.’

‘Oh, no,’ conceded the other. ‘Hugh had the very highest opinion of him. He entrusted things to Raoul which he would confide in nobody else.’

‘What sorts of things?’

‘I have no idea, Golde.’

‘Did your husband give you no indication at all?’

‘None,’ said Ermintrude briskly. ‘And now that you have put to me the questions that Ralph asked you to put, perhaps we can talk about something more seemly. Raoul Lambert is dead and he should be allowed to rest in peace.’ She gave an understanding smile. ‘I do not blame you, Golde. You are a faithful wife and did as your husband requested. But no more of it, please. I have suffered the pangs of such fidelity.’

Golde was cowed. ‘I am deeply sorry, my lady.’

‘There is no need.’

‘Would you like me to withdraw?’

‘No, Golde,’ said the other. ‘I wish you to cheer me up by telling me how to brew beer. Perhaps it is not too late for me to master the art for myself.’

Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd, tempered his anger with discretion. Wanting to vent his spleen again upon the door of his cell, he knew that such violence would only result in his being fettered and that was an indignity he wished to avoid at all costs.