Edward Marston - The Lions of the North

Before he reached him, however, someone else captured his attention and brought him to a halt. Further along the street, huddled into the doorway to ensure some privacy, were two men locked in animated conversation. Given what he knew of them, he was surprised that they were even acquainted with each other, yet Aubrey Maminot was talking familiarly with Brother Francis.

“The Abbey of St. Mary?” said Golde. “I did not see it, my lady.”

“It lies outside the city wall to the north-west.”

“Your husband did mention it when he conducted me around York.

It is still in its early stages, I believe.”

“Yes, Golde.”

“There is no shortage of work for stonemasons.”

“We will keep them busy for many years to come,” said Herleve proudly.

“It will be a majestic sight when it is finished and has its own fortified precinct. Nothing will ever challenge the minster in magnificence, of course, but the abbey will fulfil a significant role.”

“It is fortunate to have such patrons as yourself.”

“It is my prime interest, Golde,” said the older woman. “And my husband’s one indulgence of me.”

“Indulgence?”

Herleve lowered her head. She and Golde were still alone in the solar, talking quietly, allowing their friendship to roll forward at its own gentle pace. Golde had learned not to press her hostess for answers or she would retreat into herself as she was doing now. It was only when she felt relaxed that she would volunteer information about herself.

“Where will you live?” asked Herleve.

“Ralph will decide that.”

“His estates are in Hampshire, are they not?”

“They are, my lady, but he has spent precious little time there this year. The King’s business compels him to travel and I have cause to be grateful. That is how we met.”

“When he came to visit Hereford with his colleagues.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And how did they welcome you?”

“Gervase has been wonderful to me. He says that I help to calm Ralph down and is delighted for both of us.”

“What of the others?”

Golde grimaced. “Canon Hubert disapproves,” she sighed. “He has said nothing to my face and has always been quite pleasant to me, but I feel the weight of his censure. It is not surprising. We cannot expect him to understand. Still less can we ask for understanding from Brother Simon.”

“Your scribe whom I met this morning?”

“Woman are an abomination to him, my lady.”

“I wondered why he was startled by my approach.”

“He worships celibacy.”

“It has much to commend it,” said Herleve wistfully. A smile brightened her face. “Ralph is blessed in you.”

“And I in him.”

“You are the one to make sacrifices, Golde. You gave up everything to ride at his side. Even your respectability.”

“That was the easiest sacrifice.”

“And yet you grieve at its loss. Any woman would.”

A taut pause. “Yes, my lady. In some sort, I do.”

“Well, you need fear no more disapproval from me. I like to think I am a true Christian and that has taught me the value of tolerance.

When I was cold towards you …”

Her voice faded and she seemed to be in mild distress.

“Let us put that behind us, my lady,” suggested Golde.

“But I need to explain.”

“Your friendship is explanation enough.”

“I owe you the truth, Golde.”

“Not if it causes you sadness.”

“I have learned to bear that.” She lifted her chin and locked her hands in her lap. “It is difficult for me, Golde. I have never talked to anyone about this, not even in the privacy of confession. I hope I can talk to you.”

“I am listening, my lady.”

“When you first came here, I was very unkind and resentful. That was not your fault, Golde. Before I knew anything about you, I made a very harsh judgement. There was a reason for that.”

“I appreciate how it must have seemed.”

“This is nothing to do with you and Ralph Delchard,” said the other woman quietly. “It is to do with my husband and myself. We have not been happy. Whatever it was that Aubrey wanted in a wife, I have been unable to supply.”

“I am sure that is not true, my lady.”

“It is, Golde.”

“But he talks so fondly of you.”

“Yes,” sighed Herleve. “He talks fondly of me to everyone because that is his way. He never speaks thus to me. I have let him down. I never gave him the children he wanted or the love he needed. Aubrey has many good qualities but he also has wants, Golde. Like any other man. I have never been able to satisfy those wants.” Her eyelids flickered. “He was bound to look elsewhere.”

“I see.”

“That is why I was so cold towards you. I thought you were simply another one. It never crossed my mind that you and Ralph could be …

as you are. I thought you were her .”

“Who?”

Herleve sat up with as much dignity as she could.

“My husband’s mistress.”

Aubrey Maminot lay sprawled on the bed while she ran a hand lan-guidly through his hair. He was still panting and perspiring freely.

Her youth excited him and her passion seemed boundless. Each time he visited her, they seemed to reach new heights of pleasure and invention. Aubrey had found something he did not believe existed: a woman who never disappointed him, a love that never staled.

He rolled over to cradle her in his arm, running his finger down her nose and onto her lips. She kissed it.

“Are you happy, my love?” he asked.

“Very happy.”

“And were you pleased with my present?”

“Delighted!”

“Do you mean that?”

“It is the nicest gift you have ever given me.”

She reached out with her hand for the garment that lay beside the bed. Clipped onto it was the gold brooch in the shape of a lion. She brought it up to her face so that she could rub the animal against her cheek.

“I love him,” she said.

“Does he have a name?”

“Of course. I call him Aubrey.”

He was thrilled. “He is named after me?”

“No,” she said. “He is you.”

“In what sense?”

“You are my real lion!”

Aubrey laughed and embraced her with renewed ardour.

Brother Simon was the first to admit it. He was spiritually and constitutionally unsuited to the rigours of the workaday world. A simple journey through the streets of York was an assault on his sensibilities.

The pungent smells made him swoon and the swirling activity all around him unsettled his stomach. The swooping birds frightened him and the packs of roaming dogs seem to elect him for special perse-cution. But it was the sight and sound of countless females that really edged him towards hysteria. Fishwives screeched, washerwomen cackled, ancient dames traded gossip and every mother in the city seemed to be engaged in haggling aloud in the market.

With the supportive bulk of Canon Hubert beside him, he might have withstood it all had there not been the horrendous event in the shire hall. Tanchelm of Ghent had been murdered not ten feet from where Simon had earlier sat at the table. The monk felt the hand of death brush the side of his face. It reduced him to gibbering incoherence.

York was a crucible of evil. He fled from its tumult into the minster.

Canon Hubert was more resilient. While his companion yearned only for solitude, he was ready to brave the turmoil of the streets in the interests of justice. Tanchelm had been a friend and a colleague. Hubert wanted to do all he could to assist the hunt for his killer. Having spent more time with the victim than most people, he felt that he knew him better and might therefore contribute details that would elude anyone else. An hour exploring a pile of documents convinced him that he had pertinent information to offer. Mounting his donkey, he wobbled off to the castle once more.