Edward Marston - The Dragons of Archenfield

After several minutes, Huegon came back to the table.

“Our charter is no longer valid,” he announced.

Ralph was astonished. “You admit it is a forgery?”

“We withdraw it unconditionally.”

“On what grounds?”

“We do not wish to contest Richard Orbec’s claim.”

“Give us your reason, man.”

“My decision is reason enough,” said Damville, coming forward to look from one man to another. “We have wasted each other’s time.

Your work is done. I cede the land to Orbec. If he wishes to dispute it with a dead man, that is his business. Keep the name of Maurice Damville out of all future deliberations.”

He stalked towards the door with Huegon at the rear.

“You cannot yield up a thousand acres on impulse,” said Ralph.

“That is rank stupidity.”

“It is what I choose to do,” said Damville, pausing in the doorway.

“It may seem rash to you, but I have learned to trust my impulses.

They have never betrayed me yet.”

“You cannot just walk away like this!”

“I can and I will. I am weary of the whole affair!”

Before Ralph could protest, Maurice Damville and Huegon went out through the door. The session was definitively over.

It was market day and the streets were thronged with people as Golde made her way towards the shire hall. Brewing ale in such large quantities was a demanding business, but she had to leave it to her assistants that morning. Blood was thicker than alcohol. Her sister’s needs took priority over the fermentation of the ale. Aelgar was not the most robust girl at the best of times. Recent events had made her almost frail and defenceless. Golde had to be both mother and sister to her.

When she reached the shire hall, they were just coming out. Corbin the Reeve was talking airily with four men. She recognised Ralph Delchard at once and guessed the others to be his fellow commissioners. Two of them set off in the direction of the cathedral and a third-the youngest of them-towards the castle. Golde stepped in to accost the others.

“Forgive this intrusion,” she said.

“No intrusion at all, dear lady,” said Ralph with smiling gallantry.

“It is a pleasure to see you again. Corbin is not unknown to you, I take it.”

“We are acquainted,” said die reeve, coldly.

“Has the sheriff still not returned?” she said.

“No.”

“He is still investigating this murder?”

“What business is that of yours?” said Corbin.

“I merely ask out of curiosity.”

He was brusque. “It is not my duty to provide tittle-tattle for the ale-wives of Hereford.”

“But it is your duty to be polite to a lady,” chided Ralph. “Since you cannot do anything else properly, at least try to rise to that.” He beamed at Golde. “Forgive his bad manners. Ignorance walks hand in hand with petty officialdom.”

“I am no petty official!” asserted the reeve.

“Let us step back into the hall,” suggested Ralph as he offered Golde his hand. “It is too noisy out here in the street. And we are delaying Corbin from important work like counting up taxes in the name of the King.”

He gave the reeve a wink then escorted Golde back into the building.

His men-at-arms had left now and the two were quite alone. Ralph gave himself the pleasure of taking a proper look at her. She was as appealing as at their first encounter. A clear-eyed woman of independent means and independent spirit Even in her plain working apparel, she had a charm that he found quite irresistible.

“If there no more news?” she asked.

“The killers are still at liberty,” he said. “Warnod’s death has ignited passions in Archenfield. There has been much unrest. The sheriff, we hear, is hampered in his search. He has to keep Saxons and Welsh from coming to blows.”

“Two days have passed. Ilbert the Sheriff must have learned something by now.”

“Assuredly, he has. But the only channel of information that we possess is that egregious reeve of yours.” Ralph rolled his eyes. “Getting news out of him is worse than squeezing blood from a stone. It is frustrating.”

Golde was deflated. “Is there nobody who can help?”

“Only Ilbert the Sheriff.”

“But he is in Archenfield.”

“We will be there ourselves before the day is out.”

“You go to Llanwarne?” she said, eagerly.

“To a place not too far distant from it.”

“Take me with you, my lord!”

“What?”

“Let me ride beside you,” she implored. “I will be no bother to you or to your companions, I swear, but I simply must go to Archenfield.”

“Why?”

“To see for myself!”

Ralph was struck by the intensity of her plea. It brought her face close to his own and he could see the supplication in her eyes. Her breath was soft and sweet, her fragrance bewitching. A wave of envy washed over him.

“He was indeed a fortunate man.”

“Who?”

“Warnod.”

“Fortunate!” she exclaimed. “To end his life like that?”

“To have someone like you to mourn him, Golde.”

“Warnod was … a good man.”

“Of that there is no doubt.”

“He was kind and generous.”

“You would not love any man who was not.”

She gave him a curious stare, then backed away slightly.

“I fear that you mistake me, my lord.”

“The man left your house that night, did he not?”

“I admitted as much.”

“Why else should he ride so far to visit a beautiful widow?” She turned abruptly away. “I do not mean to offend you, Golde. You ask an extremely large favour of me. I am entitled to know your reason for doing so.”

“If I tell you, will you take me?”

“I will consider it,” he promised.

She swung round. “Warnod did not come to my house to call on me, my lord. But on another. It is for her sake that I make these enquiries.”

Ralph’s interest quickened. “Then he was not …?”

“He was not and never could be.”

“That puts the matter in a very different light,” he said, stroking his chin. “My companions will not like it, I warn you now. Gervase will see you as a distraction. Canon Hubert will view you as an abomination. And Brother Simon is so terrified of any woman that he will disappear into his cowl like a snail going back into its shell.”

Golde was thrilled. “Does that mean you will take me?”

“What is my reward to be?” he teased.

“As much ale as you can drink.”

“That is a punishment, not a reward!”

“Then all I can offer is my heartfelt thanks.”

Golde came close again and looked up into his face with a gratitude that was fringed with real affection. Life as a widow had accustomed her to the unwanted attentions of many men, but Ralph Delchard was different. She trusted him. It would not be a pleasant ride to Archenfield and grim tidings would await her there, but she could withstand the pain all the more easily with him to support her.

“One last question, Golde.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“This other person whom Warnod came to see.”

“Well?”

“Who is she?”

Golde searched his eyes and found what she needed. He would not betray her confidence. There was the merest hint of polite lechery in his gaze, but there was also a store of integrity and understanding.

“Who is she, Golde?”

“My sister.”

Aelgar knew that it was him as soon as she heard the horses clatter past the side of the house. A sword was used to bang on the front door. The servant girl came in from the brewhouse.

“Do not answer it!” ordered Aelgar.

“Why not?”

“Bolt the door!”

“Who is it?”

“Do as you’re told and bolt the door!”