Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

Now that the novelty had worn off, Golde was finding her stay at the castle slightly tedious. Maud was doing her best to entertain her guest but the latter soon tired of watching her hostess work at her embroidery and answering questions about her first marriage. There were moments when Golde felt as if the needle was threading its way through her heart. Willing to discuss her life with Ralph, she was very reticent on the subject of the husband who preceded him, a man whom she had not chosen and could never love and whose early demise she was unable to mourn with the full commitment of a grieving widow. Her discomfort was intensified by anxiety about her sister, due to arrive in Gloucester at any moment but so far unseen and unreported.

Fears for Aelgar’s safety lapped at Golde’s mind. Even with an escort, travellers were never entirely safe on the open road.

‘Were you sorry to quit Hereford?’ asked Maud, sewing away.

‘In some ways, my lady.’

‘It must have caused you much regret.’

‘Occasionally.’

‘Have you been back to the town since?’

‘Only once,’ said Golde. ‘When the commissioners visited Chester. Ralph provided me with an escort and I stopped off in Hereford on the way before riding on to rejoin them.’

‘Marriage has given you many opportunities for travel.’

‘And much more besides.’

‘I wish that I could say the same of my husband. The journey from Normandy was the only one of significance that I have made.

For the rest, my wanderings are largely circumscribed by the city boundaries.’ She looked up as if the thought had struck her for the first time. ‘To all intents and purposes, I am a species of prisoner.’

‘Surely not, my lady!’

‘How else would you describe me?’

Golde was spared the problem of manufacturing a tactful reply.

After knocking at the door, a servant entered the chamber with the news that two visitors were at the castle gate, asking to see Golde. Delighted that her sister had at last arrived, Golde excused herself and followed the man along the passageway and out into the fresh air. As she skipped down the steps which led from the keep, she caught a distant glimpse of Aelgar and her betrothed, waiting inside the gate with one of the sentries. Golde quickened her pace. A happy reunion was soon effected.

Introduced to Forne by her sister, Golde deluged them with questions while taking stock of the young man who would soon become her brother-in-law. Forne was a sturdy character with pleasant rather than handsome features. The receding fair hair revealed a high forehead and his eyes sparkled with devotion.

Golde was content. Though she wished that he trimmed his beard more closely, she could see his essential goodness reflected in his face. He loved her sister and she, in turn, was patently enthralled by him. It was enough.

‘How long have you been here?’ asked Aelgar, looking around the bailey with awe. ‘I am so proud that my sister can be invited to stay in such a place.’

‘It has its drawbacks,’ said Golde. ‘I’ve been here a couple of days and I’m already finding out what they are.’

‘Too many Norman soldiers,’ observed Forne drily.

‘That is true of Hereford as well.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘No more of that,’ ordered Golde with a laugh. ‘If you are to marry my sister, I’ll not be called “my lady”. You will be Forne to me and I will be Golde to you. Is that a fair exchange?’

Forne brightened. ‘Very fair.’

‘What of Ralph?’ said Aelgar.

‘He will not stand on ceremony. But where are you staying?’

‘In the town with Forne’s kinsman.’

‘Then let us go there so that we can have a proper talk. It seems such an age since we last met and I have a thousand questions for you.’

‘I have a few for you, too, Golde,’ said her sister.

‘Then why do we dawdle here?’ Yet when she tried to lead them out of the castle, they hesitated. ‘What is wrong?’

‘Are you going to walk ?’ said Forne.

‘I have not lost the use of my legs.’

‘The streets are filthy. That dress is too beautiful to soil.’

‘Let me worry about that,’ said Golde, standing between them to link arms with them both. ‘What is a dirty hem beside the pleasure of seeing my only sister again? Not to mention the delight of meeting you, Forne. I would walk through a swamp to be with the pair of you. Come on. Tell me all about the journey from Hereford.’

And the three of them sauntered happily out through the gate.

Abbot Serlo surpassed himself. Conducting the burial service with due solemnity, he spoke so movingly in the abbey church that every eye was soon moist and every heart touched. The Precentor watched the service with growing admiration. When mass was sung, the abbot delivered a eulogy which was a masterpiece of careful selection. By stressing the finer qualities of Brother Nicholas, he made the less attractive aspects of the dead man’s character fade into temporary oblivion, and nobody listening would have guessed what dark secret had been unearthed by a search of his cell. Even those who disliked Nicholas the most — Kenelm and Elaf among them — found themselves consumed with genuine pity.

Since the church had no burial rights, part of the cemetery was set aside for the graves of deceased inhabitants of Gloucester, brought to the abbey by means of Lich Lane. Serlo led the solemn procession to the area reserved solely for the bodies of departed monks, a corner of the cemetery which was tended with loving care. The coffin was borne aloft on the shoulders of six monks before being lowered on ropes into the gaping slit in the earth.

More prayers were said in unison then the abbot committed the body to its last resting place. Those who died of natural causes excited sorrow enough among the monks, but the nature of Brother Nicholas’s death brought additional misery. Some of the older people around the grave had to be supported as that misery robbed them of strength and movement.

It was a long time before the assembled monks began to disperse in silence. Abbot Serlo went back to his lodging with Brother Frewine but most of the others adjourned to the church to pray once more for the salvation of the murder victim’s soul and the speedy capture of his killer. Everyone was so caught up in their own anguish that they took little note of anyone else around them. Nobody lingered to see the solitary figure who hovered in the deserted cemetery.

Owen was torn between grief and remorse. As he looked down at the grave, his tears poured forth once more. When handfuls of earth had been tossed reverentially on to the coffin, spades had taken over to complete the burial and to leave a mound which would in time disappear as the earth slowly settled into the cavity.

Owen glanced around to make sure that nobody was watching him, then he opened his hand to reveal something which had been burning a hole in his palm since the funeral began. It was a bright new coin from the Gloucester mint and he could no longer keep it. Scooping a hole in the mound of earth, he inserted the coin as deep as it would go then quickly covered it up.

Having paid his last respects, Owen trudged slowly away.

The horses moved at a steady trot through pleasant countryside towards Gloucester. Ralph and Gervase rode into a leafy arcade of trees and emerged to find that they could now see the River Severn on their left as it surged down the estuary. A small boat sailed past as Ralph watched.

‘I hate water,’ he said soulfully. ‘It frightens me.’

‘Nothing frightens you.’

‘It does, Gervase. Crossing the Channel in rough weather was a nightmare. It made my stomach heave for days. I have no wish to return to Normandy if it entails trusting my life to a piece of wood that floats on the sea. One thing I’ve learned is that I’m no sailor.’