Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

‘Would you not like Golde to see where you were born?’

‘Of course.’

‘To show her the beauties of Normandy?’

‘Nothing would please me more.’

‘Nor her. Golde has more than once confided to me that she would love to cross the Channel with you to your homeland.’

‘This is my homeland now, Gervase.’

‘But you also have estates in Normandy.’

‘Administered by trusty people,’ said Ralph. ‘I keep in touch with them by letter. They manage well enough without me. No, I will be more than happy if I never have to take to the water again.’

‘Not even on a river?’

‘Not even then, Gervase. Especially one as churlish as the Severn. Look at it,’ he said, waving an arm. ‘Even from here you can see the strength of the current. I’ll remain on dry land.’

A stand of sycamores rose up on their left to obscure the river and allow their thoughts to turn once more to the murder that had brought them out to visit Osgot.

‘Brother Nicholas was an odd character,’ said Gervase. ‘Everyone took a dislike to him yet they will not tell you exactly why.’

‘We can guess Osgot’s reason.’

‘Not every tenant has a well-favoured son, Ralph. Why did the others turn away from him? Nobody likes to pay rent but they do not always despise the rent collector, especially if they inhabit abbey land. When I was at Eltham, our rent collector, Brother Saul, was one of the most popular monks in the abbey.’

‘Perhaps he did not look at young boys in a peculiar way.’

‘There’s more to it than that.’

‘Is there? Remember what those novices told you.’

‘I do, Ralph, but they only gave part of the story. I cannot believe that Brother Nicholas was entirely without friends. An abbey is a haven of tolerance. There must be someone within its precincts who liked him enough to overlook his unfortunate manner.’

‘What about the Precentor?’

‘Brother Frewine defended him, it is true, but I suspect that he would defend anyone in a Benedictine cowl out of sheer loyalty.

The abbot would probably do the same.’

‘He did, Gervase. I probed him hard but he would admit to no faults in his rent collector. Serlo pretended to admire the man but I sensed no real affection. Brother Nicholas was an outsider at the abbey.’

‘That brings us back to the sheriff’s conviction that the victim was murdered by one of his fellow monks.’

‘I refuse to believe that.’

‘So do I.’

‘Monks are more guileful. They would hide a dead body where it could never be found. No, it was not one of them, Gervase.’

‘We may both be proved wrong.’

‘If we are, it will not be by Durand. His investigation has so far achieved nothing beyond stirring up a lot of dust. We have already discovered things which completely eluded him and his officers.

And if we are to be given the dubious honour of a royal visit,’ said Ralph as they came out into open country once more, ‘our peppery sheriff will have his hands full at the castle. He’ll not be able to conduct this inquiry properly.’

‘Will the King come?’ asked Gervase.

‘He may, he may not. You know how changeable he is.’

‘I also know that he does nothing without a purpose, Ralph.’

‘Granted.’

‘So what purpose could bring him to Gloucester?’

‘Affairs of state.’

‘Can you guess what they might be?’

‘No, Gervase,’ said the other. ‘It sounds like a decision made on the spur of the moment. Why send a messenger to forewarn Durand of a possible visit when we could have brought the same information from Winchester? The King knew when and where we travelled.’

‘Some emergency may have arisen.’

‘That’s my fear.’

‘What could it be?’

‘Only time will tell, Gervase,’ said Ralph as the city loomed up in the distance. ‘As long as William does not interfere with our work at the shire hall. We have enough problems as it is. The last thing we need is someone looking over our shoulder. Even if it is a King.’

‘Supposing it were the lady Emma?’

Ralph beamed. ‘Ah, that’s another matter.’

‘I thought it might be.’

‘The lady Emma can look over my shoulder any time she wishes.

If I were not married to the most wonderful woman in England, I would harbour dark desires about that extraordinary creature we met at the shire hall today.’

‘Querengar the Breton?’ teased his friend.

‘The lady Emma!’

‘Oh, her.’

‘Beauty incarnate.’

‘A pleasing face, I agree.’

‘Pleasing! It could sow lust in the heart of a pope. I tell you, there was a brief moment when I wished I was still young and unmarried.’

‘But since you do have a wife?’ Gervase reminded him.

‘And such a wife!’ said Ralph, kicking his horse into a canter.

‘I’ll count my blessings and hasten back to her.’

Gervase spent the last mile trying to catch up with him.

The pleasure of seeing her sister again seemed to increase rather than pall. Secure in the love of a good man, Aelgar looked radiant and Golde could not have been more happy for her, knowing how much distress she had endured in the past. Her younger sister had been blessed with a pale loveliness which Golde had envied as a child until she realised what a mixed blessing it was.

Unwanted suitors had plagued Aelgar throughout her young life, and Golde would never forget the ardent Norman lord who tried to take by force what he could not win by courtship. Now, happily, having survived all that, her sister had found the man of her dreams. The doting Forne allowed her to blossom into full womanhood.

Golde quickly warmed towards Forne himself. Like the two sisters, he was born of noble stock with a wealthy father who had been largely dispossessed after the Conquest. Yet enough land remained in the possession of the family to ensure a relatively comfortable life, especially when added to the property in Archenfield which Aelgar herself had inherited from the man to whom she had been betrothed until his brutal murder. Present joy helped past tragedy to recede in her mind. If anyone deserved her share of marital bliss, Golde mused, watching the young lovers together, it was her sister. Happiness was long overdue.

‘Where will you live?’ she asked.

‘Together,’ said Forne with a fond grin.

‘In Archenfield?’

‘Where else?’

‘Hereford.’

‘No, Golde,’ said her sister. ‘It is time for me to make a complete break from there. My life is with Forne now.’

‘What will become of the house?’

‘It will be sold along with that eternal smell of beer.’

‘I learned to enjoy the odour.’

‘You were always the genuine brewer. Those I employ now have none of your skills. There have been complaints from the castle.’

‘Yes,’ said Forne. ‘I hear that your ale was incomparable, Golde.’

‘Ralph does not think so.’

‘Have you not won him over?’

‘No, he will touch nothing but wine.’

‘A true Norman!’

‘In most things.’

‘What sort of man is he?’ asked Forne guardedly. ‘Aelgar has talked much about your husband but she hardly knows him.’

‘I know enough to speak well of him,’ said his betrothed.

‘But you were not at first overjoyed when you learned that he was going to marry your sister. You had qualms. You told me so.’

There was a sudden pause, the first since they had met, and they squirmed on their benches as the discordant note was struck.

The three of them were bunched around the table in the house owned by Forne’s kinsman, Hadwig, a burgess in the city and a man of moderate wealth. The house was large enough to accommodate the two visitors in separate bays and Golde suspected that it was the first time they had spent a night under the same roof. It explained the tingle of excitement whenever they exchanged a glance, though there was no excitement now.