Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

‘I’ve hardly stirred outside this chamber since.’

‘Come here,’ he said gently, offering his arms again.

‘No — stay away.’

‘Golde!’

‘This is not something which can be kissed away, Ralph. You took a deliberate decision not to tell me something I ought to have known.’

‘The sheriff swore me to secrecy.’

‘Did that mean your wife had to be excluded?’

‘I thought so.’

‘And do you think so now?’

‘No, I was wrong. I confess it frankly. As for the lady Maud,’ he said vengefully, ‘I’ll not have her mocking my wife. I’ll speak to her sharply on the subject and it will not happen again, I assure you.’

Golde was livid. ‘I don’t need you to fight my battles for me and I certainly don’t want you to go charging in to make a bad situation far worse with your heavy-handed interference. No, Ralph,’ she said, shaking with rage, ‘I can take care of myself. But I would rather fight battles of my own making than be landed in them by you. Especially when you’ve taken away the one weapon I need to defend myself.’

Ralph was distraught. Unable to comfort her, he sought a means of atonement but he had no idea what it might be. Gesturing his apology to her, he made one last attempt to enfold her in an embrace. Her hostile stare made him freeze. Reconciliation was still too far off. Golde moved to sit on the bed, her back to him, and Ralph decided to give her time to calm down and let himself quietly out of the room. After the unexpected venom of her attack, he needed a chance to recuperate.

His host was in no mood to give it to him. When they met on the stairs, Durand the Sheriff was at his most wrathful. He let out a growl.

‘I was looking for you, my lord!’ he said menacingly.

‘Has the King arrived yet?’

‘Forget him. We need to talk about the abbey. Bishop Wulfstan has just come from there and I could not believe what he told me.’

‘I never believe bishops myself,’ said Ralph. ‘On principle.’

‘According to him, you have been going behind my back. You and Master Bret and that bloated Canon Hubert are trying to discharge my office for me by holding your own murder inquiry.’

‘That is not strictly true, my lord.’

‘I had it from Wulfstan himself. He told me how Canon Hubert ridiculed my efforts and bragged about your own. Apparently, you have discovered clues which I am too bone-headed to find. Is this so, my lord?’ he demanded, eyes alight. ‘Must we address you as Ralph the Sheriff from now on? Am I to quit the castle and let you be constable in my stead?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then why do you presume to interfere?’

‘Help, my lord. We are only trying to help.’

‘Well, it is the strangest kind of help I have ever received and it is neither wanted nor tolerated. How dare you! If anyone else tried to “help” me in this way, I’d cut him in two. If anyone else concealed evidence from me in a murder investigation, I’d throw him in my dungeon. This is unworthy of you, my lord!’ he railed.

‘You’re a guest here and deserve the consideration due to a guest.

But there are courtesies due to a host and you have completely failed to show them.’

‘Will you at least let me explain?’ asked Ralph.

‘Your behaviour explains itself.’

‘We are not your competitors, my lord, but your auxiliaries.’

‘Auxiliaries obey their master! You maim his reputation.’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Be warned,’ shouted Durand, his temples throbbing. ‘I rule here. Life and death are at my command. Only the King has more power in this county. If there is any more interference from you, I will be forced to bring the full weight of the law down upon you.’

‘We simply wish to solve a crime!’

But his plea went unheard. Turning on his heel, Durand charged off to the hall and left his guest alone. Ralph was dazed by the force of the assault. His first impulse was to retreat to the privacy of his room but there was no solace there. He was more likely to walk into another ambush. Upstairs and downstairs, there was no escape. Caught between an irate wife and an enraged sheriff, Ralph did the only thing he felt able to do. He sat down on the step and occupied a position between the two. It was lonely but there was at least a measure of safety.

The daily routine at the abbey left the novices little opportunity to be on their own, and the few moments that Kenelm was able to steal never seemed to last long. Elaf was always prowling in his wake, seeking to reassure him, fearing that his friend might do something impetuous, hardly daring to let him out of his sight.

Kenelm was pleased, therefore, when he finally shook off his shadow. Instead of going to his usual refuge in the garden, he found a quiet spot near the Infirmary and lurked unseen beside a holly bush. Precious minutes alone were devoted to more recrimination. Kenelm was convinced that his only means of escape lay in quitting the abbey completely.

A quiet voice interrupted him with an almost deafening impact.

‘What are you doing here?’ asked Owen, crouching by the bush.

‘Go away!’ snarled the other.

‘I followed you, Kenelm.’

‘Well, I don’t want to be followed.’

‘I know. I saw you dodge over here to shake off Elaf.’

‘Have you been spying on me, Owen?’

‘No, no!’ replied the other, backing away from the brandished fist. ‘I’ll go, if you wish. I just thought you might want to talk about Brother Nicholas, that’s all.’

‘Not to you.’

Owen sagged. ‘No, I suppose not. You never liked him.’

‘He was loathsome.’

‘Brother Nicholas was murdered,’ said the smaller boy with wild passion. ‘Can’t you find any sympathy in your heart?’

Kenelm was immediately chastened. ‘Yes, I can,’ he said, chin falling to his chest. ‘I never liked him but I regret what happened to him. I could not regret it more, Owen. His death has ruined my life.’

‘How?’

‘That’s no business of yours.’

‘But it is, Kenelm. We are taught to help each other.’

‘Leaving me alone is the only way to help me.’

‘Very well.’ A studied pause. ‘Did he give you anything?’

‘Who?’

‘Brother Nicholas.’

‘Why should he give me anything?’

‘That means he didn’t.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Friendship. Brother Nicholas was my friend.’

‘He had no friends.’

‘Yes, he did,’ said the other staunchly. ‘Me.’

Kenelm’s curiosity was stirred. ‘Is that what he told you?’

‘Of course.’

‘When?’

‘Whenever he saw me.’

‘But he was hardly ever in the abbey.’

‘That’s what you think. He slipped back sometimes when he was supposed to be out collecting rents. At night, usually. To see me.’

‘Why ever should he want to see you?’

‘We were friends.’

‘What sort of friends?’

‘Good ones.’

Kenelm studied the innocent young face before him. Owen had neither the skill nor the experience to deceive him. It was much more likely that he had deceived himself.

‘And did Brother Nicholas ever give you anything, Owen?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘What was it?’

‘A token.’

‘Of what?’

‘Our friendship, of course.’

An uneasy sensation coursed through Kenelm. He moved closer.

‘Did you have to do anything to get this token, Owen?’

‘Do anything?’

‘Yes, for Brother Nicholas. Did you?’

Owen nodded. ‘I had to promise to tell nobody.’

‘About what?’

‘What happened. What we talked about. What we did.’

‘Go on,’ pressed Kenelm, desperate to hear more.