Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

‘Thank you, my lady. Thank you very much.’

The Archdeacon of Gwent strode off through the gate and left her wondering what had put the arrowheads of concern in his brow. She was about to turn away when horses came trotting into the bailey. Four men-at-arms were escorting a woman of such beauty that every eye was immediately turned to her. When she saw Golde, she nudged her horse across to her and flashed a brilliant smile.

‘Good morning,’ she said brightly. ‘I am calling on the lady Maud.’

‘I am just about to return to her myself.’

‘Then I will accompany you, if I may. You must be a guest here.’

‘Yes, my lady. My husband is one of the royal commissioners visiting Gloucester. His name is Ralph Delchard.’

‘Then I know him. I met him at the shire hall when my own husband appeared there to substantiate a claim. You are fortunate. Ralph Delchard is a proper man in every sense.’ She beamed regally. ‘I am the lady Emma, wife to Hamelin of Lisieux.

I am sure that your husband must have mentioned me.’

‘Of course,’ said Golde with convincing honesty.

But it was a lie which smouldered at the back of her mind.

Brother Paul was lenient. Showing a compassion they did not know he possessed, the Master of the Novices released both Elaf and Kenelm from their lessons that morning in the belief that they needed time to recover from the horrors they had witnessed. It was a welcome change of heart. When he confessed that he had left the dormitory at night once more, Kenelm expected to be flogged by Brother Paul. Instead, he was free to wander in the garden with his friend but it gave him no discernible joy. He remained distrait. Elaf was concerned about him.

‘You look ill, Kenelm.’

‘I feel ill.’

‘Go to the Infirmary. Seek a remedy.’

‘My illness cannot be cured with a herbal compound, Elaf. It’s not my body that is sick. It’s my mind.’

‘Do those terrible thoughts still come?’

‘They are worse since last night. I fear so for Owen.’

‘So do I, Kenelm.’

‘I feel so guilty that I laughed at him now.’

Elaf nodded. ‘What I cannot understand is why he went to the cemetery in the first place. And at night.’

‘It was the only time when he wouldn’t be seen.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Can’t you guess? He was going to pay his respects.’

‘To Brother Nicholas?’ said Elaf in wonderment. ‘Why?’

Kenelm stared at him to make sure that he could trust him, then he looked around to ensure that there were no eavesdroppers. With a hand on his friend’s shoulder, he led him deeper into the garden.

‘Nobody must know this, Elaf.’

‘You can rely on me.’

‘Can I?’

‘Of course.’

‘Swear it.’

‘I do, Kenelm!’

‘I didn’t even tell this to Brother Owl and the others.’

‘Not even to Bishop Wulfstan?’

‘Most of all to him. He frightens me. He is so saintly.’

‘Bishop Wulfstan inspires me,’ said Elaf. ‘But what’s this secret you kept from them? Was it something that happened last night?’

‘No, yesterday.’

‘Go on.’

‘I slipped away to be alone.’

‘Yes, I know, Kenelm. I looked for you everywhere.’

‘I was in no mood for company,’ explained the other, ‘so I sought a hiding place. Over by the Infirmary. But someone followed me.’

‘Owen?’

‘Yes, Elaf.’

‘Why?’

‘He wanted to talk about Brother Nicholas. Don’t ask why he chose me but he did. If I’d known it was the last time I’d ever speak to him, I’d have listened more carefully.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He was saying something important.’

‘About what?’

‘Why he liked Brother Nicholas. Yes, I know, we hated him and so did the other novices. I think the only one of the monks who could bear to be near him was Brother Owl.’

‘He puts up with anybody.’ A half-smile came. ‘Even us.’

‘Yes, even us. He’s been a friend.’

‘Tell me about Owen.’

‘He and Brother Nicholas were closer than we thought.’

‘Is that what Owen told you?’

‘Not in so many words,’ said Kenelm, ‘but that’s what it amounted to. How and when they met, I’m not sure, but they obviously did or they couldn’t have developed a bond between them. That’s what it was, Elaf. A bond. Like the one between us.’

‘But we spend all day together.’

‘It makes no difference.’

‘It does, Kenelm. We’re both novices. We’re the same age, we have the same interests. It’s, well … it’s sort of natural. Brother Nicholas was a monk. He was much older than Owen. What could they possibly have in common?’

‘That’s what I’ve been thinking about.’

‘Did Owen say what it was?’

‘He hinted at it, Elaf. What he did last night proves it. I mean, it takes bravery to go in among those gravestones in the dark. I didn’t have it. I ran away. But Owen had it. And I know who he got it from.’

‘Who?’

‘Brother Nicholas.’

Elaf frowned. ‘From this bond they had between them?’

‘Yes. If I’d heard this a few days ago, I’d have sniggered as loud as anyone, but not now. What happened to both of them has made me show a little more respect. Brother Nicholas was murdered. Owen was taken away by someone. They deserve respect, Elaf.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, don’t laugh when I tell you why Owen went to the cemetery last night. Do you promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘It’s very simple, really.’

‘Is it?’

‘Owen loved him.’

Abraham the Priest was relieved to hear that Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret were still at the abbey but he had some difficulty in finding them. The prolonged search gave him time to question his motives for wishing to see the commissioners. Competing loyalties tugged his mind first one way and then another, causing him to stop, press on, turn to leave, resume the search and hesitate all over again. When he finally caught up with them, they were in the cemetery, gazing down at the last resting place of Brother Nicholas and looking for signs of a struggle. There were none. Only a raven’s beak had disturbed the earth in the mound. The feet of many mourners had already trampled the grass around the grave so it yielded up no useful clues.

The Archdeacon of Gwent called out to them and raised a hand in greeting. Ralph was not pleased to see him. Fearing that they were about to be petitioned by the newcomer about his claim to land in the Westbury Hundred, he was uncompromisingly firm.

‘Good day to you,’ he said briskly. ‘You must excuse us.’

‘But I have to speak to you, my lord.’

‘Another time.’

‘This will not wait.’

Ralph was blunt. ‘It will have to, Archdeacon. The shire hall is the only place where we consider any dispute so you must save your breath until we return there. May I say, however, that this attempt to gain our ear in private does not become you? It will hardly advance your claim.’

‘I did not come to talk about the dispute, my lord.’

‘No matter. Whatever subject you wish to discuss, we are deaf to it. Our minds are engaged elsewhere. Stand aside, I pray, for we are on urgent business that must not be delayed.’

‘Nothing is more urgent than my business, my lord.’

‘More urgent than the murder of a monk and the abduction of a novice? Really, Archdeacon. Let us keep a sense of proportion here.’

Abraham was shaken. ‘The abduction of a novice? When?’

‘Last night. From this very cemetery.’

‘But how? The abbey is surely locked.’

‘That mystery at least is solved,’ said Gervase, adopting a more friendly tone. ‘A duplicate key was obtained. Someone was able to let themselves in and out of here at will.’