Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

He gave a concise account of what had happened, observing, as he did so, how anxious and uncomfortable the archdeacon was. The poise and dignity he had shown in the shire hall were nowhere to be seen. The impulse which brought the Welshman after them seemed to involve a degree of soul-searching. His face was drawn, his eyes had a haunted look. Gervase’s tale only served to deepen his anguish. Putting aside his own tidings, he pressed for more details about the missing boy. Ralph shifted his feet impatiently but Gervase answered every question, sensing that Abraham had a special interest in the subject.

‘Unhappily, I may be able to help you,’ he said.

‘Where’s the unhappiness in that?’ protested Ralph. ‘Help of any kind will be happily received. If you have none to give, move out of our way while we continue our investigations.’

‘Forgive me, my lord. My comment was poorly phrased. What I meant was that I know why Owen was taken and where he is destined to go. It is that which causes my unhappiness, the fear that the boy will suffer the same fate as the others.’

‘Others?’

‘Siward and Dena?’ suggested Gervase. ‘The earlier novices.’

Abraham shook his head. ‘I know nothing of any other novices, Master Bret. I was talking about young boys who vanished from the Welsh commotes. Over the years, there have been far too many cases for them to be explained away as unfortunate accidents. Grieving parents have come to me for help and comfort too often. It is horrifying. I have preached many sermons against it.’‘Against what?’ said Ralph.

‘The slave trade.’

‘Abbot Serlo touched on that,’ recalled Gervase. ‘He confided to Canon Hubert that the disappearances from the abbey could be in some way connected with it.’

‘I am certain of it,’ said Abraham sadly, ‘because I have set myself to stamp out this hideous trade. It is barbaric. I have written both to Archbishop Lanfranc and to Bishop Wulfstan because I know that they, too, are waging a war against these vile men.’

‘How does this trade operate?’

‘Cunningly, Master Bret.’

‘But where are the boys taken?’

‘To Bristol. They are then shipped to Ireland where they are sold for high prices. It is blood money. I have raised the alarm in the Welsh commotes and everyone has been on their guard. No abductions have been reported for some time. I began to hope that the trade was dying out but I am clearly wrong. They are looking elsewhere for their victims,’ he said incredulously. ‘Even inside the Abbey of St Peter!’

‘What you have told us is very useful,’ conceded Ralph. ‘How would the boys be taken to Bristol? Overland?’

‘No, my lord. That would be too risky even at night. I believe that they are hidden aboard boats which sail downriver to Bristol.

They are then transferred to a larger vessel which heads for Ireland.’

‘Has no effort been made to reclaim them?’

‘None that has met with any success. We have no friends across the water. The Irish Vikings would never admit that they had bought slaves from here, still less hand them tamely back on request. I know of one distraught father from Archenfield who took to a ship himself to search for his two lost sons in Ireland.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He never returned.’

‘Is no check put on this trade at Bristol?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Abraham, ‘but the slave traders are devious men. Whether by bribes or by guile, they’ll find a way to smuggle their cargo out somehow. That is why we must stop it at source by catching the perpetrators of this outrage.’

The Archdeacon of Gwent had regained much of his eloquence and controlled passion. As he described the extent of the trade and his persistent efforts to eradicate it, Ralph gained a new respect for him. What he was hearing were vital new facts which pointed them in the direction they had to take next. Irritated by the Welshman’s arrival at first, he was now profoundly grateful for it.

‘We think the boy may still be in Gloucester,’ he said.

‘I doubt that, my lord.’

‘But I’ve alerted the sentries at the gates. They have instructions to stop and question everyone leaving the city. There is no way that Owen can be taken out by the man who abducted him.’

Abraham gave a melancholy smile. ‘If only that were true.’

The coracle looked far too small and flimsy to brave the treacherous waters of the River Severn. As it bobbed and spun, it described crazy patterns and seemed to be on the verge of sinking at any moment. But it was handled by an expert, seasoned by a lifetime as a fisherman and able to manoeuvre the craft in the most daunting conditions. Where others might have been alarmed by the sudden lurches and random twists, he treated them as if they were the gentle rocking of a cradle.

Owen did not share his confidence. Trussed up in the bottom of the coracle, he was covered by a blanket which was in turn covered by the morning’s liberal catch of fish. The boy was in terror, fearing for his life and wishing that he had never ventured out at night to pray beside the grave of his beloved Brother Nicholas. It was bad enough to be attacked, overpowered, tied up and dragged out of the safety of the abbey, but this new ordeal was unbearable. As the coracle was buffeted by the current into a bewildering series of circles and dips, Owen prayed that someone would remove the gag from his mouth.

He wanted to be sick.

‘You must let me help,’ implored Abraham the Priest. ‘Please, my lord.’

‘You have already been extremely helpful,’ said Ralph.

‘But I wish to join you in the hunt.’

‘That will not be necessary.’

‘Owen is not a member of your diocese,’ said Gervase quietly.

‘You have no responsibility for him.’

‘I have a responsibility for any child who falls victim to slave traders. It is my personal crusade. In any case,’ he said, looking from Gervase to Ralph, ‘a missing novice hardly falls within the sphere of your responsibility. You are relative intruders here.’

Ralph was terse. ‘Our assistance was sought by Abbot Serlo.’

‘I am glad that it was, my lord. But I am sure that the abbot would be just as eager to seek my help if he knew of my familiarity with this particular crime. Take me with you.’

‘No, Archdeacon.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I say so.’

‘Do not be offended,’ said Gervase, trying to soothe him. ‘There is no personal animus here. We admire you for what you have done in trying to put a stop to this trade but we are more accustomed to following the trails of ruthless criminals. A murder is also involved here, remember. If and when we catch up with the killer, he is not likely to surrender without a fight. We cannot risk injury to you, Archdeacon.’

‘I would willingly take that risk.’

‘Out of the question,’ decided Ralph.

‘Besides,’ said Gervase with a polite smile, ‘until you met us, you had no idea that this second crime had taken place. Another errand brought you here, a serious one, I suspect, judging by the way it seemed to trouble your mind.’ Abraham gave a mild start.

‘Would you care to tell us what the problem is?’

‘Gervase, we cannot tarry,’ said Ralph. ‘This can wait.’

‘I think not, Ralph.’

‘It must. Owen’s fate must be averted.’

‘We can spare a few minutes. Unless I am mistaken, what we are about to hear is something of grave importance. Is that not true?’ he said, turning to the archdeacon. ‘Well?’

But the Welshman was caught up in a battle of loyalties once more, unable to speak yet horrified at the dire consequences of holding his tongue. Ralph became more restive. Seeing the archdeacon’s obvious distress, Gervase tried to ease him out of it by speaking to him in Welsh.