Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

He winced. ‘But I didn’t.’

‘May I know the reason?’

‘Because she was not germane to our inquiry,’ he argued weakly.

‘The lord Hamelin brought her along to support him and distract us. Naturally, we spotted his device at once. To a man, we ignored the lady Emma completely.’

‘Ralph!’ she said with amused cynicism. ‘I might accept that Canon Hubert ignored her and I’m sure that Brother Simon hid under the table, but you could never ignore a woman as beautiful as that. Undyingly faithful as he is to Alys, I daresay that even Gervase raised an eyebrow.’

The sheepish grin. ‘The lady Emma does seize the attention.’

‘Why not admit that at the start? I’m not complaining out of envy, though any woman would suffer that when confronted with her. Once again, you put me in an invidious position. The lady Emma told me something I should first have heard from you.’

‘I accept that.’

‘How many more times will this happen?’

‘Never, my love.’

‘You said that when we fell out earlier. Then this second lapse occurs. It made me feel so foolish. That’s why I could not stay in the lady Maud’s apartment with them,’ she said. ‘The lady Emma was asking about the King’s reason for being here and the lady Maud was lamenting the fact that she had no idea what it was.

When it became a discussion of what husbands tell their wives, I had to get out of there.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘If you had had the sense to tell me about your meeting with the lady Emma, none of this would have happened.’

‘Exactly. I am duly shamed, Golde, and just wish we did not have to have this dispute at the one time when it cannot properly be resolved. But, as you see, I really have to go. However, with regard to the lady Emma, I will say one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘No man could lead her astray. She dotes on her husband.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes,’ he said with a grin. ‘Almost as much as I dote on my wife.’

It was Golde who kissed him this time.

Having parted on more amicable terms, Ralph hurried back to the gatehouse. Gervase was waiting for him but so, he now saw, was Nigel the Reeve. The two were engaged in a mild argument.

Ralph swept up to bring it to a summary conclusion.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded of the reeve.

‘Hoping to see you, my lord.’

‘I cannot stay to be seen. Urgent business calls.’

‘That is exactly what I was discussing with Master Bret,’ said the other. ‘This urgent business. I know what it is but, at your direction, I have not mentioned it to the four claimants in the dispute which you have been trying to resolve. But they are hounding me, my lord. They demand to know why there’s been a delay and how long it will last.’

‘We do not know how long.’

‘Can I at least explain the reason for your decision?’

‘I am sure you’ve already done so to one of them,’ said Ralph, eyeing him darkly. ‘The well-informed Hamelin of Lisieux gets to hear everything from his lackey. As for the others, they could not all have been barking at your heels. We have just spoken to Abraham the Priest and he didn’t even raise the subject of the shire hall.’

‘He is not the problem, my lord,’ admitted Nigel. ‘Strang the Dane is the worst offender here. He and his creeping reeve have been trailing me relentlessly. They have commitments out of the city and cannot stay long. Yet they fear to go lest you sit in session during their absence and omit them from your considerations.’ He sounded reasonable for once. ‘Querengar has shown restraint but even he is pressing me. It’s only fair to tell them something.’

‘I agree,’ said Gervase. ‘Since the lord Hamelin knows, why conceal it from the others? They must recognise the seriousness of the crime.’

Mulling it over, Ralph put his foot in the stirrup of his horse and hauled himself into the saddle. He kept Nigel the Reeve waiting for his decision. When it came, it was abrupt.

‘Tell them,’ he said at length. ‘Warn them that it might be days before we are able to reconvene. Tell them all. Beginning, of course, with the lord Hamelin or he will be vexed with you.’

Anxiety continued to peck away hard at Abraham the Priest. It was no consolation to him that he had done what he believed was the right thing. In obeying the impulse to reveal the existence of an assassination plot, he had salved his conscience to some degree, but left it vulnerable to further attack. Riding alone out of the city, he wondered if he should have invited Tomos to go with him so that he could take soundings from his companion.

On reflection, he was grateful that he had not, convinced that the young monk might not approve of his actions and not wanting to forfeit the unquestioning faith which the latter placed in him.

There was also another side to his gratitude. In leaving Tomos in ignorance, he was sparing him any unpleasant repercussions.

Abraham had to confront Madog and his men on his own and take all their anger upon him.

Brad. It was a short word in Welsh but it had a long meaning for the archdeacon. Treason. Betrayal. Reneging on a bargain.

Violating a trust. Turning away from his country. Committing a shameful act. Disloyalty. Treachery. Was that really a fair description of his behaviour? He had betrayed his friends, it was true, but only because they were bent on a course of action he could never support. It was they who planned to commit treason, and only his treachery could stop them. And was it really treachery to deflect Madog and the others from a course of action which was almost certainly suicidal? Nothing could be achieved by the pointless waste of lives on an ill-conceived venture.

Abraham told himself that he had not betrayed his country.

Having proudly assisted at the birth of a baby boy, he had now helped to keep several adults in the breathing world. That was an achievement which was worth the obloquy he would earn. In time, the child would grow up to hear how the Archdeacon of Gwent himself had delivered him into his Welsh heritage.

Abraham could only hope that Madog and his men would, in time, weigh commonsense against disappointment and realise that the archdeacon had been their salvation. Such a resolution was a long way off, he knew that. There would be much pain and recrimination before then, much abuse to withstand.

It could be lessened. If he told them a lie, Abraham could deflect the blame from himself and let them expend their rage impotently on the King himself. He could tell them that William had left Gloucester for an unknown destination. None the wiser, Madog would lead his men back home to Wales. It was an attractive idea but it was almost instantly dismissed. His friends might not know the truth but he would and it could not be held back from them. Besides, he was their spiritual leader. They looked to him as a Christian exemplar. He had acted in the way that God would want him to act. There was no need to apologise to them or even to justify his actions. God had spoken through him.

Buoyed up by that thought, he nudged his horse into a canter until the copse at last came in view. It was an ideal refuge, large enough to conceal them yet too small and isolated to be part of the forest and thus subject to the savagery of forest law. No verderers and foresters would patrol this outcrop of trees. They were safe from scrutiny and could plot a hundred assassinations beneath the green leaves without being disturbed. But the archdeacon would disturb them now. Instead of bringing them the information they demanded, he would be announcing the demise of their plan.

When he reached the copse, he slowed his horse to a trot and picked his way through the trees, gritting his teeth and trying to shake off vestigial doubts. These were his friends and countrymen.