Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

It was an abandoned mill. His heart sank as he saw what it must mean. He was some distance from Gloucester. The abbey he loved so much and the city which surrounded it were far away. He wondered if he would ever see them again. Whenever he moved even slightly, ropes chafed his wrists and his ankles.

His muscles seemed to be on fire. Wanting to cry, he could not even produce tears. It was frustrating. Owen turned his mind once more to his departed friend. His silent plea was charged with despair.

‘Help me, Brother Nicholas! Where are you?’

King William sat at the table with the others ranged around him.

The two leading barons who had ridden with him said little, having already had discussions with him on the journey to Gloucester.

Durand the Sheriff was unusually quite reticent, agreeing with all that was suggested and concealing any reservations he had about the proposed course of action. It was Bishop Wulfstan who provided most of the questions. The one prelate at the table was not daunted by the presence of four soldiers.

‘I am not entirely persuaded, my liege,’ he said respectfully.

‘Why not?’ said William.

‘Because your army is already stretched and your resources pushed to the limit. Retrenchment is the order of the day.’

‘That’s foolish talk,’ said Durand.

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, Bishop Wulfstan. In military situations, we cannot always stop to count the cost. If we did, we would never do anything.’

‘Armies must be paid, fed, moved here and there.’

‘It is an expensive business,’ said William heavily. ‘Nobody denies that. Least of all me. I have spent my whole life paying one set of men to fight another. I have fought in endless battles myself. Victory is the best source of revenue. We must never forget that. What we spend now, we recoup when we win the field.’

Wulfstan was uncertain. ‘Are we confident of winning this time?’

‘Yes!’ asserted Durand.

‘But you will not be bearing arms yourself, my lord sheriff.’

‘No matter. I will be there in spirit.’

‘And in the person of your knights,’ added William approvingly.

‘Durand will pay more than his share towards this enterprise.

That is why I held this meeting in Gloucester before holding a larger council to announce my plans. I could be sure of complete loyalty here.’

‘From the Church in particular,’ Wulfstan reminded him.

‘But you are the only one to oppose this invasion,’ said Durand.

‘Loyalty means unconditional support, Bishop Wulfstan, not penny-pinching moans of dissent.’

‘You’ll hear no moans from me, my lord sheriff. I question this decision because it is only right that someone should. Call me a devil’s advocate, if you wish, though I am sure you call me worse in private. King William does not employ me to agree with every word he says.’

William grinned. ‘It is just as well!’

‘My task is to make you think of every aspect of a plan.’

‘And you do it admirably, Bishop Wulfstan. But,’ he said as he stretched his arms, ‘we have been at it long enough, I fancy. Let us break off here and meet again this evening to finalise what we have agreed. Thank you all. Progress has been made.’ The others rose to leave. ‘Stay, Durand,’ he said. ‘I want some private conference.’

Wulfstan and the two barons bade them farewell and left the hall. The bishop was anxious to return to the abbey for news of the steps taken to track down the missing boy, and his companions wanted to exchange with each other the doubts they had been too tactful to raise during the discussion. All three of them left the keep.

Still in the hall, King William rose to his feet with a cup of wine in his hand. Old age had caused him to fill out and had put something of a waddle into his walk. He strolled across to the window.

‘What do you think, Durand?’

‘About the invasion? I have already told you.’

‘Forget that,’ said William. ‘I refer to the information we received earlier. To be honest, I am inclined to ignore it.’

‘That would be reckless.’

‘A certain amount of recklessness is always necessary.’

‘But there is no point in taking chances, my liege,’ said Durand.

‘If there is to be an assassination attempt, we must be ready to resist it. You must comply with all the precautions I suggest.’

‘Must I?’ said the other wearily. ‘I have been threatened with assassination for as long as I can remember. Most of those threats have been hollow. Those that had substance were soon snuffed out. A lot of men have gone to their deaths because they dared to imagine they might be able to kill me.’ He ran a finger around the rim of his wine cup. ‘Who could possibly have hatched this plot? So few people know that I am even in this part of the country. No,’ he decided, on the move again, ‘I will treat it with contempt.’

‘But it comes from such a reliable source, my liege.’

‘That is true. Ralph Delchard would not invent such a warning.

But how did he get wind of it? That’s what I wish to know.’

‘So do I,’ said Durand. ‘I mean to press him hard on the subject.’

‘As you wish. But all that I will agree to is an extra guard posted outside my room at night. Who could penetrate a fortress like this? You have worked hard to strengthen it. We could repel a thousand assassins from inside these walls, yet Ralph was talking of a lone killer. One man is up against hopeless odds, Durand,’ he said, putting his cup down on the table. ‘I refuse to lose a wink’s sleep over this supposed threat.’

‘You will not need to, my liege. I will protect you.’

William gave him a pat of thanks on the arm and they moved slowly towards the door. The heavy tread of the King’s feet gave ample warning. Several seconds before they left the hall, the person who had been listening outside the door was able to flit away to a hiding place.

After leaving some of his men at the quayside to search all boats coming downriver, Ralph Delchard led the way back to the abbey at a steady trot. He and Gervase Bret believed that, in their eagerness to follow the trail of the kidnapper, they had overlooked some vital clues there.

‘I’d like to speak to those novices again,’ said Ralph as they rode through the crowded streets. ‘Kenelm and Elaf. I’m not sure that they told us everything they knew.’

‘No,’ agreed Gervase. ‘Kenelm in particular. I sensed that he might be holding something back. We need to get him on his own. When we questioned him before, we had Bishop Wulfstan and Brother Frewine there as well. It must have been very intimidating for him, facing the four of us like that. It drove him back into his shell.’

‘I’ll pull him out of it!’

‘He won’t be pulled, Ralph. He needs to be coaxed.’

‘Coaxing takes too much time.’

They arrived at the abbey, dismounted and tethered their horses. When they went through the gate, the first people they met were Bishop Wulfstan and Hamelin of Lisieux, talking seriously together. Seeing the newcomers, they broke off their conversation.

‘What news?’ asked Wulfstan, shuffling across to them.

‘We are making progress,’ said Ralph, ‘but it is slow, I fear.’

‘Canon Hubert told me you had found the locksmith who made the duplicate key. A clever deduction on your part but a devastating one for Abbot Serlo to accept.’

‘Yes,’ said Hamelin solemnly. ‘Bishop Wulfstan was just relating the sad story to me. A key to the abbey. They are lucky they have only lost a few novices. If someone was able to come in and out of here at will, they could have borne off the gold and silver plate, the holy vessels for the altar and the precious relics.’