Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

When the festivities finally ended, the guests slowly began to depart. King William came across to put a congratulatory arm around Ralph’s shoulders. He gave a chuckle.

‘I should take some credit myself,’ he observed.

‘Credit, my liege?’

‘Yes,’ said William. ‘Who was it who sent you to Gloucester in its hour of need? You came at exactly the right time, Ralph.’

‘But not to get embroiled in murder and abduction. We came here as commissioners, my liege. As it happens,’ he said, seizing a unique opportunity, ‘your own arrival here could not have been more timely. Tomorrow morning we sit in judgement on two men who have royal charters to what appears to be the same holdings.’

‘That will test your mettle.’

‘I was hoping you could save us an immense amount of trouble, my liege. All that you need do is glance at the two charters and tell us which one takes precedence.’

‘And rob you of the pleasure of working it out for yourselves?’

William’s chuckle was even riper this time. ‘I am sorry, Ralph. By the time you sit in the shire hall, I will be riding back to Winchester. A momentous decision was made in this hall earlier on. It needs to be implemented with all celerity.’ He walked away.

‘Farewell, my friend. Sleep well, for tomorrow you’ll be put through your paces.’

Before Ralph could detain him, the King was gone to speak to Bishop Wulfstan, before quitting the room with the sheriff, who escorted him to his apartment. As he watched them leave, Ralph remembered the warning from Abraham the Priest. There was no reason to doubt its sincerity. In view of the immense help given to them by the archdeacon, he no longer suspected him of complicity in the plot, and Ralph knew that he would be lurking outside the castle that night in the hope of intercepting the impetuous Welshman he feared might be trying to get in. Ideally, the assassin would be turned away.

Ralph’s attention shifted to the lady Emma. She was looking more beautiful than ever and he was pleased to see that she and her husband were spending the night at the castle, raising the possibility that they might meet again over breakfast. He was still drooling over the prospect when Golde came up to nudge him out of his reverie. Smiling at his sudden display of interest in her, she linked arms with him and led him out. In the privacy of their bed, he would forget all about the lady Emma. Golde was content. On their way up the stairs, they met Durand. The sheriff was dark-eyed and tight-lipped. Ralph could not resist enraging him even further.

‘All your assumptions about the murder were wrong, my lord sheriff,’ he said cheerily. ‘If you had not misled us so at the start, we’d have solved the crime for you in half the time.’

‘It is solved, my lord. That is the main thing.’

‘By two commissioners and a naked archdeacon.’

‘I would have effected the same arrests in due course.’

‘But you were preoccupied here with affairs of state.’

‘Good night, my lord.’ A cold smile for Golde. ‘My lady.’

‘Good night,’ she replied. ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’

‘You are most welcome.’

‘And the King?’ asked Ralph. ‘Is he well guarded?’

‘Of course,’ said Durand testily. ‘I have seen to that. Go back to your own work, my lord. This is my castle and I am responsible for everything which happens under its roof. You will not take my office on again. I resent it. I deplore it. I forbid it!’

Abraham the Priest kept up his lonely vigil well into the night.

Even when those leaving the castle had finally departed, he remained at his post, close enough to keep the castle under surveillance while keeping out of sight of the sentries who patrolled the ramparts with flaming torches. It was a warm night but low cloud was blocking out the moon. That fact alone, he feared, might tempt Madog to fulfil his threat. The archdeacon strained his eyes to penetrate the gloom but it was his ears which alerted him. There was a padding sound far off to the right, as if someone were keeping to the shadows and heading towards the castle walls. He moved stealthily forward until he caught sight of the man.

A hunched figure was conjured out of the darkness. Abraham did not hesitate. Scurrying up behind him, he threw a restraining arm around his neck and clapped his other hand over his mouth to prevent a yelp which would have alerted the guards. He dragged the assassin away.

The hoot of an owl brought him awake. Ralph was suddenly alarmed. He got out of bed at once and reached for his dagger, sensing that something was amiss without quite knowing why.

Golde was fast asleep. He unbolted the door and let himself out.

The steps felt cold beneath his bare feet but he did not dare to make a sound. It was dark at the top of the staircase but candles burned close to the apartment at the bottom where King William slept. Outside the room, he knew, would be an armed guard who was relieved at regular intervals by a deputy. Ralph crept on until he saw the first flickers of light reflected on the walls. He relaxed.

All was well. The candles burned, the guard was in place, the King was in no danger. His alarm was groundless.

Then the fingers of flame disappeared from the wall with dramatic suddenness. Someone had extinguished the candles.

Gripping his dagger more tightly, he went on down the stairs with a mixture of urgency and apprehension. When he reached the bottom, he almost tripped over something and realised that it was the guard. More than the candle had been snuffed out. As he knelt beside the man, he could feel the blood gushing from the slit throat. Ralph needed no more prompting. The assassination attempt was taking place after all. He flung open the door and charged into the room.

A single candle burned beside the bed but it contained no King of England. A sack of something had been placed beneath the blanket to give the impression that the bed was occupied. The man who had stabbed so viciously at the sleeping King now stood back in amazement and stared down at the empty bed. Ralph was on him in an instant, knocking him flat with the impetus of his attack, then trying to disarm him. But the assassin was a more wily opponent than Strang the Dane. He recovered at once to jab at his adversary and inflicted a flesh wound in Ralph’s arm. Dropping his dagger, Ralph jumped up and used his foot to deliver a kick to the other’s face. A loud grunt showed that his aim was accurate. Ignoring the trickle of blood from his arm, Ralph leaned over to blow out the candle and plunge the room into darkness.

They were on more even terms now. The assassin was armed but Ralph was elusive, darting around him as he rose from the floor and waiting for the moment to attack. It soon arrived. Alerted by the sounds of the struggle, guards came running. A blaze of light appeared in the doorway. It illumined a tall figure in a black cowl. Caught between the desire to kill Ralph and the need to escape, the man hesitated for a fatal second. Ralph was on him, seizing his wrist and bowling him to the ground before punching him with his other hand. Bright light bathed them and a dozen swords brought their struggle to an end.

‘Stop!’ yelled a peremptory voice. ‘Stand back, Ralph!’

Reluctant to get up, Ralph obeyed the King, wondering how he had just come through the door of the apartment in which he was supposed to be sleeping. But his main interest was in the identity of the man he had fought. Seeing the hopelessness of his position, the latter had dropped his dagger and was cowering on the floor. Ralph reached down to throw back his hood, expecting to see the face of a Welsh assassin.

But it was Hamelin of Lisieux who glowered up at him.

‘I am glad that I decided to quit this chamber,’ said the King.