Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

‘Which one is that?’ asked Gervase.

‘The one whose hoot woke me in time to save the King. At least, that is what I believed I was doing. Accident or design? I’ll never know. But that hoot outside my window helped me to catch Hamelin of Lisieux.’

‘And his wife,’ said Hubert grimly.

‘Both of them. What a fall from grace for the lord Hamelin! And for the lady Emma. Who would have believed that someone so beautiful on the outside could be so ugly on the inside? We were all at fault there.’

‘All of us, Ralph?’ said Gervase.

‘Yes,’ he explained. ‘We were vain enough to think that the lord Hamelin brought her here simply to dazzle us. Whereas she came on a much more pressing errand. The assassination of the King. The fact that she turned up at all should have alerted us to a darker purpose than tantalising three commissioners.’

‘I was never tantalised, my lord!’ howled Hubert.

‘What we lacked was a woman’s intuition.’

‘Intuition?’ repeated Simon.

‘Golde had it. When she met the lady Emma, she knew at once that there was something false about her, even though she could not discern exactly what it was. Golde felt that she was in the castle for other reasons than simply calling on the sheriff’s wife.

So it proved,’ he said. ‘The lady Emma was there to spy out the land for her husband.’

‘She will pay the ultimate penalty for it,’ said Hubert. ‘And rightly so. Well, I think we can make one proud boast,’ he continued airily. ‘Thanks to our enterprise, we will leave Gloucester in a far better condition than we found it.’

They all agreed. Chatting easily, they headed for the door. It was early evening and bright sun still gilded the shire hall when they stepped outside it. Ralph was sorry that Nigel the Reeve was not at hand for a final curt reprimand. The latter’s friendship with Hamelin of Lisieux was now a cause of deep embarrassment to the reeve, and Ralph had intended to compound that feeling.

That treat eluded him.

Canon Hubert blossomed in the sunshine and grew lyrical.

‘Brother Owl was a bird of peace in a war-torn world,’ he said.

‘He sat, watched and waited with the wisdom of ages shining from his eyes.’ He turned to Simon. ‘I fancy that I have something of the owl about me.’

‘Oh, yes, Canon Hubert,’ endorsed the other.

Ralph was less obsequious. ‘Does that mean you hunt at night and feed off vermin? Or that your feathers moult in summer? I know one thing, Hubert, if you are an owl, there is no bough you could perch on for there is not a tree which grows one big enough.’

Hubert was hurt. ‘I was speaking in metaphors, my lord.’

‘Oh, that is different.’

‘Long experience has given me a degree of wisdom.’

‘I could not agree more,’ said Gervase. ‘Our time in Gloucester has imparted a little wisdom to all of us. Even you, Ralph.’

‘Me?’ protested the other. ‘What wisdom did I gain?’

‘You learned the value of forethought.’

‘Forethought?’

‘When a man hates water as much as you do, he should take care never to go into it or even upon it. Be grateful to Abraham the Priest,’ he said. ‘The Owl of Gwent. If he had not rescued you from that boat, you would have sailed all the way to Normandy by now. What would your dear wife have said to that?’

Ralph needed only a second to find his answer. His eyes widened, his mouth narrowed to a circle and his arms went out like small wings.

‘Too-wit, too-woo!’