“Stop lying!” interrupted Goronwy.
He enforced his command with a swish of his sword. The outstretched arm was severed in two below the elbow and the old traveller reeled in the saddle. Goronwy kicked his horse into a canter and continued on his way. For half a mile, they could still hear the piteous howls of their victim.
Goronwy was unrepentant. “Nobody lies to me,” he said with a grim smile. “I should’ve cut his tongue out as well.”
Ilbert the Sheriff swiftly revised his opinion of the Archdeacon of Llandaff. Though everything about the man made his hackles rise, he soon came to see how useful he could be. Idwal was a calming influence on the Welsh community, moving among them to listen to their tales of woe, offer comfort, and counsel moderate action. Belli-cose in theological debate, the archdeacon was also an ambassador for peace. Ilbert decided to make the best use of him that he could.
It left Ralph Delchard alone with Golde for the first time since they had quit Hereford. She was numbed by the implications of what she saw at Warnod’s house and she wondered how she could soften the hard tale when she told it to her sister.
Ralph related what he had learned from Warnod’s servant, but it took them no closer to understanding the motive that lay behind the attack. He turned to more personal affairs.
“You talked intently with my lord sheriff just now.”
“I had many questions to put to him.”
“He seemed more ready to answer them than earlier.”
“Ilbert Malvoisin is a sullen man at times, but he can be brought around to a more pleasant state of mind.”
“Your charms would bring anyone around, Golde.”
She acknowledged the compliment with a brief smile.
“You know him well, I think?” he continued.
“The sheriff?”
“When you first met, he was peppery. When I saw you even now, he was very attentive towards you. If a man shifts so quickly between anger and reconciliation, it usually means that his heart is engaged.”
“Not by me, my lord,” she said, sharply.
“He was all but fawning upon you.”
“Ilbert Malvoisin is married.”
“You are not.”
“Nor do I look to be,” she insisted. “One time was enough. I have had to tell that to many who came calling.”
“Including the sheriff?” he fished.
Golde was terse. “The sheriff and I meet in the way of business.
I supply ale to the castle, he buys it. That is the extent of our relationship. Now and in the future.”
“I see.” He cast another line into the water. “Is there someone else already in your life?”
“There is, my lord.”
“Oh.”
“My sister. Aelgar.”
“What I meant was that-”
“I know what you meant,” she said, “and my answer still holds.
Aelgar is my prime concern at the moment. Two days ago, she consented to marry Warnod.” She rode over his surprise. “Yes, I know that he was much older and already bereft of one wife. But he was a good man. Kind and considerate. He understood our ways. Warnod would have been a loving husband.”
“Did you approve of the match?”
“Aelgar is a strange girl,” she explained. “Young and still very much a child. She is at the mercy of her beauty. You have no idea what a curse it can sometimes be. For every man who looked at me, five would stare at Aelgar.” She met his gaze. “Warnod is not the man I would have chosen for her, but I came to see his virtues. He wooed her for over a year. She loved him truly. I believe that he would have made my sister happy and rescued her from all that attention.”
“What will become of her, Golde?”
“I do not know.”
“You cannot shield her forever,” he said, gently. “She has lost one husband, but there are other good men in the world. If she is even half as lovely as her sister, she will have an extremely wide choice.”
Golde almost blushed. “She will, my lord.”
“What of you, then?”
“Me?”
“When your role is done. When Aelgar is settled.”
“That may not be for some time.”
“But then? ”
The candour of his affection was touching. She felt her pulse quicken under his gaze. A bleak purpose had brought her to Archenfield, but Ralph Delchard had breathed some warmth into the journey for her.
He was a Norman lord and she was a humble brewer, but she was not abashed in his presence. She let him know it.
“I am the daughter of a Saxon thegn,” she said.
He grinned. “I saw the nobility in your bearing.”
“Come no closer,” ordered Richard Orbec. “This is my land.”
“We have a right to view it,” said Canon Hubert.
“To view it, but not to trespass upon it.”
“These holdings are in dispute, my lord,” said Gervase Bret, reasonably. “We come to see why they have attracted such interest from three rival claimants.”
“One, Master Bret,” said Orbec.
“Did we lose two along the road?”
“Maurice Damville, as I hear, has resigned his interest.”
“That still leaves you and Warnod.”
“I will not be dispossessed by a handful of ashes in Llanwarne,”
said Orbec. “Until you show me a legal and enforceable will that bestows on someone the right to contest part of my demesne, I will not let you step onto my property.”
“Then we may have to do so by force,” blustered Hubert. A line of twenty men-at-arms advanced a few paces towards him. “You will not intimidate me. We are here at the king’s express behest. His soldiers are at our beck and call.”
“But they are in Winchester-mine are here.”
“King William will be told about this.”
“He is in Normandy on more important business.”
“Very well,” said Gervase, conceding defeat. “We will but ride along the periphery of your land. That will give us a fair idea of its worth and quality.” An astringent note intruded. “But you do yourself no favours, my lord. When you are so eager to keep us away from your holdings, we are bound to wonder if you are hiding something from us.”
“I am.”
“What is it?”
“Myself.”
Richard Orbec left half his men to form a barrier against the visitors and rode off towards his house with the others. Gervase Bret gestured to his own party to withdraw. In the shade of some trees, they dismounted to consider their next step. Canon Hubert was outraged at the turn of events. His position gave him the right to inspect any land in the county and he hated to be baulked. Brother Simon, on the other hand, was almost relieved that their passage had been blocked. He argued that it was still possible for them to ride back to Hereford before darkness completely overtook them. The prospect of a cathedral from which Idwal the Archdeacon had been exorcised was very enticing.
“Put that thought aside, Brother Simon,” said Hubert. “We would be better advised to join the others in Llanwarne and seek shelter for the night in that vicinity. This murder may well have some bearing on Richard Orbec’s reluctance to admit us to his demesne.”
Gervase suggested a compromise. Having come this far, he did not wish to leave empty-handed. While the others rode on to Llanwarne, therefore, he would contrive some means to take a closer look at Richard Orbec’s disputed land.
“Alone?” said Canon Hubert. “I admire your courage, Gervase, but I question your sanity. What can one man do that seven of us could not?”
“Be less visible.”
For the benefit of the watching sentries, Gervase rode off with his companions on the road to Llanwarne. As soon as they were in thick cover, however, he bade farewell and doubled back in a wide circle.
Orbec’s land was fringed with woodland and dappled with orchards.
It would not be impossible to gain access to at least some of the holdings with relative safety. Using what cover he could, Gervase picked his way along with care.
The countryside was entrancing. Rich, luscious, and rolling gently towards the horizon, it was land that any man would fight to keep.