“It is not my place.”
“I need you,” she begged. “Do not force me to go to Powys. I will do anything to avoid that. Marriage to this ogre would be like suicide.
Help me, Gervase.” She flung herself at him and clung tight. “Help me. Please, help me.”
They rode for another mile or more and still there was no challenge.
Indeed, their presence seemed to frighten people away rather than rouse their interest. Expecting an armed resistance, they instead sent peasants scurrying away from their fields, and fishermen abandoning their nets to seek the nearest refuge. Ralph Delchard and his men continued their search in a state of bewilderment.
“Why do they run away from us?” said Ralph.
“The sight of Norman armour unsettles them,” said Idwal.
“Then they must quake with fear every day of their lives because Orbec’s men-at-arms are everywhere.”
“Not this morning, my lord.”
“Why?”
“Let me find out for you.”
They were moving up the Golden Valley now and he spotted the first of the mills on the River Dore. While Ralph and the others waited, Idwal rode on down to see if his religion and nationality would reassure. They saw him meet two men beside the mill and fall into animated conversation with them. Idwal, for once, seemed to be doing most of the listening. One of the men pointed up the valley and the archdeacon nodded. He was soon cantering back to his companions.
Watching the lambskin cloak approach, Ralph spared a thought for the man’s wife. What creature of flesh and blood could endure his unremitting volubility? Was she not crushed in bed by the sheer weight of words? By what weird process had their children been conceived?
Ralph had a vision of their progeny as tiny sermons with arms and legs. The woman herself was a martyr. Marriage to the gushing urgency of the archdeacon was surely a giant step towards sainthood.
“I spoke with them,” said Idwal, halting his mount.
“Do they think we have leprosy?” said Ralph.
“They fear all soldiers. The manor house was raided.”
“By whom?”
“Nobody knows,” said Idwal. “That is what makes it so alarming.
But Richard Orbec’s reeve was killed with an arrow and soldiers were seen galloping away.”
“When was this attack?”
“At dawn this morning. Word has spread like wildfire.”
“Let’s find out more about this.”
Ralph abandoned the search and led his men in the direction of Richard Orbec’s manor house. The intruders might possibly have some connection with Gervase’s fate. It was important to learn all that he could about them as soon as possible. Ralph had seen at first hand the forceful way in which Orbec shielded his land from visitors. It would require courage and daring to launch an assault on the man’s house.
When the building came in sight, they could see the strong military presence at once. The drawbridge was up and the palisade was manned. Helmets glinted on all four sides of the manor. Richard Orbec would not be caught unawares again. They were fifty yards from the gate when a voice ordered them to stop and state their business.
“I am Ralph Delchard and I seek immediate conference with your lord. We come as friends. If there is danger, we will gladly lend what help we can.”
“Wait there.”
A message was sent up to the house. When the drawbridge was lowered five minutes later, Richard Orbec himself came out on his horse. He was in full armour.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“To hear details of this attack,” said Ralph. “It cost you a steward, but the same men may also have deprived me of my dearest friend.
Who were they?”
“Raiders from across the border.”
“Welshmen?”
“Never!” howled Idwal.
“Who is this?” said Orbec.
“I am the Archdeacon of Llandaff, but I speak for the whole of Wales. You are deceived in your judgment, my lord.”
“I pulled the arrow out of my reeve’s back,” said Orbec. “It came from a Welsh bow.”
“But not necessarily shot by a Welshman.”
“Keep out of this,” snapped Ralph. “Let’s hear the tale in full before we rush to judgment.”
“You have heard it,” said Orbec. “I left the chapel just after dawn.
Redwald, my reeve, met me and chanced to step in front of my body.
He presents too large a target to miss. The arrow killed him instantly.”
“You say that he stepped in front of you?”
“Accidentally and foolishly. Had he stayed where he was, Redwald would now be telling you how Richard Orbec was picked off by a Welsh archer.”
“I refuse to believe it!” said Idwal.
“Did you give pursuit?” said Ralph.
“We were after them within minutes, but they got clear away.” Orbec gestured with his hand. “Since then, I have looked to my defences, as you see. This was a small party. We saw the marks of their hooves in the wood above the house. A larger force may come next time.”
“Why?”
“To kill me.”
“For what reason?”
“That has yet to be disclosed.”
“Have hostile soldiers come over the border before?”
“Not for several years.”
“Did you do something to provoke their ire?”
“Nothing.”
“There is the questions of the renders,” said Idwal. “If you had respected Welsh customs in Ergyng …”
Orbec blinked. “What is he babbling about?”
“Ignore him, my lord,” said Ralph. “Have you informed the sheriff of this attack?”
“No.”
“What of your neighbour, Maurice Damville?”
“I send no messages to him.”
“But a Welsh raid must surely be of concern. The castle of Ewyas Harold is first in the line of attack. If a larger force did come, Damville would bear the brunt of it.”
“That is his problem.”
“Will you not unite in the face of an enemy?”
“I look after my own,” said Orbec, sternly. “One man has been killed.
I will not lose another so easily.”
“I, too, have lost a man,” said Ralph. “I came here this morning to look for him. You have problems enough of your own, as I can see, but we must talk. If we try, we may help each other. I would appreciate a word in private.”
Richard Orbec stared at him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
The green eyes flashed, but Ralph was equal to their glare. The long perusal eventually came to an end.
“Follow me,” said Orbec.
“Thank you.”
Ralph nudged his horse forward and Idwal followed suit.
“Alone!” insisted Orbec.
Idwal protested in both languages, but his words bounced off the backs of the two departing Norman lords. When they had ridden over it, the drawbridge was lifted and secured. The Welshman and the eight men-of-arms were left outside.
“These are sad tidings, my lord,” said Ralph, falling in beside Orbec.
“We met your reeve. He seemed a sound man.”
“Redwald was an excellent reeve.”
“Cut down by a stray arrow.”
“Not stray, my lord. It was meant for me.”
“Do you have any idea who could have shot it?”
“Yes,” said Orbec, “but I did not wish to name a name in front of your companion. He could be an intelligencer.”
“Idwal? He is an archdeacon.”
“Religion might be a convenient disguise. It allows him to pass among you and gather information freely. Why has he attached himself to you when he has no official place in your commission? This much I do know. Somebody led those Welsh soldiers to the one place from which an arrow could be fired. What does that suggest?”
“A spy.”
“I treat all the Welsh as such. And most Saxons.”
“You said that you knew the assassin?”
“I can guess at his identity.”
“Who is he?”
“A wild man from the house of Powys,” said Orbec. “You have seen the way I drill my men and marshal my defences. How would you plan an assault on me?”
“With a substantial force or a very small one.”