“Besides, I could not come so close to your cathedral without paying Bishop Robert the compliment of a visit. Part of my work is to forge closer links with other dioceses. Since we regard whole areas of Herefordshire as essentially Welsh in spirit and inclination, this was an obvious port of call.”
“It pleases us to offer you hospitality.”
“The priests in Archenfield spoke well of your work.”
“That is reassuring.”
“Hardly,” said Idwal with a wicked cackle. “All it means is that you do not interfere with their ministry. The churches in Archenfield are part of the diocese of Llandaff. They look to a more ancient and distinguished see for their spiritual guidance. You understand now why I feel I have a bounden duty to pay my respects to you. The Welsh have left large footprints all over this beautiful county.”
Theobald sighed. “Not only footprints, alas!”
“Why do you say that?”
“A man was murdered in Archenfield last evening. Close to the village of Llanwarne.”
“Llanwarne!” gasped Idwal. “But I spent an hour at the little church there yesterday afternoon.”
“Had you stayed until evening, you might have witnessed the tragedy.
From a distance, that is. The victim was burned to death in his own home. The flames could be seen for miles.”
“Dear Lord above!” Compassion brought tears into the wild eyes.
“Poor man!” he said with quavering voice. “What a dreadful way to die! May his soul rest in peace! Burned alive! I break out into a fever whenever I read the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego going into the fiery furnace-and they came out unharmed. But this unfortunate creature! The suffering he must have endured! My heart goes out to him. Tell me who he was that I may include him in my prayers.”
“A Saxon thegn. Of no real consequence.”
“He deserves our sympathy as much as any man,” said Idwal. “Death makes us equal partners of one nation. To perish in the flames is like going to hell. Let us hope the ordeal took this noble Saxon to heaven.”
He remembered the earlier remark and blinked in astonishment. “But what has a murder in Llanwarne got to do with Welsh footprints?”
“Something was carved in the turf outside the house.”
“What was it?”
“The signature of the killers.”
“In what form?”
“A red dragon.”
For the first and perhaps the only time in his life, Idwal was rendered speechless. Theobald savoured the phenomenon.
By the time they clattered into the city through St. Owen’s Gate, the travellers had slowed to a gentle trot. The drizzle had faded away, the wind had dropped, and the sky was visibly clearing. They were able to relax and take the measure of the place. Compared to Winchester, from which they had set out on their assignment, Hereford was small and compact. Less than a thousand people lived in a city that had a curiously cosmopolitan flavour. Apart from native Saxons and newcomers of Norman stock, it housed Welshmen, Bretons, Flemings, even a Dane or two. Frenchmanne Street lay to the north of the city as did Jews Street. The bustling market was truly a meeting place of nations. Haggling was done in many tongues.
Ralph Delchard had been duly impressed with the fortifications. It was now thirty years since the Saxon ramparts had been stormed and pulled down by Welsh raiders. The ferocity of the attack had left castle and cathedral in ruins and the whole city in a state of shock.
Norman expertise had been brought to bear upon the defences. The earthwork that encircled Hereford had been raised higher and made stronger, while the ditch that fronted it had been deepened. Pierced by six gates, the city walls had also been reinforced.
A large motte and bailey castle was raised on the site of its hapless predecessor. Perched on the River Wye so that it could act as a moat on the southern side, the castle was protected on its other flanks by Norman thoroughness. As he led the others into the courtyard, Ralph threw an admiring glance at the high, solid walls all around them, and at the massive stone building set up on the mound ahead of them and screened by an additional wall. A few guards patrolled the ramparts. Other soldiers practised their swordplay. The clang of steel showed that the armourer was busy in his workshop. Ralph felt at home.
“Welcome to Hereford, sirs!”
“Thank you,” said Ralph.
“I am Corbin the Reeve.”
The figure who greeted them beside the stables was a fleshy man in his forties with a smile that seemed more of a mask than an indication of genuine pleasure at their arrival. Seated astride a chestnut stallion with handsome trappings, Corbin wore a tunic and mantle of the finest cloth and cut. His hat was trimmed with sable. Gold rings congregated on both flabby hands. The reeve was evidently a man who liked to display his wealth.
Ralph performed the introductions, then dismounted as an ostler came to take his horse. Gervase and the men-at-arms followed suit.
Canon Hubert and Brother Simon remained in the saddle. While the others lodged at the castle, they would be offered accommodation at the cathedral. Corbin also stayed mounted so that he could look down at his visitors from a slightly exalted position. His manner was lordly.
“I trust that your business can be despatched with all due celerity,”
he said. “You catch us at a difficult time and we would not be diverted from our duties any longer than is necessary.”
“Our work takes precedence over all else,” said Ralph.
“That is a matter of opinion, my lord.”
“It is a matter of fact,” added Hubert coldly. “We have not ridden all this way for the benefit of our health or for the uncertain joy of making your acquaintance. A royal warrant sends us here. We will not leave until we have obeyed its commands to the letter.”
“May I know what those commands are?” asked Corbin.
“Of course,” said Ralph. “When we choose to tell you.”
“Nothing will be achieved without my assistance,” warned the reeve.
“I am here to offer help, but I cannot do that if you preserve this mystery about your needs and intentions.”
Ralph bristled at his tone. “Our immediate needs should be obvious to the naked eye,” he said. “We have ridden long and hard through unkind weather. Rest and refreshment would not come amiss. Show my men where they are to be housed and provide someone to escort Canon Hubert and Brother Simon to the cathedral. They are not horsemen and the journey has been an act of martyrdom for them.”
“Indeed it has,” agreed Hubert.
“Suffering ennobles the soul,” murmured Simon.
“Only in certain circumstances.”
“If you say so, Canon Hubert.”
The reeve looked at the four of them with mild disdain.
“This is a mean embassy,” he observed. “When the first commissioners visited Hereford, they included Bishop Remigius of Lincoln, with a clerk and two monks in attendance, and three barons of high standing supported by a troop of men-at-arms. They were shown all that there is to be shown about the disposition and ownership of land in this county. What is the purpose of this second visit and why does it carry less weight?”
“Your horse will carry less weight if you bandy more words with me,” said Ralph irritably. “Find a servant to guide my colleagues to the cathedral and see my men bestowed in their lodgings. Do you not recognise an order when you hear one?”
Corbin glowered down at him for a second before manufacturing a smile of appeasement. He clicked his fingers and waved his hands.
When the soldiers were taken care of and the two ecclesiastics were led away by a servant, Ralph and Gervase were themselves taken to the living quarters in the main building. The apartment which they shared was small but serviceable, and it offered them a fine view of the Wye through its arched window. The beds were soft and other small touches of comfort recommended themselves to the weary travellers.
When they had changed out of their wet clothing, they went down to the hall to find Corbin the Reeve waiting for them. Food and drink had been set out at the end of the long oak table and a fire was crackling nearby. Their host waved them to the bench and hovered in the background as they slaked their thirst, Ralph choosing wine, but Gervase preferring the local ale. Corbin had already helped himself to a cup of wine and he drained it before taking up the conversation again. His tone was now noticeably more conciliatory.