“Maurice Damville.”
“He had Warnod murdered to stir up hatred against the Welsh. He had Angharad here waylaid in order to heat up the blood of her bridegroom.” Ralph stood up and paced the hall. “Damville is clever, I have to hand him that. The red dragon in Archenfield pointed the finger towards the border. The same dragon in his own cornfield pointed the finger away from him.”
“We arrived in this shire at the wrong time,” said Gervase, “just as his plans were coming to fruition. No wonder he was so quick to drop his claim to Orbec’s land. He did not want us prowling around the margins of his own land in case we jeopardised his scheming.”
“So you were removed from the scene.”
“And the work of the commission ground to a halt.”
“Not quite,” said Ralph. “More news on that front anon. Let’s stay with Damville. I see why he wanted to stir the Welsh into a fury then set them on Orbec. But why have Warnod murdered so cruelly?”
“He needed the poor man out of the way.”
“Why?”
Gervase shrugged. “Warnod must have had something that Damville desperately wanted. That charter, perhaps.”
“It was in our hands.”
“True.”
“And Damville did not even know of its existence until we told him of it.” Ralph was thoughtful. “Besides, he waived his right to that land as soon as he realised it might bring us poking around too close to his own estates.” He stopped beside Gervase. “There must be something else he wanted from Warnod. What on earth was it?”
Aelgar brought the cup across to her sister and offered it to her. It was her turn to provide the consolation. Since she had come home from Archenfield with the others, Golde had been moody and with-drawn. The ride had patently tired her, yet she would not rest. Aelgar pushed her gently onto a stool and held the cup out to her.
“Drink it, Golde. It’s only water.”
“Later.”
“Drink it.”
Aelgar held it to her lips and made her sip it. Once she had tasted the water, Golde realised how dry her throat was and quaffed the whole cup. She looked up in thanks.
“What is his name, Golde?” asked the other.
“Whose name?”
“You did not ride all that way simply to deliver the will. It was an excuse to see somebody. One of those commissioners, I think.”
“It was,” admitted Golde.
“Does he like you as much as you obviously like him?”
“I think so.”
“Then be happy.”
“I cannot, Aelgar.”
“Why not?”
“Because of who I am and who he is.”
“You are as good as any Norman lord,” said Aelgar, with a show of spirit. “We were born into a noble house. Does he know that? Our father was a wealthy thegn. This man has no right to look down on you.”
“He does not do that.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“We are, Aelgar.” Golde stood up to face her sister with an air of resignation. “My home is here and his is far away in Hampshire. My work is here and his takes him wherever the king sends him. My place is with you and … that is that.”
“Your place is where your heart takes you.”
“Then I have to stay here.”
“No, Golde.”
“I have foolish thoughts, I admit, but they fall apart when I examine them. How could I leave you? How could I walk away from the brewhouse when I have devoted myself to it all these years? How could I even dream of leaving Hereford?”
“I did.”
“That was different.”
“No, Golde. I put my feelings first, as you must do.” A resilience was now showing. “Do not worry about me. The brewhouse will not fail because you are not here to run it. I work in it just as much as you.”
“That is so.”
“Ask but two questions and all else follows.”
“What are they?”
“Do you want him?”
“Yes, Aelgar!”
“Does he want you?”
“I am not sure. I believe so.”
“Find out for certain. Go to him now.”
“I cannot,” said Golde in despair. “That’s what grieves me most. He has ridden with the sheriff to Richard Orbec’s estate. Welsh raiders crossed the border and killed a man. They fear a larger army will come. Ralph will have to fight them if it does.” She grabbed her sister’s hands. “I would hate to lose him just as I have found him.”
“Have faith, sister. He will come back.”
“What if this army masses on the border?”
“We have heard such rumours many times before,” said Aelgar. “We are at peace with the Welsh. There is a truce. They have no just cause to break it.”
Cadwgan ap Bleddyn, prince of Powys, led his men down from the Black Mountains. They clattered along a narrow, winding road between hedges of hazel and thorn. The mountains were olive green in the evening sunlight. Five hundred men came out of them like a silver avalanche and rolled inexorably towards Ewyas Harold. The soldiers were armoured, their weapons sharpened, and their purpose heightened by a speech from their prince. They were lusting for battle.
Down below them, waiting impatiently with his men, was Goronwy.
They heard the noise of the hooves first, then saw the banners dancing above the host. Five hundred warriors to wreak a terrible revenge.
Goronwy was inspired.
He would mount the red dragon and ride it to victory.
Chapter Eleven
The council of war was held in the hall of Richard Orbec’s manor house.
Angharad had retired to a chamber on the floor above while the men discussed tactics and contingencies. Orbec himself was on his feet, constantly on the move as the argument became louder and more intense. Ralph Delchard, Gervase Bret, and Ilbert Malvoisin sat around the long table. Of the four of them, the sheriff was the most anxious to sue for peace.
“Give them what they want,” he said, “and this battle is concluded before it has even started. Hand over the lady and let them have their wedding in Powys.”
“No,” said Orbec, bristling. “That I cannot do.”
“Angharad refuses to marry this man,” reminded Gervase.
Ilbert was contemptuous. “Her refusal is neither here nor there.
She will do what her uncle orders her to do. We need trouble ourselves no further about her feelings in this matter. God save us! If women were allowed to choose their husbands on their own account, the better part of mankind would be forced to remain celibate.”
“It is not the lady’s feelings I consider,” returned Orbec, advancing on the sheriff. “It is my own. Goronwy killed my steward. That death must be answered. I will not appease a Welsh murderer.”
“Then this marriage is doomed,” observed Ralph with a wry grin.
“They want the bride, but you pursue the bridegroom. The couple are divorced before the nuptials even start.”
“Goronwy is mine!” insisted Orbec.
“Not by surrender,” said Gervase. “They would never exchange him for Angharad.”
“Then she stays here.”
“That only invites attack, my lord,” said Ilbert.
“Let it come. We are prepared.”
“Not if Goronwy’s uncle becomes involved. Even your defences would not hold out long against the full might of Powys.”
“Cadwgan ap Bleddyn is bound by terms of peace,” said Gervase.
“He will not be drawn into this.”
“He has no choice,” argued the sheriff. “An affront has been offered to the house of Powys. It cannot be ignored. The men who ambushed this lady did so to enrage these fiery Welshmen.”
“And bring them down on this manor,” added Gervase.
“Only if we are foolish enough to keep her here,” said Ilbert. “One woman can end this whole business. Throw her out and let’s have peace again in this shire.”
“Goronwy must pay for his crime,” asserted Orbec, “or I’ll keep the lady here in perpetuity.”
“Your hospitality need not be that overgenerous,” said Ralph. “But I agree. She stays.”
“It is madness!” yelled Ilbert.