‘You could always stay at the castle,’ taunted Ralph.
Simon shuddered. ‘That would be even worse!’
‘Yes,’ said Hubert gloomily. ‘We are caught between a tyrant and a torturer. Archdeacon Idwal is the lesser of two evils. His oppression is only verbal.’
‘And spiritual,’ corrected Simon. ‘Whenever that madman is near me, my soul shrinks into oblivion.’
‘I have the urge to reach for my sword,’ said Ralph.
‘And I to flee on my donkey,’ said Hubert.
Gervase Bret was the only apostate among them. ‘Strange!’ he remarked. ‘Why do you shun him so? I have always rather enjoyed Idwal’s company. I like the man.’
Ralph was aghast. ‘You like him?’
‘Incredible!’ said Simon.
‘Unnatural!’ boomed Hubert. ‘That voluble Welshman is the human equivalent of the seven plagues of Egypt. How can anyone welcome such suffering?’
‘You wrong him,’ said Gervase stoutly. ‘Idwal has many fine qualities and I saw them on display in Herefordshire. He is a true Christian with a profound knowledge of the scriptures. You must not condemn a man because he has a lively mind.’
‘It is the lively tongue that we fear,’ said Simon. ‘It never stops, does it, Canon Hubert?’
‘No, Brother Simon. It ripples like the River Dee.’
He led the way through the door and out into the street. It was still afternoon and the bright sunlight made them squint. After a day in the musty shire hall, they found the fresh air bracing.
Taking their leave, Hubert and Simon trudged off in the direction of the cathedral, discussing ways in which to avoid the Welsh threat which loomed over them. Ralph dismissed his men then strolled amiably with Gervase towards the castle.
They did not get far. Commotion erupted behind them and they turned to see Earl Hugh, bristling with fury, riding at a canter through the crowd with the hunting party at his back. When he recognised the commissioners, he brought his horse to a halt beside them. They could see the black rage in his eyes.
‘What is amiss, my lord?’ asked Ralph.
‘I was attacked in the forest.’
‘By whom?’
‘We do not yet know. The assassin eluded us.’
‘Assassin?’
‘Yes, Ralph,’ said the earl, lifting up the arrow that he held in 48
The Hawks of Delamere
his grasp. ‘He aimed this at me. By the grace of God, it missed its target and struck another instead.’
He moved aside to reveal the dead body of the huntsman, slumped across the saddle of the horse behind him and tied into position. Accustomed to return from the Delamere Forest with a plentiful supply of venison, Earl Hugh was livid that all he brought back this time was the corpse of a friend.
‘Did you find no trace of the assassin?’ said Ralph.
‘None. We have searched for the best part of the day.’
‘He cannot have vanished into thin air.’
‘That is exactly what he did, Ralph,’ said Hugh ruefully. ‘We hunted high and low. The only signs of life we found were at a cottage some distance away. Two women were weaving baskets.
They could not help us. They had seen nothing.’
‘Do you have any clues at all, my lord?’
‘Only this.’ He held up the arrow again. ‘It came from a Welsh bow and matches the one that killed my hawk yesterday.’
‘Then you hanged the wrong men,’ Gervase pointed out.
‘What do you mean?’
‘If the archer is still at liberty, neither of the men you captured yesterday could have fired the arrow which killed your hawk. They were innocent of the crime.’
‘So it appears,’ said Ralph.
‘Both men carried bows,’ argued Hugh.
‘Were their quivers full of arrows like that?’
‘No,’ he grunted. ‘But that makes no difference.’
‘It does, my lord. They must have paid for a crime they did not actually commit,’ concluded Gervase. ‘While you were arresting them, the true culprit was making his escape.’
‘They deserved to die,’ said Hugh angrily. ‘What were they doing in Tarvin Hollow, if not poaching my game? Forest law is rigidly enforced. I was right to hang them without wasting time on a trial.’
‘Were they Saxon or Welsh?’ pressed Gervase.
‘Does it matter?’
‘A great deal, my lord.’
‘In what way?’
‘Saxon poachers would not use Welsh arrows in their bows.’
‘And honest men would not need to run away as they did,’
retorted Hugh, annoyed at being cross-examined in the street.
‘Their flight was an admission of guilt and they were rightly hanged.
They were lucky. I was lenient.’
‘Lenient?’
‘Yes, Gervase. Death was mercifully swift. That will not be the case for this Welsh assassin when we finally catch him. As we will,’ he vowed. ‘He will suffer all the rigours of torture before we burn him alive. Stand back.’
Ralph and Gervase moved aside as Earl Hugh kicked his horse into a trot. The column moved off after him, the dead man hanging limp across his mount, which was towed along by a lead rein.
Ralph turned to grin at his companion.
‘I think you upset him, Gervase.’
‘There was no other choice.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I wanted information about those two men he hanged.’
‘Why? What is your interest in them?’
Gervase remembered the tears running down Gytha’s face. ‘I believe I know who they might be.’
Brother Gerold was alone in the chapel, standing before the lectern and reading in silence a passage from the Gospel according to St Matthew. He meditated for a long time on what he had read, searching for a new meaning in words which had become comfortingly familiar over the years but whose depths he had never yet fully plumbed. Gerold was so completely submerged in his study that he did not hear the latch being lifted on the door or see the figure who stepped quietly into the chapel.
Gervase Bret waited until the chaplain closed the Bible and walked back down the nave before moving out to intercept him.
‘May I trouble you for advice, Brother Gerold?’ he said.
‘Well met, Gervase!’
‘I need your help.’
‘It is yours before you even ask for it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Do you seek spiritual guidance, my son?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Gervase, ‘but guidance is involved.’
‘Speak on.’
‘How far away is Tarvin Hollow?’
‘Not far. With a sound horse, a man could probably ride there in under an hour.’
‘Then that is what I will do,’ decided the other. ‘Could you give me precise directions? Which road should I take?’
‘Hold on a moment,’ counselled Gerold. ‘Why this rush?’
‘I have to honour a promise.’
‘To whom?’
‘A young woman and her brother. They were waiting at the shire hall this morning and begged our help to find their missing father and brother.’
‘Are you in a position to offer that help?’
‘I think so, Brother Gerold.’
He explained the circumstances and the monk reached the same conclusion. The two men who were hanged on the pevious day might well be the missing family members. Clearly, neither of them could be the Welsh archer who had apparently fired an arrow at the Earl of Chester. At the worst, the men were poaching and that was normally punishable by blinding or mutilation. It did not merit the violent death forced upon them. Brother Gerold was not simply overcome with compassion. He was ready to give practical assistance.
‘I will take you there, Gervase.’
‘All the way to Tarvin Hollow?’
‘It is heavy news to bear. You might appreciate another pair of hands to share the load.’
‘Indeed, I would.’
‘Besides,’ said Gerold, ‘you might easily get lost on your own.
Tarvin Hollow is an appreciable distance from the village of Tarvin itself.’
‘Gytha lives close to somewhere called Willington.’
‘That would be even more difficult to find.’
‘Then I need a pathfinder.’