Gervase’s first thought was for the orphans. ‘I’ll cover them up,’ he said. ‘Gytha and Beollan must not be allowed to see them in this state. It would be cruel.’
Chapter Six
Hugh d’Avranches rolled the jewelled cup between his palms and gazed down at his wine as if searching for something in its liquid heart. He was seated alone in the hall at the castle, reflecting on the events of the day and considering what response he should make to them. Anger had now hardened into bitter recrimination.
Though he accepted that he was a natural target for assassination, whether from motives of envy, hatred or political expediency, he was highly indignant that an attempt had actually been made on his life. Years of unchallenged power on the Welsh border had given him the feeling that he was utterly invulnerable. One arrow had destroyed that illusion.
The Earl of Chester was human, after all.
When their master was in such a black mood, his servants knew better than to disturb him, but one had the courage to knock on the door and let himself in. He conducted Ralph Delchard into the hall and coughed discreetly to attract Earl Hugh’s attention.
‘My lord,’ he said, keeping just out of reach. There was no reply.
He raised his voice a little. ‘Forgive this interruption, my lord.’
His words still went unheard. Earl Hugh was far too preoccupied.
Ralph dismissed the servant with a wave and the man scurried away gratefully, closing the door behind him with a bang which echoed through the hall. Hugh did not even look up. Ralph walked round the table to stand in front of his host and waited until his presence was finally registered.
Earl Hugh was not at his most sociable. ‘Well?’ he growled.
‘I came to offer you my sympathy, my lord,’ said Ralph.
‘Sympathy?’
‘And support. I know what it is to lose a good man in a cowardly attack. If there is anything I may do to help, you have only to call on me.’
‘Thank you.’
‘My knights are at your command, should you need them.’
‘I have no shortage of soldiers, Ralph,’ said the other.
‘Hundreds will come running to my call. But I cannot deploy them against an invisible enemy. That archer disappeared as if he had never existed.’
‘His escape must have been planned in advance.’
‘How did he know I would be in that part of the forest? That is what baffles me. I was pursuing a stag. It was pure chance that I finished up where I did.’
‘But you would have been easy to track, my lord.’
‘Easy?’
‘The noise of the chase must have been heard a mile away.’
‘True.’
‘Someone stalked you. Yet he could not have done so on foot.
Only a horse could have kept up with the speed of the hunt. Did your men see any sign of a stray animal when they searched?’
‘They neither saw nor heard another horse.’
‘Then how did the assassin come and go so quickly?’
‘Sorcery!’
‘There is no such thing, my lord.’
‘What other explanation is there?’ Earl Hugh drained the wine at a gulp then reached for the flagon to replenish his cup. He indicated the chair opposite and Ralph sat down. It was time to examine the outrage with cold objectivity. Lust for revenge needed to be muffled.
‘Has such an attack been made on you before?’ asked Ralph.
‘Never.’
‘And you had no warning?’
‘None.’
‘How often do you hunt in the Delamere Forest?’
‘Almost every day.’
‘Without incident?’
‘Invariably,’ said Hugh. ‘Whether I go hawking or hunting, I always bring back plenty of game. Nobody dares to interfere with my sport. The forest is mine to play in all day.’
‘How many of you rode out today?’
‘Forty or fifty.’
‘You were well protected, then.’
‘I am my own best protection.’
‘What happened yesterday?’
‘Yesterday?’
‘Your hawk was killed by an arrow,’ Ralph reminded him. ‘The same archer may have stalked you today. Take me through the events of yesterday. How many of you were in the party on that occasion? Where exactly did the archer strike? What was his avowed purpose?’
‘To ruin a day’s hawking.’
‘But why kill your hawk when he could just as easily have aimed his arrow at you? And how did he escape, as he must have done if he was back today with his deadly bow? I need more detail, my lord.’
Hugh regarded him through narrowed lids for a long while. ‘Then you will have it,’ he decided eventually.
Ralph leaned forward in his chair and listened with the utmost concentration as his host recounted in copious detail what had transpired on the previous day. Hugh moved on to describe the foul murder which had disturbed that morning’s stag hunt. The parallels were clear.
‘You are right,’ concluded Ralph. ‘The same archer was almost certainly involved on both occasions.’
‘There will not be a third,’ said Hugh grimly.
‘I hope not, my lord.’
‘We will track down this Welsh assassin.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Ralph thoughtfully, ‘but I am not entirely convinced that he hails from across the border.’
‘You saw the arrow. It came from a Welsh bow.’
‘But the weapon could just as easily have been held by a Saxon,’
argued Ralph. ‘Or a Dane. Or even a Norman. What better way to throw suspicion on to someone else?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘That there is one simple reason why you were unable to find this phantom Welshman. He does not exist. The man who fired those arrows was not lying in wait in the forest, my lord. You may have taken him with you.’
‘In the hunting party?’
‘Yes,’ reasoned the other. ‘In a group as large as that, it would not have been difficult for one man to detach himself and shoot an arrow from a concealed position.’
‘That never crossed my mind.’
‘Give it due consideration now, my lord.’
‘One of my own friends?’ said Hugh, trying to adjust his mind to the possibility. ‘No, you are mistaken, Ralph. I know them all.
They are loyal to a man. That assassin was Welsh.’
‘Or a Norman in the pay of the Welsh.’
‘I refuse to believe it.’
‘Look to your entourage,’ advised Ralph. ‘It may yet contain the cunning archer. When your men began their search, they would not have looked for one of their own. No sorcery was involved here, my lord. The assassin simply made you all look in the wrong direction.’
Earl Hugh pondered for several minutes before reaffirming his view with a shake of his head. None of his men betrayed him. He would not even entertain the possibility.
‘Who was the murder victim?’ asked Ralph.
‘Raoul Lambert, my finest huntsman.’
‘I know that name. Does he hold land in the forest?’
‘He did,’ said Hugh. ‘Raoul was one of my tenants with substantial holdings within the bounds of Delamere and beyond.
He gave sterling service and I always reward that generously.’
‘Some of his property was in dispute.’
‘Raoul had a legal right to every acre in his possession.’
‘The Church claims otherwise.’
‘It would.’
‘If memory serves me,’ said Ralph, scratching his head, ‘this same Raoul Lambert was due to be called before us tomorrow to dispute the matter with Archdeacon Frodo. It seems an odd coincidence that he should be the man who was killed.’
‘Are you suggesting that Frodo fired the arrow?’
‘Of course not, my lord. But the death of Raoul Lambert may well advantage the Church. Where is the body now?’
‘In the mortuary.’
‘Has it been examined by a physician?’
‘Yes,’ said Hugh, ‘but he has told us nothing that we did not know already. The arrow pierced Raoul’s heart. Death was almost instantaneous.’