‘Excuse my ravings, my lord.’
‘That is what they are.’
‘Put them down to the excitement of seeing Golde again.’
‘She must be a remarkable woman.’
‘She is.’
‘I long to meet this paragon. Well,’ he said, anxious to end a conversation which had left him jangled, ‘you have work awaiting you at the shire hall. I will let you go to it.’
‘One moment, my lord.’
‘No more lunatic suggestions — please!’
‘This is a request from an archdeacon.’
‘Frodo?’
‘Idwal, Archdeacon of St David’s.’
Earl Hugh tensed. ‘A Welsh churchman?’
‘In every sense, my lord. He came in search of you last evening but you were not available to consider his appeal.’
‘What appeal?’
‘An hour with Gruffydd ap Cynan, Prince of Gwynedd.’
‘He will not have the tenth part of a second with him!’ roared Hugh with fists bunched. ‘Nobody is allowed near my prisoner, especially Welsh spies in clerical garments. If this Idwal wishes to visit my dungeons, I will find him one of his own in which to preach. His appeal is denied outright.’
‘I warned him that it would be.’
‘The Welsh are our enemies.’
‘Yet they have learned to live in submission.’
‘They tried to kill me.’
‘That is still open to dispute.’
‘They did, Ralph!’ yelled the other. ‘I will not have anyone say otherwise.’
‘Then I withdraw my foolish suggestions.’
Hugh was adamant. ‘I was the victim of an assassination attempt. That demands a forceful reply from me.’
‘What action are you taking, my lord?’
‘I am marshalling my forces in readiness,’ said the other. ‘If they wish to fight, they will have a battle they will never forget. A messenger left for Rhuddlan Castle at the crack of dawn. My nephew needs to know what has been happening here and I am anxious for his news about any early signs of revolt.’
‘Do you really believe that the Welsh will attack?’
‘I am certain of it, Ralph.’
‘Even though you hold their prince here?’
‘They may have found another leader.’
‘It seems improbable, my lord.’
‘I know these people,’ insisted Hugh. ‘I have lived side by side with them for years. I sense their moods. Warfare is imminent, 88
The Hawks of Delamere
believe me. The attempt on my life was but the first signal of hostilities to come.’
‘Is that the message you sent to Rhuddlan?’
‘Yes, Ralph. I warned them to beware.’
The messenger had chosen the swiftest horse in the stables and ridden him out of the city at a canter. It was a long way to Rhuddlan and his mount had to be paced carefully. There might be times when he would need to coax extra speed out of him or ride hell-for-leather to escape from outlaws. He had spurned an escort. One man alone, he assured his master, would move faster and attract less attention.
The weather favoured him. It was a clear, dry day with a cooling breeze. The track was firm beneath the horse’s hooves. There were no obstacles ahead of him and no sign of pursuit behind him. When he crossed the border into Wales, he felt no warning impulses. Those who toiled in the fields barely gave him a glance.
Those he passed in hamlets and villages had too much to do even to notice him. Tranquillity reigned on all sides. The messenger was relieved to see that Earl Hugh’s dire predictions were unfounded.
He was almost halfway to his destination when he met the obstruction. A wagon had overturned on a downward slope and spilled its mean cargo on the ground. An old man and his wife were struggling to push the wagon upright but their strength was patently inadequate. As he rode closer, he could see the sweat that was glistening on the old man’s face. He took pity.
Bringing his horse to a halt, he dismounted. ‘Let me help you,’
he offered.
The man and his wife gave tired smiles of gratitude.
‘The three of us should be able to manage it.’
He took up a position and got a firm grip on the wagon. Before he could lend his strength to theirs, however, he felt a searing pain as a long knife was plunged deep into his back. When he tried to turn, he was buffeted to the ground by the old man’s stout forearm. Danger had come when he least expected it. He had ridden into a clever trap.
His message would never reach Rhuddlan.
*
*
*
They saw the change in him at once. As soon as Ralph Delchard walked into the shire hall, Canon Hubert and Brother Simon noted the spring in his step and the unassailable buoyancy in his manner. They understood its cause. Golde had arrived. Hubert was pleased. If his wife could lift his spirits so markedly, then she was a most welcome visitor to Chester because they would all benefit.
Simon was ready to enjoy that benefit without dwelling on its implications. Marriage was a terrifying mystery to him and he never dared even to imagine what strange practices took place between a man and his wife in the privacy of their bed. Celibacy was his chosen path and he thanked God daily for the protection it gave him from what he saw as the contaminating touch of a woman.
Ralph was in high humour. That was all that mattered. Simon was satisfied that his colleague would lead the commission with more gusto and efficiency than he had managed on their first day.
It was a testing session in the shire hall. Their work was beset by problems from the start. The death of Raoul Lambert made it impossible for them to proceed with the dispute in which he figured so largely. Witnesses who had been summoned to give evidence on his behalf or on that of the Church were turned away with apologies. The disputants in the case which replaced the one postponed were late arriving and unprepared for a legal confrontation which was forced upon them before they were ready.
They begged for more time to compose themselves.
Delay followed delay, setback ensued setback. But Ralph Delchard refused to be upset or even irritated. He carried out his duties with unruffled calm and his geniality helped to sustain his colleagues. Even Gervase Bret succumbed to pique when a disputant in one case blithely announced that she had decided not to bring a vital charter with her because she could remember exactly what it said. Ralph’s whispered comments soon had Gervase smiling tolerantly.
Attenuated by mishaps, their day nevertheless did yield some progress. Two minor disputes were settled and a third was in sight of completion when they adjourned. They could look back on their efforts with some satisfaction. Hubert took the opportunity to probe Ralph for information about the matter which was still at the forefront of his mind.
‘I was deeply alarmed to hear of the foul murder.’
‘So were we all,’ said Ralph.
‘Gervase and I discussed it last evening.’
‘Yes, Hubert. Your comments were very apt. Gervase passed them on to me over breakfast. You and I seem to have been thinking along the same lines.’ He smiled. ‘For a change.’
‘What does Earl Hugh say?’
‘He will not listen to any of our ideas. Nothing will shift him from the view that an attempt was made on his own life as a prelude to a Welsh uprising.’
‘That is my own secret fear, my lord!’
‘And mine!’ said Simon.
‘Your fears are groundless.’
‘I wish that I could believe that,’ said Hubert, ‘but my instinct rules against it. Bishop Robert and Archdeacon Frodo are equally unnerved. They know the Welsh.’
‘So do I,’ said Ralph airily. ‘I have fought against them enough times. They are hardy warriors but they will not go to war for the sake of fighting. The Welsh mind is crafty and calculating. Before they would even consider an attack on Chester, they would first introduce some men slyly into the city. Artful spies who could prepare the way for them.’
Hubert’s eyes bulged. ‘Archdeacon Idwal!’
‘He has too much integrity to be a spy,’ said Gervase.
‘Welsh integrity,’ said Hubert meaningfully.