Clad in helm and hauberk, with his cloak trailing behind him in the wind, a tall, stately man in his forties was cantering up the hill on his destrier. At his back, riding in formation, were a dozen soldiers with an array of weapons. Sumpter-horses were pulled along behind the cavalcade, which scattered pedestrians in the narrow street. When they reached the waiting commissioners, the newcomers came to a halt and drew up in a semicircle. Their leader nudged his mount forward and bestowed a disarming smile upon them.
“Welcome to Lincoln!” he said affably. “I am Tanchelm of Ghent.”
Aubrey Maminot was a genial man of middle years with an almost boyish eagerness about him. Time had silvered his hair and etched lines into his face but it had stolen none of his restless energy. As he discussed preparations with his steward, he paced up and down the hall at the castle, his gown billowing and his heels clacking on the oaken boards.
“Venison served with frumenty,” he decided.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Or maybe lamb would be more to their taste.”
“We will have both, my lord. With a dozen other dishes beside them.”
“Spiced rabbit must be an offer as well,” said Aubrey. “I want my guests to be well fed during their stay.”
“When will they arrive?”
“In a day or two at most.”
“And how many of them will be staying at the castle?”
“That remains to be seen, Bodin. Ralph Delchard’s letter spoke of five or six but they will bring a sizeable escort as well. I want them to have all the comforts of the castle. Ralph is an old friend of mine and deserves the best that we may offer here in York.”
“I understand, my lord.”
“They will banquet in here on their first evening.”
“Everything will be put in readiness.”
Bodin was a dark and slightly sinister individual but Aubrey had always found him a most efficient steward of his household. Quiet, watchful and discreet, Bodin had a quick mind that enabled him to adapt to the ever-changing whims of the castellan. If five or fifty guests arrived at the gate of the castle, he would be able to accommodate them.
“How long will they stay, my lord?” he wondered.
“As long as they choose.”
“Of course.”
“My home is theirs while they are in the city.”
Bodin gave a polite bow and backed away, electing to make the kitchen his first call. Aubrey Maminot continued to strut around the hall with proprietary zeal. Razed to the ground on more than one occasion, the castle had been rebuilt with greater solidity and a sense of permanence. Its castellan liked to think that he had transformed the keep into something more than a mere fortress. The hall and the apartments had touches of style and luxury that were not usually met with so far north.
As he glanced across at the long table, he imagined it laden with a magnificent banquet set out with exquisite taste, steam rising from a selection of appetising dishes that would tempt the most jaded palate.
For a few moments, the room seemed to fill with music, song, dance and the happy laughter of his guests. It would be good to share a goblet of wine and a wealth of reminiscence with Ralph Delchard. He chuckled as he recalled the last occasion on which he had met his friend. A knock on the door invaded his reverie.
“Come in!” he snapped.
The door opened to reveal a short, stocky figure in a sleeveless coat of toughened hide that showed off his taut muscles. Black hair and a black beard framed his handsome, swarthy face. Broad wristlets of studded hide set off the matted hair on his forearms. The man somehow combined the appearance of a serf with the arrogance of a lord.
Legs set apart, he stood there with his hands on his hips.
Aubrey Maminot smiled at his visitor with an almost paternal affection and bustled across to him.
“Ludovico!”
“You sent for me.”
“I wanted to know how they are.”
“Fine, my lord. Fine.”
“Have they settled down?”
“They are sleeping. I did not disturb them. I will feed them later when they wake up.”
“Call me. I would like to be there.”
“Yes, my lord.”
There was no trace of obeisance in Ludovico’s manner. Secure in his position and confident of Aubrey Maminot’s indulgence, the little Italian had an air of independence about him that was envied by the rest of the castle. He also had a success with the ladies that aroused a darker envy among some of the men. Because he could offer a service that nobody in York could match, Ludovico basked in his master’s favouritism and wallowed in the female attention that he invariably excited.
“Who was he?”
“We do not yet know,” confessed Aubrey.
“What was he doing in the castle?”
“That, too, remains a matter for speculation.”
“How did he get inside?”
“There, we are on firmer ground,” said Aubrey with a flash of anger.
“He scaled the wall by means of a rope and walked the rampart unchallenged. The captain of the guard has been disciplined. The dolt had the temerity to blame the heavy rain last night. I expect vigilance in all weathers.”
“Was the man alone?”
“No, Ludovico. He had an accomplice. A figure was seen hurling himself over the top of the palisade. When they searched outside with torches, they found a place where someone had landed heavily and slithered down into the ditch. Apparently, his only concern was to save his own skin. He obviously abandoned his friend to his grisly fate.”
“The intruder paid dearly for his boldness,” said the other. “He came up against a line of defence that can never be breached.”
“Thanks to you.”
“And to you, my lord. Who brought us here?”
“I did,” said Aubrey with a complacent grin, “and it was the most sensible decision I ever made. I know that you miss Italy and hate our Yorkshire winters, but I tell you this, Ludovico. With the three of you beside me, I sleep so much more soundly in my bed.”
“That is why we are here, my lord.”
“It is part of the reason.” He became brusque. “I have instruction for you. Important visitors will soon arrive at the castle. They are here on royal business and must be given every assistance. But they need entertainment as well.”
“I follow, my lord.”
“The animals must be on their very best behaviour.”
“Leave that to me.”
“I always do, Ludovico.”
“Have they ever seen lions before?”
“No,” said Aubrey, cheeks glowing with pride. “Not like mine. Nobody has ever seen lions like mine!”
Tanchelm of Ghent was an amiable man who went out of his way to befriend his companions. Introduced to them in turn at Lincoln, he quickly identified Canon Hubert as the person who would be most difficult to win over. As they left the city and rode north along Ermine Street, he fell in beside Hubert’s donkey and struck up a conversation.
“I must offer my profound apologies,” he began.
“Apologies?”
“For foisting myself upon you like this. It is not by choice. King William gave orders that I should join your commission. Left to myself, I own, I would much rather have stayed on my estates, immersed in my books.”
“Your books?”
“I am a reading man, Canon Hubert. I would willingly put a soldier’s life behind me for good and spend the rest of my days in the simple joys of study and meditation.”
“Indeed?”
Hubert was impressed. Tanchelm of Ghent was a Flemish mercenary who had fought beside the Duke of Normandy at Hastings and been richly rewarded. The likelihood was that he would be a boorish warrior with a compulsion to take control and to have everything on his terms. Instead, he turned out to be an intelligent and sensitive man who spoke Norman French without a whisper of a Flemish accent.
When Tanchelm described some of the titles in his library, the canon was even more impressed.
“You have read Boethius?” he said in surprise.