“I cannot tell you.”
“Would you rather die here?”
“No, no!” he pleaded. “Spare me.”
Gervase was overtaken by the certainty of recognition.
“He was part of the ambush,” he said. “Who is he?”
“One of Murdac’s men.”
“Murdac?”
“Yes,” said Olaf. “Pray hard for your young friend.”
“Why?” said Gervase.
“She could not have fallen into worse hands.”
Murder made him suspicious of everyone. Ralph Delchard was reading significance into every word and deed of those around him and it was hampering his investigation. Innocence should be presumed unless guilt was conclusively proven. He told himself to collect sufficient evidence before he rushed to judgement again. Aubrey Maminot was entitled to speak with Brother Francis if he wished. Nigel Arbarbonel should be allowed to endow the Abbey of St. Mary without being mis-trusted. The name of Robert Brossard should not be under a shadow simply because it was due to come before Tanchelm of Ghent in a property dispute. Men should not be condemned out of hand because they were half-brothers.
Ralph saw how sceptical he had become and it made him feel slightly ashamed. Aubrey was an old friend who was giving them the warmest hospitality, yet he was being repaid with deception and distrust. If Ralph had even the remotest doubts about him, the best way to dispel them was to raise them with Aubrey himself.
“Our work suffers while this continues,” said Ralph. “It will not be easy to take up the reins again once this crime is solved.”
“Then take them up right now,” urged Aubrey Maminot. “My lord sheriff and I have resources enough to pursue the killer. Resume the work that brought you to York.”
“I could not do so with a clear conscience. Tanchelm was my fellow.
I have an obligation to solve his murder myself.”
“Then let the others act in your stead. Canon Hubert and Gervase are worthy judges. They will manage alone.”
“No, Aubrey. We are all of one mind. Tanchelm’s death must first be redeemed, then all three of us will sit together as before with Brother Simon as our scribe.” He clicked his tongue. “The murder enforces a double loss. A valued colleague is taken from us but so is Brother Francis. I will be sorry to lose his cheerful presence.”
“Yes,” said Aubrey. “He is an amiable fellow.”
“You know him, then?”
“Exceeding well. Herleve is a patron of the abbey. I never thought to waste my wealth on a collection of black cowls but there’s no help for it. My wife must be kept content. And the abbey was the lesser of two evils.”
“Evils?”
“Herleve was desirous of founding a convent.”
Ralph chuckled. “I cannot see Aubrey Maminot in the company of holy nuns!”
“A defiance of nature! Such cruel waste!”
“So you chose the abbey instead.”
“Yes, Ralph,” said the other. “The monastic ideal is no more use to me than a hole in the head but I am interested in design and structure.
When this castle was rebuilt, I helped to plan it. That is why Brother Francis is so useful to me.”
“Useful?”
“He keeps me informed of the building of the abbey at every stage.
And he does so with a touch of merriment. He is the only monk I have met who does not make me feel sinful.”
“Yes. Brother Francis is a tolerant Christian.”
“It comes from his having lived in the world before taking the cowl,”
said Aubrey. “The fellow bore arms in his youth. He is no pale imita-tion of a real man like your Brother Simon.”
Ralph was reassured. Finding his host in the solar, he was glad that he had raised the subject of his jovial scribe. It encouraged him to touch on another matter that had aroused his suspicion.
“You helped to plan this castle, you say?”
“After it was destroyed,” said Aubrey. “I did not move the site or alter the basic shape but I introduced many improvements. The keep was reconstructed to my design.”
“Did that include the lions’ cage?”
“Of course. It was built into the base of the tower so that Romulus and Remus could be released onto the mound. Fresh air blows in through the bars to combat their smell.”
“I noticed a trapdoor in the bottom of the cage.”
Aubrey grinned. “And what did you think it was?”
“I have no notion.”
“A wine cellar? A treasure house? A secret room where I keep a bevy of mistresses? No, Ralph,” he said easily. “It is no more than a vault where we store the herbs to lend some fragrance to Romulus and Remus.”
“I guessed it might have some such purpose.”
“They guard it well. My lions would allow nobody into that vault except Ludovico and myself. It is the most well-defended part of the castle.” He grinned again. “If the keep were ever stormed, that is where I would hide.”
Inga lay on the ground in silent agony. Ropes bit into her wrists and ankles, her back was aching and she was starting to feel the first twinges of cramp. Her physical discomfort was mild compared to her mental torment. Everything was lost. Instead of finding Ragnar Longfoot, she would be sold off to Nigel Arbarbonel like a side of meat in York market and subjected to the most unspeakable treat-ment. If rumours were to be believed, Inga would not be the first young woman to vanish behind the walls of his castle. Her fate was linked to that of her mother and Brunn the Priest. Intolerable pain would be inflicted on both of them.
Even as she contemplated her own hideous destiny, she found time to spare a thought for Gervase Bret. A fearful blow had knocked him from his horse. He might still be lying on the road, bleeding to death.
Inga felt strangely culpable. If she had not been with him, it might have been different. He offered her friendship but all she brought him was bad fortune. It was Gervase who had told her about Toki and he had done so with a gentleness and concern that touched her. But for him, she might never have known what happened to her beloved Toki.
Rough hands seized her and dragged her backwards.
“Sit up for him,” said Murdac gruffly. “He’ll want a proper look at you, girl.”
“Let go of me!” she protested.
“We’ll have you here, I think.”
Murdac propped her up against a tree and stood back to appraise her. Jeers came from the other men. Their ribald comments and lustful glances burned into her brain. She was entirely at their mercy and she knew that there was worse to come. When she heard the approach of horses, she froze with apprehension.
The outlaws rose to their feet as Halfdan led the way into the clearing. Nigel Arbarbonel and his men drew up in a semicircle. When he saw his prize, trussed up and helpless, he burst into harsh laughter.
“I’ll have her!” he insisted. “Whatever the price.”
“She does not come cheap, my lord,” said Murdac.
“You’ll get your money.”
“We knew she would take your eye.”
“She does,” said Nigel, dropping to the ground. “You could not have found me a finer gift. She is mine!”
He strode across to Inga and stood over her with his legs apart and arms akimbo. There was a world of mockery in his voice.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Keeping company with such foul ruffians?”
“Go away!” she exclaimed.
“But I have come to save you, Inga.”
Murdac blinked. “You know her, my lord?”
“Oh, yes. I know her but I intend to know her a lot better before I have finished with her.” The others grinned. “Inga and I are old friends.”
“I am no friend of yours!” she protested. “And you will not get away with this. They will come after you.”
“Who will?” he taunted. “Your mother? The valiant priest? We would all quake in our shoes before him! No, Inga. Nobody will come. You are just one more traveller who disappeared on a lonely road. Everyone will think that you were caught and killed by outlaws.”
“Caught, my lord,” said Halfdan, “but never killed. I’d have kept her alive to serve my pleasure.”