When he tried to run after his quarry, Nigel was far too ponderous.
Olaf danced around him and jumped on him from behind, a forearm across his neck to heave him backwards. They hit the ground with a thud and rolled over. Nigel’s sword was knocked from his hand but his dagger was slashing violently. Olaf grabbed the wrist that held the weapon and tried to stab on his own account. Nigel was a resourceful opponent, twisting around to grab Olaf’s wrist, then squeezing it hard with his mailed palm.
It was now a trial of strength. Each dagger drew wild circles in the air as the men tried to attack and defend at the same time. Nigel was now on top and his weight was tilting the balance his way. Olaf was gasping as he strove to hold back the other’s jabbing wrist. As Nigel thrust harder, the end of his dagger scored Olaf’s face and blood gushed down his cheek. Inga quivered with fear and the other outlaws braced themselves against the outcome. Their leader seemed to be doomed.
But Olaf Evil Child suddenly revived. Pain drew a fresh burst of strength from him. With a concerted heave, he pushed Nigel off and the two of them rolled over and over, pushing the onlookers even further back and remaining locked in position until they bumped into the trunk of a tree. Nigel Arbarbonel ended on top again but it was he who emitted a cry of anguish before dropping his weapon and slumping forward. When they lifted him off, they found Olaf’s dagger embedded to the hilt in his eye.
The wounded outlaw got slowly to his feet.
“You saw what happened,” he said to Nigel’s men.
“So did we all,” said Gervase.
“Thank God!” said Inga, breaking free to run across to the victor.
“You’re safe. You’re alive.”
Olaf Evil Child had not only rescued her, he had killed the man who stalked her so relentlessly. Throwing her arms around the outlaw, she kissed him impulsively on his bloodstained cheek.
Canon Hubert did not have to wait long for the opportunity to accost Brother Francis. They met in the cloisters not long before Vespers.
Francis had his hands tucked in his sleeves and his head lowered in meditation. He looked up to find Hubert in front of him and the ready smile flowered.
“It is good to have you in York, Canon Hubert.”
“I would much rather be in Winchester,” said the other. “To be candid, Brother Francis, I wish that I had stayed in Bec, where I was subprior. Brother Simon, too. The Rule was strictly observed at the abbey and that contented us.”
“I have heard Brother Simon on this very topic.”
“He is too meek for this sinful world.”
“But you seem more robust.”
“Thank you,” said Hubert graciously. “But you, too, have earned congratulations. You served my colleagues well, by all accounts. They both praised your penmanship.”
“That gratifies me more than I can say.”
“Where did you learn your art?”
“At Lastingham when I took my vows.”
“So far north?”
“I fled there from my former life, Canon Hubert.”
“Former life?”
“I was a soldier. I bore arms against the Scots.”
“Happy is the man who has renounced violence.”
“It changed me,” said Francis soulfully. “Killing an enemy gave me no satisfaction. Only revulsion. It changed me. I fled to Lastingham and the monks took me in. I have known the true wickedness of the world and so have sought the cloister.”
“Yours is a heartening tale.”
“I found redemption. Most do not.”
“What brought you to York?”
“The abbot’s invitation,” said the other. “It could not be ignored. He asked me to become involved in the building of the abbey. Inspiring work. I dedicate my life to it.”
“Do you have funds sufficient for the task?”
“Not yet, Canon Hubert, but we will. That is partly my responsibility.
To find what patrons we may in the city. I have had some modest success,” he said with a smile. “It was I who drew my lord Aubrey in and, through him, others of distinction in the county. My days in armour were not in vain, after all.”
“In armour.”
“That is how I met my lord Aubrey. As a soldier.”
“You served with him?”
“Beneath his command. He remembered me.”
“Was he not surprised to see a soldier turned monk?”
“Yes,” said Francis, “but he did not take it amiss. Between us, his wife and I persuaded him of the abbey’s needs and he has become our benefactor.”
“I am pleased to hear that. One more thing …”
“It must wait, Canon Hubert. Vespers is upon us.”
“The bell has not yet rung.”
“It will. This instant.”
Even as he spoke, the minster bell began to toll. With a farewell smile, Brother Francis tucked his hands into his sleeves once more and shuffled quickly away.
Suspending the work of the tribunal was a regrettable decision because it lengthened their stay in York indefinitely. There was an incidental bonus. Instead of being preoccupied with charters and leases all day, Ralph Delchard had more chances of a casual meeting with Golde. It was she who brought what joy there was to his stay in the North.
“What else have you been doing?” he asked.
“We talked, we ate, we visited the chapel.”
“Herleve and you are bosom friends.”
“She trust me, Ralph. And I would sooner be looked on as a friend than condemned as a harlot.” Golde sighed. “That still rankles. It is sometimes painful to be seen as others see you.”
“All that matters is how I see you, my love.”
“And how is that?”
“Not often enough.”
He caught her in his arms and kissed her on the lips.
They were sharing a moment alone in their apartment at the castle.
Ralph had retired there to reflect on the day’s findings when Golde slipped in to change her apparel.
“I have not been idle here,” she said.
“It is foreign to your nature, my love.”
“Herleve has shown me every aspect of the household. If I am to live with you in Hampshire, I must know how to run a large establishment.”
Fleeting doubts crowded in. “Am I to come to Hampshire?”
“If we can once get clear of this hell-hole!”
“It is a fine household with far more servants than we will ever need. They have a pantry, a larder, a buttery and a kitchen, each with its own staff. I met the baker, the slaughterer, the fruiterer, the candlemaker, the poulterer and I do not know who else.”
“No brewer?” he teased.
“They only drink wine here.”
“We will do the same in Hampshire.”
“No,” she countered. “You will learn to savour the taste of beer. When you live with a brewer, you must let her demonstrate the finer points of her occupation.”
“I am your occupation from now on, Golde.”
“That is all I ask.”
They embraced again and minutes slid happily past. When they parted once more, Golde continued her bubbling account of the household administration.
“Four hundred eggs! Can you imagine such a sight.”
“The hens must be laying without stop.”
“And fish in huge quantities. Mackerel, flounder, mullet and a dozen other varieties.”
“Do not mention fish,” he said. “I spent hours down at the harbour this afternoon wading through them.”
“The cook was the most interesting man I met.”
Ralph yawned. “Tell me about him another time, my love.”
“But he was so amusing.”
“You are the only amusement I want at this moment.”
“He explained to me how he makes his most delicious dishes. I have the recipes to take back to Hampshire with me.”
“Golde …”
“My lord Aubrey makes him work so hard.”
“I do not really need tittle-tattle about a cook.”
“You would love this man,” she said. “He gets so wild when he is angry. Banging his pots and pans with his spoon and threatening to leave if his master does it again.”