“Does what again?”
“Wakes him up in the middle of the night and demands a meal for his guests. It has happened more than once. What sort of guests arrive at that time? How do they even get into the city?”
Ralph was listening attentively now.
They had pitched camp near a stream. Olaf Evil Child rested in the shade of an oak. The wound on his face had been bathed and the blood stemmed. Gervase Bret sat beside him. Now that Inga had been rescued, he could turn to the business that had brought him in search of the outlaw.
“We need to talk about Tanchelm of Ghent,” he said.
“I do not know the man.”
“But you know of him?”
“Yes,” said Olaf guardedly.
“And you know that he was murdered?”
“I do.”
“How?”
“I have eyes in York.”
“Did they manage to see who killed him?”
“No, Master Bret. Nor did they discern why. Do not ask me to solve this murder. I never met this man.”
“But you agreed to do so,” guessed Gervase.
Olaf was evasive. “I may have.”
“Yesterday, by any chance?”
“I cannot remember.”
“How did he make contact with you?”
“I have not said that he did.”
“You are involved in this. I know it.”
“Do not pester me,” warned Olaf with irritation. “I will mend your head and loan you a horse and even help to save your companion, Master Bret, but that is all. It was done in the spirit of friendship.”
“Has that spirit suddenly died?”
“You are a royal official, I am an outlaw. You live in one world, I live in another. There’s an end to it.”
“No, Olaf.”
“You have your horse back. Take it and ride to York.”
“Not until I have heard about Tanchelm of Ghent.”
“We never even met!”
“But you were ready to!” said Gervase earnestly. “You did at least consider his proposal. Why was that?” Olaf ignored him. “My lord Tanchelm believed in you. When he looked at the evidence in our returns, he believed that you had been dispossessed by Robert Brossard.”
“I was. By force of arms.”
“You have redress through us.”
“Not now. Not when I am an outlaw.”
“My lord Tanchelm thought otherwise. Norman law can be harsh but pardon is not unknown. If you presented your claim with charters to enforce it, Robert Brossard might well have been compelled to restore your holdings. We have that power.” Gervase leaned into him. “Did my lord Tanchelm offer you a bargain? Was that it? A fair hearing in return for some information?”
Olaf Evil Child became restive. He scratched at his beard before turning to stare deep into Gervase’s eyes.
“Why did you come here?” he asked.
“I had to.”
“What did you hope to get?”
“The truth about you and my lord Tanchelm.”
“He is dead. All that is past.”
“His killer is still at large. I will do anything to find him. You can help me.” Olaf fell silent again. “How did he reach you? What did he say? Were you tempted?”
A long pause. “Yes,” admitted Olaf, “I was tempted. He wrote to me in Danish, a language I still cling to at times. My lord Tanchelm let it be known that he had a message for Olaf Evil Child. His request reached my man in York.”
“Do you still have the letter?”
“I destroyed it. A dead man’s promise is useless.”
“Promise?”
“To consider my claim without prejudice,” said Olaf. “In return, he wanted information. My scouts see every movement of troops and ships.
We know who comes, who leaves and where they went while they were here. This was what he wanted, for reasons he did not say.”
“Did you trust him?”
“No, Master Bret.”
“But you came to York yesterday?”
“With some misgiving.”
“You were to meet at the shire hall?”
“When his tribunal dispersed for the day,” said Olaf. “He knew I would fear a trap and tried to reassure me. I watched him come out to dismiss his men. It let me take a close look at Tanchelm of Ghent.”
“What did you think of him?”
“He looked honest enough. And devious enough.”
“Devious?”
“To speak with me, he had to get rid of his colleagues and his escort.
There were other soldiers outside the shire hall, belonging to someone else. He knew I would not dare to walk past them to go into the hall.”
“So he left the shutters open for you!” Gervase began to piece it together. “That is why he was not disturbed when someone came through the window. He was expecting you.”
“But another came in my place.”
“Who?”
“I cannot say. All I saw was the commotion. When they brought out a body, I knew it must be him. I left York at once.”
“Would you come back again?”
“No.”
“I would guarantee your safe conduct.”
“Norman justice would never help me.”
“Not if you stay out here in the wilderness.”
Olaf Evil Child looked around at his men. Some were sleeping on the ground, some were chatting, some were eating the last of the day’s catch. Eric was sharpening an axe. Beyond them, in a secluded corner, Inga was talking agitatedly to Ragnar Longfoot.
“Go now while you still have some light,” said Olaf.
“Will you ride with me?”
“No, but I’ll send someone to guide you.”
“How can I reach you again?”
“There will be a way.”
Inga came across with Ragnar limping beside her. Gervase could see the deep sadness hanging upon her.
“Have you learned what you came to find out?” he said.
“Yes,” she replied sadly. “It will not bring Toki back to me. But at least I understand.”
“Light is failing,” noted Olaf. “Go now or you will not reach York before dark.”
“I will show them the way,” volunteered Ragnar.
Gervase thanked Olaf for his help but Inga had far more cause for gratitude. To be delivered up into the hands of Nigel Arbarbonel was a fate she could not bear even to reflect upon, and Olaf had saved her from it. She kissed him once more on the cheek. He grinned apprecia-tively.
“You may visit us again, Inga,” he said warmly.
When they mounted, Gervase looked down at him.
“Why did you return our apparel?” he asked.
“It did not fit me,” said Olaf.
“Why did you steal it in the first place?”
“I hoped the packs might contain the missing charters to my land.
Stealing one’s own property back is not really theft.”
“We must go,” urged Ragnar Longfoot.
“We will, I promise you,” said Gervase. “I must just ask Olaf one last favour….”
Ralph Delchard was racked by guilt and apprehension. He blamed himself for letting Gervase Bret ride off without an escort and he feared that some terrible accident had befallen his friend. Darkness was enveloping the castle and there was still no sign of Gervase. Climbing up the wooden steps, Ralph walked anxiously along the boards, peering over the palisade with more hope than expectation. It was too late.
The city gates were being locked. Gervase would not come back that night. Ralph had a sudden premonition that he would never come back.
After pacing up and down, he screwed his eyes to pierce the darkness. Nothing was visible save the stark profile of the city. The sounds of night were descending on York. Revellers were noisy. Music played somewhere. Dogs roamed and yelped. A single bell tolled. Ralph turned away. He wanted to mount up and lead his men in a search but he knew that it would be a hopeless exercise. They must wait until dawn.
He descended the stairs in a state of dejection. There was nothing that he could do. He was about to abandon all hope when a familiar voice rang out from beyond the wall. Ralph ran back up the steps and gazed over the top of the palisade once more. He could just make some shapes in the darkness. They seemed to be moving about.