When he and Gervase Bret rode to each of the city gates, they met with the same response. Nothing suspicious had been seen.
No boy had been taken out through them since they had opened that morning. Recalling what Abraham had told them, the two friends turned their attention to the quayside, wondering if the river might be used as a means of spiriting Owen away. Once again, they were out of luck. Few craft had sailed downriver and none had been seen with a boy aboard who answered to the description of Owen. Ralph turned back to regard the city.
‘He’s still here, Gervase.’
‘The archdeacon doubted that.’
‘What does he know of a manhunt? Instinct is the crucial thing and mine tells me that the lad is hidden away somewhere. If we had more men, we could turn Gloucester inside out until we found him.’
‘The sheriff has men enough.’
‘Can you imagine him handing them over to us?’
‘No, Ralph,’ said the other. ‘And they are needed at the castle.
Now that you have passed on the word about a possible attempt on the King’s life, the whole garrison is on its toes. Durand does not strike me as the kind of man who would be moved by the plight of a novice. Protecting a King will seem far more vital to him than hunting for a boy who was foolish enough to wander around the abbey at night.’
‘That has been worrying me.’
‘What has?’
‘The sheer coincidence of it. Owen leaves the dormitory and someone just happens to be lurking in readiness for him. Why?
It does not make sense.’
‘It does to anyone who has been in an abbey. Young boys are playful. It is only natural. Until they reach maturer years, there will always be one or two who risk a beating to slip out at night.
Look at Kenelm and Elaf. They had many midnight escapades.’
‘I do not follow your argument.’
‘The man who lay in ambush was not waiting specifically for Owen. He may have had no idea who would appear. What he was counting on was that, sooner or later, some wilful novice would be out on the prowl. Brother Nicholas would probably have told him that.’
‘I am still not convinced.’
‘Then you have to side with the sheriff.’
‘God forbid!’
‘He still believes the killer lives in the abbey itself. An insider who knows where to skulk in order to wait for his prey to emerge from the novices’ dormitory. If he was Brother Nicholas’s accomplice, he would know how devoted Owen had been to the dead man. Devoted enough to pay a secret visit to his grave.’
‘Now that begins to make sense.’
‘Another monk as the murderer?’
‘Someone who was privy to the close relationship between Brother Nicholas and Owen. Monk or not, such a person would be able to anticipate a visit to the cemetery from the boy. Yes, Gervase,’ he said as the idea got a purchase on his mind, ‘we can rule out coincidence altogether. We are looking at careful planning here. At calculation.’
‘If he is calculating enough to get a boy out of an abbey, he will surely have the skill to smuggle him out of the city. Owen could have been hidden away in any of those carts we saw trundling through the gates. Or perhaps he was lowered over the wall at night by ropes. He has gone, Ralph. The archdeacon felt that and I agree.’
Before Ralph could reply, two familiar figures walked towards them. Strang the Dane had an arrogant strut, Balki a loping stride.
Neither looked happy at the accidental meeting.
‘I want to register a complaint!’ said Strang aggressively.
‘When do you do anything else?’ returned Ralph.
‘You have failed in your duty, my lord.’
‘I have responded to a call for help.’
‘So we have been told by Nigel the Reeve,’ said the Dane, ‘but only after we battered at his eardrums. He has just told us what he could have said this morning and saved us wasted time.’
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Gervase.
‘What do you think? Some people may neglect their work but I cannot afford to do that. Since you will not need me for some days at least, I am sailing to Bristol with a cargo of iron ore. It has been expected all week.’ He pointed to a boat moored at the quayside. ‘There it sits.’
‘That is yours?’ said Ralph.
‘Yes, my lord. It has been here too long as it is. One thing about iron ore, though,’ he added with a grim smile, ‘nobody is tempted to steal it. They would have dirty hands and aching muscles if they did.’
Ralph looked at the boat more carefully. It was a large craft with a single sail. The deck had been reinforced to take the weight of its regular cargo. When he saw how low it was in the water, he realised how large a quantity of iron ore was being carried on board. Most of it was covered by a tattered tarpaulin.
‘It will need to be searched,’ he announced.
‘Why?’ said Strang defensively.
‘So that we can be sure you are only taking what you claim to be taking. Stay here while it is searched.’ He was about to step aboard when he noticed how much the boat was moving about in the water. ‘Gervase will do the office for me.’ His friend gave him a resigned look. ‘Carry on, please. We must leave no stone unturned and no tarpaulin unlifted.’
While Gervase climbed about, Strang was vociferous in his protest. Balki insisted on taking part in the search, pulling back the tarpaulin helpfully and making it clear that there was nobody and nothing else aboard apart from the designated cargo. Annoyed by the bellows of complaint, Ralph finally silenced the Dane with a yell and sent him on his way, glad that he would not have to endure the man’s troublesome company for a few days. As soon as Gervase came ashore, the two men cast off. Oars were used to guide them out into the middle of the river then Balki hoisted the sail and it took a first smack from the wind. Ralph watched as it glided slowly downriver.
‘You would not get me into that boat.’
‘So I saw,’ said Gervase.
‘Someone had to search it. Every boat that comes downriver must be inspected from now on. If this is their means of transport, we will block it off completely.’
‘Unless we are already too late, Ralph.’
‘Late?’
‘They may have got him out during the night.’
‘I hope not.’
‘Owen may already be sailing to damnation.’
Sheer fatigue sent him off into a deep sleep. When he finally awoke, his stomach was still queasy but he was no longer being tossed helplessly around in the coracle. It was a small mercy.
Trying to move, Owen realised that he was still bound hand and foot with a gag preventing any call for help. Wet, frightened and aching all over, he forced his eyes open to take stock of his surroundings. He was propped against a wall in some kind of ruined building. Water could be heard gushing past nearby. It was a small room with a rotting floor and a door that had fallen off its hinges. Since birds flew in and out at will, he surmised that there were holes in the wall at his back.
In the far corner was a pile of old sacks, whitened by their contents but blackened with age. Other clues slowly met his gaze. Owen was eventually able to work out where he must be.
It was an abandoned mill. His heart sank as he saw what it must mean. He was some distance from Gloucester. The abbey he loved so much and the city which surrounded it were far away. He wondered if he would ever see them again. Whenever he moved even slightly, ropes chafed his wrists and his ankles.
His muscles seemed to be on fire. Wanting to cry, he could not even produce tears. It was frustrating. Owen turned his mind once more to his departed friend. His silent plea was charged with despair.
‘Help me, Brother Nicholas! Where are you?’
King William sat at the table with the others ranged around him.
The two leading barons who had ridden with him said little, having already had discussions with him on the journey to Gloucester.
Durand the Sheriff was unusually quite reticent, agreeing with all that was suggested and concealing any reservations he had about the proposed course of action. It was Bishop Wulfstan who provided most of the questions. The one prelate at the table was not daunted by the presence of four soldiers.