“Then attend to it.”
“I am needed here first.”
“Not by me, Archdeacon. I want no interfering churchmen getting under my feet. This is unholy work. Avoid.”
The sheriffs abrupt manner threw Canon Hubert and Brother Simon into a quandary. Delighted to see Idwal being rebuffed so sternly, they were yet witnessing open disrespect of a man of God. The Church of Wales was, in their opinion, a lower order of creation than that in which they had been called to serve, but it still merited the courtesy of a kind word. Torn between applauding and upbraiding the surly sheriff, Canon Hubert managed no more than a bout of meaningless spluttering.
Golde was next to take up the questioning.
“Has anyone been arrested for the murder?”
“Not yet.”
“But you know who the killers were?”
“We believe so.”
“Do you know why they chose Warnod as their target?”
The sheriff was blunt “I can no more answer that question than tell why you should ask it. Do you not have work enough in Hereford brewing your ale that you should ride about the countryside to interrupt my work?”
“That is too harsh a reply for a man,” said Ralph, tartly. “Let alone for a lady who has asked her question politely. We realise that you are jaded by your obvious failure to make any progress with your investigation, my lord sheriff, but you should not take out your frustrations on an innocent party such as our delightful guest here.”
Golde thanked him with a smile, but Ilbert fumed.
Canon Hubert tried to mollify him somewhat Nudging his donkey forward, he spoke on behalf of the whole commission.
“My lord sheriff,” he said. “You will wonder, no doubt, why fourteen sane people who could find a better lodging in Hereford are instead riding all the way to Archenfield.”
“It baffles me,” said Ilbert.
“Warnod brought us here. He is one of the main pillars that holds up our work. Take him away and it collapses.”
“Then you are standing in the ruins, Canon Hubert.”
“Ruins can be rebuilt-your own cathedral is a case in point.” Hubert was precise. “We need to know everything we can about the deceased- his character, his possessions, his way of life. Most of all, we need to know who killed him and for what reason. Our deliberations cannot proceed without this crucial information.”
“Does Golde form part of the commission?” said Ilbert with heavy sarcasm. “Or is she merely here to provide ale?”
“That remark is very unbecoming,” scolded Ralph. “The lady is here at my personal invitation. Offend her with your boorish comments and you offend me.”
Ilbert bit back a rejoinder as he met the unyielding gaze of Ralph Delchard. He decided that nothing would be served by antagonising the commissioners. It was in his interest to satisfy their demands and send them swiftly on their way. With a visible effort, therefore, he set aside his personal feelings and sounded a note of appeasement.
“I beg the lady’s pardon,” he said with rough courtesy. “Her appearance in such company as this took me by surprise and robbed me of my manners. It was unworthy of me.”
“Thank you, my lord sheriff,” said Golde.
She was poised and he was relaxed, but the look that passed between them was full of unresolved tensions. Ralph wondered what Golde had done to ruffle the sheriff.
“May we now ride on to Llanwarne?” she suggested.
“Yes,” urged Idwal. “My countrymen have need of my peculiar gifts.
I have to vindicate the red dragon.”
“If you know how to tame it,” said Ilbert, grudgingly, “you may yet be welcome in Archenfield.”
“Ergyng.”
“Call it what you will.”
“No man alive could stop me.”
Ralph was eager to press on. “Shall we set forward?”
“Hold there,” said Gervase. “Can we not make better use of our numbers here? The sheriff does not want all fourteen of us treading on his tail. While some ride on to view the place where Warnod died, others might strike off west to find the holdings that are the cause of the dispute. That way we get fuller value out of the daylight hours remaining.”
“Sage advice,” agreed Ralph. “I’ll on to Llanwarne with one party, Gervase. Take four of my men and anyone else who wishes to go with you. Survey those controversial acres that Richard Orbec is so determined to keep and Maurice Damville is so willing to cede on impulse.”
The sheriffs ears pricked up. “Damville giving in to Orbec?” he said in disbelief. “Can this be true?”
“I will explain as we ride along,” said Ralph. He turned to Canon Hubert and Brother Simon. “The road forks here. Archdeacon Idwal and Golde will accompany me. Which route will you choose?”
The choice was made for them. Hubert seized the chance to pluck out the Welsh thorn in his flesh, while Simon was able to rid himself of the alarming proximity of a beautiful woman. They elected to ride with Gervase. He was more amenable company in every respect.
Ilbert the Sheriff led the way south at a trot with Ralph Delchard beside him. Though the talk was of Richard Orbec and Maurice Damville, another person kept wafting her way into Ralph’s mind.
Golde was at once behind him and before his eyes. The journey from Hereford had enabled him to become more closely acquainted with her and there had been a deepening affection on both sides. Ilbert Malvoisin complicated the relationship between the two of them. Ralph sensed a rival.
Gervase Bret, meanwhile, veered off to the west with his six companions. The sheriff had given them directions and they rode at a brisk trot. The landscape was breathtaking. They passed through undulating countryside with wooded slopes, rich pastures, golden cornfields, and plentiful streams that trickled playfully along. When they paused to water their horses at one of those streams, they looked around to admire the scenery.
Gervase was particularly struck by the copse of silver birches on a rise ahead of them. With the sun hitting mem directly, their trunks gleamed like so many soldiers massed for a battle. He did not realise that some of those armoured figures were not made of wood.
Activity was brisk at the castle. Maurice Damville had returned to Ewyas Harold and was inspecting progress on the walls of the bailey.
Fearing severe punishment if they were deemed to be slacking, his slaves laboured with frenetic commitment. Masons had reinforced the battlements with slabs of stone dressed to shape, but rougher boulders were now being winched up or brought by hand. They were being piled at strategic points along the battlements.
Damville strutted along with Huegon beside him.
“We will need more skins of oil,” he said.
“Order has already been given, my lord.”
“Braziers, too,” added Damville. “Hot coals and boiling oil are worthy accomplices. See that fuel is provided.”
“The storehouse is full,” said Huegon, pointing to one of the timber buildings in the courtyard below. “The castle is well-supplied with all our needs. Food, wine, water, hay for the horses, and fuel for the braziers.”
“There is only one thing missing, Huegon.”
“My lord?”
“Women!” Damville laughed. “Fuel for my bed!”
“Ewyas Harold may not be the ideal place for the fairer sex at this moment,” said Huegon, tactfully. “Ladies have their function, it is true, but they must take their turn behind more pressing matters.”
“A fair, fat wench is a pressing matter in herself.”
“There will be ample time for sport.”
“One name will head all the others.”
“One name?”
“Aelgar.”
“The Lady of the Brewhouse.”
“She is more than that, Huegon,” said Damville with a wistful smile.
“Aelgar is an English rose in full bloom. My hand itches to snap her stem. Have you ever seen such fine eyes, such full lips, such a trim shape? I tell you this girl has bewitched me. I could almost believe I was in love.”
“Hereford lies a long way off yet, my lord.”