The Welshman’s frustration became too great to bear. When he next closed on Orbec, he flung himself at the Norman and tried to buffet him to the ground, but his adversary was ready for him. Moving his horse sharply away and smashing a forearm against Goronwy’s chest, Orbec sent him sprawling to the ground. Once again, he had held back. When he might have finished his man, he allowed him to get to his feet again.
Goronwy was fired by a sense of indignation. He had been humili-ated in combat in front of his own men. He vowed to cut out Orbec’s heart and hold it up on the point of his sword. He let out the most ear-splitting war cry yet. Before he could strike again, however, the plaintive voice of Angharad was heard.
“Goronwy!”
He froze and turned to look up at her. That moment of immobility was his downfall. Up on the battlements, Maurice Damville took a small axe from his belt and hurled it down with vicious power. It came spinning through the air with gathering speed to strike Goronwy full in the face and to split his head in two like a cleft apple. Blood spurted everywhere. The Welshman fell backward with a thud.
Angharad screamed and was immediately shielded by Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret. Orbec glowered up at Damville in disgust.
The archers drew their bows on the battlements. Incsensed by what they had seen, the Welsh host was ready to charge again.
Idwal the Archdeacon bravely interposed himself between the two forces and raised his voice to full volume.
“Do not be roused to battle!” he shouted in Welsh. “This death will be paid for in full. The man who ambushed a beautiful young bride has just murdered her bridegroom. You all saw him-Maurice Damville, castellan of Ewyas Harold.”
Hearing his name, Damville acknowledged it with a cheerful wave.
His old defiance had returned. He pointed down at Goronwy’s body and laughed derisively.
“He is the true enemy here,” continued Idwal in his own tongue,
“and has many crimes to answer for. It is not your task to bring him to account. He will pay for this cowardly murder. The sheriff will arrest him and he will stand trial.”
“He will stand trial now!” ordered Cadwgan. “He slew my nephew.
That crime cannot be settled in an English court of law. Move aside that we may raze his castle to the ground.”
Idwal extended both arms. “Why kill so many men on both sides to get at one?”
“Move aside, I say!”
The prince of Powys began to marshal his men again and the battering ram was retrieved. Angharad would not be able to halt them this time. Seeing the sudden change of mood, Ralph Delchard took control. He rode up to the castle walls alone to address Damville directly.
“This slaughter will serve nobody’s purpose,” he said. “Your plans have gone awry, my lord. You killed Warnod and set an ambush for Angharad in order to sow the seeds of enmity along the border. But she escaped and we divined your purpose. You will be arraigned by the sheriff and held for trial in due course.”
“The sheriff will have to take me first.”
“I may leave that to this army here, if you wish. They are but the first wave you will have to repulse. More will surely follow. Is that what your men seek?” he said, raising his voice so that the whole castle could hear. “Will you throw away your own lives for this murderer you serve?”
Damville’s soldiers looked out at the battle line and the battering ram. If the Welsh were held at bay, there would be the sheriff and his men to follow them. If they were beaten off, the king himself would send a larger army to know the reason why. The castle of Ewyas Harold was doomed. That realisation showed in every face but one.
“We will fight to the last man!” yelled Damville.
“You are he,” said Ralph.
“I will never give myself up to the sheriff.”
“There is no need. A simpler procedure may be followed here. It will resolve the matter forthwith.”
Damville glowered at him. “What simpler procedure?”
“Trial by combat,” said Ralph. “Against me.”
To subdue the tumult in her mind, Golde threw herself into her work.
When she was busy in the brewhouse with her assistants or taking further orders from her customers, she had no time to fret about her future. It was only when she watched some casks being loaded onto a cart that he slipped back into her thoughts. The casks were destined for the castle and it was there that she had first met Ralph Delchard.
Seeking a sheriff whom she resented, she had instead been shown kindness by a man she had come to love. She smiled as she recalled his opinion of ale. Of all the men she might have chosen, she picked one who despised the brew with which she made such a comfortable living.
“Are we finished for the day, Golde?”
“I think so.”
“Shall we eat together?”
“I am not hungry.”
“He will not thank you for starving yourself.”
“Leave me, Aelgar. I would not be teased.”
But her sister had come to renew her earlier advice. The death of her own beloved had awakened her to the readiness with which she had planned to walk out of the house in Castle Street. Golde had not been consulted at any stage, but she did not complain about that. She had shared in Aelgar’s happiness and that was enough for her.
The roles were now reversed. In her despair, the younger sister could pluck comfort from Golde’s happiness. The problem was that the latter was still reluctant to bask in the pleasure herself. Doubts continued to assail her.
“You love him, Golde. He loves you. What else matters?”
“The truth, Aelgar.”
“What truth?”
“There should be trust and honesty between us.”
“Is there not?”
“Up to a point.” Golde looked across at her. “How much did you confide in Warnod?”
“Everything.”
“You held nothing back? No little secrets?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you tell him all your faults?”
“I have none.”
“That is one of them,” said Golde with a smile. “To think you are perfect. Was there complete trust between you and Warnod? On both sides?”
“On both sides,” said Aelgar. “To share a man’s life properly, you have to commit yourself to him. I trusted Warnod utterly. If he had not trusted me, he would never have given me that will to keep.”
“It is not the will that worries me.”
“Then what is it?”
“His charter.”
Aelgar was surprised. “Have you not told him yet?”
“I am not sure that I should.”
“He may find out by other means.”
Golde sighed. “That’s my fear. All would be lost.”
“Tell him, sister. He will understand.”
“It may make him think ill of me.”
“Not if he loves you, Golde. Put him to the test.”
“I am afraid to do so.”
“Then let me do it for you,” volunteered the other. “I can praise you in ways that you would not. I am involved here. It was I who first told you of the charter. I should be the one to explain to him in full.”
“No,” said Golde, reaching a firm decision at last. “You are right. He must be told. But not by you. It is my duty and I must not shirk it.
Since I have been blessed with the chance to meet this man, I must have the courage to speak openly with him. I will tell all. It is the only way.”
Maurice Damville bowed to necessity. He had no alternative. His carefully laid plot had been sundered by the escape of Gervase Bret and Angharad. With them safely in custody in Monmouth Castle, he could have controlled events with ease and directed all the hostility at Richard Orbec. That was no longer possible. He had been overtaken by events and his own men had now revolted against him. Lured by the promise of lavish gains, their ambition waned in the face of six hundred men with a battering ram. Their lord must fight on alone.