‘And?’
‘They will enter the city within the hour.’
‘Much good will that do us!’
‘Have more faith in the commissioners.’
‘I wish that I could, Frodo,’ said the other, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. ‘But they will probably get no further than their predecessors. Earl Hugh will tie them up in knots as he did the first commissioners.’
‘They were shrewder than you give them credit for,’ said the archdeacon. ‘They took the measure of Earl Hugh. He did not fool them for one moment. These second visitors have come to call him to account.’
‘Nobody has ever done that with any success.’
‘It has to happen one day, your grace.’
‘Yes, Frodo — at the Last Judgement.’
‘That is effectively what this survey is,’ reminded the other with outspread palms. ‘It is no mere inventory. Its inquiries have been so thorough and its scope so wide that it is a veritable Domesday Book. All our earthly deeds are entered neatly in its abbreviated Latin.’ He clasped his hands across his paunch. ‘Our deeds — and our misdeeds.’
The bishop grimaced. ‘They will need a separate volume to record the misdeeds of our noble earl in their gruesome entirety. Each day brings fresh horrors from the castle. I pray continually for divine intervention but the Lord sees fit to allow Earl Hugh to continue unchecked and unchastised.’
‘Until now.’
‘Do you really believe that these newcomers will be able to exert some influence over him?’
‘They are royal commissioners.’
‘The only royalty in Cheshire is the earl himself.’
‘He is still a subject of King William.’
‘He has never behaved like one.’ Rising to his feet, he made an effort to shake off his pessimism. ‘I am sorry, Frodo. I must not despair of Ralph Delchard and his colleagues before they have even arrived. Who knows? Perhaps they can achieve the impossible. Perhaps they can muzzle that wild bear who holds sway over us. At the very least, they deserve our full support.’
‘I will ensure that they are given it.’
‘You must be my intermediary here, Frodo.’
‘Gladly, your grace.’
‘I will work zealously in the background but you must represent me in public. It would not be politic for me to be seen to be in direct opposition to the earl. Neither politic nor healthy. I must haunt the shadows. Speak on my behalf.’
‘With full voice.’
‘I trust you implicitly.’
Frodo allowed himself a complacent smile. Trained by the bishop himself, he was a skilful negotiator and a tactful diplomat. Robert de Limesey might have greater experience but his archdeacon had a tenacity and resourcefulness which made him, in some 12
The Hawks of Delamere
ways, even more formidable in debate. In the forthcoming dispute, the Church would indeed have a cunning advocate. The bishop felt partially reassured.
‘What do we know of these commissioners?’ he asked.
‘They have built an excellent reputation.’
‘For what?’
‘Honesty, independence and firm action.’
‘Where else have they been?’
‘Hereford and York are the only places that have come to my ears,’ said Frodo. ‘I have friends in both cathedral chapters and their letters were full of praise for this Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret. In Hereford, it is reported, they helped to stop an uprising on the Welsh border.’
‘Men of action, clearly.’
‘And considerable guile, I suspect.’
‘Is Canon Hubert held in the same high regard?’
‘Not exactly, but he is reckoned to be an upright judge and a man of great moral certitude.’
‘Such a person is much needed in Chester.’
‘We already have one, your grace.’
‘Thank you, Frodo,’ said the bishop, responding to the flattery with a weary nod. ‘But the sad truth is that my moral certitude is slightly frayed at the edges. Living cheek by jowl with Earl Hugh is enough to make any man question his beliefs.’ He drew himself up to his full height. ‘Canon Hubert must be given a cordial welcome. I had mention of him in a letter from Bishop Walkelin of Winchester. He commended the good canon to me.’
‘There is approval from an even higher source.’
‘Higher than a bishop?’
‘Yes,’ explained Frodo. ‘No less a person than Archbishop Lanfranc. Hubert was sub-prior at Bec when Lanfranc was the prior there. Canon Hubert’s history is impeccable.’
‘Not too impeccable, I trust, Frodo.’
‘Your grace?’
‘I like at least a hint of human fallibility.’
‘We all bear that defect.’
‘Indeed, we do. Indeed, we do.’
Bishop Robert crossed to the window to gaze out of it as he reflected on his own occasional wandering from the strait path of righteousness. An imperfect Christian, he had learned to accept his imperfections and to be highly suspicious of those whose lives seemed to be impelled by greater piety and purity.
A man with an impeccable history was a disturbing phenomenon.
He began to wonder if he was going to like Canon Hubert as much as he had first thought. More important, he feared that he might not be able to influence such a person in the way that he hoped.
Frodo seemed to read his companion’s mind. ‘Leave him to me, your grace,’ he whispered.
Seen from a distance, Chester was a handsome city, surrounded by a high stone wall and cradled in a loop of the River Dee. Its dominant feature was the castle, built by the Conqueror over fifteen years earlier as the key fortress on the troublesome road to North Wales. Conforming to the motte and bailey design that was so characteristic of Norman military architecture, it rose high above the wall in the south-west corner of the city where it could command both the port area and the bridge across the river. Like the castle, the bridge was constructed of solid timber hewn from the extensive forests in the county.
Ralph Delchard brought his party to a halt in order to take stock of the place that was to be their home for at least a couple of weeks. Reactions to the prospect varied. Gervase Bret was fascinated, running a keen eye over every detail that was visible from their standpoint. Canon Hubert found nothing in the scene to enlist his interest. To him, Chester was no more than the lair of a wild animal who had assumed unlimited power. Brother Simon was plainly terrified at the thought of having to meet the dangerous creature who bore the title of earl, and wished that they could abandon their task and ride straight back to the safety of Winchester.
To the knights who made up the escort, Chester had no special significance. They were simply grateful that they had at last reached their destination and could look forward to rest and refreshment. Ralph took a wholly different attitude. He had been there once before. His second visit to the city was marred by uncomfortable memories of the first, when he had been part of a conquering army that crushed all before it. Chester might have a stark beauty when viewed from afar but closer acquaintance would reveal a grim legacy.
With the exception of Yorkshire, no county in England was as badly devastated by the Normans as Cheshire. Signs of that devastation had been seen everywhere on their journey but they would be most marked inside the city itself, where no fewer than two hundred houses had been destroyed. Ralph was not proud of his small part in the hostilities which had killed many citizens and made over a thousand others homeless. His guilt stirred.
Marriage to a Saxon wife had profoundly altered his view of his military career. Golde had made him feel sympathy for an indigenous population whom they had subdued with ruthless efficiency. Ralph could no longer dismiss what happened as the inevitable result of the fortunes of war. When an earlier assignment took the commissioners to York, he had been tormented by memories of his role in the Harrying of the North, the most brutal and merciless operation ever mounted by the King. Something of the same grief afflicted Ralph now. He would be riding into the city with blood on his hands.