Gervase nudged his horse alongside his friend. ‘What are we waiting for?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ said Ralph curtly. ‘Follow me!’
With severe misgivings, he led the column on.
Gervase was under no illusions as to what they would find in the city. He had seen all the Domesday returns for the county in the Exchequer at Winchester and knew that Chester was described in more detail than almost any other city in England. What was omitted from the account was almost as eloquent as what was included. When they finally reached the bridge and clattered across it, Gervase was not surprised by what they saw on the other side.
The narrow winding street had a number of empty or dilapidated houses and other wounds of war were on display. Though the market was busy and the crowd thick, the atmosphere was curiously sombre. A resentful hush fell as the newcomers rode in through the gate. People pushed quickly to the side of the street and watched in sullen silence as the cavalcade passed.
Citizens accustomed to the furious and uncaring canter of the earl and his cronies were taken aback by the civilised trot of the visitors. Murmuring their gratitude, they went back to their haggling at the market stalls.
Ralph Delchard, meanwhile, took his company in through the main gate of the castle and reined in his horse. The rest of the party followed suit. The courtyard was alive with soldiers and there was an impressive air of order, but the person who caught their attention was standing no more than a dozen yards away.
He was a massive man in the cowl of a Benedictine monk and he turned to greet them with a gesture of welcome that had a strong resemblance to a papal blessing.
Canon Hubert and Brother Simon were relieved to see a fellow member of the order in such a godless place and they smiled back at him. They would have at least one friend inside the castle.
But their optimism was premature. As the monk rolled slowly towards them on sandalled feet, they noticed how much deference the castle guards seemed to be according him. There was something extremely odd about the imposing figure in the black cowl.
Ralph introduced them in a clear, ringing voice. ‘We have come from Winchester on royal business,’ he announced, ‘and we are to lodge here at the castle as guests of the Earl of Chester.’
The monk pushed back his hood and beamed up at them.
‘Welcome, friends!’ he said benevolently. ‘I am your host.’
Earl Hugh’s raucous laugh was distinctly unmonastic.
Chapter Two
The visitors were completely dumbfounded. Expecting to meet a notorious reprobate, they were instead confronted by this hulking individual in a Benedictine habit. Ralph Delchard’s jaw dropped, Gervase Bret blinked in amazement and Canon Hubert’s eyebrows shot up to a precarious altitude. Brother Simon all but fainted and he had to hold tight to the pommel of his saddle to prevent himself from keeling over.
A second shock was in store for the newcomers. Earl Hugh was not alone. His sheer physical bulk obscured the man who had stood behind him and now came into view as if emerging from the capacious folds of his master’s cowl. Short, slim and wearing his own cowl as if he had never known any other garment, Gerold was the earl’s chaplain and spiritual mentor. Though still in his thirties, his wizened face, greying wisps of hair and scholarly hunch made him seem much older. Earl Hugh might be a bogus monk but there was nothing false about the ascetic Gerold. He positively exuded religiosity.
With his chaplain beside him, the earl’s manner changed at once. The roaring extrovert disappeared, to be replaced by a subdued figure with a penitential expression. His voice took on an almost sepulchral note.
‘You catch me at my devotions,’ he explained. ‘Permit me to introduce Brother Gerold. You will see a great deal of him during your time here at the castle.’
‘Welcome to Chester!’ said Gerold with a meek smile. ‘We have been looking forward to your arrival and hope that your stay with us will be a pleasant one.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ralph. ‘We are glad to have reached you at last. I am Ralph Delchard. And these,’ he added, indicating each person as he was named, ‘are my colleagues. Master Gervase Bret, Canon Hubert of Winchester and our faithful scribe, Brother Simon.’
‘Your reputation has come before you,’ said Hugh. ‘The King holds you in high esteem and has entrusted you with important business in my county. Call on me to assist you in any way that I can.’
‘We appreciate that offer, my lord,’ said Ralph.
‘It is given in all seriousness.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Now,’ continued the other, rubbing his palms gleefully and shedding his monkish restraint, ‘there is something else that you will appreciate. A banquet has been laid on in your honour this evening. All of you are cordially invited.’
Ralph was pleased. ‘That is very kind of you, my lord.’
‘We are most grateful,’ said Gervase.
‘Yes,’ agreed Hubert, ‘though in our case, alas, that gratitude is tinged with regret. Brother Simon and I are the guests of Bishop Robert and we are bidden to his table this evening. We must decline your generous invitation.’
Earl Hugh stiffened and his beetle brows converged. ‘I am not used to refusals,’ he warned.
‘It is unavoidable, my lord,’ said Hubert.
‘And I am not used to yielding position to Bishop Robert. It is not right. It is not natural. I am sure that he could excuse you for this evening. Tell him that I have issued an express request and the worthy bishop will understand,’ he said meaningfully.
‘Places will be set at my table for you and for Brother Simon.’
The very notion made Simon gasp in dismay.
‘We would not wish to offend the bishop,’ said Hubert.
‘Would you prefer to offend me?’
‘No, my lord. Offence is not intended, I assure you. We are deeply grateful for your kind invitation but the long journey has sapped our strength and left us weary. We would be poor companions at a banquet.’
‘Yet you are prepared to eat with Bishop Robert.’
‘A frugal meal, perhaps. Nothing more.’
‘I am displeased by this rejection, Canon Hubert.’
‘It is not a rejection, my lord.’
‘Then what else is it?’ demanded Hugh, glowering at him.
Hubert blustered until Brother Gerold came to his rescue.
‘It is a perfectly reasonable explanation, my lord.’
‘I am not interested in explanations.’
‘You should be,’ the other reminded him softly. ‘Have you so soon forgotten the subject of my instruction today? We talked about the importance of understanding the needs and wishes of others. Tolerance is a virtue, my lord.’ He gave the earl a few moments to digest his words before pressing on. ‘Besides,’ he said, indicating the other monks, ‘Canon Hubert and Brother Simon have ridden here all the way from Winchester. I would wager anything that they carry letters of greeting from Bishop Walkelin to our own Bishop Robert.’
‘That is true,’ confirmed Hubert.
‘You should let them deliver those missives, my lord.’
Hugh sulked. ‘Should I?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it is what I would advise.’
The earl gave him a truculent stare but made no verbal protest.
Brother Gerold had subdued him in a way that made the others look on with admiration.
‘Release them from any obligation, my lord.’
Hugh scowled but eventually managed an affirmative nod. ‘I will expect them both another night.’
‘We can discuss that in private.’
‘I was looking forward to a theological discussion with Canon Hubert. News of his scholarship has preceded him.’
Hubert beamed at the unexpected praise but Simon was even more outraged. Was the devil planning to quote scripture at them?
It was unthinkable. Simon reflected inwardly that he would rather debate the value of the gospels with his horse.