‘Some emergency may have arisen.’
‘That’s my fear.’
‘What could it be?’
‘Only time will tell, Gervase,’ said Ralph as the city loomed up in the distance. ‘As long as William does not interfere with our work at the shire hall. We have enough problems as it is. The last thing we need is someone looking over our shoulder. Even if it is a King.’
‘Supposing it were the lady Emma?’
Ralph beamed. ‘Ah, that’s another matter.’
‘I thought it might be.’
‘The lady Emma can look over my shoulder any time she wishes.
If I were not married to the most wonderful woman in England, I would harbour dark desires about that extraordinary creature we met at the shire hall today.’
‘Querengar the Breton?’ teased his friend.
‘The lady Emma!’
‘Oh, her.’
‘Beauty incarnate.’
‘A pleasing face, I agree.’
‘Pleasing! It could sow lust in the heart of a pope. I tell you, there was a brief moment when I wished I was still young and unmarried.’
‘But since you do have a wife?’ Gervase reminded him.
‘And such a wife!’ said Ralph, kicking his horse into a canter.
‘I’ll count my blessings and hasten back to her.’
Gervase spent the last mile trying to catch up with him.
The pleasure of seeing her sister again seemed to increase rather than pall. Secure in the love of a good man, Aelgar looked radiant and Golde could not have been more happy for her, knowing how much distress she had endured in the past. Her younger sister had been blessed with a pale loveliness which Golde had envied as a child until she realised what a mixed blessing it was.
Unwanted suitors had plagued Aelgar throughout her young life, and Golde would never forget the ardent Norman lord who tried to take by force what he could not win by courtship. Now, happily, having survived all that, her sister had found the man of her dreams. The doting Forne allowed her to blossom into full womanhood.
Golde quickly warmed towards Forne himself. Like the two sisters, he was born of noble stock with a wealthy father who had been largely dispossessed after the Conquest. Yet enough land remained in the possession of the family to ensure a relatively comfortable life, especially when added to the property in Archenfield which Aelgar herself had inherited from the man to whom she had been betrothed until his brutal murder. Present joy helped past tragedy to recede in her mind. If anyone deserved her share of marital bliss, Golde mused, watching the young lovers together, it was her sister. Happiness was long overdue.
‘Where will you live?’ she asked.
‘Together,’ said Forne with a fond grin.
‘In Archenfield?’
‘Where else?’
‘Hereford.’
‘No, Golde,’ said her sister. ‘It is time for me to make a complete break from there. My life is with Forne now.’
‘What will become of the house?’
‘It will be sold along with that eternal smell of beer.’
‘I learned to enjoy the odour.’
‘You were always the genuine brewer. Those I employ now have none of your skills. There have been complaints from the castle.’
‘Yes,’ said Forne. ‘I hear that your ale was incomparable, Golde.’
‘Ralph does not think so.’
‘Have you not won him over?’
‘No, he will touch nothing but wine.’
‘A true Norman!’
‘In most things.’
‘What sort of man is he?’ asked Forne guardedly. ‘Aelgar has talked much about your husband but she hardly knows him.’
‘I know enough to speak well of him,’ said his betrothed.
‘But you were not at first overjoyed when you learned that he was going to marry your sister. You had qualms. You told me so.’
There was a sudden pause, the first since they had met, and they squirmed on their benches as the discordant note was struck.
The three of them were bunched around the table in the house owned by Forne’s kinsman, Hadwig, a burgess in the city and a man of moderate wealth. The house was large enough to accommodate the two visitors in separate bays and Golde suspected that it was the first time they had spent a night under the same roof. It explained the tingle of excitement whenever they exchanged a glance, though there was no excitement now.
Aelgar stared guiltily at the bare table and Forne searched for words to heal the slight rift he had just opened.
‘I am sorry to speak out of turn, Golde,’ he said.
‘But you didn’t,’ she replied, contriving a smile. ‘If you are to join our little family, you must feel free to comment on all its members. And that includes Ralph. He will certainly not hold back any comments about you, I can promise you.’
‘I offended you.’
‘Not really.’
‘Please forgive me.’
‘What is there to forgive?’ asked Golde brightly, trying to dispel the awkwardness. ‘It’s hardly surprising that Aelgar had qualms about me because I had several myself. The last thing in the world I expected to do was marry a Norman. To ally myself with an enemy, so to speak.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s just that Ralph is the friendliest enemy I ever met, and the kindest possible husband.’
‘I hope to meet him very soon.’
‘You will, Forne.’
But she could see that he still had doubts about her and Golde felt even more uncomfortable. She had stepped back into an old life but part of her remained immovably in her new world. It was not just the fine clothes she now wore which set her slightly apart from her sister. There was something deeper, some change of perception, some subtle shift of loyalty. Forne was an irretrievable Saxon. Ready to love his future sister-in-law, he would never be able to shake off a latent resentment against her husband and that saddened Golde. It would colour her relationship with her sister. Aelgar looked up and reached out to put a hand on Forne’s arm. It was a telling gesture. She was his now.
Golde tried to move the conversation to more neutral ground.
‘What news of Hereford?’ she asked.
‘Little has changed,’ said her sister.
‘And our old neighbours?’
‘They send their love.’
‘Take mine back to them. I miss Hereford.’
‘I’m not sure that I will.’
‘Why not?’
‘Forne and I will be together.’
‘We may need to visit the town on occasion,’ he said. ‘Indeed, we may even be compelled to do so. I hope that does not happen but I put Aelgar’s safety before all else.’
‘Safety?’
He nodded sadly. ‘Our holdings are not far from the Welsh border. That has never worried me. I have Welsh neighbours and have always been on good terms with them. But there have been stirrings across the border. Raiding parties have been sighted.’
‘I thought that peace had finally been imposed,’ said Golde.
‘It has,’ he explained, ‘but there are some hot-blooded Welshmen who refuse to accept it. Rumours are spreading like wildfire.’
‘Rumours?’
‘Of a possible attack on Hereford.’
‘Not again!’ sighed Golde.
‘It is one of the reasons I was glad to bring Aelgar here,’ he said, putting a protective arm around her. ‘I wanted her out of Hereford until the danger blows over. We are completely safe in Gloucester.’
Hooves clacking on the hard road, the horses thundered on through the darkness. There were a dozen men in all, most of them armed and every one a seasoned rider. Night had started to close in on them and they were not entirely sure at what point they actually crossed the border into Gloucestershire and left Gwent behind. It was of no concern to them. In their hearts, they did not accept that the border really existed. As they urged their horses on, they believed that they were still in Wales.
They were some miles short of their destination when the tall figure at the head of the column brought it to a halt with a loud yell. Iron bits were tugged in soft mouths and the horses slowed instantly. The leader of the band turned to his tall companion.