‘Very happy.’
‘That is all that matters.’
‘I know,’ she said, stroking his arm. ‘Aelgar has chosen well.
And they are like us in one thing, if in nothing else.’
‘What is that?’
‘Their truthfulness. They are completely honest with each other.’
‘So they should be.’
‘It is not always so in marriage.’
‘It ought to be, Golde. True love permits no secrecy.’
‘Not every union is blessed with true love,’ she sighed. ‘And even if it is at the start, circumstances can change. Take our host and his wife. The lady Maud adored him when they first met and he courted her with as much ardour as any lover. But now?’
‘His responsibilities divert his attention.’
‘His wife expects that. What rankles with her is that he refuses to say anything about his work. It is a closed book to the lady Maud and she would dearly like to flick through the pages. When I told her about us, she was very envious.’
‘Envious?’
‘Of my good fortune in having a husband who trusted me.’
‘Implicitly.’
‘I assured her that there was nothing you held back from me.
It would hurt me deeply if there was. You confide in me as your wife and I confide freely in you. That way we spring no unpleasant surprises on each other, do we?’
‘No, my love.’
‘Holding something back is a form of lying, really. A deception.
A concealment of truth. I told the lady Maud that you were very honest. Whatever the situation, you’d never lie to me. Would you, Ralph?’
Ralph thought about the possible arrival of King William in Gloucester and ran a tongue over dry lips. He had still not raised the subject with her and felt it unwise to do so now, even though he was breaking the vow they had once made to each other.
‘Well?’ she said, prodding him. ‘Would you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Why did you hesitate?’
‘I’m tired, Golde.’
‘Then let us get some sleep,’ she said, snuggling into him with a purring contentment. ‘You have to make an early start tomorrow.’
She was about to doze off when she remembered something. ‘I almost forgot, Ralph. They brought worrying news from Hereford.’
‘Oh?’
‘There has been more trouble on the Welsh border.’
‘Not again!’
‘Raiding parties have been sighted.’
‘The Welsh are a bellicose nation.’
‘I hope they do not strike this far south.’
Ralph quivered. ‘As long as they do not contain Archdeacon Idwal,’ he moaned. ‘Renegade bands can easily be repelled but no fortifications are proof against Idwal. He is an invasion army in himself.’
‘Do not get so agitated. I merely pass on rumours.’
‘Well, I hope that they are proved false, Golde. But we’re far too close to the Welsh border to be able to relax. Forne lives in Archenfield, well placed to catch the first whiff of revolt.’
‘There’s no serious danger, surely?’ she said. ‘If there were, the sheriff would be marshalling his men in readiness, yet there is no sign of that. Besides, if there was any hint of a real invasion, would not the King himself ride from Winchester with an army?’
Ralph fell silent. Long after his wife had drifted off to sleep, he brooded on what she had said. He had even more reason to wish that King William would not descend on the city now.
As far as their duties would permit, Canon Hubert and Brother Simon tried to enter into the life of the abbey. Like the other monks, they rose early to attend Matins and shuffled towards the church with heads bowed and hands tucked into their sleeves.
When the service was over, they slipped quietly out to prepare for the day ahead while the rest of the holy brothers remained in church for Lauds. They were about to cross the cloister garth when Abbot Serlo hailed them. Stopping at once, they waited for him to catch them up.
‘I wanted a quiet word with you,’ began Serlo.
‘As many as you wish, Father Abbot,’ said Hubert.
‘First, let me say how pleased I was to see both you and Brother Simon at the funeral service yesterday. I know that you have pressing duties in the shire hall, yet you found time to pay your respects to poor Brother Nicholas.’
‘We were honoured to be part of the congregation and, though it is hardly a subject for congratulation, I must commend you on the way you conducted the service. It was most impressive.’
‘And very moving,’ said Brother Simon.
‘You handled a difficult situation with the utmost tact,’
continued Hubert. ‘Your whole treatment of this wretched business has been quite exemplary.’
‘Thank you, Canon Hubert,’ said the abbot, ‘but I do not feel that I have behaved in an exemplary manner. It is a novel predicament for me and I am not entirely sure how to cope with it. But prayer and meditation have taught me this. We must explore every possible means of tracking down the man who killed Brother Nicholas.’
‘I agree, Father Abbot.’
‘That is why I value a moment with you now. Something has come to light, something so disturbing that my first instinct was to keep it from you because it reflects badly on the abbey and hence on me.’
‘I refuse to believe that.’
‘So do I, Father Abbot,’ endorsed Simon.
‘Hear me out.’ Serlo cleared his throat then spoke rapidly.
‘Brother Frewine, our Precentor, as wise a man as any here, felt that the sheriff’s officers may have missed something in their search of Brother Nicholas’s cell and, prompted by some inner conviction, he requested permission to carry out his own search.
Certain that he would find nothing, I was proved horribly wrong.
Concealed behind a stone in the wall was a bag of coins, amounting to a substantial amount.’
‘Saints preserve us!’ murmured Simon.
‘This is a grim discovery,’ said Hubert. ‘Do you or the Precentor have any idea where the money came from?’
‘None, Canon Hubert. I need hardly tell you that personal wealth is anathema within the enclave. And before you ask me,’
said Serlo as a question formed on the other’s lips, ‘we do not believe that it was a stolen portion of the abbey rents. The leather pouch contained new coins, all minted here in Gloucester. Our tenants would not pay with such money. It came from another source, I fear, but what could that source be?’
‘And is it in any way connected to Brother Nicholas’s death?’
‘That is the question with which I have been wrestling.’
‘Quite rightly, Abbot Serlo. But you must acquit yourself of any blame here. It is wrong to hold yourself responsible.’
‘The fault lies with Brother Nicholas,’ suggested Simon.
‘Answerable to you, of course,’ said Hubert, ‘but capable of independent action over which you had no control. The nature of his work is crucial here. Spending so much time outside the abbey, he was beyond your ken, vulnerable to unholy impulses, drawn into some kind of corrupt practice. Thank you for confiding in us, Father Abbot. Though it is disturbing news, it is also an invaluable clue and I will pass it on to the lord Ralph as soon as I may.’
‘This mystery grows murkier by the day,’ said Serlo with a hand to his brow. ‘I do hope that someone can solve it before too long.’
‘So do we,’ said Hubert solemnly. ‘But tell us more about Brother Nicholas’s work as a rent collector. How far afield did he go and was he absent from the abbey for any length of time? Why was he assigned to the work in the first place? It is a position of such trust …’
It was a dull morning when Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret set off from the castle, the overcast sky reflecting the former’s mood.
He was churlish and preoccupied and Gervase knew better than to attempt any conversation on their ride. Hoping to take out his irritation on the posturing reeve, Ralph was annoyed to see that he had sent a deputy in his place, a polite young man, too obliging to merit any reproach and too eager to deserve the torrent of abuse Ralph intended to unleash on his master. The bell for Prime was ringing as the commissioners took their places in the shire hall beside Canon Hubert and Brother Simon. Ralph ordered that Abraham the Priest be summoned before them, deciding to release his bile upon the Archdeacon of Gwent instead.