A snuffling noise at her feet showed her that the animal had returned and she kicked out. Above her head, the bolt slid back and the door to the cellar was lifted. Footsteps descended the stone steps. Someone came to stand over her and she flinched when she felt the touch of cold steel on her cheek. But no wound was inflicted. The dagger was used to cut her wimple free from the encircling gag and blindfold. Her braided hair was exposed.
The warmth of a flame kissed her face as it was held up for someone to inspect her.
An admiring sigh came. Her visitor stroked her hair.
“My lord Ralph is fortunate,” said a voice. “Let us hope that he has the sense to protect his good fortune.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ralph Delchard had been shaped in the warrior mould of his ancestors. When faced with an enemy, his first instinct was always for attack. Diplomacy was something he left to others, believing that a sword and a lance were the best weapons with which to negotiate a peace. Seated astride his destrier, he would ride into battle against any foe and had yet to be on the losing side. But his opponents had always been visible before, flesh-and-blood soldiers with blades as keen as his own and a simple urge to vanquish by means of superior strength and skill.
This time it was different. He was pitted against a shadow. He knew its name, its reputation and something of its appearance but nothing more substantial. The shadow had already moved across the face of Harbledown and killed twice without mercy.
Golde might well become the third victim if she were not soon released. How could Ralph lead an assault on an enemy he could not see, who was holding his wife hostage in a place he could not find? It was an unfair fight. Keyed-up to lead a charge, he felt as if his warhorse had been hobbled and his sword arm tied behind his back. Thick fog was obscuring the whole battlefield.
“God’s tits!” he yelled in frustration.
“Try to stay calm, Ralph.”
“How can I when Golde is in their hands?”
“That is one of the reasons they abducted her,” said Gervase.
“To provoke your ire. To make you act in wild and unconsidered ways. Taking a decision in anger is like firing an arrow without first taking aim. It will never hit its target.”
“We have no target, Gervase. That is the trouble.”
“We do and we are closer to it than we think.”
“Is that why he is trying to frighten us off?”
“Why else?”
“I’ll tear him to shreds when I catch him!”
The council of war was held in the solar at the house. While Ralph’s men-at-arms searched in the streets, Gervase tried to urge stealth. Ralph sat with Golde’s gown across his lap, stroking it absentmindedly and shifting between rage and nostalgia. It was a gown he had bought as part of the wardrobe for her wedding.
Having been offered as a token of his love, it had now come back as a token of hate and dire warning.
“Where can she be?” he whispered.
“Still in the city. Of that we can be certain.”
“Can we?”
“Yes,” said Gervase. “Golde was seized somewhere between here and King Street. They would not have taken her far in case they were seen. And how could they smuggle her out of Canterbury when every gate is guarded and every person arriving or leaving is challenged to identify themselves? No, she is here. And not too great a distance from where we are now.”
“I’ll pull down every house in the city to find her!” vowed Ralph, bunching a fist for emphasis. He put the gown aside and got up.
“I cannot sit here. I must get out there and direct the search.”
“No, Ralph. Stay where you are.”
“It irks me so.”
“Leave the house and you will be watched. Do you want them to know exactly what your movements are? Besides,” said Gervase, “you must be here to receive the message.”
“What message?”
“From Philippe Berbizier. His terms.”
“Ransom?”
“All I know is that he will be in touch. The gown merely told you that he held the advantage. He will want to use that advantage to dictate the situation. To make you call off the hunt.”
“It is not within my power, Gervase. The sheriff’s officers and the archbishop’s knights are outside my command. I cannot stay their swords.”
“They are no threat to Berbizier. We are.”
“So what must we do?”
“You remain here. I continue the search alone.”
“That puts you at too great a risk.”
“No,” said Gervase. “He does not fear me. I have ridden to Harbledown more than once. He has spurned the chance to ambush me. You are the one who troubles him. Since he cannot attack you directly, he strikes at your Achilles’ heel.”
“My dear wife!”
“I will find her.”
There was a tap on the front door and they both turned expectantly as they heard the servant open it. But it was no missive from Philippe Berbizier. Helto the Doctor had called back.
Gervase slipped out into the passage to speak to him.
“How is baby Osbern?” he asked.
“Grievously sick,” sighed Helto. “He has an infection in his ear, which causes him pain and upsets his balance. I fear that his night in a cold churchyard may be to blame.”
“Can he be cured?”
“I hope so, Master Bret. When I came earlier, I gave him a draught to make him sleep through the discomfort. I went back to my house to mix a potion that must be administered with care into the ear itself.”
“I will not keep you from your patient.”
Helto thanked him and trotted up the stairs. Gervase went back into the solar to find Ralph holding the gown against the side of his face. Even the finest doctor could not mix a potion to remedy his ills. Only the safe return of Golde would effect a cure for him.
“Tell me about Fordwich,” said Gervase.
“Fordwich?”
“You said that you had learned much there this morning. If I am to follow the trail alone, I will need every signpost that you can give me. Whom did you see at the port?”
“His name was Leofstand.”
Ralph described everything which had passed between him and the sailor. Gervase absorbed the information readily. He was especially glad of an excuse to visit Alwin the Sailor because he felt there was still much to be gleaned from him that had a bearing on the murder of his daughter.
The second knock at the front door was louder and more authoritative. Certain that news had come for him, Ralph reached for his sword but Gervase held up his arms to prevent him from leaving the room. The front door was opened, voices spoke, then Brother Simon was admitted to the solar. He was trembling beneath the weight of the message he bore. It was directed at Gervase.
“He wishes to see you at the cathedral.”
“Canon Hubert?”
“No,” said Simon, barely able to get the summons out. “His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
Oblivious to the presence of his companions, Lanfranc sat in his chair and pondered, his eyelids drawn down, his lips pursed and his brow striped with concentration. He toyed with a large ring on his left hand as if fumbling with a device to open some secret compartment in his mind. But the compartment remained shut and its contents inaccessible. His lids suddenly lifted and a distant despair showed in his eyes.
“We have so far failed,” he announced gloomily. “Hundreds of men were committed to a manhunt yesterday but they have had no sight of their quarry. The sheriff’s officers have searched in vain, my own knights have made equally fruitless forays into the city’s environs, and the concerted prayers of our priory and St.
Augustine’s Abbey have not produced one glimmer of assistance from above. I make no criticism of divine disposition,” he added solemnly. “God wishes us to make amends on His behalf. To do that, we must be more sedulous in our pursuit of this heretic and more subtle in gathering the clues that will lead us to him and his foul sect.”