A Gift of Sanctuary by Candace Robb Page A

withdraw his dagger.’
    Happily unaware of his comical appearance, the gatekeeper demanded to know their business in a swaggering manner and an English so accented that it sounded like Welsh.
    ‘These men are with me,’ Burley barked.
    The gatekeeper bowed stiffly towards the constable. ‘That is as may be, Constable, but my orders are to confront all strangers.’
    With a curse, Burley waved his own men past the stubborn gatekeeper. The man in charge of the cart jumped down gladly. ‘We shall await you by the castle gatehouse,’ Burley shouted to Owen’s party.
    Geoffrey had dismounted and now solemnly produced his orders from the Duke. The gatekeeper squinted down at the parchment, up at Geoffrey, obviously unable to read. ‘You wear the livery of the Duke of Lancaster. So you will be for the castle?’
    ‘My business is with the steward and the Constable of Cydweli, yes,’ said Geoffrey.
    ‘This seems to be in order,’ the gatekeeper said as he returned the parchment. ‘See you make your way direct to the castle, milord.’
    ‘Surely a pause at the tavern . . . ?’
    ‘Not with weapons.’
    ‘There has been some trouble here?’ Geoffrey asked.
    The gatekeeper hesitated. ‘I should not be talking of the castle’s troubles.’
    Geoffrey began to turn away. ‘It is no fors, I shall hear it soon enough.’
    The gatekeeper sniffed at that. ‘Aye, you will learn far more than I can tell you. It was theft at the castle, you see. Guards have gone forth to catch the thief. That is all we know.’
    ‘ Par Dieu ! A theft at the castle? Now that was a bold thief.’
    The gatekeeper warmed to Geoffrey. ‘They do say poor Roger Aylward lost a tooth in the attack.’
    ‘And who is this poor man who must eat soft food for some days?’
    ‘The Duke’s receiver in Cydweli, and a worthy burgher of this town, milord.’
    ‘Poor man. It is one thing to be injured protecting your own goods, but for the Duke’s . . .’
    ‘He will have a good tale to trade, and a gap to show for his honour. It will ease the pain for Master Aylward. But you understand the danger. You see why I count it wise to be wary of strangers bearing blades at such a time.’
    ‘I do indeed. And I shall tell the steward of your wise caution.’
    ‘Er – the cart, milord. What do you carry?’
    Geoffrey pulled off his cap, held it to his heart as he bowed his head. ‘The body of a noble soldier from the garrison.’
    The gatekeeper frowned, took a few rocking steps towards the cart, wrinkled his nose. ‘God’s blood. It is no wonder the mighty Burley left it to you.’
    ‘And you will equally understand why we wish to deliver our burden as soon as may be.’
    The gatekeeper bowed them through the gate. All dismounted and passed through, Edern guiding the donkey and cart.
    ‘That was well done,’ Owen said to Geoffrey when they were well within.
    Geoffrey bowed slightly and put a finger to his nose. ‘I despair of learning your skills, but I have some of my own I thought to put to good use.’
    At first Lascelles stared unblinkingly at the vicar, as if still waiting for him to speak. The steward of Lancaster’s Marcher lordships was tall and slender, with the pinched lips and stiff shoulders of a man much given to self-discipline. His eyes were pale and cold, his speech and manners those of one brought up to rule with disdain. And yet while Edern had told the tale of the body left at the gate and the bishop’s insistence that his own men accompany the corpse, Owen noted a cast to those cold eyes that belied Lascelles’s control.
    Geoffrey, Edern and Owen had been led into the great hall of the castle and served refreshments. Lascelles had joined them abruptly, alone, obviously aware that they bore unhappy news.
    ‘I understand that he was your natural son,’ Owen said.
    Lascelles tilted his head back and drained his cup. A servant came forward, refilled his cup. This, too, he drained in one gulp. The servant filled the cup a