A scene of confusion met them as soon as they stepped back inside the infirmary. Through it all the old fellows in their beds slept on.
Not so Brother Dunstan and his assistants. There was no sleeping for them. Two of the tougher lay brothers were helping Hertilpole pace across the floor. He was groaning and shaking his head from side to side as if to rid himself of a swarm of bees.
It was unclear what they were hoping to do but the bursar resisted them, pulling away and tearing at his habit then clutching their arms as if they could protect him from something, all the while groaning and crying and bellowing, mea culpa, mea culpa. Dunstan himself was trying to persuade him to drink from a medicine cup. There was a strong smell of chamomile. Several others were rapidly making up a bed and another was mixing something over the brazier.
Hertilpole was forced on to the bed where his charred habit was stripped down to his waist amid violent protests. He was expertly turned on to his stomach and the extent of his burns became visible. It was not as bad as Hildegard had expected. His tonsure had been burned to reveal a red scorch mark up the back of his neck, but the thickness of the fabric seemed to have protected him from the worst of the flames.
An assistant approached carrying a bowl of liquid honey. While the strapping young men held him still, the assistant dipped a strip of cloth into the honey then transferred it to the back of Hertilpole’s neck and held it there like a poultice. His struggles began to subside. Now it could be heard that he was muttering something again over and over. It sounded like a prayer of contrition.
Dunstan noticed Hildegard and Torold standing agape by the doors. He came over.
‘His burn is not serious. It took us a while to persuade him to leave the chamber. He would not come out. Once the fire was doused by my boys he seemed to feel he should stay there. The burn will cause some discomfort but from what he is saying, that is the least of his concerns.’
His expression was ambiguous when he reached forward and touched the tear on Hildegard’s sleeve. ‘Easily fixed, domina. I’ll get somebody to do it for you. Now, why not stay the rest of the night in our guest chamber? That’s what it’s there for. It’s now Matins. You can get several hours’ sleep before Lauds. Tomorrow will be a day of revelations. We must brace ourselves.’
He beckoned one of the lay brothers. ‘Provide the domina with what she needs in the guest chamber and a drink of something warming, if you will. Young master Torold will assist me. Come, lad. Let me show you how we treat burns.’
Revelations? Hildegard could not sleep. The last thing she wanted was for her humiliation at the hands of Hertilpole to be whispered about the abbey. It would be a matter of controversy and she knew she herself would not escape criticism. The questions were all too easily imagined: What was she doing in the bursar’s privy chamber at midnight? … How she must have led him on … playing the temptress Eve … What did she expect? … She must have been asking for it.
What about Hertilpole himself? What was his defence to be? She doubted whether he would admit responsibility for his own heinous actions when he recovered from his punishment by fire.
Later the turmoil resolved itself into one stark fear: that Abbot de Courcy – Hubert – would perhaps hear the rumours before she could return to Meaux. What would he think of her then? Would he believe that his trust in her redemption was a mistake after all? Might he even go so far as to carry out his threat to excommunicate her?
The latter seemed like nothing compared to her shame that he might feel she had betrayed him again. She cringed with the injustice of such a possible outcome. Meanwhile she was helpless, caught in the middle of events not of her own choosing, trapped until a resolution could be found.
Tossing and turning, she could bear it no longer. She got up, pulled on her boots, laced them, then went soft-footed to the door. Slipping out into the vaulted chamber beyond, she could see by the light of a candle at the far end Dunstan’s peacefully sleeping face.
He was sitting bolt upright in a chair as if he had meant to keep watch over his patients but now, overcome by sleep, he only moved his head a little at the sound of the great doors being opened. The frosty air swept in as she stepped outside. Snow was thick on the ground.
In her own chamber she opened her saddle bag and checked that the locked pouch had been undisturbed. Then, at last, she fell asleep.
‘You look exhausted, Hildegard. Bad night?’
‘For sure Master Dickson would not approve of me!’
‘Come now. Has something happened?’
‘Gregory, you could prise secrets from a stone.’
‘Then let’s get out of the garth and allow the smug participants at the Office of Lauds have the place to themselves while I prise more from you.’ As they set off, he murmured, ‘Not that I mean you’re a stone. But I know how well you can keep a secret. Remember, you’re among friends. We’re your designated guards as much as your warders. Hubert was insistent we keep you safe.’
Blushing at the thought that she had been discussed between them she accompanied him as far as their corner in the cloister then asked, ‘May I crave your help?’
‘You know you can.’
‘Will you accompany me through the slype that leads to the back of the infirmary?’
Without asking questions, he led the way. Egbert and Luke joined them.
All four walked slowly between the walls of the narrow passageway and waited for her to explain.
In daylight it did not look sinister in any way. When they reached the small yard further on, she held up her hand. ‘Wait. Where are the abbey guards quartered?’
‘Over by the stable yard.’
‘So why would one of them be here?’
‘They should not be. They would have no business here, unless one of them was summoned.’
‘One of them was here in the night. It was one of those who lay in ambush for us on the cliffs.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he explain himself?’
She bit her lip.
‘Come! What did he say?’
‘What, indeed? A nun alone, near midnight, a man who kills for pay? What do you think he said?’
Gregory took her arm. ‘And?’
‘I gave him a bashing to remember, thanks to your instruction in unarmed combat.’
Gregory squeezed her arm. ‘Good. But say on … I can tell there’s more.’
‘I escaped him – but ran, quite literally, into Hertilpole through that door over there.’ She pointed. When Gregory started towards it to fling it open she restrained him. ‘No, I’ll tell you what happened next. He dragged me into the muniments room and there managed to set fire to himself!’ At their smiles she said, ‘He’s in the infirmary, recovering. I need to know what he’s going to say about the matter. Luke, I have nothing to confess that others may not hear. But if Hubert should get hold of a rumour that I was—’
‘There’s already a rumour – it almost takes my breath away, so scandalous is it.’
‘Already?’ Her glance flew from one to the other.
‘Rest easy. Your name was not mentioned. Only Hertilpole’s. He’ll be the one to do penance unless he has a good story everyone can bring themselves to believe.’
‘Tell me what they’re saying, will you?’
‘The gold! The treasure he accused Edred of stealing … it’s been found!’
‘What?’ She was puzzled by his elation and cautiously relieved.
‘It was found, Hildegard, in the muniments room in a chest hidden carelessly behind a chair. What it means is that Edred did not steal it! It means that Hertilpole – the bursar – must have known all along where it was hidden. That it was not stolen at all!’
‘It was a fit-up! I knew it!’ Egbert punched one fist into his palm.
‘What I don’t understand is how it came to light.’ Gregory looked puzzled.
‘I’ll explain. Some lay brothers found it when they were putting out the fire. They had to move everything about to stop the fire spreading – and there it was!’
‘So it was revealed because of Hertilpole’s lust!’ Hildegard exclaimed. ‘When he dragged me into that place and … tried to … and I pushed him off, he knocked over the candelabra and set himself on fire—’
Gregory was laughing with astonishment. ‘He did what?’
Egbert slapped him on the back. ‘God works in mysterious ways, brother. We have always known it.’
Luke interrupted. ‘I heard something else. That he believes an avenging angel with a flaming sword swooped down from heaven to punish him for some sin he committed. My informant could not tell me what the sin was, so I assume we were intended to believe it was covetousness.’
‘It’s over. Worry not, Hildegard. Brother Luke is keeping notes. He’ll inform Hubert of the truth if he should be mis-informed by anybody else.’ Hildegard closed her eyes and gave a long sigh of relief. Hubert’s opinion was worth more than anything that might befall her. It was all in all to her. ‘But now let me show you what I retrieved from the adventures of the night.’ Making sure they were not observed, she opened her scrip once more and took out the dagger, telling them how young Miggy had retrieved it from the pond.
In daylight it was even more rough-hewn than she had imagined. It weighed heavily in her hand and the haft was worked roughly like an apprentice piece. She rubbed the embossed end and peered at it for the first time.
Handing it to Gregory, she mentioned how it had come into her possession.
Egbert put out his hand. He moved it experimentally, commenting as he handed it to Luke that it was an ill piece of work and unfit as a dagger for anyone – although its use as a club was not in doubt.
‘Look at the blade.’ He ran a finger along it. ‘Too blunt to cut butter. I don’t believe this is meant to be used as a dagger at all.’
‘What’s this little emblem?’ Luke asked. ‘It looks familiar.’
‘It should do.’ Hildegard watched them all in turn.
Gregory took hold of it again for a closer look. ‘It’s the seal for Whitby Abbey! Look, Egbert.’
The dagger – or seal – or whatever it was – was passed from hand to hand. Hildegard mentioned Miggy’s version of what had happened that night and it was superfluous to add the obvious conclusion.
‘Someone here in the abbey – but not just someone, not a mere monk, but an obedientiary with access to the abbot’s seal …?’
‘Unless, of course, it was stolen.’ Gregory as always looked for alternatives to any theory.
While the others were pondering the implications she reached inside her scrip once again. ‘And then this, a gift from Miggy’s lymer, Duke.’ Again she outlined what had happened and how it had come into her keeping.
‘That kennel lad is wasted. He should be helping the sheriff track down felons in York.’ Egbert rubbed the scrap of cloth between finger and thumb. ‘It’s what the monks wear here. Hard-wearing stuff for the climate.’
‘So now we search for a torn habit or cloak. Or, more easily, a needle in a hay-cock.’ Gregory took a closer look. ‘From what you’ve been telling us, Hildi, I would want to have a look at Hertilpole’s cloak and ask him why he was meeting a mercenary in the dead of night. But since he was in the infirmary while the hound was doing its duty he seems to have the perfect alibi.’ He frowned. ‘We shall be like lymers ourselves and hunt on in silence. Come, brothers, we’re in to Prime soon. Eyes sharpened.’ He glanced at Hildegard. ‘No wonder you look tired. What a night! Why not get some rest and meet us when we’re set free again with news of our findings?’
She replaced the piece of cloth and the dagger that was really a seal in her scrip. They lay alongside the phial containing the gold thread from an unidentified source. ‘One at least must lead us to the murderer of Edred. From there to Brother Aelwyn?’
‘And from there to a motive for such evil,’ concluded Gregory.