Storms of sleet raked down the valley of the Meuse, driving even the hardiest travellers off the road. As evening fell, Fier Meike led them to an abandoned barn on the outskirts of a village. Across the river, the castle of Huy frowned from its steep bluff. Topaas and the five Pilgrims who accompanied them remained on the floor of the barn, while Meike and Tiphaine climbed up into the loft. The barn had been stripped bare and there was nothing with which to make a fire, but at least they were out of the weather.
‘Why did you insist on coming with me?’ Tiphaine asked.
Meike began wringing water out of her black hair. ‘The roads are not safe for lone travellers. Also, if you want to find Nortkerque, you need to speak to the sisters. If he is in Liège, they will know about it.’
‘You mentioned them back in Poperinge. The wise sisters, you called them. Are they your leaders?’
‘I told you, we have no leaders. They are women, known to everyone for their goodness and piety. That is all.’
Piety was not a concept Tiphaine had ever associated with Fier Meike. ‘You claim there are no leaders in the Pilgrims, but aren’t you a leader? When you speak, Topaas and the others obey you.’
‘That is their choice,’ Meike said. ‘I make no claim on them, and I have no dominion over them. They are free to choose their own destiny. It is the same for us all.’
‘Who are the Pilgrims? What do you believe in?’
A fresh shower of sleet rattled against the roof of the barn. ‘We believe in peace and justice,’ Fier Meike said. ‘And it may surprise you, but we also believe in love.’
Tiphaine blinked. ‘Love?’
‘The Reverend Mother Hadewijch said it well, a century ago. Be on your guard, and let nothing disturb your peace. Do good at all times, without thinking of profit or blessedness, damnation or salvation or martyrdom, for all that you do should be in the name of love.’
Tiphaine pointed to the goedendaag lying on the floor. ‘I do not see that as an instrument of love. Or peace, come to that.’
‘No,’ said Meike. ‘But it knows how to dispense justice.’
‘Why did you join the Pilgrims?’
‘Do you always ask so many questions?’
‘Yes.’
Meike tucked her hair back inside her hood. ‘I was once a fuller in Ghent, a master with my own shop, the only woman in the city in my position. Two years ago, I threw it all away to lead a revolt by the fullers against the tyranny of the weavers.’
‘What happened?’
‘We lost,’ Meike said. She spoke with a quiet dignity. ‘Have you not heard of the revolt in Ghent?’
‘No. Two years ago, I was a prisoner in Normandy.’
‘Why were you imprisoned?’
‘Because I was my father’s daughter,’ Tiphaine said.
Meike nodded, understanding. ‘The weavers controlled the city’s wealth, and so they were the ones with the power. After they defeated us I lost my workshop and all my property. I was driven out of the city with nothing but my goedendaag and the clothes on my back. The weavers ruled Ghent once more, as they still do. I resolved that henceforth I would fight tyrants wherever I found them. The Pilgrims offered me a place among them.’
‘And so you went to Poperinge.’
‘The people of Poperinge are no better, or nobler, or more worthy of salvation than any other. But Ypres is one of the League of Three, a power in the land, and the burgemeester and the guilds use their power to oppress the towns around them. I believe Poperinge deserves justice, and peace.’
‘And love?’
‘This is Flanders,’ Fier Meike said. ‘Let us not reach for the impossible.’
Later, as darkness was falling and they made ready to sleep, Meike stirred a little. ‘This herald, Merrivale, the one you are helping. He must mean something to you, if you are prepared to lay your life on the line for him.’
‘He saved my life,’ Tiphaine said. ‘Twice, in fact.’
‘Mm. Are you fucking him?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Tiphaine said crossly. ‘First Queen Philippa, now you. Yes, occasionally, when it suits us both. So what?’
‘You are angry with the world because you have suffered,’ Meike said. ‘But think about others. That girl back in Poperinge, for example. Imagine what she has suffered, and her life has been shorter than yours. You are not the only one who endures pain.’
‘I never said I was.’
‘Then stop raging for what you have lost, and start being thankful for what you have.’ Fier Meike lay down, pillowing her head on her rolled up cloak. ‘Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we shall arrive in Liège.’
In the morning as they prepared to set off, Topaas laid a hand on Tiphaine’s arm. ‘Forgive me,’ he said quietly. ‘But I overheard a little of your conversation last night.’
The others were out of earshot. ‘What of it?’
‘There is something you should know about Meike. She lived and worked in Ghent for many years, but she was born in a village near Kortrijk. That’s where her family lived.’
Tiphaine knew was coming. ‘What happened to them?’
‘When the Count of Béthune’s raiders swept through Flanders last year, they burned much of the country around Kortrijk and killed everyone they found. All of Meike’s family were slaughtered, even her children. She is the only one left alive. She spends much of her time wondering why.’
‘Dear God,’ Tiphaine said softly. ‘No wonder she wants Béthune dead.’
‘Dead? Death is too good for a maggot like Béthune. I would put him in the fire, and keep him there for a long, long time so I could watch him suffer.’
‘No,’ said Tiphaine. ‘I’ve done that. It brings no relief.’
Liège was a bleak grey city falling down the hillside towards the banks of the Meuse. The skulls of dead bishops dangled like windchimes over the arch of Saint Walburga’s gate, bumping and swaying in the breeze. You could tell they were bishops because someone had taken the trouble to make mitres out of painted copper and nail them to the heads. A single banner, a black lion, flew overhead.
The watch on the gate were Pilgrims, bearing the usual motley collection of weapons and armour. They knew Fier Meike, and she and her party were admitted without question. They walked down cobbled streets towards the river, seeing the half-built towers of the cathedral wrapped in scaffolding and cattle grazing in the meadows beyond. Another church stood to the right, roofless and burned out with its tower standing drunkenly askew and ivy crawling up its walls. The streets were nearly empty; every second house was shuttered or boarded up. The few people they met hurried past with downcast eyes. In the marketplace a man stood stripped to the waist with his hands lashed to a wooden pole while another man in a dark cassock flogged him with a scourge. Two armed Pilgrims stood watching. None of the men made a sound.
‘What is his crime?’ Tiphaine asked.
‘Gambling, probably,’ said Topaas. ‘Or fornication. They’re very strict on morals here in Liège.’
The gates of the bishop’s palace had been smashed down, and the palace itself was dark and lifeless. The cathedral, on the other hand, was full of light and bustle, a sharp contrast to the silent streets outside. People hurried to and fro carrying rolls of parchment, or stood in little groups talking in low voices. Most were men in clerical robes with tonsures, but there were quite a few women too. A table near the door was stacked high with loaves of bread and people came in and helped themselves, apparently without paying. At another table two more women in black robes sat with stacks of silver coins in front of them, disbursing money to a queue of people. Candles blazed in the chapels before the altars of saints, Anne, Gudula, Christina Mirabilis, Elizabeth of Hungary. The air smelled of wax and incense.
‘Would someone care to tell me what is going on?’ Tiphaine asked.
Meike turned her head, the candlelight glinting off her hair. ‘This is the beating heart of Liège,’ she said. ‘The guilds have their own halls and regulate their own affairs, but this is the centre of the commune. People come here for aid and comfort, and for justice.’
‘And food?’
‘No one goes hungry here. What is available is shared freely by all. That is the way of the Pilgrims.’
Along with assassination in the dark? Tiphaine thought, but she kept silent. A woman in black barred their way. She had grey hair falling in strands from under her wimple, framing a face that might have been chiselled out of stone. ‘What is your business?’ she demanded.
Meike bowed her head. ‘We are here to see the sisters.’
The woman stared at them. She might have been a Beguine, but in Tiphaine’s experience Beguines did not act with such authority. ‘Why?’ she demanded.
‘We seek a man, Jehan Nortkerque of Poperinge and Calais. He came with another, an Englishman named Nicodemus. We need to find them.’
‘Why?’ the woman repeated.
‘I would rather explain to the sisters,’ Fier Meike said.
The woman frowned. ‘Only Sister Juliana is here, and she is at prayer. If you intend to waste her time with some trivial matter, there will be consequences.’
‘This is important,’ Meike said quietly. ‘Please take us to Sister Juliana.’
The Beguine led the way to a chapel in the apse of the cathedral, behind the high altar. In the ambulatory many of the ornamented tombs had been prized open and emptied; fragments of smashed stone still littered the floor. A woman in black knelt in prayer before the altar, head bowed, lips moving without sound. She held up a hand for silence and continued her prayers, the other hand clutching a small wooden cross. When she had finished she continued to kneel for a moment, staring at the altar with unfocused eyes, before rising slowly and turning to face them.
‘Meike,’ she said. Her voice was low and musical. ‘Welcome among us. What is the news from Poperinge?’
‘All is quiet. Most of the Ypres militia are away fighting the French. Sister Juliana, we seek news of Jehan Nortkerque. Has he come to Liège?’
The woman ignored the question, gazing instead at Tiphaine. She was young, Tiphaine saw, not much more than thirty; her eyes were an intense deep blue, almost black. ‘Who is this? She is not one of us, I think.’
‘She is a friend,’ Meike said.
‘Is she? I smell sin on her.’
Tiphaine stared back at her. ‘You cannot smell sin.’
‘That is because you are surrounded by it. If you were truly pure, you would know its reek.’ Sister Juliana pointed at the painted altarpiece, where a woman in red with a halo and angelic wings contemplated an image of the crucified Christ. ‘Saint Christina Mirabilis was woken from her grave by the stench of sin, and floated up to the ceiling where she could breathe pure air. I often wish I could follow her example.’
‘Or you could just fetch a ladder,’ said Tiphaine.
The older Beguine drew in her breath with an angry hiss. Sister Juliana stared at Tiphaine for a long time, eyes boring into her face. ‘There is much darkness within you,’ she said.
‘You have no idea,’ said Tiphaine. ‘It might, of course, be the company I keep. For example, Jehan Nortkerque, who is a receiver of counterfeit coin and also beats and rapes young girls. Or his friend Nicodemus, a traitor and murderer who once sold children into slavery. Are you harbouring them in Liège?’
Sister Juliana’s eyes flickered. ‘This is a place of light,’ she said calmly. ‘God’s holy love has filled it with radiance.’
‘That does not answer my question.’
‘It does, but the darkness prevents you from listening. I am God, says Love, for Love is God and God is Love. So said the blessed Marguerite Porete, shortly before they fed her to the flames in Paris. We remember her words, and the words of all those who came before and after, and suffered in the name of truth. We walk the path of Love in the sure and certain knowledge that we are doing God’s work. We would never receive men such as you describe, and we have no knowledge of them. Now, go in peace.’
‘Do not fob me off with cheap philosophy,’ Tiphaine said. ‘We know they came here, we have a witness who overheard them speaking. I think they are here, and I also think you know where they are.’
‘I will not quarrel with you in God’s house,’ said Sister Juliana. ‘Meike, I am sorry you have had a wasted journey, but as you have heard, the men you seek are not here. You may lodge where you will for the night. Tomorrow, I think you should return to Poperinge. The people there have need of you.’
Meike bowed and turned away, followed by Topaas and the other men. Tiphaine turned on her heel and walked after them. Outside in the marketplace the man in the cassock was flogging someone else, a woman this time. She sobbed as the whip bit into her back. It had begun to rain.
They found shelter in an empty house up the hill, not far from the ruined church. There was bread and beer and pottage but no meat, for it was still Lent. From the house next door they could hear a child crying. ‘What in God’s name is going on?’ demanded Tiphaine. ‘What is this place?’
‘Liège is a free commune, ruled by its people,’ said Fier Meike. ‘They have driven out the nobles and all the religious orders except the Beguines. They have no masters other than themselves. For Pilgrims, this is a place of inspiration.’
‘You find public floggings inspirational?’
‘Freedom does not mean chaos,’ Topaas said. ‘Order must be maintained.’
‘You must understand what happened here,’ Meike said. ‘The commune has been at war for nearly forty years. When the nobles attempted to suppress it, the people fought them in the streets and won. When the surviving nobles hid in the church of Saint-Martin, the people set fire to the church and burned them all.’
Thank you for another nightmare to add to my list, Tiphaine thought. ‘And the clergy?’
‘Things were peaceful under old Bishop Adolph, but when his nephew became bishop in turn, he tried to dismantle the commune and impose his own rule. He also accused the Beguines of heresy.’
‘For preaching about love? Yes, I can see why that would annoy a bishop. What happened?’
‘The commune turned to the Pilgrims for aid. We defeated the bishop’s army and sent him into exile.’
‘And then, I presume, the people opened the tombs of former bishops, dragged out the bones and hung the skulls over the gate,’ Tiphaine said. ‘How very brave to take revenge on the dead. Do you think Sister Juliana was telling the truth?’
There was silence for a moment. The child next door continued to wail. ‘I see no reason to doubt her word,’ Meike said finally. She looked at Tiphaine. ‘Even if she is wrong, I am sure there is a good explanation. There was no need to antagonise her as you did.’
‘There was no need for her to insult me. She knows who Nortkerque is. She recognised the name at once, it showed in her face. And again, where does all the money come from? As well as the free bread there must have been twenty marks of silver on that table, and they were handing it out like Maundy money. Who pays for this, and who feeds and arms the Pilgrims?’
‘We don’t know,’ one of the other men said. ‘We have never felt it necessary to ask. God is love.’
‘Suffering Christ,’ said Tiphaine. ‘These people are working for Béthune! If not directly for him, then for his friends! Will you let them get away scot-free?’
She saw the look on Meike’s face, and regretted her words at once. She drew breath. ‘Very well. What are we going to do?’
‘You heard Sister Juliana,’ Topaas said. ‘We return to Poperinge.’
‘But she is not your leader,’ Tiphaine insisted. ‘As everyone keeps telling me, you have no leaders. She gave you no orders.’
‘No orders were given,’ Topaas agreed. ‘But they will be obeyed nevertheless.’ He looked at Fier Meike, who sat staring at her goedendaag. ‘All the same, we have had a hard journey, and I suggest we rest before starting back. A day will make no difference.’
‘No,’ Meike said, brooding. ‘You are right, Topaas, we should rest. We need our strength.’
‘Well, that at least is true,’ Tiphaine said bitterly.
In the morning the rain had stopped and the air was clear. When Tiphaine stepped out into the street she heard the soft music of wild birds, flying north in long skeins across the sky.
Topaas followed her outside. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To follow an instinct. I won’t be long.’
Wrapping her cloak around herself to ward off the keen east wind, she walked down the hill towards the cathedral. The streets were empty, and she saw again the silent shuttered houses. It was Lent, of course, but that did not entirely explain the sense of desolation she could feel in the air. No one starved in Liège; thanks to the Pilgrims, there was plenty of food and money to go around, but somewhere along the way the joy of living had been snuffed out.
And perhaps that was deliberate, she thought. Perhaps that was part of the new vision of the future being created by the man from the north and his allies.
The punishment post in the marketplace was empty, which was a blessing. Instead there was a column of wagons guarded by armed men on horseback, horses and vehicles alike all splashed with mud from hard travelling. Goods were being unloaded and carried into the cathedral, barrels of flour and stockfish and salted eels. Tiphaine had travelled with an army long enough to recognise a foraging party.
No one goes hungry in Liège, she thought. Of course not; they are robbing and pillaging the countryside to feed their own. Damn them all for hypocrites. She pulled the hood of her cloak forward to hide her face, and waited.
She had hoped Nortkerque might come to the cathedral. Instead, Sister Juliana came out and stood for a moment under the carved and painted arches of the west door. She watched the foragers unload before pulling up her own hood and walking across the marketplace. To Tiphaine’s surprise, she went straight to the ruined gates of the bishop’s palace and passed into the courtyard. Tiphaine waited for a few moments, and followed.
The courtyard was silent and empty. She walked across the cobbles to the kitchen door. This too had been smashed down and the empty doorway was full of cobwebs. Pushing her way through these, she crossed the lifeless kitchen and tiptoed into the screens passage beyond. She heard a woman speaking quietly, her voice echoing a little in the cavernous space of the hall. She held her breath, straining her ears to hear.
‘All is arranged,’ said Sister Juliana. ‘They will meet us here to receive their final instruction. Is everything ready in Bruges?’
‘The pieces are in position,’ said a man’s voice.
Tiphaine went rigid with shock. She knew that voice, very well; she had been a guest in the man’s house for several weeks last year. It was William Blyth, the fugitive banker from Newcastle.
Blyth was still speaking. ‘The money has been delivered, and the musicians will be on their way to Bruges by now. All we need is Nortkerque and his men.’
‘They are ready,’ said Sister Juliana. ‘Nortkerque is on his way here now. Oh, my brother! How long we have waited for this moment!’
The door from the screens passage into the hall was slightly ajar. Crouching down, Tiphaine looked through the narrow crack. Blyth and Juliana were embracing tightly; when they finally stepped back, she could see a gleam of tears on the woman’s face. ‘It has been a long time,’ she said. ‘So many years of planning and scheming, hoping and dreaming. If only our mother were alive to see this day!’
‘We shall avenge her well,’ Blyth said. ‘The men who killed her will suffer, along with all the others.’
‘We shall tear the world to pieces,’ said Sister Juliana. ‘And we shall remake it as it should have been made. No sovereigns and princes, no bishops and popes. Only the true love of God shall prevail.’
‘Amen,’ Blyth said quietly. He turned his head. ‘Ah. Our friends have arrived.’
Two more men had entered the hall. One was the lean, angular figure of Nicodemus, longbow and quiver slung across his back. The other was stocky and square-faced with a sword belt around his waist. He bowed to Sister Juliana and Blyth. ‘We are yours to command,’ he said. ‘Tell us what you need.’
Nicodemus stiffened, holding up one hand. ‘Wait. Someone is here.’
Shit, thought Tiphaine, how did he know? She rose and backed away from the door, but it was too late; Nicodemus was already running towards her, unslinging his bow and nocking an arrow, and Nicodemus, she knew, was a deadly shot. She fled through the kitchen into the courtyard, but Blyth and the other man were already outside, swords in hand, cutting her off from the gate. Sister Juliana followed them, her face a mask of stone. ‘It is the woman who came with Fier Meike,’ she said. ‘Kill her.’
Nicodemus raised his bow. Blyth held up a hand. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not yet. She belongs to Merrivale. She could be useful.’
Tiphaine spat at him. ‘I belong to no one.’
‘Indeed? Then why are you here? Merrivale sent you, of course. You are his creature. How much does Merrivale know?’
‘Ask him yourself,’ said Tiphaine.
‘Perhaps I shall, when next he comes to Bruges.’ Blyth turned to Sister Juliana. ‘Can you keep her secure?’
‘If you wish it, yes,’ she said reluctantly. ‘There is a prison cell at Saint Walburga’s gate. But I still think you should kill her.’
‘Your brother is right,’ said Nicodemus. ‘She is more use to us alive than dead. Hold her until we send for her.’
Blyth took an oilcloth packet out of his cloak and handed it to the stocky man. ‘Here are your orders, Nortkerque. There are also final instructions for Donato de’ Peruzzi, telling him where and how to make the payment.’
Nortkerque nodded. ‘To whom do I report when I arrive?’
‘No one. The Count of Flanders is your responsibility. Arrange matters however you wish—’
Everyone froze. From the marketplace came the sound of running footsteps, coming closer. Fier Meike ran into the courtyard, followed by Topaas and the rest of the men. Nicodemus raised his bow again, fingers tight on the string; it would take only a second to draw and release. ‘Come no closer,’ he said. ‘One more step and I will shoot.’
The Pilgrims halted. ‘You can kill one of us,’ said Meike. ‘Perhaps two, but no more.’
The arrow point never wavered. ‘Then choose which two of you will die with me. Or does someone wish to make the sacrifice?’
Blyth looked at Nortkerque. ‘Is there another entrance to the palace?’
The other man nodded. ‘There is a gate onto the river. A boat is already waiting.’
‘Good. Nicodemus, make certain they don’t follow us.’
Blyth and Nortkerque ran back into the palace. Topaas took a step after them. ‘No!’ Tiphaine screamed.
Nicodemus smiled. He swung the bow slowly, covering Topaas, Meike and their men one by one, and then finally herself. Tiphaine went rigid. ‘You said I was to be kept safe,’ she said.
‘I have my orders,’ said Nicodemus.
Tiphaine closed her eyes. She heard the hard twang of the bowstring and felt the wind from the arrow brush her face like the wings of death. Behind her someone gagged with sudden pain and she heard the rustle and thud of a body sliding to the cobbles. Disbelieving, she opened her eyes and turned. Sister Juliana was lying on her back, hands clutching feebly at the arrow embedded in her chest. Within a few seconds the hands relaxed and she went still. By the time she was dead, Nicodemus had already gone.