THEY RAN AT the head of the mob out of the hall, across the muddy cordings, through the kitchen yard, past the workshops, and out again to the stores. Hildegard was carried along by an army of excited servants. Everybody was shouting; two men came to blows. Ulf dealt them a clip round the ears. The head man came to a breathless halt in front of one of the grain stores, where two pike-bearers stood guard.
‘It’s not a pretty sight, sir. Maybe the sister would like to stay back?’
‘I’m sure I’ve seen worse,’ said Hildegard. ‘I haven’t lived in a cloister all my life.’
‘As you wish.’ Still breathing heavily, he pushed open the door and stepped aside to allow them through. Ulf went first. Hildegard heard him swear. She followed quickly into the grain-scented darkness. The indescribable stench of blood rose up to mingle with the sweetness of barley and rye.
‘Poor child,’ she murmured crossing herself. It was indeed one of the maids. Despite her disfigurement, Hildegard recognised her as the girl with red hair who had attended the birth of Sibilla’s baby and had later danced so provocatively with Sir William during the feast.
The first thing to notice was the blood. There was more of it than could be imagined to come from one young girl. It pooled copiously round the body. The second thing was her belly, hacked open, her guts revealed like coiled snakes in a pit. Worse was what had been done to her mouth. Someone had stitched her lips with twine.
Ulf went to the door and growled at everybody to get back. Some were craning their necks to have a look. He used his stave on the most forward ones. ‘You, Sigbert, did you find her?’ He turned to address the man who had led them here.
‘No, sir. It was a scullion sent to get a shovel of barley. Fair sent him out of his wits, it did.’
A quick glance showed no barefoot scullion among the onlookers. ‘Where is he?’
‘Back turning his spit handle if he knows what’s good for him.’
‘Have him brought to me now,’ Ulf ordered.
The man was gone in an instant to do the job himself.
Ulf closed the door, shutting out the jabber of the mindless jostlers outside, and stood beside Hildegard without speaking. A trickle of light seeped down from a high window. It was usually enough to enable the servants to carry out their business in the store without need for tapers. It enabled them to see a scuffle of footprints in the doorway. Closer to the body, however, there were three distinct patterns, those belonging to the maid with her small heels, those they knew to be their own, and a third set.
‘We must look at those,’ Hildegard said, pointing to them. She turned her attention back to the body. The girl’s hair was caked with blood where it escaped its linen cap. It spread in shades of varied red and gold over the chill stones. ‘She still wears her coif.’
Ulf gave Hildegard a glance. She knew the colour must have drained from her face, for he placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You needn’t stay, you know,’ his voice was gentle. ‘It’s clear how she died. No poison here to be found and examined. It must have been a drunken fiend with a knife last night.’
‘This is more than a man driven by lust,’ Hildegard replied.
Looking again at the stitches sewing the girl’s lips together, she was transfixed by a memory. It was of simple words, spoken casually, half in jest, but now they aroused her revulsion by what they truly meant.
‘We must go to Sibilla’s chamber,’ she whispered in alarm. ‘The midwife. We must speak to her.’
‘Midwife?’
‘Before she hears we have found the body. I’ll go alone. You stay and do what you have to. The footprints. The weapon.’ Hildegard turned, leaving Ulf gaping after her as she pushed the door and shouldered her way through a crowd that stood in silence as she passed.
The late morning air seemed sweet outside the confines of the store and she took a deep breath to steady herself. Then, scarcely daring to allow her thoughts to direct her, she set off towards the bailey. Only when she was approached by one of the servants who had followed her across the grain yard could she summon the words to ask him to conduct her with all haste to the chamber of the Lady Sibilla. He obeyed without hesitation.
‘Sibilla, where is your midwife?’
Lounging on the bed amid her furs when Hildegard came in unannounced, Sibilla sat up abruptly. She was clearly shocked by the sudden entrance of the nun. ‘Midwife? Why? Is one of the maids in need?’
‘Where is she?’
‘Gone, I expect. How should I know? Her services were paid for, no doubt.’ Her tone was sharp.
‘Sibilla, I must know where she is. It’s urgent.’
She pretended to yawn. ‘Oh, ask Ralph. He deals with day-to-day matters. Do you think I can be bothered with all that?’
‘And where is Sir Ralph?’
‘Who knows? Hunting? Playing with his cat? I can’t be expected to know where he is.’ Sibilla gazed at Hildegard as if weighing up the likely moves of an adversary. ‘I’d like to know what’s happened to your famous humility. You seem remarkably peremptory for a nun.’
‘A maid is dead,’ she replied.
Sibilla seemed not so much shocked now as hostile. ‘A maid? What maid?’
‘One of those attending your delivery.’
‘What—?’
Hildegard observed her change of colour with curiosity. ‘Yes, one of those maids, Sibilla. The one with red hair. Surely you remember her?’
‘Why on earth should I?’
Her glance not straying from Sibilla’s face, Hildegard replied, ‘Considering she’s been murdered you might care to give the matter a little thought.’
‘Murdered?’ Sibilla laughed and picked at one of her furs. When Hildegard merely waited with an air of unruffled patience she said, ‘This is ridiculous. You burst in here talking wildly of murder as if it’s anything to do with me! How should I know anything about her? These maids cannot be controlled. And anyway, I don’t have a red-haired maid. She must have come in with the midwife.’
‘And you say the midwife has left?’
‘I expect so. How should I know? I’ve told you, ask Ralph. He’ll have paid her off by now.’
‘And where is he, did you say?’
‘I didn’t.’ Sibilla glanced away. When she looked back Hildegard was still watching her with a level glance. It was close run as to who would make the better card player, but with her training in meditation and prayer, Hildegard had the edge on self-control. Grudgingly Sibilla conceded that Ralph was out hunting with William. ‘But don’t ask me where. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d rather like to sleep. I’ve had a trying time.’
With that she plumped her pillows, pulled a cover to her chin and closed her eyes. Almost at once she opened them. ‘I’m sorry about the girl. But they come and they go. I can’t be expected to know them all.’
Outside in the corridor Hildegard found the servant who had brought her here. She grasped him by the sleeve. ‘Your name, sir?’
‘Edberg,’ he told her promptly.
‘Edberg, I want to find Sir Ralph. Do you know where he is?’
‘I can find out for you, Sister. Follow me.’
He led the way down some nearby stairs. To her surprise they emerged in the passage separating the kitchen from the Great Hall. The ease with which anyone from anywhere in the castle could have approached the dais and done their work with the poison astonished her. The whole place was like a honeycomb, every cell leading on to the next. Edberg accosted one of the scurrying menials and rapped something out in Anglo-Saxon in a dialect that went over Hildegard’s head. When he turned he said, ‘He’s just been through here. Getting fish for his cat. If we hurry we’ll be in time to stop him before he rides out.’
Robes flying, Hildegard tore across the yard after him and they burst into the stables just as Ralph was being hoisted aloft a tall bay. His own horse, the black destrier she had seen his squire leading in the forest yesterday, hung its head over the door and snickered in its eagerness to come out.
‘Ralph! A moment!’
With a final hoist by his grooms he was in the saddle. He looked down at her. ‘Can’t it wait? I’m going hunting and I’m already late.’ He clearly had no intention of dismounting. She went to stand in front of him. His horse poked its nose into her sleeve and she fondled it as she asked him whether he had any news of the midwife, as a woman in the village was in need of her services.
Ralph frowned. ‘I have no idea,’ he said. ‘I paid her off, lavishly I might add. Why should I know where she is?’
‘Do you know where she came from perhaps?’
‘No idea. Don’t midwives travel around?’
He made as if to urge the horse on but Hildegard stood her ground. Being handled so delicately appealed to the horse and he lowered his head and breathed warmly into her hands. Ralph brought up his whip but put it aside when he saw her expression. ‘Look, if this is urgent, I’m sure the maids know more about her than I do. Why not ask one of them?’
‘Which one do you suggest?’
‘How would I know? They all look the same to me.’ He lifted his whip again.
‘Even the one with the red hair?’
‘Ah, I see which way this is going.’ He hesitated for a moment, then threw one leg over and slid down. ‘So it’s William, is it?’
‘William?’
‘In the old days it wouldn’t have escaped your eagle glance, Hildegard, but now you’re so holy maybe you don’t see what’s going on under your nose.’
‘Maybe so,’ she said. ‘What should I have seen?’ She deliberately widened her eyes.
‘William and that maid you’ve just mentioned?’
‘Really?’
‘Indeed.’ Ralph’s glance narrowed. Turning to his groom he barked, ‘Too late to go out now. Unsaddle the brute.’ He clapped the horse on the flanks then, gripping Hildegard by one elbow as if she were a captive, he marched her out of the stable and into the yard. ‘Come with me, Sister. We need to talk.’
Aware that Edberg was following at a discreet pace or two she allowed Ralph to lead her back towards the main building. Once inside he hustled her up the side stairs and into his own chambers.
‘So,’ Sir Ralph closed the door, ‘What’s William done this time?’
‘I don’t understand you,’ said Hildegard.
‘Oh, of course, he married into the family after you left. And as you’re cloistered out of the daily stream of the world,’ Ralph raised his glance to the ceiling, ‘you’ll know nothing about him, but everybody is aware of his depravity.’ His glance flew to hers, suddenly sharp, and then, almost in an instant, veiled and as vague as always.
‘You’ll have to explain, Ralph,’ said Hildegard. ‘It’s true. I do lead a secluded life. When I was anchoress I never saw a soul from one month to the next.’
‘I was astonished when they said you’d taken the veil,’ Ralph admitted, easing himself into a chair and crossing his boots at the ankle. ‘But what a change of fortune, eh? Hugh dead on some godforsaken battlefield. You a nun.’
It rankled that Ralph should embrace Hugh’s death in the phrase ‘change of fortune’. But all Hildegard said was, ‘You’re right. There have been changes.’ He put up a hand. ‘Excuse me a moment.’ He hollered for one of the servants. A man appeared, carrying Master Jacques on a cushion.
‘There he is,’ said Ralph, taking up the lolling creature and giving him a stroke. To his servant he said, ‘Bring us some ale, there’s a good fellow,’ and after the man had gone he said, ‘William has a foul temper. You know about that business with those thieves down at the docks in Ravenser? He strung all fourteen of them up, guilty and innocent alike. That shocked a lot of people in the Riding.’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Hildegard quietly.
‘The other thing is wenches,’ Ralph went on. ‘I don’t know how Avice puts up with it. Sibilla wouldn’t stand for it.’
‘You sound envious,’ Hildegard suggested.
‘The difference between William and me that is I’m happy with my wife,’ said Ralph. ‘In fact, I’m a happy sort of fellow altogether if you want to know the truth. As long as I’ve got my lands and Master Jacques here, what more could a man want?’
He wore his usual affable smile. His eyes were like pale blue glass and as guileless as those of a child of five, but it seemed to Hildegard his smile was like a mummer’s mask. She wondered why he had not included the birth of his son in his inventory of good fortune? And what did he mean by his lands? Everything he had came courtesy of someone else. His rents from Roger, the rest from Sibilla. Of course he looked every inch the perfect knight. Like his brother in grandeur. Only with Roger it had substance and the force of law to back it up.
‘What are you trying to tell me about William?’ Hildegard asked. ‘And why did my mention of that particular maid cause you to forgo your hunting?’
He laughed softly. ‘In the old days you’d never have posed a question like that. You must have seen them dancing. And I’d lay bets he didn’t finish up in his wife’s bed last night.’ He raised his brows.
‘But Avice?’ she asked. ‘What about her? She must be sorely distressed at the thought of William’s philandering?’
‘Avice? She has a heart of ice. Even as a child, don’t you remember? It’s the only way that marriage can last. Except for fear, of course,’ he added appraisingly, ‘she wouldn’t dare leave him for fear of retribution. Only way she’ll get out of it is if he throws her out. But why would he do that when she’s so compliant? And why would she not comply? She’s got no better protection against slings and arrows than William.’ He began to chuckle. ‘No, my dear stepsister doesn’t care about maids.’ He gave a bark of laughter.
‘Perhaps I ought to tell you something,’ said Hildegard.
‘What’s that?’ Ralph kissed Master Jacques behind the ears and began to stroke him slowly from nose-tip to tail.
Hildegard hesitated. ‘The red-haired maid has just been found dead.’
Ralph’s hand froze over the cat. ‘What did you say?’
‘Her body was found within the hour in one of the stores.’
‘Dead?’ He turned to her, eyes like stones. ‘But how can she be?’
‘She is, and how she came to be so is another question.’ Hildegard watched him carefully.
‘This changes things.’ He gave a narrowed glance. ‘Of course, you would not entertain the idea that William would be involved?’
‘William?’
‘Not in anything like that, not here.’
‘Like what exactly?’
He looked confused. ‘Dead, you say? By her own hand, presumably? You really can’t blame William,’ he said half-heartedly.
‘Why should I blame him?’ Hildegard replied.
‘Quite. We agree. But the death of a servant in the castle bounds? People search for someone to accuse. It’s only natural.’ Ralph gave a heavy sigh. ‘So young. What a tragedy. Maybe she died from a similar cause to the one that afflicted Roger?’
‘I think not.’ Hildegard was relieved to be so emphatically truthful for once. ‘No?’
‘Foul play. No doubt of it.’
Ralph frowned, as if considering the matter. Hildegard could not put her finger on what made her uneasy. His attack on his brother-in-law and then his haste to contradict himself? It didn’t ring true.
Now he said, ‘Much drunkenness and wantonness go on in Roger’s castle. He employs too many Saxons. I’m not surprised something like this has happened. It was only a question of time. We can’t trust them. He used to bewail the fact that he was surrounded by enemies. But what did he expect? They hate us. Always have. Always will. We took their lands from them. They don’t like that. Who would? I told him a thousand times. Set spies among them.’
Ralph crooked Master Jacques in one arm and paced back and forth, as if unsure what to do next. ‘You must be looking forward to getting out of here,’ he suggested. ‘First Roger, felled by fate, then a young maid, cut down by an unknown hand. You’ll come to Meaux with Roger’s cortège, I assume, before going back to your priory?’
Hildegard nodded. ‘But the maid? Do you have any views on her?’
‘Probably got what she was asking for,’ he said with an abrupt callousness which, even if he did not know the details of her death, took Hildegard’s breath away.
Edberg was waiting outside Ralph’s chamber when Hildegard came out. William had gone out hunting, he reported. ‘Won’t be back till nightfall,’ he explained. ‘Allus makes a day of it, does Sir William.’
‘Nightfall comes early at this time of year,’ Hildegard mused. ‘We’ll curb our impatience.’
‘Back to Ulf in the barley store, then, sister?’
‘What do you know about all this?’ she asked Edberg as he accompanied her across the courtyard once more.
‘She was a smart girl till this one mistake,’ he said. ‘It’s a terrible business. We’re all set on catching him that did it.’ Then he added, ‘We’re loyal to Ulf. When he sneezes, we catch cold.’
‘How unfortunate for you.’ Hildegard gave him a glance.
He nodded but didn’t elaborate as they were already at the grain store and both of them were conscious of the sad and gruesome spectacle that lay within. Hildegard asked him in a lowered voice to wait, then tapped on the door for Ulf.
He opened it and quickly ushered her inside. His face was haggard. ‘You took your time. Did you find anything out?’
‘The midwife has left, or so they claim. All else I heard was Ralph’s opinion of his brother-in-law.’
‘I could have told you that for nothing.’
‘What was she called?’
‘Ada. She’s been with Sibilla since she was eight.’
‘That’s interesting. Sibilla pretended she couldn’t remember who was at the birth of her son. And denied any knowledge of a red-haired maid, one, I would imagine, who rather stood out from all the rest. How old was she – sixteen, seventeen?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Ralph may have pretended not to know what has happened but I wasn’t convinced. There was something in his manner. He knows something, I’m sure of it. If the midwife has been allowed to leave by your reliable porter, your men should be able to catch up with her quite easily. By the way,’ she added, ‘one of your men has accompanied me ever since I left this scene.’
‘Edberg.’
‘I thought you would know him.’
‘You’ll trust ’em when you know ’em better.’
‘I have an entirely open mind on the subject. Did the scullion have anything useful to say?’
‘No, he’s half out of his wits with shock.’
‘May I take another look?’
Ulf, who had been attempting to shield the body of the dead girl from view while they talked, stepped to one side.
Without touching anything, Hildegard inspected everything that might give a clue to the attacker’s identity. Blood, congealed and sticky, had flowed over the stone floor and mixed with the layer of dust from the grain sacks lined against the walls. It made an unpleasant mulch in which several footprints were mixed along with mud from the yard.
There were the smudged shapes of her own soft leather buskins, and beside those the large and well-defined outlines of Ulf’s round-toed working boots. At the door, but no nearer, were the barefoot scullion’s prints. Near the body was the clear shape of a pair of wooden pattens, and next to them she noticed a soft, elongated shape, narrow and, for that reason, possibly made by a woman: the prints of the murderer.
She straightened up. ‘If only we could identify them.’
Ulf followed her glance and nodded. ‘You can trample on them as much as you like. I took their measure while you were gone.’
‘That was quick.’
After she had looked around, noticing the one door in and out and the walls and racks filled with sacks of grain, most new and unopened, she took her courage in both hands and prepared to examine the body more thoroughly.
‘What do you make of it?’ she asked Ulf in an unsteady voice as she kilted her skirts and knelt down.
‘William in a fit of lust?’
‘That was certainly what Ralph was hinting. Lust or rage.’
‘There have been stories, as I’m sure he told you. It looks as if he can get away with anything, tucked away down there in Holderness. Then there are the women. Nothing proven, of course. And no one can touch him, being who he is. And the women being who they are and often so much down in the dirt of life, half the time they keep quiet, knowing there’ll be more punishment if they speak out.’
Hildegard ignored the sudden bitterness in his tone until she could give it her full attention later on. ‘There are many reasons why women keep quiet about such matters,’ she told Ulf, biting her lip. ‘But these stitches,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘They’re well made. I don’t have William down as a seamstress.’
‘You really believe this was done by the midwife?’ he asked, his voice rising a notch.
‘Only because of something she said about keeping the girl’s lips laced. Whoever it was, they’re able to sew a fair seam. Look for yourself.’
‘We do have men whose livelihood depends on sewing boots and harness.’
‘I do realise it could have been an unfortunate coincidence of words on her part.’
Hildegard had to keep talking otherwise her stomach, clenched in revulsion, would have released its contents all over the floor. This had been a girl of genuine beauty. That she was also lively and something of a wit Hildegard herself could testify. Maybe somewhere there was a lover, a youth who might walk to the ends of the earth for her. There would be a family. A mother perhaps, brothers and sisters, cousins. People for whom her absence would be a source of unending grief.
‘How would she come to be here in the store?’ she forced herself to ask. ‘Is there any legitimate reason for her being here?’
‘None that I know of.’
‘There must be other ways to persuade a girl to keep quiet,’ she murmured. The girl’s features were distorted by the macabre lacing but, gently, with forefinger and thumb, Hildegard prised forth a short black hair that had somehow become trapped under the stitches. It was so fine as to bend to every breath when she lifted it close enough to examine. ‘Not coarse like beard hair, nor curly, like William’s black locks, but short and straight.’ She held it up so Ulf could see it.
‘Could be anyone’s,’ he surmised, peering at it. ‘It’s not Saxon, at any rate.’ He seemed relieved about that.
Carefully Hildegard placed it in a fold of cloth taken from her scrip for closer inspection and possible matching later on. Now she had two objects taken from two young people, both brutally murdered, the boy in the woods and now a maid. ‘There is no knife here,’ she observed. ‘Didn’t you find one?’
‘No, but it looks like they used an ordinary hunting knife. The sort any man carries. One broad enough to gut a hog or a hind.’
‘So I thought. With a single edge. Notice the shape of the incisions.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Ulf, do you have a rough plan of the castle?’
‘I’ll draw you a plan myself. I know every stone of this place.’
‘Perhaps this poor child can be taken to the mortuary,’ Hildegard suggested. ‘Then, when the formalities are over, she can be carried into the church, where her soul may gain some repose at last.’