Hildegard had no intention of going back to bed, not when everything was coming together: the seal used as a weapon, the torn fabric from the garment of a prowler in the night, and the gold thread found at the scene of the first murder. Not to mention the remark Miggy had made about the man with the popinjay. What was the truth? Was he a player or an ex-priest? What had he to do with events at the abbey?
As soon as she left the others to go into Prime she made her way down the cliff path beside the parish church into the town. It would have been quicker to walk down the monks’ trod to the bottom of Grope Lane, but the memory of last night’s ambush was still too raw to make her want to risk that way. Although it was daylight the path would be isolated, best avoided.
The sun was still low on the horizon and just beginning to seep from behind the frosty haze over the estuary. It made everything close by stand out sharply against the snow.
Below the cliff the thatched-roof dwellings could be seen, small and perfect, like a drawing on glass. From that direction came the faint shouts of traders opening their premises for another day’s trade, the sound of carts carrying produce from the fields thundering over the cobblestones, the barking of dogs, the random cries of children – a normal day.
Even as she slithered down the slope the sky was turning to a shade of blue above the headland that might have reminded Luke of Sabine’s eyes.
What was the woman’s role in all this? Had she tired of Aelwyn? Did she want him out of the way? Was she as grief-stricken as Luke believed?
There was only one way to find out.
As Hildegard reached the street she noticed signs of last night’s revelry. The Twelve Days, or more accurately, the Twelve Nights, were almost over. Soon it would be Epiphany and, as it had been decreed in the courts of heaven, it was also King Richard’s birthday.
His grief must outstrip anything most people would ever experience. Elder brother: dead; father: dead; beloved mother: dead; the Smithfield rebels hanged without trial. And then in the last twelve months his surrogate father, Burley: cruelly executed without a legal trial; thirteen of his closest allies bloodily executed likewise. And he, the king, the once beautiful boy, still only in his twenty-second year.
How would he withstand the horror in such isolation? Would he go mad and rave impotently in his palace, or sink into a melancholy as some predicted? Or would he set out on a murderous trail of his own?
It was the custom of kings to seek revenge against their enemies. The bloodiest revengers acquired an astonishing respect from the Chroniclers. Barbarity did not fit with this most pacific and cultured of monarchs. It did not seem in his nature to root out his enemies with any kind of ruthlessness. While admiring him, Hildegard also feared for him. He must be living in constant fear of a knife in the back. How could he survive the treachery of the court as long as his uncle Woodstock, the Duke of Gloucester, lived?
Troubled by the large scale of the ills and dangers of the world, she reached Master Selby’s house and knocked loudly on the door.
A ground-floor window inched open and a fellow in a nightshirt poked his head out. ‘Oh, it’s you again. Where are your friends this morning? Sleeping off the abbot’s wine?’
‘Probably. You know what men are like. Drunkards and willy-wavers all. May I speak to Sabine?’
‘She’ll be asleep after last night.’
A window above their heads flew open. ‘No, I’m not. That damned rooster woke me. Who is it?’
‘Hildegard of Meaux.’
‘Send her up.’
‘Bloody nun,’ grumbled the door-man. He vanished from the window and in a moment appeared in the doorway wrapped in a blanket. ‘Go on up, then.’ He stumbled sleepily back into his chamber and allowed Hildegard to find her own way. Sabine was peering through a crack in the door on the first landing when she reached the top.
‘What’s happened? Is it to do with that Brother Luke? I hope he hasn’t sent you to plead his cause. What does he think I’m going to do?’
‘May I come in?’
In answer Sabine stepped back but as soon as Hildegard entered, she said, ‘I’m not listening. He can go and—’
‘It’s not on behalf of him I’m here. It’s to do with Aelwyn.’
Sabine froze. ‘What?’ Her face turned to stone.
‘He seems to have treated you well. A kind man, I would think. He fulfilled his obligations over Torold. You have a son you can be proud of.’
She gripped Hildegard by the arm. ‘Is Torold all right? Has something happened to him? Is that why you’ve come? Is he hurt? Tell me what’s happened—’
‘Stay calm. It’s not him. Nothing has befallen him. He’s quite safe.’
Sabine threw herself down on the rumpled bed and dragged a blanket over her nightgown. ‘Go on then, what?’
She picked up a length of nettle, ripped off the leaves and began to split the stem as if it was all that mattered.
‘May I sit?’
‘Do what you like.’ The blazing blue eyes that had so broken Luke’s heart were like chips of ice now she knew her son was safe.
Hildegard returned her glance. ‘I understand that it was an embroidered bursa you threw down to Brother Luke last night?’
‘So?’
‘He’s puzzled. Why would you do that?’
‘Has he talked to you?’
‘Yes, he has.’
She focused on linking the nettle stems into twine as if there was nothing more interesting. ‘I suppose he would tell you everything. Thick as thieves, aren’t you, your lot?’ She lifted her head.
‘And your lot?’
Sabine gave a hollow laugh. ‘Who are my lot? The fellows that come tramping up the stairs every night for what they can get? Or Selby and Dickson for what they can make out of me?’
‘And are they your lot?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I think you’re able to find a better lot than any of them … if you want to.’
Sabine rubbed a hand over the eyes that seemed to cause most of her problems and Hildegard felt a twinge of sorrow for her. Maybe she was not as hard and manipulative as she had first seemed. Although, she reminded herself, this act now could also be part of her manipulative nature. Maybe she could not help herself.
She gave no answer now but continued to stare stonily at Hildegard in open challenge.
‘I’m fond of Luke,’ Hildegard admitted. ‘He’s very young. He was given to the abbey before he really knew what life was about. He has no knowledge of women, no defence against us. You’ve turned his life upside down. But he wants to do the best for you, whatever that might be.’
‘The first thing is he can stop pretending he can help. It puts their backs up, Selby that is, and his wife. They think I’m passing information to him.’
‘About what?’
‘Them.’
‘Why should that bother them?’
‘They have too many secrets.’ She gave a scathing laugh and picked up the twine again. ‘Open secrets, most of them. The fools. As if the whole town doesn’t know what’s what. It’s just that nobody can do anything about it … unless they want to finish up dead, like Aelwyn and Edred. You want to warn Luke if you like him so much.’
‘Is it this cartel of Dickson’s?’ she asked.
The blue eyes flashed over her. ‘How do you know …?’
‘You said it was an open secret. It’s so open Dickson himself was boasting about it to us, although I imagine his purpose was to impress on us how powerful he is locally and to warn us off in case we had a mind to interfere.’
‘He would do that. Even monastics can be put out of the way, as you’ve seen. It wouldn’t bother him. He has no fear of hellfire.’
‘So Dickson is behind all this?’
‘He had a nice deal going with the abbey through Aelwyn …’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘He and Edred got sick of the way the fishermen are being treated. They’d been talking to that Lollard fellow.’ She hesitated and then decided to take a risk. ‘And you know about the others?’
‘The others?’
‘The opposition that was beginning to form – since the Lent executions in Westminster?’
‘I was appalled by that, as were we all. It was brutal. An obvious way of isolating the King. What about these others?’
Sabine changed tack as if she regretted touching on something too dangerous to mention. ‘I was talking to that disgraced priest, the one with the popinjay …’ She waited as if for a sign of some sort.
‘I understand he’s no priest but one of Lord Percy’s mummers.’
Sabine breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I didn’t tell you that. So you’ll know what they feel about the executions?’
‘I imagine they’re angered enough to consider revenge.’
Sabine lowered her voice. ‘Aelwyn too. That’s why …’ She bit her lip and if the tears that suddenly made her eyes seem larger still were fake, she was worthy to join the mummers herself as she whispered, ‘Someone had to get rid of him. I don’t know who’s behind it. He had enemies in the abbey because of – well, because of me. The canker in the rose, someone called him. But to me … he was the rose itself …’
Making a shot in the dark Hildegard remarked, ‘But the red rose continues to threaten the white?’
Eyes never leaving Hildegard’s, Sabine nodded. ‘He knew that. Lancaster’s men are everywhere. Using violence to force their will.’
‘It’s the same in York … The Duke of Lancaster subsidizes the abbey there, St Mary’s, a Benedictine foundation like Whitby. The monks here have friendly dealings with them.’ She suddenly remembered what Dickson had told them about a house of his in York, managed by one of his girls. He was perfectly placed to pass on information. And the other way about. ‘A few years ago,’ she explained hurriedly, to account for her sudden hesitation, ‘Lancaster’s place-men tried to fix the election of the York mayor. They failed, I’m pleased to say. For once the townsfolk were too strong and would not be intimidated nor bought off. But the Lancasters have spies even down in our abbey at Meaux. We need to tread with extreme caution if we have dealings with anyone in their world.’ Even for me, now, she reminded herself, am I going too far? She was only guessing where Sabine’s allegiance lay. There was no proof of anything.
So far she had not answered Hildegard’s first question and it might be thought clever, the way she had avoided answering it.
She tried again.
‘There is one thing you might tell me, Sabine. Why did you throw down that bursa for Luke to pick up?’
Smoothly she came back, ‘Because I know that whatever I do he will look after it for me and treat it as a holy relic, so besotted is he, and should I ever get out of here I shall know where to find it. In it are the few possessions dear to me. One day …’ She shrugged and gave a faint, rueful, melancholy smile. ‘Let me not put my hopes in dreams.’
‘So it has nothing to do with Aelwyn’s death?’ Sabine looked puzzled.
‘How could it have?’
‘Why did you throw it down?’
‘Because he asked me too. He wanted a token, I suppose. I thought it would make him go away and not cause more trouble.’
‘You lost it the night when Dickson’s men set your cottage alight.’
‘That’s right.’
‘It was the night Aelwyn died.’
‘I know that. Two losses in one night. I hadn’t thought I would feel it so deeply – I believed I wanted a man, not a monk, but he was … he held my heart in some strange and good way that was rare and … I treated him with such contempt … taking it for granted that he would always be at my beck and call … and he bore it with such grace …’
Hildegard began to believe that her tears were genuine as they coursed down her cheeks. ‘We often don’t realize that love exists until we’ve lost it.’
‘Is that what it was? Love?’ Sabine flashed a glance through her tears that might have been recognition that Hildegard was more than the Cistercian habit she wore. Rubbing at her cheeks she asked, ‘Have I been of any help, domina … any help in finding the murderer of my son’s father?’
‘Help in eliminating a suspect, maybe.’
And yet, Sabine had still not admitted how the bursa had been returned, nor when, exactly, it had been taken. She asked, ‘It must have been a shock to find your cottage on fire in the middle of the night?’
‘It was late, towards morning when most revelers had already gone to their beds.’
By then the gold thread from some other piece of embroidery must have already been accidentally left in the apple store.
‘I’m surprised the thief didn’t sell the bursa on and make the profit he expected.’
Sabine laughed in scorn. ‘Can you believe the sot-wit? Of course he couldn’t sell it! Everybody who saw it knew it was mine. I put out that it was cursed – and it reappeared, intact, by sunset!’
Before Hildegard left, the door-man sprang after her. ‘I hope you’re not persuading her to join you?’ Sniggering, he followed her to the door. ‘She’s worth her weight in gold.’
‘In that case I hope she sees some of it.’
He stared at her. His glance went to her small cross then back to her face. ‘All right then. I’ll mention it.’ Looking thoughtful he unlocked the door for her and let her out into the fresh air of the street.
The monks were filing out of the church when she returned. Some made for the warming room, others for a bite to eat in the misericord. Thinking how lax they were in their daily life she waited for the white robes of the Cistercians to appear and went to them as soon as she saw them.
Egbert greeted her first. ‘To our chagrin the brotherhood are most correctly attired. Not clean, perhaps, but their garments not torn to ribbons by a lymer’s savage teeth either.’
‘But we have not given up,’ Gregory added. ‘Luke is to search the dortoir in case there’s a torn cloak lying about and I’m to stroll over to the abbot’s lodging to have a look round there, leaving Egbert to scrutinize the cells of the obedientiaries as soon as the next Office begins.’
Gregory fixed her with a hard look. ‘Did you catch up on your sleep, Hildegard?’
She shook her head.
‘I thought not.’
She explained, concluding, ‘I admit I doubted her, Luke. And now …?’ She looked undecided.
Luke was still smiling over the curse Sabine had pretended to put on the bursa. ‘As clever as she is beautiful,’ he remarked.
She hoped for his sake he was beginning to sublimate his carnal love into something more spiritual.
Agreeing to meet again after they had fulfilled their intentions, they separated.
Hildegard thought it a good time to look in on the infirmary to find out how matters stood there. Hertilpole’s explanation for his accident – or punishment by an avenging angel – was something she was eager to hear first-hand. It would confirm her innocence and assuage any fears that Hubert would hear rumours to her detriment.
Torold met her at the doors. ‘I’m collecting herbs for Brother Dunstan,’ he told her the minute she appeared. ‘He’s over there, pouring sleeping drafts into him as fast as he can. He’s demented,’ he added.
‘Who? Brother Dunstan?’
He grinned. ‘No, the lord Bursar. He has committed sin after sin to hear him rave. I feel virtuous by comparison.’
‘I hope you always do!’ Smiling she went on in.
Hertilpole was still stripped to the waist and the honey-soaked bandages were in place but Dunstan’s two stalwart assistants were having a hard time persuading him to lie still.
Every so often he would raise his head and try to scramble to his knees, hands clasped before him, eyes rolling up to the vault above his head as if to a throng of angels in heaven. ‘Mea culpa,’ he kept repeating in feverish tones. ‘Forgive me, oh Lord. I was beguiled. Peccavi me. I was tempted and failed. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.’
Dunstan was looking exasperated. When he noticed Hildegard hesitating near one of the pillars, unsure whether to approach or whether it would make matters worse, he came over to her. ‘He’s kept this up since you were here last,’ he told her. ‘Listening to him leaves no doubt he’s got a lot to answer for.’
‘Theft and attempted rape at least,’ she replied, looking with distaste at the writhing, raging monk, ‘but what about murder?’
‘Strangely, no mention of that. Theft, yes. Theft of his own rents. He hoped to incriminate Master Edred and thereby cast blame upon his defence of the fishing community, claiming that he was handing money over to them. A sad and mean little plot. The justice of their case stands by its own merits.’
‘I came to see if there had been any new developments.’
‘Nothing of use to you. Only further confirmation that we are led badly in these dark days. Our Lollard critics can continue happily in the knowledge that they are acquiring by the day yet more evidence that the Orders should be dissolved.’
‘Do you see that as likely?’
‘In the long run? It is not an option. It could never be initiated. The Pope’s men are everywhere here. They would straight away get word back to Rome. Opposition to the Pope would have his armies breathing down our necks in no time. The taxes he raises from us are too valuable to lose. If the King opposes him and tries to take power back into his own hands he’ll find he’ll be sidelined. His royal power will be seen for what it is, something bestowed on him by the authority of the Pope, who’ll encourage vociferous support here. Fools will flock to what they see as the stronger side.’
‘King Richard will not like to feel he is not sovereign in his own realm,’ Hildegard observed. ‘To owe fealty to a foreign power whether in the spiritual realm or this one will not fit with his idea of Englishness.’
‘Sadly, there are plenty who will not see it as treason to transfer their allegiance to Rome for the purpose of personal gain.’
‘Dark days, brother, as you say. Let them soon be ended.’
A monk entered through the far door, the one that led into the passage to the muniments room. It was Hertilpole’s clerk. He was without his writing desk. Catching sight of Dunstan he came over. After a perfunctory obeisance to Hildegard he demanded of Dunstan what was being done to bring Hertilpole back to reason.
‘I’ve done all a man can do and what he now needs is time and absolution.’
The clerk scowled. ‘Then give him time. Give him absolution if you can.’
‘It’s not for me to involve myself with the sickness of his soul, magister. That’s for his confessor and his priest.’
The clerk moved his shoulders about as if they were stiff, gave one last, cold look at Hildegard as if at a trespasser, then turned and departed with the words, ‘Inform me of any other fantasies he dreams up.’
Dunstan said nothing but his glance as he watched him leave said it all.
Hildegard decided to take her leave as well. ‘If there’s nothing I can do to help at present, brother, please do not hesitate to approach me later if anything comes to mind.’
‘Let him stew, domina. It will do his soul good to experience the extent of its limitations. I thank you for your concern. His ravings make it clear what he attempted. He does not deserve your compassion.’
Chilled by the truth of Brother Dunstan’s words, she could do little to change things. Even the clerk’s manner saddened her in that brief meeting just now. His was not an unusual view of women. We are tolerated at best, she thought. Such men would prefer it if we did not exist at all.
In the past, during Anglian rule, before the Normans ravaged the country and destroyed its more benevolent customs, women were treated with greater justice. Norman arrogance had brought limitations on all women who wanted to take a full part in public life.
Rare ones still made their mark, like those who in the fullness of their characters flouted man-made laws and went their own way, and managed life to their own satisfaction. All praise to mystics like Julian of Norwich, she told herself, even Margery Kempe, and especially the nun who made the hermit Richard Rolle famous for his prolific writings, the anchoress Margaret Kirkby, along with many others who modestly set about establishing their independence in a way that usually only the royal and the rich could enjoy.
She wondered what Wycliffe would have said and done if he had not died so suddenly? There were no women among the preachers in russet. Was that because women did not want to set themselves up to speak in public? Or did he believe along with generations of theologians that women were the source of evil, whose only purpose was to tempt men to venery in order that they could preen themselves when they occasionally resisted temptation?
At least within her Order women, though living separately, played an unfettered part in contributing to their own finances, successful in the wool industry and in many other ways useful to their financial wellbeing on the same level as men. Labora et ora. That’s what the Benedictines said, although here, now, there seemed to be more ora, prayer, than work, the former often easier than the latter.
Deep in thought, she merely lifted her head in a dazed sort of way when someone nearly knocked her over as he swept on to the foregate. It was Darius again. He never seemed to look where he was going and he was always in a hurry. Now he tossed his cloak over one shoulder and muttered what might have been meant as an apology.
‘You did rather walk into me as if I were a ghost,’ he complained.
‘Did I?’ She glanced at him. He had a bruise on one side of his jaw. No doubt it was that rendering him as bad tempered as ever. ‘Is that painful?’ she asked.
Self-consciously his fingers went to his face. ‘Tolerable.’
She had been about to offer some salve but decided against it. From somewhere Dunstan’s words floated into her mind: Let him stew. Maybe that was the kindest thing to do sometimes, to allow people to suffer their problems in order to understand them.
She was about to walk on towards the guest house when he said, ‘Do you want to know how I got it?’
Biting back the honest answer, she waited for him to tell her.
‘It was last night. Some wild man was travelling down the cliff path at a rare clip and I happened to be in his way and for no other reason than that he took against me and landed me a blow on my jaw!’
‘What did you do?’
‘Gave him as good as he got until he stumbled off.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s a rare thing when you can’t walk about at night, ain’t it?’ He fell into step beside her. ‘And how about you, domina? We thought you’d gone back to Meaux as we haven’t seen you around much. That Glastonbury merchant is cock-a-hoop at winning the holy relic for the monks of Glastonbury. That’ll mean lower rents for him and other advantages as well, no doubt, but—’
‘Just a moment. Did you say he’d been offered the relic?’
‘We assume so. Why else would he be looking so pleased with himself and making preparations for the long journey back to Somerset?’
Her brow wrinkled. ‘Nobody has informed us about the abbot’s decision. We understood it would be made at the Feast of Epiphany.’
‘Well, certainly Sister Aveline isn’t building her hopes up. She’s convinced her little priory will be closed if they can’t offer the pilgrims anything so she’s decided to ask permission to return north with us as my step-mother’s companion.’
‘How unexpected,’ she observed.
‘She’s moved quickly. I’ll give her that. We’ll be having prayers dawn till dusk. I wonder how that’ll go down with Father! At least it gives me an excuse for going my own way. The old fellow doesn’t understand he could make more money from sheep than he can from his peasants working the land. What if there’s another bad harvest, I say to him. Sheep can live off grass and we can trust that to keep on growing. But he thinks he knows best. In fact, domina, I would relish the chance to talk to your brother Cistercians again about how they run their flocks so successfully …’ He smiled with no sign of guile and she understood why he had suddenly become so affable.
‘I’ll let them know. They may be interested in talking to you too. Do you have much land?’
‘A fair bit,’ he admitted with a modest smile. ‘To hell with peasants. There’s more wool on a sheep – and you can eat them. Neither applies to an average labouring villain! Yes,’ he affirmed with satisfaction. ‘My mind’s made up. This is what I’m going to do as soon as I get away from here. It’s settled.’
They were at the door of the guest house now and before they went inside she asked, ‘This fellow who waylaid you – would you recognize him again?’
He shook his head. ‘Too dark. There was something – I can’t quite put my finger on it. A smell? A scent of some sort? Not unpleasant.’ He shook his head. ‘No, I wouldn’t know him if he was standing plumb in front of me.’
They separated when they entered the hall, Darius to call for a flagon to be sent up and Hildegard to go over to Aveline who happened to be descending the stairs.
‘Is it true that the holy relic has been offered to the emissary from Glastonbury?’ she asked after a brief greeting.
Aveline looked smug. ‘I told you we hadn’t a chance.’
‘But has it been announced? No-one has mentioned it to us.’
‘I expect they’ll make an announcement later. I only know what I’ve heard.’
‘And Darius got this from …?’
‘Amabel – lady Amabel. She told me in confidence, but as you seem to know already I suppose it’s permitted to mention it between ourselves.’
So they had travelled all this way and suffered the villainies that followed for nothing? Everything had gone wrong from start to finish. The sooner they left Whitby the better. First, however, Abbot Richmond’s decision must be verified. Only then would they be free to leave. He would have to solve the crimes that had been committed within his purlieus himself.
Dissatisfied at leaving the murders unresolved, she rammed a few clothes back into her travel bag and flung it on to the bed so she could leave at a moment’s notice.
There was little else to do.
Once she had told the others she had failed to obtain the relic they would no doubt be ready to leave as soon as the horses were saddled. If we ride like furies we can even be back at Meaux for Epiphany, she decided. Back to that paradise where Abbot Hubert de Courcy presides.
Despite this tantalizing image, her feelings were not unmixed. What would Hubert think if she returned empty-handed? More to the point, what would her prioress say? Neither of them would be pleased. It couldn’t be helped, however; the entire situation from first to last had been out of her control.
But what about the far more serious matter of two young men, dead? Again it was out of her control. Someone here was a murderer, but now it was up to the monks themselves to find out who it was and deal with him.
Dissatisfied with her failure she went out with a token irritated slam of the door.
The abbot’s lodging.
The abbot’s servant greeted her with the same surly expression as before. This time there was no Gregory to sweep him aside and she had to insist before he would let her in.
Richmond kept her waiting as before for what seemed an unduly long time. She wondered what important task engaged his attention and what he thought to the ravings of his bursar, which by now he must have heard about, remote though he was from the gossip in the misericord.
Idly taking a closer look at the diamond-shaped panes of window glass – green tinged, she noted, Rhenish, perhaps imported along with the pipes of wine – she heard a sudden loud crash as the main doors in the hall were flung back against the walls.
Heated voices were heard and the door to the abbot’s private chamber was wrenched open. The prior could be heard demanding to know what was afoot. Several servants made stuttering answers that did nothing to quell the outrage he obviously felt at having the peace disrupted. Abbot Richmond’s querulous tones could be heard above the rest and eventually the explosion simmered down to a rumbling mutter.
By now Hildegard was across the chamber but then she hovered, undecided about whether to reveal her presence in the midst of a private argument or not. In the confusion, she appeared to have been forgotten.
She heard the abbot questioning Allerton again and then there was a slam followed by silence as if everyone had hurried from the building.
Carefully Hildegard nicked open the door into the passage. It was empty.
Clearly she was not going to be able to discover who had won the relic now. She went to the entrance to let herself out, in time to see a group of black-robed monastics flapping across the yard towards the gatehouse. Now what, she wondered.
Bracing herself for what was to come, she followed, unnoticed, in their footsteps.