Straight after her encounter with Richard Medford she met Brother Gregory at the mid-day office of sext, as arranged. After the service he told her he was ready to accompany her to Clarendon Palace to visit her daughter whenever she chose to leave. They went out onto Cathedral Close with the idea of heading towards the town stables on the high street.
‘Gregory,’ she began as they strolled across the green sward. ‘Something has happened.’ She explained about Medford and what he had said.
The monk had never met the king’s spy-master but knew about him by hearsay.
Then she told him about the stranger in the Cat and reluctantly outlined as briefly as she could her alias as Mistress York.
Gregory was frowning when she finished. ‘How could he know that name?’
‘I have no idea. It’s most unlikely that Medford mentioned me. He is never unguarded in anything he does or says. The man in grey is completely unknown to me. I’m sure I would have remembered him if I’d come across him in the past. He’s -’ she paused, ‘well, to be honest he’s quite striking. Tall, athletic, with the swaggering self-confidence of a mercenary.’
‘Yes, I can see you might remember a man like that,’ Gregory teased. Then, serious, he said, ‘Do you think he is a mercenary? If so, for whom does he work? You say he might have been in that crowd at Lepe. I don’t remember him. I was still suffering from mal de mer.’
‘I didn’t get a look at his face then and he wore his hood up when he came into the Cat. It’s the grey colour of his cloak that looks familiar.’
‘Not much to go on. Many wear grey.’
‘I know.’ She frowned.
‘But you’re fearful that he might be one of Arundel’s spies?’
‘He’s a rather conspicuous spy whoever he owes allegiance to.’
‘Sometimes that’s the best way to squeeze information from your enemies. It puts them off guard.’ He looked thoughtful as if remembering something from the past, adding, ‘Yes, that’s often the best way. Instead of frightening them into revealing their secrets it can make them careless if they regard you as no more than a friendly buffoon.’
‘He mentioned Clarendon Palace. That’s why I thought you ought to know about him.’
‘Forewarned.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s get on quickly then. We can be there before Vespers.’
‘Shall we have something to eat first?’
‘I can see you’re eager to meet your daughter. Let’s pick something up from one of the pie stalls and eat as we go.’
Gregory was tall and athletic himself with a spare, muscular build. His uncut hair, reaching to his shoulders, was bleached by years in the desert sun. Despite her unease about the man in grey, she felt safe with the monk beside her.
He turned. ‘There’s nothing to be done about Mistress York’s admirer until the mystery man shows his face. I must say, though, I’d like to meet this other fellow, Richard Medford. He sounds quite the man. What must it be like to fall from being one of the most powerful men in the land to being a mere canon? It must be a humbling experience for him.’
He glanced back towards the cathedral. People were coming and going, ecclesiastics and their servants, burgesses, housewives, craft masters, apprentices, messengers, ordinary folk with little power in the realm.
‘You say he was deeply ambitious?’
‘Yes, but utterly loyal to King Richard. I’m not sure which was more important to him, his ambition or his allegiance. Either way, his fall must be almost impossible to bear.’ She had mentioned Medford’s hint about freeing Sir Simon Burley from the Tower.
‘His helplessness against the king’s enemies must be a continual trial, now so far from the seat of power.’ He cast his glance over the Close. ‘Not much useful information can come his way in a place like this. It’s a small town with small town concerns, far from the machinations that go on in Westminster.’
‘He has a host of devils at his back, that’s for sure. You should have heard him raving about the End Days. Although,’ she conceded, ‘it was partly done for effect while some suspicious-looking fellow strolled past us with his ears flapping.’
‘But you were partly convinced?’ He gauged her expression. ‘Maybe his recent experiences are pushing him over the brink into a fever of the brain? How did he look to you?’
‘Certainly unlike himself. Driven. Desperate. In fact,’ she paused, ‘he look terrified.’
Gregory, a note of compassion in his voice, added, ‘It’s unsurprising he’s at the end of his tether, given the violence perpetrated against his colleagues. You know, Hildegard,’ he turned to her, ‘Given the confusion of the time, maybe you should not worry too much about this fellow in grey. He might simply be following up a name to see where it leads. Maybe Medford happened to let it slip in some general context and someone overheard him and gave an instruction to have it checked out? In an effort to leave no stone, and all that?’ he added, with a kindly glance.
She shrugged. Gregory looked as unconvinced as she was. ‘Be that as it may, Medford certainly seems frightened out of his wits. What’s more, he told me he’s been forbidden any contact with the king on pain of death. No letters, no messages sent by servants, nothing. ’
‘Woodstock is turning into a tyrant. It’s outrageous that he should be allowed to get away with such draconian measures. But whatever happens,’ he took her arm, ‘I insist you go nowhere without me. Hubert would expect no less of me.’
‘I shall have to leave you when I return to my lodgings,’ she reminded with a wry smile.
‘I expect you’ll be safe enough with those Benedictines.’
While Gregory was a guest of the monks, Hildegard had been forced to lodge in a nearby house of nuns.
They hired a couple of amblers from the town stables and were just leading them towards the Laverstock road in the direction of Clarendon when they heard an outburst of shouting and wailing coming from the far side of the Close. When they turned to look people were running out into the mead while others were turning back inside the cathedral in obvious confusion. Some were excitedly pointing up at the soaring steeple.
‘What’s going on over there?’ Gregory asked.
‘Has there been an accident?’ Hildegard craned her neck.
‘It’s probably pilgrims - come to goggle at the folly of man?’ He watched the crowd milling back and forth around the central tower. ‘No doubt they’re wondering when God will choose to bring the whole edifice crashing down on their heads as a punishment for the vanity of the masons in building so high.’
‘I think not.’ Hildegard stopped in her tracks. ‘I think it’s something serious.’
The smile on Gregory’s face died. ‘Has there been an accident?’ By now they were closer and could see more clearly across the mead to the big, central tower where the strengthening of the steeple was nearly finished. Through the open wall, in among the masons’ equipment, they could see the press of people still milling about.
‘They don’t seem to know what to do.’
‘They’re in a panic.’ Gregory’s voice acquired a note of urgency. ‘Wait here with the horses, will you? I’m going over.’
‘But Gregory - I -’
He was already out of earshot. Hildegard hurried after him with both sets of reins in her hands and when she was close enough she was able to pick out a word here and there as people hurried from the cathedral. Many were simply staring up at the steeple as others began to flock back inside. A few women were wailing. Still no-one seemed to know what to do. At first she thought someone must have fallen from the scaffolding round the tower but the main crowd were running back into the cathedral, not out of it. They were clambering over the building works and the masons were doing nothing to stop them.
‘How can it be?’ someone nearby exclaimed in wonder.
‘By his feet - ?’ an awed voice questioned.
She moved closer.
‘But how?’ came another voice.
‘Is it the devil, playing with an unbeliever?’
‘What’s happened?’ she asked.
A woman in a kerchief turned to her. ‘One of them masons, they say.’
‘What about him?’ she asked.
‘That says everything - ’ someone else butted in.
‘A rivalrous mob - ’
At that moment Gregory turned up looking stone-faced. ‘There has been an accident, Hildegard. Nothing much we can do about it. The monks are looking after things. A coroner has been called. When he shows up he’ll be grilling the first finder. Nothing we can do,’ he repeated.
‘But what sort of accident?’ she asked. ‘Why call the finder? Is there a body?’
‘Something happened in the steeple where some masons were still finishing off. It’s to do with the windlass.’
‘Look!’ she exclaimed, noticing a crowd of men emerging from the west door.
In the moment before the bystanders surged forward she saw a make-shift stretcher with a sack pulled over something on it.
Gregory pursed his lips. ‘Are we to join the onlookers too?’
‘Not in a spirit of animal curiosity, Gregory, but maybe there’s something we can do. We both have some skill.’
‘Indeed I have, with broken bones and battle wounds but by the look of things it’s not that sort of repair they need.’
A young woman was barging her way through the crowd, weeping and shouting, evidently torn by the conflicting emotions of grief and rage.
Unable to help themselves the two of them moved closer. Gregory took the reins of the horses. ‘You want to involve yourself?’
‘I can’t help it. I’ve already seen enough to make me a participant. Maybe there’s something we can do to help calm things?’
‘I’ll look after the horses if you want to go over.’
As Hildegard drew near the young woman was creating quite a stir. Screaming something unintelligible she went up to one of the bystanders and slapped him hard across the face.
The young man stepped back in surprise and was about to draw his knife when he recognised his assailant. ‘Idonea! What the hell was that for?’
‘You know what it’s for, you lying, vicious devil. You’ll burn in hell for this!’
The man spread his arms in an exaggerated show of innocence. ‘I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about. What have I done?’
‘You’ve done this!’ She gestured with contempt in the direction of the cathedral. ‘You and your rabbling, vicious apprentices! Why did you have to harm him? What has he ever done to you? The Devil take you by the balls and – and - !’ She launched herself at him again, fingers reaching for his eyes and leaving a bloody trail of scratches down the side of his face before he could fend her off.
By now a couple of constables were walking briskly towards the group. ‘So what’s all this?’ one of them demanded.
‘She’s mad!’ declared the young man holding a hand to his face. ‘She attacked me without provocation.’
‘He’s my brother and I wish him in hell!’ the young woman screamed. Hair flying, she made another attempt to launch herself against him but the constables dragged her back. She was spitting and screaming with fury and her face was distorted with venom. ‘Ask them!’ she shouted gesturing toward the masons who were standing shoulder to shoulder with her brother.
‘We can’t have this here,’ One of the constables attempted to control her and got a kick on the shins.
‘We’ve got other business to attend to. Control yourself, woman!’ Anotgher one joined his colleague and together they grappled with her until their serjeant came pushing through the crowd. When it opened to let him through it revealed several monks approaching, bearing a stretcher. ‘This ’im, is it?’ demanded the serjeant, ignoring the shouting girl.
Hildegard followed him through the opening in the crowd.
‘We brought him down from where he was found,’ explained one of the monks. ‘It didn’t seem right to leave him hanging up there.’
‘How hanging?’
‘By his feet. Somebody must have tied him by the feet to the windlass cable and hauled him up.’
‘That wouldn’t kill him. If they’d tied him by the neck it would.’
The constables gave sickly smiles at their chief’s attempt to lighten the mood. A sense of animosity was growing in the crowd. They were turning into factions. Some were visibly on the side of the girl, and others, squaring up to them, and mostly masons by the look of them, were standing firm with her brother.
The focus of the two sides had a face like granite. When the serjeant turned to him, he repeated, ‘I swear I know nothing about this. She’s mad.’
Hildegard edged forward.
‘We believe,’ said one of the monks, ‘that he was tied to the rope while down below and then winched up a good way inside the steeple. He didn’t get to the top. It’s over two hundred feet. He got far enough though. It proved fatal. We suggest this on the evidence of the blood that has rushed to his head. His eyeballs,’ he murmured, indicating the sacking that had been placed over the body. ‘If you want to see - ?’
‘Show me later when the coroner arrives. Let’s get away from this mob. Take him into the cloister. All right!’ He raised his voice. ‘It’s all over now. Nothing to see. Get away to your homes.’
Reluctant to disperse until the mystery was clarified most people nevertheless moved away when the constables, obliged to release the young woman who had caused such a fracas, began to use their night sticks on the nearest onlookers.
The girl refused to move and instead sank to her knees and began to sob. She was younger than she seemed at first sight, maybe no more than sixteen, thought Hildegard, who somehow found herself kneeling beside her.
‘Poor child,’ she murmured putting an arm round her shoulders.
The girl stopped sobbing for a moment when she saw a nun, a friendly one, with no sign of censure on her face, beside her. Then she clung to her and began to sob profusely again, speaking incoherently until Hildegard managed to calm her down for a moment.
‘Is the dead man a friend of yours, my child?’
The girl’s story was straightforward and it came tumbling out.
The dead man was her betrothed but her brother had been against the match from the beginning and now he had done for him and she, Idonea as she was called, would never marry, but die an old maid. All because of her brother’s murderous jealousy.
Before Hildegard could decide what to do an older woman elbowed her way through the crowd and took hold of the girl. ‘Come on, pet, let’s get you home. We’ll talk to the serjeant when he’s finished his examination. You’re sure it was Robin?’
‘Of course I’m sure. Oh, how could Frank do such a thing?’ she sobbed. ‘How could he be so evil?’
Weeping more copiously than ever Idonea allowed herself to be led away. A little troop of neighbours followed, one or two weeping when it was confirmed who the dead man was.
‘A saucy young fellow,’ somebody said on the fringes of the crowd. ‘You couldn’t help but smile at some of the things he said. It’s devil’s work for a young’un to be cut off in such an evil manner.’
When Hildegard returned to where Gregory was still holding the reins of the horses he greeted her with a muttered, ‘I heard what happened. There’s nothing we can do. Get up, quickly.’ He handed her the reins. ‘You were being watched by a fellow in a grey cloak who fits the description of your stranger at the Cat. He’s just going. We’ll see if we can find out what he’s up to.’
Hildegard climbed into the saddle. Still dazed by events she asked, ‘Which way did he go?’
‘Follow me.’
When they left the Close they found themselves in a busy lane that ran towards the market place. Their quarry had a horse tethered nearby. Swinging into the saddle he turned its head and continued along a lane going east.
‘This is in the direction of Laverstock, the lane I expected us to take ourselves,’ Gregory told her. ‘See him up ahead? Pity he has his hood up.’
From out of the bustling crowd dressed in their yellows, blues and ochres, a figure in a cloak of what looked to Hildegard like Colchester russets dyed to a, by now, familiar dark grey, was riding at a comfortable trot away from the town.
She turned to Gregory, ‘You’re right. That’s him. I’ve seen that cloak before, in the Cat tavern.’
He suggested she tie a scarf across her face. ‘Even if he doesn’t know you if he turns round and catches sight of you it might mean something to him.’
He pulled his own hood further down over his face so that it was in shadow.
‘That’s good middle range cloth,’ she observed to Gregory, as they followed the man down a lane leading to the next hamlet. ‘I was surprised when I saw it before. It’s not cheap. He’s definitely not some rootless vagabond.’
‘Did you catch sight of any blazon to show his allegiance?’
‘No, but somebody well set-up must be maintaining him. His boots are Spanish leather.’
Eventually they left the straggle of cottages on the edge of town and entered some woods. After a ride that brought them nearer to Clarendon their quarry left the track as if reaching some expected sign. He disappeared into the bushes.
‘Call of nature,’ suggested Hildegard.
‘Let’s dismount.’ Gregory reined in. ‘We’ll tie the horses somewhere out of sight and follow on foot. He won’t be riding hard in all this.’
So saying he threw one long leg over the horses’ croup and slide to the ground.
Already the hawthorns were beginning to come into bud. The air was not yet sweet with their perfume but the branches were clothed in enough bright leaf to give cover to their horses where they hobbled them.
The stranger did not ride on far himself. They glimpsed him through a gap in the trees dropping down off his horse and go forward, like themselves, on foot. They followed.
Soon they caught sight of him come to a stop in the middle of one of the deer lawns. He was simply standing with his arms folded as if waiting for someone.
‘Let’s separate, one on each side to get as wide a view as possible,’ Gregory suggested. ‘It looks as if he’s meeting somebody. What do you think?’
‘Must be,’ she agreed, ‘but why off the beaten track in secret? There isn’t a dwelling hereabouts, there’s no path.’ She pointed to the long grass between the maze of trees. ‘He clearly knows his way. He must have been here before.’
‘Maybe he detected some sign we didn’t notice,’ suggested Gregory. They went on deeper into the bushes, losing sight of their quarry in the open glade for a moment until the sound of voices came to them on the still air.
‘This is it. His friends have arrived,’ murmured Gregory. ‘I’ll take the left side, you the right.’
He trod silently through the trees and soon vanished from sight. Hildegard took the opposite route, bending her head beneath the boughs of saplings and moving as silently as she could. She was still not sure what this had to do with her but at least they might get a clue as to the man’s reason for asking around the town taverns about her.
The sound of voices was loud enough for the words to float clearly to where she was concealed and she risked parting the branches an inch or so to see if she could catch sight of the speakers. A glimpse of yellow like a sleeve or a capuchon flickered in the bright glade.
Confident she was unseen she leaned against the trunk of an ash and tried to catch the drift of conversation. Their man had evidently introduced himself to two others although she did not hear any names.
‘That messenger did his job then?’ a pleasant voice was asking. It was their man.
‘To be trusted. I told you that. Have no fears.’ It was a deeper tone, somewhat harsh.
‘Are you going up there now?’ asked a younger third voice.
‘I am.’ The first man answered. ‘It seemed best to link up with you on the way while I’m expected to be out of town.’
‘So what’s what?’ The older man again.
‘My contact is trying to push up the price.’ That was their man in grey. ‘He knows he can call the shots. Another 20 marks. What do you say?’
‘I say he’s a blackguard but if he can deliver I’m willing to pay. The question is, can he deliver?’
‘Anything’s worth a chance,’ interrupted the younger man in a fervent tone.
‘It’s not your gold,’ replied the other, somewhat testily.
‘I would think it worth it at any price,’ replied the man from the Cat. ‘But it’s up to you, of course.’
‘I’ll get it to you by tomorrow. The lad here will bring it. Are you at the same place?’
‘He knows where he can find me.’
She saw a flurry of movement as if hands were being shaken over a deal. It made little sense.
Then suddenly she froze. Another figure was walking into the grove. Openly, with no attempt at concealment. It was Gregory.