It was genuine gold coin. When she upended the pouch a shower of gold came spilling out onto the bed. It formed an impressive mound in the candle light. If not a king’s ransom then it was ransom enough to buy the freedom of a king’s faithful retainer.
It had taken some time to unpick the lock on the pouch containing the gold. It was intricate and obviously made by a master locksmith and but for some prior knowledge she would have been thwarted. Now, she was pleased she had checked the contents because inside she found a roll of vellum.
It was sealed but disregarding the fact that when or if it reached its destination it would be clear someone had tampered with it, she removed it and spread out the scroll under the light from the candle.
It was a list of the donors of the gold. Most of the names were unfamiliar. Only Richard Medford and Master Gervase were known to her. The other names must be those of local landowners and other wealthy supporters. In her hand was enough evidence to condemn every one of them to a traitor’s death under Gloucester’s new law.
She dipped her hands into the coins and allowed them to spill through her fingers onto the blanket. They fell with an impersonal clink.
If young Thomas Usk could be hanged and have his poor head stuck above the gatehouse at Newgate prison for a minor transaction in silver, what would the duke of Gloucester do to those who offered to the king’s allies a treasury of gold such as this?
The thought bolted through her mind that if the gold was bait for a trap with which to haul them to their deaths there would be no proof of their so-called guilt should it vanish along with the incriminating list of their names.
She thought it through.
One: she did not trust in de Lincoln’s epiphany. Two: others, ignorant of his past affiliation and charmed by his manner, might take it on trust that he was for the king and thus be drawn in. Three: they had handed over gold in the expectation that it would reach its destination at the Tower and Sir Simon would be allowed to escape. Four: by doing so they incriminated themselves and their families and all their lineage. And five: they would be netted as surely as salmon in a Thames-side fish trap.
She had a vision of the skulls ranged along the walls of the Tower beneath a circling cloud of crows.
She stared at the gold coins again. The head of the old king, looking sure of himself, was indented on one side. She pondered his features and wondered if he could ever have guessed what sort of turmoil his kingdom would plunge into once his beloved son and heir, Prince Edward, was dead and his ten year old grandson inherited the crown.
Would he have imagined how difficult it would be for his beautiful grandson to survive when faced with the implacable jealousy of his sons? Some monarchs had too few sons and strife soon followed, but others, like Edward, had too many, and strife followed then as well.
Her thoughts returned to the problem of what to do next. She went to the lattice and looked down into the street. It was shortly before curfew.
Carts trundled over the cobblestones away from the market place. One or two passers-by made their way homewards along the street. No-one lingered. No-one looked up at the high window in the house of the Benedictines. If she went out to the couriers’ office now she would be unnoticed as de Lincoln had suggested.
She was fairly certain that she would be allowed to take the gold to the courier without being waylaid. That would be the arrangement made by de Lincoln. The gold with its incriminating list of donors would be sent safely on its long journey to London; it would be handed over to the Keeper of the Keys; and it would be then that the agents of the king’s enemies would swoop. The names of Burley’s supporters would without doubt find their way at once into Gloucester’s hands.
Going to the bed she dropped the coins back inside the pouch, forced the lock closed again, attached the pouch to the belt, locked the second padlock with the key she had been given and slipped it inside her leather scrip. Then she stuffed the list of names underneath her mattress, went to the door and let herself out.
Now to find Gregory.
‘So, the thing is, brother, I’ve removed the list. If the plan works then and only then shall I reveal it so that those involved may claim the king’s grace.’
‘Quite,’ he nodded. ‘And the gold?’
‘I could take it to a different courier to make sure it reaches its destination.’ She looked doubtfully at Brother Gregory.
He was pensive but only said, ‘In a town this size it’s unlikely there’s another public courier service that can be relied on to carry anything of worth that sort of distance.’
‘And also I would have to explain to de Lincoln at some point why I’d deviated from the plan.’
‘And it would rope everybody in just the same.’
‘So what I thought was - ’ she gave him a sidelong glance then let her own glance drop to where she knew his sword was belted underneath his cloak. ‘It’s a long ride to London where anything might happen, much of the journey being through thick woodland, especially between here and Winchester. I gather there’s a place called Buckholt Forest where the old kings used to hunt. It’s just beyond Clarendon Palace. I’ve heard it’s a dark and sinister place, likely to be frequented at night by all kinds of felons, despite the fact that it’s the main route to Winchester – and London.’
He guessed what she meant at once. A smile began to light his features. ‘Go on, domina.’
‘Well, I know de Lincoln said the courier would have an armed escort but - ’ they exchanged smiles. ‘I could find out the odds when I register the consignment.’
‘If you feel it necessary!’ He chuckled. ‘Two against two. That’s no gamble. So what are we waiting for? Let’s go!’
Cressets fixed to the walls outside several houses on the High Street were already alight. People hurrying home in time for curfew also shed light from the smoking flares they carried. Shadows slid across the closed shutters of the shop fronts. The Watch was already out on its evening round.
Hildegard walked alone, conscious that Gregory was following at a discreet distance, and only slipped into the courier’s office after a brief glance up and down the street. No-one took any notice.
Gregory did not follow inside but left Hildegard on the corner of the street and entered the yard of a small church nearby where he could sit in the darkness of the porch unnoticed. When Hildegard came to find him she was looking pleased.
‘He leaves with one armed escort straight after Compline. He’ll change horses in Winchester.’
‘Will he, indeed?’ Gregory’s lips lifted at the corners. ‘We’ll have to see about that.’
Away from the houses the sun sent thin shafts of light needling through the branches of the trees making deep shadows as they rode out. They had agreed that it was better to ride ahead of the courier, rather than be seen following him, just in case anyone - de Lincoln - was watching. The track up to Clarendon by-passed the palace and after a hard ride up to the ridge they were soon making their way into the woods where they had no difficulty in finding sufficient cover to position themselves to wait.
It had been a hectic hour or so since Hildegard had delivered Burley’s ransom to the courier. She had hired horses from the town stables nearby while Gregory was busy elsewhere with another task. They had made it with enough time to mark out a suitable hiding place before the courier and his guard came thundering up the track.
And by now the light had faded.
‘Do you think the courier is in on the plot?’ murmured Gregory into the darkness.
‘Probably not. Too many people in the know would weaken the chance of success.’
A cart could be heard creaking towards them.
Eventually a dark shape surged out of the undergrowth. A figure aloft chuntered to the old nag that pulled it. By pale starlight they could make out enough to guess that the old fellow driving the cart had farm produce under a sack beside him.
The wagon creaked past and the sound faded under the hoot of owls and the rustling of the trees.
‘It’s wonderful how the eyes accustom themselves to the darkness,’ whispered Gregory. ‘How can it be so? What changes take place in their orbs that we are unaware of?’
‘We can only guess,’ supplied Hildegard, her own eyes fixed on the glimmering trail below their hiding place.
The sound of horse’s hooves came next and they tensed in expectation. A lone rider burst through the trees and pounded rapidly away.
‘No escort, just somebody going home to his supper,’ murmured Gregory.
With the light gone they could still make out the shapes of the trees against the lightness of the sky.
‘He must be well-paid to be travelling by night,’ observed Gregory. ‘Even so he’s certainly taking his time. Do you think they gave you the correct information?’
Hildegard frowned. ‘I don’t trust anything de Lincoln says but it was the clerk in the couriers’ office who told me when his agent would leave.’ She hesitated. ‘He was at pains to reassure me that it would be soon.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Gregory shifted his position. ‘Are you nervous?’
‘A little.’
‘Just keep to our plan. That’s all you have to remember.’
The frail moon was behind a cloud when the sound of hooves alerted them to more riders approaching along the track. Soon a prick of light from the direction of Salisbury appeared. At first it was no more than the size of a pin. Then it became brighter. Appearing intermittently between the trunks of the trees it was soon close enough to reveal a rider grasping a cresset that shed its brilliance over his hauberk and the steel bassinet on his head. He came on rapidly, leading the way, with another rider following close behind.
‘The second rider must be the courier,’ breathed Gregory into her ear. He was positioned in deep shadow. The approaching blaze of light illuminated the path but left the undergrowth in darkness. The monk’s abrupt appearance as if from nowhere took the first rider by surprise. His horse reared at the apparition suddenly clinging to its bridle.
The rider recovered and brought the flaming torch down hard into where he imagined his attacker was but by then Gregory had him in a firm grip and hauled him backwards off his horse. The torch fell into the long grass and went out. A smack on the hind quarters sent the horse careering off into the darkness.
The sound of a scuffle followed, a pained gasp, then silence. All this time the courier following found himself helplessly entangled in something that prevented him from riding on. His horse reared and thrashed its forelegs to no avail until it brought him tumbling from its back into the grass. He gave a shout to his companion. But he was past caring. Whatever Gregory had done had silenced him. The second horse freed itself and galloped off after the first.
Hildegard pulled the net tighter with the courier inside it and held on until Gregory came to add his weight. He reached through the mesh and grabbed the trapped man by the jaw.
There was a knife in his other hand and he pressed it against his throat with the warning, ‘Keep still and you’ll live.’
‘You can’t do this! I’m the town courier! I’m a guildman. I have rights of free passage!’
‘Not just now you don’t. Keep still. It’s not worth getting hurt for.’
‘Who are you?’ the man gasped.
‘Shut up.’ Gregory must have pressed the blade a little harder against his throat because the man started to whimper.
Meanwhile Hildegard was hacking at the leather shoulder strap he wore. The pouch containing the gold had been carried inside the courier’s leather satchel which in turn was attached to a thick strap but it was exceptionally strong leather, difficult to hack free.
‘I can unbuckle it,’ the man suggested. His face shone with fear out of the darkness. ‘There’s a key on a lace round my neck.’
‘Don’t move!’ growled Gregory as the courier made as if to reach for something. ‘Keep very still. I’ll get it.’
Reaching inside the courier’s jacket he felt around, found the key, and slashed his knife through the leather lace to free it before the man could think of moving. He wedged an arm across his chest while Hildegard felt for the key then fumbled it into the lock. It sprang open and she quickly unbuckled the strap, slid off the satchel then backed away.
Grabbing the satchel in both hands she ran for cover into the bushes and set off, as they had agreed, towards their waiting horses. By the time she was astride with the satchel on the pommel in front of her Gregory was emerging from the darkness and running for his own mount. He jumped into the saddle in one easy movement and urged her on.
‘Smooth as silk, Hildegard. We could do this for a living!’
They reached the edge of the woods where the field strips took over and brought their horses to a halt. The clouds had parted and a falcate moon hung overhead in a sea of stars.
‘I shall ride on to Netley Abbey now,’ said Gregory putting a hand on the pommel of her horse’s saddle after she had handed over the courier’s satchel. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be safe, riding back to Salisbury alone?’
‘I sometimes wish I had my two old hounds with me. But don’t worry. I’ll wait here until dawn then ride in with the carters going to market.’
‘Good idea.’ He lifted the courier’s satchel to a more comfortable position.
Before he could ride off she asked, ‘What did you do to the escort?’
‘Knocked him out. He’ll recover in time to have a nice long walk back to Salisbury. That’s after he’s untied his companion.’
‘By the way,’ she reminded as they began to separate, ‘when you speak to the Netley Abbey courier, impress on him that speed is essential in order to save Sir Simon’s life.’
‘The thought is uppermost in my mind,’ he replied.
Raising one hand he disappeared quickly into the darkness.
She stared after him for as long as she could before she found she was merely staring at shadows. Netley was closer than Winchester. The courier monk who rode out from the abbey would be well on the way to London before anyone guessed that the Salisbury man had been waylaid.
Her thoughts returned to her two faithful hounds, Duchess and Bermonda, and how they were seeing out their old age back at the Priory of Swyne. She missed them now. Slipping down from the saddle she made sure her horse was concealed and then found a hidden place under a tree to wait for the dawn.