Hangman Blind (22 page)

The sub-prior chuckled. ‘I, for one, wouldn’t cross swords with the likes of him. Not for all the gold in Christendom. Would you, Gilbert?’ At this they all roared with laughter at the incongruity of such an image and because of their uproar they did not hear Hildegard’s voice when she tried to announce herself.

Before she could try again, more audibly, Hubert himself added in a tone of mock reproof, ‘And I hope for your sake, Theobald, it will never come to swords!’ At which they all roared again at the image of their fragile brother prior in a tussle with a hulking Saxon roughneck.

At this point Hubert caught sight of Hildegard standing in the doorway. As soon as he indicated to the others that they had a visitor they all scrambled to their feet. The prior smoothed a hand through his silvery strands and picked up a book. The older monk flipped his cowl back over his head to obscure his face. And the sub-prior thrust his feet back into his sandals and gave Hildegard an innocent smile. The precentor came forward. ‘Please, sister, do come in.’

In their white habits they were most convincing as seraphim, she thought as she returned their glances. Beaming faces, twinkling eyes, serene and untouchable grace. But for holiness melting with compassion, Hubert, with his large, dark eyes, outdazzled them all. What cutting cheekbones, she observed, as if for the first time. That haughty Norman nose did not detract from his look of piety one whit – in fact it seemed to add a dimension that was most singular.

Hildegard’s observations faltered as he strode towards her in sandalled feet across the chamber. As he came closer he seemed to tower over her, which was nonsense as they were both of a height. It was the effect of the way he moved, suggesting rugged strength and a disconcerting physical power, she decided in confusion. She became aware of a honeyed scent with an undertone of mint that obliterated all other senses until she managed to regain control, but just then, as his lips moved, she noticed the edge of his linen undershirt. It was scarcely visible, nothing more than a hint of white at the opening of his habit, and the thought flowed through her mind that it was unusual to see him rumpled and that it did not detract from his look of holiness but enhanced it. Somehow it were suggested that he was as much a victim of human frailty as they all were. By contrast his spiritual strength seemed the more formidable.

As Hubert stood there before her, flooding her mind with these unexpected thoughts, it was a moment that seemed to go on for ever. Then she realised he was saying something. She inclined her head.

‘Ah,’ was in fact the total of what she heard, then he gazed at her for a time as if aware of the swamping of her feelings. She saw him brace himself. He seemed to pull his thoughts together one by one. And order was restored.

Gesturing towards a parchment spread out on a table beneath the window he said, ‘You must be here to see the plans. But first, that question of heriot.’ He was brisk now. He gave his fellow monks a hard stare but they were already beginning to leave in somewhat hasty disorder. After the last one had left he closed the door and turned to her. ‘Would you like—’ He paused, as if having lost the thread of his thoughts again, and instead merely gestured vaguely towards the vacant benches.

Hildegard’s knees collapsed under her just as she managed to reach the nearest one. With an effort she gathered her wits. I must be strained by all that’s happened recently, she thought, wondering why she was trembling as if with the ague. Pushing the matter to one side, she was determined to support Agnetha in her plea as strongly as she could, but she had no sooner begun when Hubert nodded his agreement.

‘Our dairy herd is complete enough for our purposes,’ he told her. ‘It seems a most fair compromise to let her keep the cow.’ He went to stand at the window and gaze out on to his garden. His shoulders were broad, his back straight, his dark hair looked due for its monthly cut and curled boyishly round his ears. After a moment’s thought he swung round and she felt her colour rise under the piercing scrutiny of his glance.

‘You say she’s called Agnetha?’ he asked. ‘That’s a down-to-earth sort of a name. A lay sister who can make a good cheese, handle the domestic animals and arrives with her own cow would be an asset in any priory, I should think.’

Hildegard looked at him in astonishment. ‘Our thoughts shadow each other, my lord abbot.’ At least in some respects, she acknowledged to herself. ‘But there’ll be work to do to persuade her to change her view of monastic life.’

He made her colour rise again when he said, ‘I have the highest regard for your persuasive powers, sister.’ He bowed his head. ‘I’m sure our thoughts shadow each other in many respects.’ She caught a complicit glimmer in his eyes that made her wonder what was coming next, but he merely added, ‘not least on the question of Master Schockwynde?’

‘Undoubtedly, my lord.’ She could not restrain the gleam in her own eyes as she returned his glance. A man is judged by his actions. He had dealt fairly with Agnetha, now the least she could do was support him in his battle with the master builder. Except for the matter of a linen undershirt and a liquid glance, she would have felt the situation was firmly under control.

H
ILDEGARD LEFT THE
abbot’s chamber and went to find Agnetha. ‘I don’t know how to express my gratitude, Sister,’ the woman said, tears in her eyes. Together they strolled towards the kennels, where Duchess and Bermonda were being treated like deities by Burthred, and, as they approached, one of the conversi came hurrying out of the lodge. He had a message. It was to inform Hildegard that the coroner had ridden in from York and the inquest on the body found in the woods was to be held in the mortuary as soon as he was ready. By now Burthred had been given an errand to run for the kitchener and her hounds, after sniffing in a friendly fashion at the hem of Agnetha’s kirtle, had turned their attention to their mistress. She decided they might as well go with her.

‘I have business in Beverley later today,’ she told Agnetha. ‘If you care to wait until after the inquest I can come in with you and you can share my horse.’

‘I’d like that and I’m in no hurry,’ she agreed. ‘Take your time, Sister. I’ll wait.’

Accompanied by her hounds, Hildegard crossed the garth. It was beginning to snow. Large flakes fell one by one but did not settle. The mortuary stood next to the chapel. When she stepped inside she was met by an icy chill. It was due to more than the weather. It was death freezing the soul. The body of the unknown youth was lying on a trestle under a slant of light. It had been surrounded by blocks of ice ever since the men brought it back to Meaux.

Already in attendance were the elderly infirmarer with an alert-looking novice in a threadbare habit of burnet whom she assumed to be his assistant, and the chaplain, his face sombre with the sorrow of his duty. Everyone looked cramped with cold.

The chaplain began to explain that the coroner was dining in the guest lodge and would be along any minute when the doors banged open and a man entered followed by the hunched figure of a clerk. The coroner himself was a tall, stooped man, and he paused in the doorway until all eyes were upon him, then, making the most of a long black cloak, he swept down the nave, boots stamping the flagstones as he tried to dislodge the mud on them. His beaked nose was red raw and his eyes seemed to blaze red too as they glared round the group. Hubert followed quietly and stationed himself off to one side so he could observe the proceedings.

For some reason Bermonda began to whine and flex her claws. The lymer, Duchess, eyes fixed on the coroner, bristled but maintained a well-trained silence. Hildegard glanced down in surprise. She could see no obvious reason for their hostility.

‘So where is the corpse? Is this it?’ With scant reverence the coroner pulled aside the linen shroud that preserved some privacy for the dead man and let it drop to the floor. Blood was frozen in black gouts on flesh that looked blue-white against the ice. ‘Where was it found?’ he snapped.

‘In the forest between here and York,’ said the chaplain, his face etched with distress at the indignity shown towards the corpse. But there was worse to come.

‘You mean to tell me I’ve been dragged away from my lodging to this backwater to view nothing more than an outlaw with his throat cut?’ He drew himself to his full six foot four inches and would perhaps have thundered abuse at the gentle, round-faced chaplain if Hubert de Courcy had not stepped from out of the shadow of one of the pillars and made him pause. In the face of such calm grace the coroner stopped short.

‘We are required by law to report any suspicious death,’ the abbot pointed out in a mild though firm manner. ‘These days we have no jurisdiction to conduct matters such as this in our own court.’

Hildegard’s glance moved from the abbot back to the coroner. The latter’s face was a stone mask of rage but there was nothing he could say. Unpaid though he was, it was his duty to conduct all inquests on behalf of the king when foul play was suspected. He glanced down at the body with irritation. The youth’s tunic had been ripped open, no doubt by the infirmarer during his first examination, and three stab wounds were visible in addition to the one that had slit his throat. The blood of all four wounds had clotted and turned black. The boy’s face, drained of blood, gleamed like pearl in the shaft of light that fell from the north window above the trestle. The time passing seemed shaped by the reality of his final moments on earth. It held all the tragedy of a life abruptly ended before its full maturing. Hildegard was suddenly moved to tears which she had to blink away.

The coroner gave the body another cursory glance then ground out, ‘Death by stabbing.’ His tone indicated his belief that he was dealing with simpletons. ‘No one found with a knife at the scene of the crime? No? Then my verdict is murder by persons unknown. Will that suit you?’ Before anyone could say anything he asked, ‘So who gets the bounty?’

There was a general movement of consternation.

‘We have been unable to ascertain the identity of the youth,’ observed the abbot. ‘It may be premature to talk of bounty. We have no evidence he was living outside the law.’

‘So what’s your version, then?’ the coroner peremptorily demanded.

‘We were proceeding with our enquiries,’ replied Hubert smoothly, ‘until such time as you arrived to take over. However, if you would like us to continue—’

‘I’ve given you my verdict,’ snapped the coroner. ‘And that’s the end of the matter.’ He pointed a finger at his clerk. ‘Written that down?’

The clerk nodded, plainly too cowed by his master to speak at all.

Without bothering to pull the shroud back into place, the coroner turned as if to go. The abbot glided forward to stand in his path. There was a smile on his face but his eyes were like steel. ‘My own wishes are irrelevant here but as Abbot of Meaux I have a duty to satisfy the law of the Chief Justiciar. Sister Hildegard is first finder and her observations need to be recorded.’

Hildegard stepped forward but the coroner, turning, gave her a freezing glance. Despite this she was about to tell him where and how she had found the body, and also, though reluctantly, what she had found in his hand, when he forestalled her. ‘I do not need a woman’s evidence.’ He jerked round, turning his back on her. Before he could take a step Bermonda gave a whine and, belly scraping the floor, claws outstretched, crept towards the coroner and growled at his feet.

He caught sight of her out of the corner of one eye. Then, to everyone’s shock, his boot lashed out and he kicked the animal brutally on the muzzle. Bermonda yelped and, but for the leash by which she was held, would have thrown herself at her attacker and sunk her teeth into his thigh. At the same moment the lymer stiffened and Hildegard had to restrain both hounds.

When they were quiet she led them from the scene without a word.

The infirmarer’s assistant hurried after her and they came to a halt in the porch. ‘Is the poor fellow harmed?’ he asked, bending to run an expert hand over the dog’s back.

Still shaking with rage, Hildegard managed to say, ‘The poor fellow is an old lady and has suffered worse from similar uncivilised brutes.’

‘I’ll warrant they’re more her own size than that brute in there,’ he replied.

She fondled the little kennet. ‘No bones broken, I’m pleased to say.’

‘She’s a fine hound,’ he observed. ‘Where’s her partner?’

‘Killed by a too valiant attempt at a boar some years ago. Both belonged to my husband. They were already elderly when he left for France and I was given them so they could see out their days in comfort.’

Satisfied that the hound was unharmed, they both gazed out on to the garth as a sudden flurry of snow and sleet swept across. It was unforgiving weather.

‘I expect they guard you well, sister, especially the lymer.’ He looked warily at Duchess.

‘I’m puzzled as to why they both showed their hostility in there. Unpleasant though the coroner was, there was no reason for them to behave like that. It’s not like them.’ They were both standing quietly enough now.

‘They must have caught a scent of something,’ said the assistant. ‘Blood, no doubt. There’s plenty on that man, I’d guess.’

With a kind smile, he turned and re-entered the chapel.

His concern had mollified Hildegard’s rage somewhat at having her evidence dismissed in that arrogant manner and then having her hound kicked into the bargain. But she was still angry. The phial and its contents were inside her sleeve. There they’ll remain, she decided, until someone shows concern about this boy’s sad death.

There was also that other thing she had seen: her mind went back to the glade where she had found the body.

At the time she had noticed the small pewter badge he wore but had not given it much thought. Just now, when she had looked for it, there had been no sign of it. Someone had seen fit to unpin it from his tunic. Was it to protect the youth from a charge of outlawry, or to hide the fact that the Company had such a strong though secret presence in the neighbourhood?

While she was thinking it over the door of the chapel crashed open behind her. A curse followed. The coroner, hood pulled over his face with only his beaked nose protruding, stood in the portico for a moment with a look of hatred at the sleet that was now flying horizontally across the grass like the long lashes of a whip. He plunged into its teeth, followed by the scurrying figure of his clerk. Hildegard saw them disappear in a swirl of hail into the porter’s lodge.

Then Hubert was by her side. ‘That was a most unfortunate encounter, sister. I gather your little hound is unhurt, but maybe your own feelings are rather more deeply bruised?’

‘Not at all. Many officials take their role to be so special it sets them above ordinary folk in everything but manners.’

Hubert revealed his teeth in a brief smile but he still maintained an expression of concern. His warmth surprised her. Many things about him surprised her. She said, ‘If he had shown more patience I could have given him something that might have made him think. But he didn’t give me a chance. It’s something I found with the body and took for safe-keeping pending the inquest.’

‘If that’s the case, instead of standing here in this foul weather we might go back indoors where you can show me what it is.’

So saying he led the way with his head uncovered.

He was wearing sandals, she noticed. His feet were long and well formed but now they looked raw with cold. A cure for chilblains was her next thought. She decided that the pleasant young assistant to the infirmarer would be a channel by which she might alleviate Hubert’s future discomfort.

Hildegard drew the phial from her sleeve and held it out. The abbot took it, looked at it for a moment then prised out the stopper and tipped the piece of linen on to his desk. Whether he knew what it was she could not tell because his expression did not change. One finger poked at the fabric.

‘There’s a sort of symbol drawn here but I can’t quite make it out with this bloodstain.’ He paused. ‘Is it an animal? A hart perhaps?’ His quick glance told her straight away that he knew exactly what he was suggesting and what the implications were. ‘The sign of the Company of the White Hart,’ he murmured to confirm it. He lifted his head. ‘Is that what you suspect too?’

‘It seems likely,’ Hildegard agreed. ‘But who was he, carrying a thing like that? What was he doing in the woods? And where did he come from? His appearance wasn’t like someone living wild. His hands were smooth, only calloused by the constant use of some implement, and his nails were clean enough.’

‘No blue-nail, that’s for sure,’ agreed the abbot, using the popular name for unskilled labourers. He indicated a bench beside the fire. ‘Let me tell you something you may not have heard.’ He sat down on the opposite side in his wooden chair. ‘While you were away at Hutton news reached us that five apprentices from York had been hunted down by a rival gang and executed in woods outside the abbey lands. It was a terrible slaughter, most heinous. The point is it was close enough to suggest a link between this solitary murder and the others.’ She felt he was watching her with extra concentration. He probably guesses I was deliberately vague about where I found the youth, Hildegard thought, biting her lip.

‘I saw them on my way over here,’ she admitted. ‘Do you mean they’ve caught their butchers?’

Hubert frowned. ‘Rumour can always supply an identity. Unfortunately there are enough influential sympathisers to silence it.’

‘You mean the murderers are going to get away with it?’

‘So events indicate.’

‘That’s appalling.’

‘Without anyone willing to come forward to give evidence – and who would risk their life and perhaps the lives of their kin – then yes, they will escape punishment.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘If the inquest was conducted in a similar manner to the one just now, I can’t see anyone ever being brought to court for it.’

‘Does rumour also explain the quarrel?’ Hildegard asked, wondering how it would be linked to the relic that now lay on Hubert’s desk.

‘The Guild of Corpus Christi is the most powerful in York. Their apprentices, assured of better prospects than most, were up in arms, quite literally, objecting because a group of less privileged journeymen and their apprentices in the leather trade were demanding rights the Corpus Christi men deemed to belong to themselves alone.’

‘The right to work?’

‘And several other associated privileges.’ Hubert glanced at the relic. ‘The hanged men were also rumoured to be more than leather workers. They were said to belong to a secret society. The Company of the White Hart. Of course, the Corpus Christi apprentices deny all knowledge of the murders, claiming they had a legal quarrel to be settled in the town court before the guild-masters and the mayor.’

‘They would, wouldn’t they?’ Conscious that she had more information to divulge Hildegard said, ‘I’ve heard of this company you mention but thought it was probably more dreamed of than real – like the tales of Robin the Outlaw,’ she added. ‘But the white hart is King Richard’s badge.’ She paused, then added hesitantly, ‘It’s commonly thought to be the sign of those who want an end to the present rule by Lancaster.’

The abbot’s glance held hers. He said, ‘The Corpus Christi men are temporarily for Lancaster. They don’t bother to conceal their allegiance.’