Hangman Blind (33 page)

Roger rumbled deep in his chest and gripped his sword. ‘Not following in your uncle’s footsteps and tupping some serving wench, are you, you young dog?’

There was the rasp of a sword being drawn swiftly from its sheath and a man, walking with a familiar military swagger, pushed himself forward. ‘Take that back, sir, or by God I’ll make you rue it!’

‘What’s it to you?’ asked Roger with a bland smile, well aware of the proximity of his men-at-arms, not to say his swordsman of a brother.

‘The lady he refers to is my sister, sir. She is Lady Eleanor of Teesdale.’

‘And my son’s betrothed to her? By St George! But she’s the daughter of one of my oldest enemies!’

‘Not any longer, father. The breach is healed by our betrothal.’

‘Why, you canny devil.’ After that Roger seemed lost for words.

Melisen rose to her feet. ‘Come now, my lord, let’s within. This has ended most happily. Welcome home, Edwin, and welcome also to your friend. We are all well met.’ With the grace of a duchess she allowed her maid to fling a fur-lined cape around her shoulders, then she stepped down from the stand and led the party firmly back towards the Great Hall. Without argument everyone followed.

Too astonished to say much at first, the onlookers pressing against the rails gradually spread the news to those at the back. When it was clear who was who and what was what the whole crowd started to clap and cheer. Caps were thrown into the air. Lord Roger was alive. His son and heir had returned.

Then somebody started an impromptu farandole. Soon everybody was linking hands, groom with page, cook with scullion, ale-master with priest, and even the chamberlain picked up the hem of his cloak and joined hands with two servants. Laughing and singing, they followed the leader back inside, where, moving faster and in ever more complicated patterns, he led the human chain snaking round the Great Hall. Hildegard followed them in. It was clear that the celebrations would continue throughout the night.

Time to make myself scarce, she thought with a twinge of regret for all that her vows denied her. Ulf noticed her leave and followed her out.

‘That was a turn-up and no mistake! I knew he’d welcome him back into the fold before long. And it was all over nothing…I suppose you’re going back to your chamber now?’

‘I am, yes.’

‘Don’t forget tomorrow. I meant what I said. I’ll clear it with Roger afterwards. Once you get your grange and some land the novices will come pouring in.’

‘Just six will do, nuns or novices both.’

‘I thought you wanted seven?’

‘I found one, a dairy-woman called Agnetha living down in Beverley.’

Ulf skimmed the edge of her coif with the backs of his fingers. The smile he gave her was a sad one, full of regret at what might have been. Then he left to join the dance.

During the night something woke Hildegard up. It was more than the continued sounds of celebration coming distantly from outside. It was like the rumble of the drawbridge being let down, followed by the clatter of several horsemen entering the gatehouse. Guessing the Lombards had just ridden down from the north, she smiled and turned over. But sleep would not come now she was awake. She lay for some time, ticking off the minutes, listening to the faint sounds of merriment from below, then to an owl that hooted out in the bailey, and after that to the sound of the timbers creaking as the wind got up.

She had almost managed to trick herself back to sleep when a different sound brought her awake again. It was its stealthy nature which alerted her. Her ears pricked. It was like the sound of a door being pressed open along the passage and then a moment later and just as quietly being pressed shut. She held her breath the better to listen.

Footsteps dragged along the creaking boards outside. They came to another stop. She waited. There was no sound, not even the husk of someone’s breath. Convinced that she was mistaken, she was just about to pull the blanket over her head when it came again.

This time it was nearer. She heard the door to the neighbouring chamber open. Again a pause. Again the door closed. The footsteps were closer now and she held her breath when they halted outside her own door.

Stealthily she sat up. The hair on her scalp prickled. There was someone standing outside. She was sure of it. She waited for the door to open. When nothing happened, she was about to ask who was there when some instinct made her reach for the knife on her belt instead.

The door creaked as it opened. On the threshold stood a hooded figure. She could hear him breathing as if it was a difficult thing to do. There was a pause then out of the darkness a hoarse voice whispered, ‘So I’ve found you at last, sister. And without those hounds to protect you.’

She realised she must be visible in the strip of moonlight that lay across the room but she could only peer through the darkness in a vain attempt to see who was looking in at her. Full of dread, she managed to croak, ‘Who are you?’

‘Never you mind. You’ll know me soon enough.’ He gave a suggestive snigger. ‘I think you’re going to regret not joining the dance.’

Her voice shook. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want redress, since you ask.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I made a vow. But you thwarted me. And I want redress for that. So now I’m going to thwart you in one of your vows. That’s only fair, isn’t it?’

Trying to steady her voice, she said, ‘I don’t know what you mean. What vow of yours have I thwarted?’

‘Don’t you remember? I’m sure you do. I vowed to teach you a lesson.’

‘What lesson?’

‘No bitch does what you did to me.’

She drew in her breath. ‘It’s not possible—’

The hooded figure grunted. ‘Anything’s possible where I’m concerned.’

Hildegard gripped her knife beneath the blanket and whispered through trembling lips, ‘I know your name. You’re Master Escrick Fitzjohn.’

‘And what if I am? What’s in a name?’ He took a heavy step over the threshold. She could see the gleam of his leather jerkin and something silver, long-bladed, in one hand, as he stepped into the light of the moon.

‘And now, my lady, the time of reckoning is come. I’ve certainly had a long wait.’ He pushed back his hood to reveal his face. It was distorted by a grimace. She could see a fresh wound running from brow to chin. But it was Escrick all right. He was breathing savagely, like an animal. Wounded, he was more full of hatred than ever.

Her fingers tightened on the handle of her knife.

He said harshly, ‘I nearly drowned because of you. Took a bucket of water in my lungs. All but did for me. And it was your fault. I’d have got away scot-free but for you and your meddling.’ He took another step forward. ‘But you’re going to pay, my lady, and I’m going to make you pay, and there’s not a blind thing you can do to stop me.’ He took another step and began to laugh. His pleasure at her helplessness curdled her blood. He said, ‘I’d start praying now, if I were you.’

Before she could reply there was a commotion at the end of the passage and she heard Ulf’s voice as plain as day saying, ‘This way, sire, follow me. I trust you’ll find your quarters comfortable after such a long ride?’

This was followed by hearty shouts of assent and the noise of several people wearing spurs marching in a crowd along the passage.

Quick as a snake, Escrick moved to the door. ‘Don’t think I’ve finished with you, nun. I’ll be watching, waiting, following. You’ll never get away. The fields have eyes.’ The black shape vanished. One moment there, the next gone.

Hildegard was out of bed and across the floor in a trice and was just in time to see his hooded figure melt into the darkness at the far end of the passage before Ulf and the Lombardy men approached from the other end. She flung herself into their path.

‘Ulf! Quick!’ She gestured down the passage. ‘It’s Escrick Fitzjohn! Back from the dead!’

Ulf placed both hands calmly on her shoulders. ‘He’s dead, you saw him drown. I must have woken you from a dream.’

‘No! Listen to me! He came into my chamber and he…Go after him!’ When she saw he did not believe her, she said, ‘Then I’ll go! He must not escape!’

Convinced by the desperation in her voice, Ulf drew his sword. ‘Show me! Where is this phantom? If he’s made of flesh and blood I’ll run him through! Come on, Ludovico!’

The prince and his men needed no second bidding. They made off down the passage with a drawing of weapons and she heard them go clattering down the outer stairs into the yard before she even had time to draw breath. When she caught up with them at the bottom of the steps they were milling about in confusion. The bailey was crowded with people of every degree, singing and dancing with abandon. One of Ludovico’s men held a stiletto to the throat of a protesting servant.

‘Let him go.’ Not looking back, Ulf came over. ‘If it was truly Escrick Fitzjohn, he’s concealed himself in the best of all places. We’ll never find him in this throng. By the time we’ve hauled them before us one by one he’ll have made good his escape.’ He took her by the arm and whispered, ‘Are you sure about this, Hildegard?’

‘I am. Every malign threat he uttered is written on my mind for all time.’

The
Isabeau
was sailing to the lee and making good time up the east coast. The wind raking her decks buffeted the villages nestling in the wolds and further inland tore savagely at the massive defences of the city of York. At the mouth of the Humber the cog changed direction in a turbulence of sail and met the overfalls with a final pitching that brought the traveller out on deck. Leaning on the rail in his billowing cloak, he watched for the tantalising spit of land in whose inner curve lay the port of Ravenser. He might have been longing for a first glimpse of home. Or he might have been searching the coast with the avid glance of a glutton at the prospect of the feast that would shortly be laid before him. His glance never strayed as the ochre waters of the estuary diminished moment by moment bringing closer the pencil-line of his destination.

H
ILDEGARD ENTERED THE
garden at Meaux to find the abbot standing alone among his sunlit plants. He was inspecting some straggling herb beds and turned when he heard the gate.

He looks tired, she observed, as she walked down the path towards him. Hubert’s eyes were ringed with shadow but, with his cowl thrown back to catch the last of the sun’s rays, it struck her again how fine he was, especially now when he must have just had the monthly shave his Order allowed and his features were revealed with such clarity.

Unaware of her appraisal he came towards her. ‘Sister, greetings.’ The austerity of his glance softened and a good-humoured gleam entered his eyes. ‘They tell me extraordinary things have been going on at Castle Hutton.’

‘Things you will find hard to believe.’ She returned his smile. And some you will never know, she thought.

‘Come. You must tell me everything.’

He led the way to a stone bench set against the east wall from where they had a view of the westering sun. It was an unseasonably warm evening. A solitary bee was humming languidly among the last of the roses. A blackbird swooped in a graceful arc across the lavender beds. Distantly, from within the echoing vault of the abbey, came the frail sound of the choir. Hildegard gave an involuntary sigh. It had turned into one of those days when summer reaches back to offer a final gift to winter and seems to hold the season on a single thread. At such times the opening of the heart in response brings an unexpected languor. The abbot, too, seemed part of this voluptuous embrace of nature and she became vitally aware of his presence beside her. Instead of spilling out the whole story at once as she intended, she let the deep perfection of the moment speak instead.

Eventually, returning to his question, she began to bring him up to date with what had gone on since they last met, reserving only personal events which could not interest him. He was amused, alarmed and sorrowful in turn at what she told him.

‘But Master Jacques!’ he exclaimed when she came to the fight inside the castle. ‘Who would imagine Sir William would use him to try to get the better of Sir Ralph! And what about Lady Avice? That was an evil thing. Where did she get such a poison?’

‘The apothecary might have given us a clue when he happened to mention the French pope.’

‘Ah,’ said Hubert. His jaw tightened. Her purpose was to assess his allegiance but apart from that involuntary movement he gave nothing else away.

As if oblivious to the dangers of the ground she trod, she continued swiftly with her story. ‘I was a dolt not to guess the identity of those two corrodians at Hutton. Not until the joust, when Edwin’s friend the Earl of Teesdale’s son drew his sword and swaggered forth, did I realise who they were. They had laid bets that they could enter the castle in defiance of Roger and spend a night there undetected. When his father died, as it seemed, and left the succession in jeopardy, Edwin hurried north to rouse forces in order to regain his inheritance.’

‘A lad of spirit. Glory or trouble lie ahead, I’d guess. And his stepsister? I believe you have a soft spot for her.’

Hildegard nodded. ‘Dear Philippa, she eventually got over her rage with her father. It was due to fear as much as anything. She thought he’d try to hold her to an unwanted betrothal. Her Lombardy prince turned up with his men in the middle of the night, having ridden like furies all the way from Rievaulx Abbey at the first opportunity. By then she had solved the puzzle and opened the casket. Having seen one of these devices before, I suggested she twist the lion’s tail,’ said Hildegard in an aside.

‘And within—?’

‘Not the remainder of the poison as I briefly feared but a ring. A plain and simple gold band with her own name and Ludovico’s inscribed on it. So she is now betrothed again, but this time to someone she loves with all her heart and who, we hope, loves her.’

‘And Roger is no doubt delighted with the profitable alliance he has made.’

‘Quite so. But I must tell you something to make you smile. Lady Melisen, who, by the way, had a small though innocent part to play in Roger’s collapse through her overzealous use of a certain herb useful in matrimonial matters,’ they exchanged knowing glances, ‘saw Roger reading some document the Lombard put before him. Astonished, she exclaimed, “But my lord, can you read?” “Just a bit,” said Roger with unusual modesty. And Melisen said, “My father the earl says why bother when you can buy a clerk to do it for you?”’

Hubert began to chuckle.

‘But that’s not all. Roger’s eyes sharpened to needle points when he heard this and he said: “You mean your father has to rely on the honesty of his clerk to know what he’s signing up for?” And that, Hubert, is a situation that may be watched with interest in the coming months, don’t you think?’

It was the first time she had called him Hubert. The name was out before she could stop it and she watched in alarm to see how he reacted. He let it pass.

‘We must watch our own dealings with Lord Roger too.’ His glance found hers and held it. When he continued his words seemed charged with meaning. ‘He is one of those people with a disarming manner.’ He looked deeply into her eyes. ‘It’s the sort of thing that could lead a more sanguine man than myself to forfeit some of the abbey’s interests without even realising it.’ He paused, as if dealing with a difficult thought, then, in a sudden change of mood, said, ‘I was astonished at the folly of Sir Ralph and Lady Sibilla in trying to pass off a servant’s child as their own. Although,’ he added, ‘it’s a trick that has been tried before with some success. But how did you guess the truth about the baby?’

‘I was very slow and should have accepted the promptings of my intuition sooner. But it seemed too outrageous an idea to be taken seriously, beginning with nothing more than a hand.’ She explained. ‘It was Sibilla’s ring, or rather the rough hand of her maid and the fact that the ring did not fit her properly, that puzzled me. Apparently they pushed it on to her finger to allay suspicion should anyone not in the conspiracy enter the birthing chamber. May’s hand was rough, a hand used to hard work, not that of someone who never lifts a finger except to run it over silks and velvets or slip inside the soft leather of a hawking glove. It looked odd but I didn’t realise the significance until other discrepancies mounted up.’

‘Such as?’

‘A fading scent of jasmine, Sibilla’s perfume and other things as slight.’

‘Ah, the feminine power,’ he said with a thoughtful expression. ‘But what penalty did Roger devise to punish such deceit?’

‘Nothing so far. He plays a long game. I suppose he thinks, let the hoodman hang himself! All he said was that when Sibilla has a child of her own he will make it his ward in court.’

‘Is it likely she’ll conceive?’

Hildegard shook her head. ‘Who knows?’

‘Mysterious are the ways indeed.’ He sighed. ‘And what about the midwife who was so helpful to them? What happened to her, poor soul?’

‘Not so poor. Gone into retirement on the proceeds of her work. She’s now living with her aged father in York where she’ll have plenty of employment with the daughters of the burgesses, if she wants it. I’m told she was attending one of the miller’s daughters in secret and that’s why her pony was tethered out of sight. Then the mill was set on fire and she saw the outlaws drive away the inhabitants. Before she could make her escape, we arrived, stole her pony, as she saw it, and she was left to return to her father’s assart on foot.’

‘And, finally, to crown all, I’m told the murderer got his just desserts. Master Escrick Fitzjohn, a devil incarnate to be sure. What was his motive in such a killing spree?’

Hildegard hesitated before she spoke. After consultation with Roger, she had come to the conclusion that it would be best to play along with the belief that Escrick had drowned in the canal. The idea was that it would be easier to flush him out if he imagined everyone but Hildegard thought him dead. He would become careless. The net, claimed Roger, would be drawn in secret until they had him well and truly in its folds.

Now she said, ‘I fear it was loyalty to Lady Sibilla and maybe a kind of thwarted love that drove him to try to prove himself in that extreme fashion. But again, I have only hints to lead me to that belief. I remember certain looks that passed between them. An air of complicity. And I can well imagine her own attraction to a man so unlike her husband.’

She felt Hubert give a start, but then he bent to pick up a pebble from the path and she could not see his expression, only his fingers repeatedly turning the piece of coloured stone as if it held the solution to some problem he was trying to solve. The moment stretched while she tried in vain to understand. Such was the nervous labour of his fingers that all she knew was that there was a mystery here.

‘Sibilla herself mentioned Escrick’s ambition,’ she continued, confusion making the words sound forced. ‘She seemed to admire the way he rose from a lowly position as son of a bondsman to one of considerable power, entirely by the singleness of his purpose. I myself saw how he strove to make himself indispensable to her. Nothing she asked was too much trouble.’

‘The truth is he risked hell for her.’ Hubert’s voice roughened. He threw the stone into the grass.

Hildegard turned to look at him. His face was like alabaster. After a pause she said, ‘Yes, I suppose he did.’

‘And his body has not been recovered?’

‘That is the story.’

He gave her a piercing glance. ‘Have a care, sister.’ From his tone she could not tell whether he meant for her soul or for her corporeal self. Without explaining he said, ‘As the body of the valiant lock-keeper fetched up close to the pack bridge, still impaled on the sword, we had him interred here and sang a mass for him. It’s to be hoped the body of Master Escrick will turn up in the reed beds one of these days. Then we’ll all sleep safely.’ He gave her another sharp glance.

‘And do you have any news about the youth I found in the woods?’ she asked, hurriedly changing the subject.

‘My man went to York as instructed and managed to search out the fellow’s kin. He was one of six apprentices who left York with the intention of gaining support from their brethren in Beverley.’

‘Support?’

Hubert looked thoughtful. ‘I believe it was you who mentioned the Company of the White Hart?’

‘Your man—’ she faltered, suspecting he referred to his spy, a fact the prioress would find interesting. ‘Did he find proof that the youth was a member of that particular company?’

‘He has little doubt. The story he heard was that they were pursued by a gang got together in York by another guild. They were followed to the gates of Beverley itself. There have been killings within both towns. These five were caught and executed in the brutal manner you saw, the sixth cut down while trying to escape with the relic you found in his hand.’ His expression was sombre. ‘It’s a great sadness when they try to solve their differences by resorting to violence. It can only breed more violence.’

Despite his obvious regret for the boy’s death, Hildegard could not help but understand his words as a warning. He was telling her he knew as much as anybody else about plans for insurrection in the Riding.

After this they sat quietly for a moment or two, busy with their own thoughts. The sun slid its shafts between the branches of the trees and as it sank below the horizon its dying light dappled them in colours of scarlet and gold. Time itself seemed to hold its breath. For a moment all the strife of mortal men yielded to a deeper truth. A sense of eternal peace had dominion over all things.

Reluctant to break the spell, Hildegard eventually forced herself back to other matters. ‘For some days my hounds have been in the safe-keeping of a little kitchen carl from Hutton called Burthred. His future is on my mind.’

‘Be content. Their little warden has prospects. The lad made himself so agreeable here, if Roger will release him one of my grange managers is willing to take him on. The lad has a way with animals. He also expressed a wish to serve with our conversi when he’s old enough.’ Hubert was referring to the lay brothers employed to work the land and deal with the livestock. This would suit Burthred down to the ground. Animals were what he lived for. ‘The conversi are the backbone of our community,’ the abbot observed. ‘Without them we would be poor indeed.’

‘But without your business sense and ability to handle the affairs of a great estate the conversi would be poor too.’

‘You make it sound like a marriage made in heaven,’ he murmured. His ivory features acquired a sudden tint of colour that came and went in the blinking of an eye.

‘Something troubles you, Hubert?’ she blurted in surprise.

There was a pause while he appeared to choose his words from a vast and complex store.

‘Many things trouble me, sister,’ he said at last. He gave a wan smile. ‘My confessor has much work to do these days, poor fellow.’ His tone changed and became businesslike. ‘One thing I can freely confess, something trivial in itself, but an irritation to me.’ He cast a glance at the garden with its tumbled weeds. ‘I had hoped that when I was appointed Abbot of Meaux I could make a garden for rare herbs, ones with medicinal properties beyond the everyday cures already known. But you see, I’ve failed badly.’ He looked unexpectedly helpless. ‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’

‘What’s happened to make it look so…well, unkempt?’

‘Poor Brother Selso has always run the gardens but now he’s too crippled with rheumatics to deal with it. To preserve his feeling of usefulness in his old age I can’t appoint anybody else to take over just yet. I wonder, you wouldn’t put Selso’s nose out of joint if you—’

‘Offered a little help now and then?’

‘My very hope.’ His face broke into a smile and he lifted one hand as if about to take one of hers but then let it drop. Hildegard was mystified when he fumbled for his cloak and rearranged it rather unnecessarily.

When he suggested a look round the rest of the garden she rose to her feet with relief. As she did so the abbot broke off one of the rosebuds that grew around the arbour then stood with it in his hand as if not sure how he came to be holding it. Hildegard watched to see what he would do next. He came to himself and, using it to gesture towards the path, suggested, ‘Let me be your guide.’