The Dragon of Handale (16 page)

The captain, thickset, bearded, unremarkable but clearly not happy, replied, “We have no commander but me and the steward at present. Our constable was recalled by the earl of Northumberland and his replacement has not reached us yet.”

“All the more reason for not making a massive mistake at the prioress’s behest and calling down retribution upon yourself and your men by acting without the earl’s authority.”

The captain evidently saw the sense in this and gave the appropriate orders.

“And see that the prisoner is fed and given ale,” Hildegard reminded him.

“We’ll remain here until our master arrives,” Carola told them. “There’ll be a reckoning, you can be sure of that. And make sure the guard does not set foot within the lodge when carrying arms.”

“Stay outside, you hear?” grunted the captain. He settled down on an upturned stump and watched with a bitter glance as his men began to put the place to rights.

The cellaress surveyed the scene through narrowed eyes—the men busy; Dakin, wrists chained, sitting on a block of stone next to the captain; Carola and Hildegard going inside to find writing materials—then without another word, she strode back through the wall door into the enclosure.

Hamo swung down from the scaffolding and trudged towards the lodge, frowning.

After handing the letters she had written to the captain so he could send them on, Hildegard went over to Matt, who was still busy trying to reestablish some sort of order, and asked if she might have a word.

When they were out of earshot of the guards, she asked, “What were you about to say just now when Carola prevented you?”

He gave her dark look. “It’s obvious what they’re up to. This so-called theft is just a ploy so they can hold somebody for that novice’s disappearance. Now we’re all in it up to our necks.”

“I am at fault. I should never have brought her here.”

Hildegard was surprised to find that Carola had followed them out.

“Nonsense.” Carola gave Matt a sharp glance. “Would you have let that poor child be taken as a whore by scum like Fulke? Talk sense! If she was your sister, would you be so agreeable?”

Matt looked shame-faced. “You know I wouldn’t. Even so, what’s going to happen next? I could lose my apprenticeship. And then what? A life of beggary. You’re safe, Carola. Nobody can touch you. What about everybody else?”

“Do you imagine I’d stand by and allow you to be thrown out on your ear by the guild? I despair, Matt. I really do. You have such a black opinion of us all.” She turned to Hildegard. “I’ll give him a good talking to later, mistress.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I hope Alys reached safety?”

“She did. She’s with a trusted friend of mine. She’ll come to no harm with him.” Hildegard paused. Was it Dakin who had tipped off those horsemen they had seen on the York road last night? She was about to tell Carola of her suspicions, when she stopped herself. She had no idea what the relationship was between Dakin and the imaginator. Alys believed they were sweethearts. If that was the case, it could place a burden of divided loyalty on Carola if her suspicions were correct.

She took her leave with a final promise that the prioress would find no grounds for holding Dakin and that soon their guild master and his law clerk would be here to lend the weight of reason to the situation. Meanwhile, Dakin would be safe enough.

As she crossed the cloister garth to the guest wing, she saw the two Kilton henchmen leaving Basilda’s chamber. She decided to take the bull by the horns and changed direction.

She made her appearance in the doorway just as the prioress was reaching for her hawk. It was hooded. Its tinkling bells sounded incongruously cheerful. Basilda wore a leather gauntlet on her right wrist and held it out for the bird to step onto as she slipped off its hood. Beside her stood the cellaress.

Basilda jerked her head up when she noticed Hildegard. “So, widow, my orders have been countermanded?”

The cellaress had been quick, Hildegard thought, flashing her a glance. She stared back, brazen and glassy-eyed.

“I’m sure, my lady prioress, you understand the law as well as I do. The guild lodge, though temporarily within the purlieu of the priory is, in fact, deemed by law to be separate for as long as it is in use by the he guildsmen. If you feel this is a misreading of the law, the clerk will be able to tease the matter out to the satisfaction of all concerned. Meanwhile, the fate of the mason in question cannot be determined. We must all be patient. It is, I believe, a virtue?”

Prioress Basilda sniffed. “You’re taking advantage of me because of my incapacity.” She slapped the sides of her chair with her free hand. “But we shall have satisfaction. That chalice will be found. He will pay the price for his treachery. And we shall no doubt uncover his part in the abduction of one of our novices. Doubtless she has been defiled by that miscreant. He will pay the full price for that in our own court. But wait until Master Fulke arrives. He’ll fetch my attorney and then we’ll see what’s what!”

“Where is the master?” asked Hildegard, surprised that he had not been recalled at once.

“He is dealing with other business.” Prioress Basilda looked disillusioned for a moment but then her eyes became shrewd. “As for you, widow, if indeed that is what you are, I’ll thank you to cease prying into our affairs. They do not concern you. I order my priory as I see fit. You are unaware of the currents of dissent which run here. A firm hand is needed. It may appear harsh to an outsider such as yourself but events make it necessary to deal strongly with the women sent to me.” A sardonic smile curled her lip. “You may imagine they are as pious as yourself, but I can tell you stories about them that would make you weep at the evil of womankind and quake with fear at the sins committed. The worst offenders are sent here to be punished,” she added, echoing the words of the priest shortly before he died. “Murder is nothing to them.” Her eyes stared. “It would be as well to watch your step.”

After this threat—there was no other way of viewing it—Hildegard made her way outside.

She sat down on the hard truckle bed that had given her such restless nights. It was difficult to know what to do for the best. It was a hard ride from Durham with the roads as they were. Schockwynde could not arrive for several days. Fulke, on the other hand, might only have to come from his tannery in Ruswarp and would be here the sooner. If he had any sense, he would remove whatever was hidden in the tower at the earliest opportunity.

The look that had crossed the prioress’s face when his name was mentioned puzzled her. She had looked disappointed in her benefactor. Was there a crack in their complicity?

Was it connected to that “other business” Fulke was engaged in? Maybe something irrelevant to the loss of a novice? She could not believe he would give in so easily. Yet he would never find her. He would eventually realise that the effort he might be putting in was wasted when the law came after him.

This “other business,” however—did it have anything to do with his activities at the tower, something that concerned Basilda, or was it nothing to do with the disappearance of the novice, maybe a private matter that simply involved making use of the tower? Was this what was worrying the prioress?

The entire matter was a mystery.

It was as puzzling as the presence of armed men waiting on the moors road the previous night. Dakin had asked twice which route she and Alys intended to take. His interest might have been prompted by mere curiosity, or it could have been because he needed to pass the information on to someone else—someone who wanted to abduct the girl a second time? Someone like Fulke himself, maybe?

She considered the possible reasons Dakin might have for getting involved with Fulke. Money was the obvious one, the love of it being the root of much evil. But what if Alys was right when she thought Dakin was in love with Carola? It was certain that the imaginator treated him with condescension bordering on scorn. If his emotions had been reciprocated, then he would need money, plenty of it, to put forth his suit. Only time would tell. Those night riders might have had nothing to do with events at Handale. Or with Dakin. Or Fulke.

It was all guesswork.

Even so.

She changed out of her clothes into clean ones—first a linen undershift, then an overgown in a different colour. As she pulled the green fabric over her head, she felt some pleasure. It would be hard to go back to wearing a plain Cistercian habit after this.

Her thoughts returned to the present.

The best thing about the whole business was the promise Ulf had made before leaving her at Kilton Beck this morning. He would find out more about the manor Alys believed she had inherited with her brother, then give Hildegard time to find out what she could from inside the priory. Then he would return with three or four men.

They had arranged to meet the day after tomorrow near the ford where the beck crossed the coast road and flowed on to Killing Grove and the sea. From there, it was a scramble back along the beck into the woods and a short climb to the tower.

She retied her head scarf, shook out the folds of her cloak, pulled it on, and refastened it with a silver brooch. The day was colder than ever. The frost remained. It powdered the gargoyles jutting from the priory walls and made their grotesque features stand out in livid detail.

The hut leaned against the farthest wall of the herb garden. To reach it, she had to find a way through the kitchen gardens between the beds of kale and winter cabbage. Frost put a silver patina over the fleshy leaves. Even the stalks of grass at the edge of the path were stiffened by the cold. A path wound through a wicket gate and approached the herberer’s hut between beds of rosemary and thyme. It would be difficult to approach without being seen.

When she reached the door, it was open, and she found the herberer sitting inside with her feet in a wooden bucket. Aromatic steam rose into the cold air.

“Greetings, sister.” Hildegard stood on the threshold.

“Come for a bit of peace and quiet, mistress?” Eyes like green glass beads stared up at her.

Hildegard chuckled. “Something like that. May I enter?”

The herb woman nodded towards a bench against the wall. She was the oldest person Hildegard had seen at the priory. A stick was propped against the wall, within reach of the old woman.

“I’m not surprised you want to escape from them. They’re moon-mad, at the full like the tide. Three days they’ll foam and fret. As above, so below.”

“Heaven must be in disarray at present, sister.”

“So it be and so be this realm of ours, and I do not mean only Handale. The king is in danger and nobody heeds it. Least of all these women here with their clacking over sin and punishment.”

“How do you know the king is at risk?”

“Aren’t all kings, at all times, the focus of men’s ambition?”

“That’s probably true—”

“Probably?” The old nun rocked back and forth in amusement. “There’s nothing probable about it. It’s as certain as the stars in their courses. And when the king is a young man with no friends, it cannot be changed—except as with any disease of the body. By rooting the contagion out. The realm is but a living thing, prone to sickness, to the actions of the planets and eventual decay.”

“Sister, this may be true. Those who support the king must arm themselves and go to his aid. But these nuns can do nothing.”

“They do what they do. The tanner is not as clever as he thinks. Let’s hope he chooses customers who favour the king.”

Sighing with relief, the old nun lifted her feet from the bucket of water scented with lavender and other herbs. She dried them on a piece of clean linen, wrapped them in a woollen cloth, then squinted up at Hildegard. “You’re here to ask me whether it’s the plague or the action of some evildoer?”

Taken off guard, Hildegard blurted, “The priest—”

“Of course, the priest! Who did you think I meant? He chose his own destiny. God grants free will. It’s the planets try to set us on the wrong course and lay traps to test us.”

Afraid that the conversation would turn into a theological discussion which would get them nowhere, Hildegard asked, “How did he choose, sister?”

“By the roving of his eye, that’s how.”

She unwrapped her feet, gave them a rub, and pushed them into a pair of pattens. Taking her time, she hung the damp linen on a peg above the brazier, where a weak flame gave off a little heat. She got up in a fluid movement, reached for a poker, and riddled the coals; then she lifted a pot off the gridiron, shook it to raise the sediment, and began to stir. When she replaced the spoon, she turned as if in surprise.

“Still here, mistress? What more do you need to know?”

“I need to know who would poison him for a roving eye.”

“The moon will soon be at the full. That’s the whole of it. The only answer is to pray.” She turned her back, and it was clear she had ended their meeting.

Hildegard had an impression of the sort of cures the old nun used from what she saw hanging from the roof beams, but before she left, she asked, “Do you grow all the herbs they use in the kitchens here?”

She received a sharp glance. “All.”

“And do the nuns come to fetch them themselves?”

The old woman jerked up her head. “They do.”

“There are many here that might kill a man.”

“Over time.”

“Unless made into an elixir?”

“True.” The old woman gazed out past Hildegard to where the garden lay in a sudden shaft of winter sunlight. “Beware the moon at its full.”

C
HAPTER
15

The list of poison plants was long. Some, of course, had dual properties and were only lethal in large doses, but the ones that could kill instantly were rare. Hildegard could find no sign of any such as that growing in the gardens. Her knowledge was no more than any village herbalist; she was no apothecary. Even so, she was sure there was nothing here that could kill a man as suddenly as the one that must have been given to the priest.