The Red Velvet Turnshoe (11 page)

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Authors: Cassandra Clark

BOOK: The Red Velvet Turnshoe
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W
HILE THEY WERE recovering their strength before starting the next and worst leg of the journey, Hildegard came to a decision. It was no good taking risks.
The Augustinians had their own courier service. It was fast and efficient. The Order even had an English house in Beverley and no doubt exchanged correspondence with them but the message she wanted to send was not intended for them.
It would go to Bruges. Ulf would have been and gone by now but the Vitelli company ran their own courier service and would be able to pass a message on to Castle Hutton. It seemed prudent to inform the steward about her misgivings concerning Pierrekyn.
Nothing he had done in the days following his futile attack on Talbot gave her confidence that he wouldn’t erupt again. He was smouldering in a black and silent rage that would find its release soon, she was sure. Once Ulf knew what had transpired it would be up to him to determine a course of action. She would ask him what he expected her to do when she reached her destination. So far she had fulfilled his request but it would be the easiest thing in the world for Pierrekyn to vanish into thin air down some busy back street once they arrived. Ulf would have to send his instructions.
Borrowing ink from the friendly canon she had spoken to before supper, she found a quiet place where she could set pen to paper. The ink was frozen in the bottle. She warmed it at the fire until it ran freely and then began to write, finishing in time to be able to hand the letter to the courier before he left at dawn.
 
 
Her misgivings about Pierrekyn were justified not much later.
Shortly after the courier left she prepared to join the depleted group of travellers in the courtyard. Three
maronniers
had been provided to guide them down the glass-like precipice.
The air was crisp. Mont Joux stood over them in the blue sky. Sunlight glinted off the snow. Dazzled, they put on the horn eye-pieces again. Their breath issued in puffs of steam whenever anybody spoke. Already noses were pinched and fingers were throbbing with chilblains. They stamped their nailed boots, newly waterproofed with pig fat, throwing up small shards of ice as they waited to set out.
Emerging into this brilliance with her pack of bread and wine and her forlorn-looking hounds, Hildegard squinted round. At once she noticed an absence. ‘Where’s Pierrekyn, Sir Talbot?’
‘I thought he was with you.’
‘I haven’t seen him since compline yesterday.’
‘He told me he was coming to play his new tune to you to see how you liked it,’ he explained.
‘He didn’t do anything of the sort.’ Hildegard was puzzled. This was hardly the place from which to make his escape.
Nobody admitted to having seen him until one of the pilgrims, smiling, said, ‘Your knight’s young squire, Sister? I saw him going out after dining last night as soon as the snow stopped. He was heading for the rocks up yonder.’ He pointed back the way they had come. ‘I assumed it was a call of nature and thought nothing of it.’
‘When was this?’ asked Talbot.
‘Just after compline. I was called outside for the same reason,’ he added.
Grim-faced, Talbot turned to Hildegard. ‘He’s absconded.’ He took her to one side. ‘What do you suggest, Sister?’
She was uncertain. ‘I can’t see him surviving on the mountain by himself.’
‘He’s tougher than he looks. Nearly beat me at arm-wrestling the other day. And running away surely proves his guilt?’
‘It looks like it. Even so I’m worried for him.’
‘We certainly can’t set off in pursuit. We don’t know these mountains and we’ve no idea where he’s likely to be heading. And you have your own journey to consider.’
‘We’ll ask the prior to send his men after him. If they find him they can hold him until the steward from Castle Hutton instructs someone to take him back to England to face justice.’ She stifled her anger. ‘This is all my fault. I should have been less trusting.’
‘And I should have kept a better eye on him,’ replied Talbot gallantly.
She put a hand on his sleeve. ‘Let’s press on. I’ve already sent a letter to inform the steward of our doubts. Let him make of it what he will. The prior will send out his men when he knows the boy’s wanted. We have to go on. I can’t delay any longer.’
 
The prior was more than willing to send men out in pursuit of Pierrekyn when he heard what had happened. He also told them he would have prevented them going after him themselves if they had tried as they knew nothing about the mountain trails nor which ones they could travel in safety in the present weather conditions.
They found their group of travelling companions had dwindled further by the time they went to rejoin them. Two of the more fainthearted had decided to stay on in the comfort of the hospice until they were convinced beyond doubt that the good weather would hold.
The descent was said to be more dangerous than the road up to the summit. As they set their faces towards the south they all agreed that it would be the toughest day yet.
 
It was hard going, there was no doubt of that. The path was all but obliterated by the snow and without the
perches
there would have been no knowing where they were. The guides, with felt hoods wrapped tightly over their heads, led the way with thrusts of their long poles deep into the snow at every step. Everyone followed in single file, first Sir Talbot, then Hildegard, then the three pilgrims, and finally Jack Black and his crew.
Progress was slow. At one point the wind had blown the surface snow off the rock, leaving a carapace of ice. It looked black like rock but this was deceptive as they discovered when an unwary pilgrim put one foot on it and went yelling and tumbling on his backside while everyone in front tried in vain to catch hold of him.
Fortunately for him, he ended up in a drift at the brink of the cliff. There was much amusement as he was hauled out with his hood awry and a fringe of snow on his brow.
Whenever it was safe, the guides helped them slide down the ice on hides. Then they cried out with whoops of joy that were probably heard all over the mountainside.
Thankful for her tough new boots from the shoemaker in Beverley, Hildegard trod in the prints left by Sir Talbot. He was striding out, some way ahead of the others, and she had to walk briskly to keep up with him. She carried her little hound, Bermonda, like a baby as her legs were too short to see her easily through the depth of snow, but Duchess, tall and stately, ran along like all lymers with a high even tread, her nose in the air.
The pass would eventually bring them out on the other side of the mountains at a custom post in a town called St Rhémy. The name was like a beacon that drew them on without regard for pain or danger.
They were only about two thirds of the way, however, when, out of the deceptive clarity of a cloudless sky, a blizzard burst over their heads with sudden and unexpected violence. Even the
maronniers
were taken by surprise.
Almost straight away everybody was separated by driving shards of ice. Hildegard could see Sir Talbot just ahead but he looked like nothing more than a shadow in the white-out. Unable to judge how far back the others were, she made an effort to catch up with him. Her thoughts flew to Pierrekyn.
When she drew level with Talbot she shouted, ‘I hope those canons have found the boy. I don’t give much hope for him, alone in all this.’
They soon found themselves walking in a world of their own. In the whirling flakes it was impossible to tell whether they were heading towards the precipice or keeping to the track. To make matters worse, darkness fell prematurely, decreasing visibility even further. After a few more paces it became clear that it would be folly to continue.
Sir Talbot decided to call to the others. Putting his head back, he let forth a great war cry. From out of the darkness some way behind
came an answering shout. It sounded like one of the mercenaries. Talbot said, ‘No doubt they’ll catch up with us if we stop here.’
They waited for some time before realising they must have somehow missed the others. The snow had settled into a steady blizzard. Flakes flew into their mouths whenever they opened them to speak.
Talbot risked another shout but this time there was no response. Everything was muffled by the tumbling flakes. Even Duchess whined. Hildegard was shivering with cold. She cuddled Bermonda to share a little warmth.
Sir Talbot was undaunted. He suggested they camp where they were for the night. ‘We’ll get a better view of where we are in the light of morning.’
Hildegard was horrified at the thought of spending a night on the mountainside. ‘You mean here, in the open? We’ll surely freeze to death!’
He gave a genial chuckle. ‘Trust me, I’ve done this many times. It’s part of a soldier’s training to know how to survive in the wilds.’
Stopping just where they were, he started to burrow into the snow and when Hildegard helped they soon dug out a hole big enough for both of them to shelter in, together with the hounds.
Gallantly Talbot spread his cloak and asked whether she would mind tenting her blue cloak over their heads. He explained, ‘That way we’ll keep within the ice chamber all the warmth our bodies magically give out.’
Seeing the sense in it, she did as he asked. When she began to take off the fur lining she wore underneath the cloak in order to share it between them, he refused adamantly.
‘I insist,’ she said. ‘This is no time for gallantry. It would be most inconvenient if you froze to death!’
Conceding the point he put his arms around her to increase their natural heat and they huddled politely together in the snow house. The hounds added their own body heat, giving off a strong smell of the pennyroyal she rubbed on them to kill fleas. Soon all four drifted into a comfortable and aromatic doze.
 
It was the sunlight on her face that woke Hildegard. She was amazed when she opened her eyes to find that it was day. The blizzard had
abated and the sun was crawling in through the cracks of their makeshift canopy, now sagging under the weight of snow, with the promise of a fair day. Sir Talbot opened his eyes as soon as he felt her disentangle herself from his embrace.
She was already pushing the cloak to one side when he sat up. Bars of gold light fell across his face as he leaned back for a moment with the fur falling away from his shoulders and breathed out a long, contented sigh.
‘I’ve just had the most magnificent dream. It was like something out of a
chanson.’
He sighed again in contentment. ‘I was walking through a meadow. It must have been spring because it was filled with the scent of flowers. Ahead of me was a gate and, when I opened it, who was waiting for me in a bower but my Lady Rosamund! She greeted me with the most loving smile. And at that moment I knew I had attained my heart’s desire.’ He closed his eyes as if to savour the feeling of bliss a little longer. When he opened them he asked, ‘Do you think it might be a portent of things to come?’
‘It could well be.’ She smiled. ‘At least she was with you through the night.’
He rose to his feet, carefully shook out her blue cloak so that the snow did not fall on them and then climbed outside.
At once he gave a shout. ‘Sister! Come and look! This is like paradise itself!’ She heard him whoop with joy as his footsteps crunched over the snow.
Poking her head out she saw what he meant. The snow lay in perfect smoothness in every direction. On one side was a low cliff but over on the other side of the valley the peaks and crags glistened under a gleaming mantle.
He dropped back inside the snow chamber with his breath steaming, careful not to tread on the huddled dogs. ‘There’s a sharp little breeze eddying about. May I borrow your cloak for a moment?’
She could see he was shivering despite his efforts. She put it over his shoulders. Despite the soft blue fabric, he still had an endearingly military look.
He climbed outside again. His footsteps made crimping sounds on the ice crust as he strode towards the privacy of some rocks.
It must surely be a good day to attempt the last few miles to St Rhémy, Hildegard thought with satisfaction. If they set off now they should soon catch up with the others. They must have passed in the night, or maybe had decided to camp out and would be visible on a different part of the track. Their guides would be as wise in mountain – craft as Sir Talbot.
Stretching her limbs she fondled her hounds behind the ears. Duchess was already pawing at the snow as if wondering whether to scramble into the open and Hildegard was about to follow when there was an unexpected sound.
She couldn’t place it. It was a whine like a missile being thrown, followed by a thump. Then silence. Talbot must have heard it, too, for his footsteps stopped.
Curious, she peered outside. Something was heaped in the middle of the field of snow. When she looked more closely she saw it was the confused folds of her blue cloak.
She gave a cry. It was Talbot. He was lying on the ground and in the middle of his back was a bolt from a crossbow.

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