The Red Velvet Turnshoe (25 page)

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Authors: Cassandra Clark

BOOK: The Red Velvet Turnshoe
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‘You mean you’re outlawed?’ She was aghast.
‘Why do you imagine I came up here? And then leaped at the chance to get out of the country?’
‘I suppose it was out of the question to face trial?’
‘And have those lying snakes condemn me anyway?’ He seemed calmer now he had told her the worst of it.
‘Were you guilty?’ she asked.
‘Of killing my master? I’m not mad, Sister. I know the penalty for petty treason. It was during the purges after the Rising. Everyone was caught on some invented charge or other. So many disappeared or were being hanged that the wiser ones took to their heels. I thought I was being wise too.’
‘Did Reynard know about the exigents?’
‘Of course he did. He smuggled me out in his own retinue when he left for Castle Hutton. Without him I’d be dead by now.’ He came to kneel in front of her. ‘I’m not asking for your respect. I’m a coward. I’ve tried to be like Talbot. He was afraid of nothing even though they got rid of him anyway. But I just can’t take it.’
Hildegard rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Pierrekyn, I promise
if it comes to it, I’ll give you whatever I can to ease your pain. But give me time to consider this whole matter again. I think we need the help of an expert man of law. Have courage. The game is not yet lost.’
His fear did not abate but he bent his head and kissed the backs of her hands. ‘I’ll hold out a little longer. I’m beginning to trust you again. If anyone can free me it must be you. Blessings on you.’
She got up to go but he called her back.
‘Do you remember asking me about my name?’
She nodded. ‘Didn’t you say Haverel wasn’t your real name?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I said, part of my name isn’t real. It’s the “Pierrekyn” part that’s false.’ He tried a smile. ‘It was Reynard’s idea. He thought my own name, John, was too commonplace so he renamed me after a friend of his, once a king’s minstrel and now a corrodian at St Mary’s in York.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘He said it was because I was worthy of playing before the king.’ He looked shamefaced. ‘I’ve told you everything now. No more lies.’
 
It was shortly before the end of lauds. Steeling herself for what she had to do next, she waited outside the abbot’s lodging. As soon as it was over and Hubert came out of the church, she approached him.
‘My lord abbot,’ she began, ‘I beg audience with you on a matter of life and death.’
He stopped in the process of dismissing her. ‘Has something happened? ’ he demanded.
She inclined her head.
He gave a sigh that seemed to rise from the soles of his feet. ‘Then you’d better come inside.’
He glanced once round the garth before admitting her into his private sanctum.
‘My lord, I am not intent on trying to reinstate myself,’ she said as soon as they were within. ‘After the trial of the minstrel is over I shall withdraw to Swyne as you have ordered. However, I am much exercised by the plight of the poor boy. He is innocent of the crime of killing Reynard as I believe even Coppinhall must admit, but he now he has to face this further charge—’
‘Sedition by association. We’ve said all we have to say, haven’t we? Has anything new occurred?’
She hesitated. ‘I wonder about the legality of bringing someone to court on a charge and then accusing them of something else. Surely this isn’t just?’
Hubert frowned. ‘Are you suggesting I make an intervention on a point of law?’
She nodded. ‘It would delay things until we can find a way round the charge of sedition.’
‘And why would we do that – if it’s true?’
Her voice was firm. ‘Gaunt’s attempt to stifle the truth could itself be seen as sedition and it’s unjust in essence – unless,’ she added, ‘we deem freedom of speech a crime.’
‘Do you imagine that to be my view?’
‘I would be at fault to suggest it.’
Moving to a set of books in the aumbry against the wall, he ran his fingers along their spines until her came to the one he was looking for. He opened it and scanned the pages and after a moment lifted his head.
‘It may be possible. I congratulate you, Sister.’
He looked at her in silence for a moment and when at last he spoke his voice had thickened. ‘And this is the only reason for your presence in my chamber?’
‘I beg of you, represent poor Pierrekyn at the court tomorrow. Introduce this point of law. Allow him justice.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘And is that all?’
She bowed her head. ‘It is.’
‘I can only ensure that due process is followed,’ he told her. ‘If I suspect that Coppinhall is trying to sway the judgment of the jury, then I shall step in. Have no doubt of that. I imagine you are aware that the men of law will happily argue between themselves for some time about whether it would be appropriate to introduce this point or not. To mention it at all could delay matters for weeks. The boy would have to remain here in the abbey prison.’ His eyes gleamed and she knew he had seen through her ruse. ‘If I bring it to the attention of the court will that satisfy you, Sister?’
‘As long as there is someone who understands the detail and can delay matters until we can unravel the plot against Pierrekyn,
then yes,’ she replied. ‘Otherwise I fear Coppinhall will try to stampede the jury into condemning the minstrel and having him drawn to the gallows, quartered and hanged before any appeal can be lodged.’
‘That would not accord with my deepest understanding of justice,’ he replied. ‘Be assured of that.’
 
The problem, as she saw it, was that the minstrel was a stranger to the area and was, as he had pointed out himself, what the courts officially termed ‘of notorious record’.
With at least three writs ordered against him he would automatically have been outlawed on the fifth. There were several ways he could avoid punishment: he could flee to another country, which he had already tried; or enter the king’s service, which was not easy; or he could lie low until he could afford to buy a pardon. This was probably the best course but only if he could remain out of reach of his enemies for long enough.
If Hubert could play for time on the morrow it would give them an opportunity to find the best solution.
The way the abbot conducted matters would reveal his own affiliations too. He might merely go through the motions and yield at once when Coppinhall insisted on taking the matter out of his jurisdiction.
It was obvious someone had leaned on the appealer. He was scared half out of his wits when they asked him to stand forth and in the tumult following the adjournment Coppinhall’s guards had kept a close watch on the man. They had left together, allowing nobody a chance to question him.
She smiled grimly. Maybe she could appeal Coppinhall herself on a charge of misprision. If her suspicions were correct it could be claimed he was guilty of concealing treasonable acts against the king himself.
I
T WAS AFTER prime. The custodian of the cloisters went round checking all the doors of the chapter house to make sure they were locked so that no one could enter. He did it with the bored expression of a man who has done the same thing many times and never found a variation to the chore.
Everyone down below on the floor of the chapter house bowed as the abbot passed through their ranks. Then the prior came forward, kissed the abbot’s hand and made a bow of his own. One of the brothers climbed up into the pulpit and read the martyrology for the day, and a priest followed, reading certain psalms and collects in a dull, flat voice. After that he read out the part of the Rule assigned for the day.
Next there was a reading of the tables of names and the duties allotted for the week; after that came a sermon, preached by the abbot in what seemed to Hildegard, from her secret vantage point on the balcony that ran round the building, a subdued manner compared to his rant of recent days.
The whole ritual was carried out in such an orderly and prosaic manner that she began to think the rumours she had heard were nothing more than malicious exaggerations.
Then the novices and conversi processed out. The doors were locked once more and she was suddenly aware of a subtle change of atmosphere. She felt a tingle of fear.
One of the brothers stepped forward to confess some minor faults and ask for forgiveness. One or two others followed. The circator listed the misdemeanours he had observed on his rounds and then the abbot himself stood up.
Making his way to the steps of the altar, he prostrated himself and began to make confession in general formulaic terms, his Latin so
rapid and subdued that Hildegard had to strain to catch any of it, and then he pronounced punishment on himself. He rose and shrugged off his habit as far as the waist.
Hildegard stifled a cry of consternation. His back was a mass of bloody welts. As Roger had said, he had been flogged and recently too, for some of his wounds were beginning to bleed again as the flesh opened when his muscles flexed.
Now she watched in mounting horror as the prior and the other senior official produced their scourges. The prior was first. Taking delicate steps to where his abbot knelt, he brought down the leather thong with its metal studs across Hubert’s back. At once a scarlet welt sprang up. Beads of blood appeared from reopened wounds. Hubert did not flinch.
One by one the others stepped forward to bring their scourges down.
She could see Hubert tense before each lash but otherwise he did not move. He was silent. There was no sound in the chapter house at all other than the irregular crack of the scourges. When they stopped she leaned forward in time to catch Hubert’s broken command. ‘More,’ he said.
The prior brought one hand up to his face, shook his head, took a deep breath, and stepped forward again. The others followed. She noticed that when the cellarer turned away he had his eyes shut.
Still Hubert did not get up.
The prior said, ‘The Rule is we do not cease until the abbot bids us do so.’ He looked uncertainly at his fellows but Hubert, overhearing him, croaked, ‘Continue.’
Once again the prior brought down his scourge and again the others followed. After the fourth or fifth succession Hubert’s back was a mass of bloody meat. Gouts of blood dripped onto the tiles and one or two footprints encrimsoned the floor around him.
The cellarer flung down his scourge. ‘Brother Mark, as hospitaller, would you now advise overriding the abbot in this?’
Brother Mark went forward and bending his head said something to Hubert. The abbot shook his head but, turning to face the rest of them, Mark said, ‘Enough. He has duties to perform and we need him alive.’
Slumping back in her hiding place Hildegard felt waves of nausea take over. She closed her eyes and fought to steady her urge to cry out.
What crime could lead to the need for such punishment? Surely only murder could be deemed sufficiently heinous to demand it? She tried to recall every incident that had arisen regarding the death of Reynard. Hubert had given no indication of involvement and yet there was no better way of concealing guilt than by pretending concern.
It occurred to her that he might have already been tried by his brothers in chapter after confessing his guilt, and this was how his penance was being meted out. Only the senior obedientiaries would share in the knowledge. Their deliberations would be kept secret from the rest of the brotherhood.
She leaned forward again to peer through the wooden tracery. Below her Hubert was being helped to his feet, the hospitaller on one side, the cellarer on the other. The prior led the remaining members outside while the abbot struggled back into his habit. It must be agonising to have that rough cloth next to such wounds, she thought.
Waiting until everyone had left, she made her way shakily down the narrow steps from the loft and, after a quick look to make sure she was unobserved, let herself out into the garth.
The bell for the next office would start to toll soon. After that Hubert would have to appear in the chapter house again and there, at the scene of his humiliation, he would be forced to conduct the business of the court as if nothing had happened to him. She shuddered and made her way towards the guest house.
 
A group of servants Hildegard did not recognise were running about in the kitchens as she passed. The tang of baking bread reminded her of the intruder in her cell and she put her head round the door. Two bakers in the colours worn by Coppinhall were squabbling. The clerk of the kitchen came up to greet her and turned to see what had caught her attention.
‘Never at peace, those two. I’ll be glad when they’ve gone.’
‘Are they here with the Justice?’ she asked.
‘Yes and he’s welcome to them. Is there anything I can get you, Sister?’
‘Just water, if you please,’ she replied. Her mouth was dry at what she had just witnessed.
He sent a boy to fetch a ewer and she had already set off with it when there was a commotion from the cloisters. A moment later servants appeared, running at the double from all corners of the garth. The clerk came out onto the steps. ‘What’s the to-do?’ he called to her.
‘I can’t tell.’ She handed back the ewer, saying, ‘Is it an accident of some sort? I’d better go and see.’
Bunching up the hem of her habit, she set off across the garth. When she arrived there was a lot of shouting going on between Coppinhall and several other men. A few monks and conversi were standing by, saying nothing.
‘What’s happening?’ she asked one of them.
‘It’s the prisoner,’ a monk told her. ‘He’s escaped.’ The monk-bailiff, although roundly abused in the most intemperate language probably ever heard within the precincts of the abbey, was standing silently with a face as expressionless as a piece of York stone.
Soon there was quite a crowd round the door of the prison. When one of the men came stamping out to confirm that the cell was indeed empty, Coppinhall said he was going to raise the hue and cry. His followers went at once to arm themselves. By the time some of them were returning with staves and horses had been brought from the stables, Hildegard had managed to glean a little more.
The monk-bailiff had been in attendance on the prisoner all night but when he came to open the cell just now he had found it empty. No one had seen the prisoner escape.
Coppinhall was in a foaming rage. ‘Did you leave your post, Brother?’ he barked accusingly at the bailiff again.
‘Only once to answer a call of nature,’ replied the monk blandly.
‘So how in God’s name did he get out?’ fumed the Justice. ‘Can he walk through walls? Or,’ he glared around, ‘has the little turd got accomplices?’ He glowered at the brethren as if expecting one of them to come forward and confess.
When no one answered he grated, ‘I expect your abbot to deal with this in the severest possible manner and if he doesn’t there’s going to be trouble.’
The bailiff inclined his head but to Hildegard, standing quite close by, he looked less contrite than satisfied.
Coppinhall’s attention was taken up with organising the men forced by law to join in the hunt. This included everybody except the monks. The conversi were expected to turn to and they stood about in a milling little mob, looking uncomfortably at their staves. Coppinhall had even had the guests roused out of their lodgings. The arrival of the hounds added to the commotion.
Hildegard hurried over to the kennels to release Duchess and Bermonda, calling to one of the grooms to fetch her a suitable hireling as she did so. Accompanied by her own hounds she returned to the stable just as Sir Ralph was riding out.
‘Are those bitches of yours astute enough to tell the difference between a stag and a man?’ he demanded.
‘I expect so,’ she replied.
‘We’ll soon see!’
He was joined by Lady Sibilla on her silver mare. ‘Sister,’ she called as Ralph kicked his mount forward, ‘a word.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You say you saw Master Escrick alive?’
‘I did, my lady.’
‘Where and when do you think you saw him?’
‘I think I saw him on the quayside at Ravenser and I believe that he travelled on the last ship to leave for Flanders. I very definitely saw him as we left Bruges.’
‘Are you sure it was him?’ she demanded, suspiciously.
‘I am. He jumped up beside me on the wagon in which I was travelling.’
‘And you spoke?’
‘He did. He threatened me.’
‘Why on earth would he threaten you?’
‘I believe he was angered by the fact that I had caused him to be accused of murder, with the unfortunate events that followed.’
Sibilla looked askance and had the grace to blush. ‘And you saw him after that?’
‘Yes, in Florence, and we talked again.’
Without another word Sibilla rode from the yard.
By the time Hildegard joined the hue and cry they were already streaming through the abbey gates. Ulf was roaring orders like a man possessed. She watched in astonishment. He began to discuss Pierrekyn’s likely destination with Coppinhall.
‘He’s as likely to go north towards Hutton as anywhere,’ he was saying. ‘It’s the one place he knows in the county and it’s likely he has friends of similar persuasion up there. Failing that, my guess is he’ll try to take ship at Ravenser or Hull and flee the country again.’
Coppinhall seemed impressed by this analysis and ordered his men to get moving, sending one posse northwards to comb the woodland that stretched as far as Hutton and another across the marshes towards the river ports and the coast.
Melisen, astride the frisky little Danish mare, said worriedly, ‘I hope I don’t find him, Roger. I wouldn’t know what to do. I could never turn him over to these ruffians.’
‘What you’d do is tell me of course,’ Roger replied. ‘But don’t worry, my little martlet, you won’t have to make the decision yourself I’m going to be right beside you.’ They both followed at a sedate pace behind those on foot.
Ulf came over to Hildegard as the hunters began to press under the arch and swarm onto the foregate. ‘What about you, Hildegard? Which way are you going?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ she said, somewhat amazed and confused by his current performance.
He spoke quietly. ‘It’s my honest guess he’ll try to make for York. Brother Mark told me in confidence that he might be wearing a habit that just happened to be lying around next to a helping of wastel and a knife.’
She was shocked. ‘You mean—?’
‘Don’t say it out loud. Walls have ears.’ He glanced round. Only Sir William remained behind. He was fondling the hawk on his wrist and appeared indifferent to the excitement.
Ulf strode over to him. ‘Not joining the hunt, Sir William?’
‘I like a manhunt, nothing better. But my horse is lame. I might follow on foot,’ he added. ‘What about you, steward? Aren’t you going out?’
‘I have to let the abbot know what’s happening, then I’ll follow on.’ With a nod to Hildegard, Ulf strode off across the garth. The monks, without permission to leave, stood around in gossiping groups while the bailiff stationed himself at the door of his now empty prison with his arms folded.
Her hounds close beside her, Hildegard led her hireling onto the foregate. There was no one to see her go. The hunters had fanned out over the countryside and were now mere specks of colour in the distance. The road towards Beverley was almost empty, with only one or two followers checking the canal bank in a half-hearted fashion.
The bailiff had claimed that his call of nature was in the early hours, well after lauds, and it was assumed that Pierrekyn must have made his escape after that. If so, he would be well out of the vicinity by now and there was no glory in wasting time looking in places where he would not be.
‘He’ll not linger round here,’ one of the men declared as she passed. She saw them give up and turn back to join the others.

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