Authors: Cassandra Clark
With Agnetha and Tabitha treating her like an invalid, Hildegard finished her portion as soon as she could then made an excuse to go upstairs. She wasn’t used to having anyone try to look after her.
As soon as she gained the privacy of her room she startled herself by bursting into tears. She sobbed in silence, both arms gripped round her chest to stifle the sound.
Outside she could hear Danby howling again. It brought her quickly to her senses. Death might have laid a brutal hand over those honest men with their small demand for justice, but there was nothing to be gained by giving in to grief.
She removed her stained clothing, sponged herself down with a little water from the pitcher then changed into fresh garments. When she went downstairs again she was as composed as ever.
* * *
The chandler, Master Stapylton, was in the yard when she returned. She went out to greet him, followed by Agnetha. Gilbert was standing in the doorway of the workshop. Danby must have gone inside because Gilbert called, “Stapylton’s here, master.”
Danby’s voice came from within. “Tell him I’m not in the mood for visitors.”
But Stapylton was already pushing his way inside. The two women followed.
When they entered Stapylton was bending over Danby saying, “Come on, mate, brace up. Let’s get you straightened out.”
Danby was sitting next to the cold kiln in Dorelia’s chair and allowed Stapylton to set his garments straight and even fasten the ties of his shirt, but after a moment he pushed him away. “Leave that. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now. The White Hart lads have taken a beating. That’s your concern. Not me and my stupid faith in women.”
“Now you can’t blame all women for the actions of one.”
“Nor all men for the actions of some,” added Hildegard. She addressed Stapylton, telling him briefly what had happened, and concluding, “So you knew about their encampment as well, master?”
“We all knew they were out there somewhere. Though nobody knew exactly where. They kept it a secret for fear of losing their heads. It was a bad law that put them outside the walls. We couldn’t change it but we could soften its blows. They speak for us.”
“Aye,” broke in Danby, “we owe them a debt.”
“But while we talk free speech, safe in our houses, they live it out in the wilderness. Lived,” Stapylton corrected. His eyes filled. “I can’t believe it. Were many slaughtered?”
When Hildegard told him her estimate he shook his head. “It’s all a confusion. I don’t know what to make of it.” A look of alarm crossed his face. “I could lose everything talking like this if Gisburne gets back in power. I assume I’m among friends?”
He glanced nervously about the workshop.
Hildegard nodded, and could not be doubted now. Agnetha stood beside her. Gilbert continued to work quietly at the bench without lifting his head.
Danby gave a snuffle and searched for a rag. He wiped his face. “You’re with friends, Will, you know that.”
“I know nothing. I thought I was with friends t’ other day when my workshop nearly went up in flames.” His eyes fixed on the back of Gilbert’s head.
Danby heaved himself to his feet. “Show our guests some hospitality, Gilbert. There’s still a dreg of Rhenish left I hope.” He pushed them all outside. “I want to be alone.”
* * *
Gilbert brought another bench out after he distributed the wine and sat down on it to take a break. His silvery gaze flickered over them all but he was as silent as ever. Agnetha looked at Stapylton. “Your fire must have caused enough damage, master, but it could have been worse. My cousin told me about it.”
“Who’s that then?” His glance sharpened.
“Jack Enderby.”
With a look of relief he gave a nod. “He’s a good lad, Jack.” He cocked his head. “You’re not that cousin of his who faced out the Abbot at Meaux over heriot tax are you?”
“That’s me.”
“By! You’re a one all right! That was sticking your neck out!”
“It was really Sister Hildegard who persuaded the Abbot to give in,” Agnetha said.
“He agreed straightaway,” Hildegard said quickly. “He has a genuine sense of justice.” She felt a blush coming and turned hurriedly to Stapylton. “Have you found out how the fire started?”
“It wasn’t Holy Fire, that’s for sure. There was a dish of wax left over a flame. None of my lads would do a thing like that. It’s about the first thing I teach ’em when they start their apprenticeship. Everybody knows melted wax’ll catch fire if it overheats. No warning. Just puff! Up in flames. It’s that what must have caught some rags left hanging above. And that’s another thing. Who put them there?” He scowled. “It was deliberate.”
“So the stage was set, as it were?”
He nodded.
“And if it was as you describe, the fire would have started after the fire-raiser left?”
“He could have been long gone,” he agreed.
“But who would know how to do a thing like that?”
“Anybody can set a fire,” Stapylton scoffed. “It doesn’t take brains, only a nasty turn of mind. There’d been folk in and out all morning but definitely nobody there when I went out mid-morning. Nobody could have got in after I left unless it was a magician able to walk through walls. I locked my door that day,” he explained, “because of all the stock I had in there.”
“So who’d been in and out the rest of the time?” asked Agnetha, getting straight to the point.
“Everybody. It’d be easier to say who hadn’t been in.” He suddenly jerked his head up and looked full at Gilbert. When the journeyman returned his stare he dropped his glance and muttered, “Customers. Anybody buying candles for their altars.”
“I called that morning,” Gilbert announced in his soft, foreign burr, as if to preempt something.
They all turned to stare.
Stapylton’s voice had a strange absence of warmth. “He comes along with his master but stays below because of his—” He gestured towards Gilbert’s twisted limb. “I remember you were down there by yourself for some time,” he challenged.
“I was.” Gilbert stared at him as if daring him to put his suspicion into words.
“And then there was the puppet booth fire,” Hildegard remarked, to deflate the tension between the two men. Her glance shifted from one to the other. She would get to the bottom of this. It was no good accusing Gilbert in public and even Stapylton seemed to realise the folly of that. It would be denied … unless there was proof. And anyway, what possible reason could the journeyman have for trying to fire the chandler’s premises? Stapylton was being ridiculous.
He was staring into his flagon with a bitter expression.
“People were thick around all the booths that day,” Hildegard continued. “The whole town was jam-packed. There was that crowd round the preacher. Stonegate was simply swarming with folk.”
The booth that was set on fire was close to the glazier’s church too. The masters and their apprentices were in and out all day, praying to their saint, Helen. Glancing at Gilbert she decided not to mention this fact. Indeed, it might not be the same person who set both fires. “As an attempt to spoil the pageant,” she said, “it hasn’t worked.”
“How could it?” Stapylton looked up. He was scathing. “People aren’t so lily-livered they’ll stop doing what they want because of a little frightener.”
“Anybody with half a brain would guess that,” said Agnetha. “There must be something else behind it.”
“Such as?” Stapylton narrowed his eyes.
“I’ve no idea.”
Baldwin and his wife came into the yard from out of the street.
Mistress Julitta was wearing an expensive-looking silk over-mantle with an embroidered border in multicoloured thread with the ubiquitous beads and bangles jangling on her wrists and on her bosom.
She swept straight through into the workshop, ignoring everybody and saying brusquely, “Where is he?” Then they heard her say, “Sort yourself out, Edric. You know she was no good. You’re well rid of her.” There was a muffled reply and Julitta reappeared, saying over her shoulder, “You try my patience, you really do.”
A glance passed between her and her husband. Baldwin turned away. His wife had brought two beakers out with her and now helped herself to wine from the jug. She handed Baldwin his and went to sit a little distance away as if unwilling to mix with the rest of them.
Stapylton had fallen silent and after a few moments he too went inside. Hildegard saw him put a hand on Danby’s shoulder and bend his head. Through the open window she heard him say, “Listen, old son, will you pull yourself together and come over to see me in the morning?”
When Danby looked up Stapylton turned, aware that his words were audible through the open casement. “Just something about that stock I told you about. Yes?”
Danby barely gave him a glance. “I’m not ready for visiting folk.”
Stapylton clapped him on the back. “Think about it.”
He came outside and raised his hand before heading for the alley.
Gilbert got up and limped beside him. He said, “I’ll bring him over.”
Stapylton nodded without meeting his eye and went out.
If Baldwin had noticed the frost in the air he pretended not to and was already pouring his brother another mug of wine. He took it inside. They heard him say, “Get that down you, you sot wit. They’re never worth it. Any jack’ll tell you that.” He came outside again but made no further comment.
Danby appeared a moment later with the beaker in his hand. His tone was bitter. “I rue the day you brought her here, Baldwin, and that’s the truth.” He threw the drink back in one gulp then held his beaker out again. Baldwin refilled it without speaking.
Gilbert’s glance washed over everyone and came to rest on his master and then on the drink in his hand.
Without a word he went inside, appearing a moment later in the back workshop where the trestle with the half-finished vidimus was waiting. Hildegard saw him pull back his bright hair in its leather tie as he resumed his work.
Chapter Twenty-two
When Brother Thomas turned up after mass he was contrite as well as relieved to find Hildegard unharmed.
“I didn’t know what to do, whether to trust the brotherhood to keep their word to do you no harm while we fetched help, or lay about me with my knife. The only comfort was Danby. He seemed to have confidence in them. And, indeed, here you are, safe and sound.” Despite his words he looked shame-faced.
“There was nothing you could have done, Thomas. If you’d resisted, for sure you’d have finished up with a sword through your ribs and that wouldn’t have done any of us any good.”
She led him into the privacy of the kitchen and told him what had transpired after he left. As she came to the scene of slaughter that ended things she had to keep a tight hold on her feelings.
When she finished she managed a bemused glance. “I’m wondering how the White Hart men found out about the cross. I remember you told me that one of the archbishop’s retainers had been talking about it at Meaux—”
“It was a rumour that was set going during one of Neville’s visitations. I’ve no idea who started it.”
Her thoughts flew to Bishopthorpe and the mage’s mention of the old king’s minstrel, Pierrekyn Gyles. Ever since she had heard his name she had felt uneasy. “What if,” she said now, “having heard the rumour that the cross existed, Master Gyles passed on this information to Bolingbroke? We know he’s maintained by Gaunt, making it likely he’ll want to keep in the good books of his master’s son.”
“Go on,” said Thomas.
“Gyles would know how useful the Cross of Constantine could be in furthering Gaunt’s ambitions for the House of Lancaster—”
“But we know now it wasn’t Bolingbroke who stole it from us.”
“Do we?”
“I thought we did. It was the White Hart fellows.”
“But what if someone tipped them off?”
He stared at her.
“What if,” she went on, “it was Bolingbroke who made sure they were informed—and they did exactly what he expected them to do?”
“You mean he tricked them into stealing it?”
“More than that. He could have set up an ambush when they came to trade it on. Maybe the rebels who turned up later at the camp were really working for Bolingbroke? Then he would have ordered one of his followers to retrieve the cross in the confusion of the fight.”
“And the theft would not be traced back to him…” Thomas looked thoughtful but then he frowned. “So why didn’t his man do that?”
She shook her head. “Maybe the battle was fiercer than anticipated. Those fishermen with their gutting knives were deadly and may have been unexpected contenders. Maybe Bolingbroke’s man was himself killed?”
Thomas pondered the matter. “I grant you, it makes sense to see the whole thing as a set-up. A plot to destroy a cell of outlaws … and a chance to snatch a valuable relic at the same time.”
“If Bolingbroke was informed of the existence of the cross some time ago,” Hildegard continued thoughtfully, “it might have been long enough to have devised a second plan should his first, more direct approach—to buy it from us—fail.”
“There is a flaw.” Thomas sighed. “Remember what the mage told you? He was emphatic that nobody at the palace knew anything about a theft.”
“Why should they?”
“Surely there would have been a whisper. You know what servants are like.”
“We only have the mage’s view—for what it’s worth.” She recalled her first impression: his lips made for deceit and his cat’s eyes that gave nothing away except extreme amusement at the folly and hypocrisy of mankind. A shiver ran up her spine. It was he himself who had advised her to trust no one.
Thomas noticed her shiver and moved closer. “What is it?”
“If Bolingbroke is involved, where does he imagine the cross is now?”
Thomas failed to follow this idea through to its conclusion and thus missed what really troubled her. He grimaced nevertheless. “They’ll be running round like headless chickens trying to find it.”
* * *
After he left she wrote a brief, factual account to the prioress, without mentioning the specific subject of her missive. If it should fall into anybody’s hands other than the prioress it would appear to concern a consignment of provisions for the priory kitchens.