Authors: Cassandra Clark
Maud rewrapped it.
“Wait a moment.” Hildegard asked to have another look. “What’s this?” The pattern on the haft was not some abstraction created by the silversmith. It was a recognisable shape. It was a swan, its wings studded with small diamonds and its feet marked by sapphires. It was the same emblem the knight wore in silver round his neck.
Maud was staring at her as if afraid of what she would say next.
“Do you realise who he is?”
Maud shook her head.
Hildegard’s head was swimming with the knowledge. This proved the identity of the man who had destroyed Maud’s manor, killed its inhabitants and also devastated Deepdale. It would stand as evidence in a court of law.
The reason for his ruthless pursuit fell into place.
It wasn’t the Cross of Constantine that interested him. Nor, even, was it an absconding servant. It was the incriminating evidence of the embossed dagger. It was a direct link to the massacre of the villeins near Pentleby and the devastation of the Cistercian grange at Deepdale.
* * *
More and more people were coming out onto the streets as the hour of vigil approached. Groups of twenty or so were gathering with lighted candles. The air was sweet with the scent of bees wax.
For most of the next hour Hildegard and Maud remained on the bank of the river, far enough from the bridge to pass unnoticed but near enough to observe the eventual arrival of the knight and two more of his retainers. The men stood around, evidently discussing matters, and the one guarding the bridge was shrugging and shaking his head. The three of them fanned out again to trawl the streets in different directions. To Hildegard’s consternation one of them started to advance along the river towards their hiding place.
Warning Maud to keep her wits about her Hildegard led her back along the river path towards a house with a bunch of broom tide to its gable. There they mingled with a crowd of people drinking outside. The ale-wife whose house it was looked red-faced and happy at the profit she was making and Hildegard added a little to it by pressing some silver coins into her hand and asking if her child could sit in a private chamber for a little while as the sun had been too much for her that day.
When they came out later the man had gone but there was another one standing at the bridge.
“That’s Ivo,” said Maud.
“It’s a pity you can’t swim,” said Hildegard trying to lighten the girl’s fear.
“With all those rats and dead dogs,” said Maud. “I wish I could. Better than the rats on that bridge. Oh, sister, what on earth are we going to do? I’ll give myself up. That’s the best. Then you can get away with the knife and I’ll jump into the water and end it all.”
“You do give up easily, Maud. I think it looks as if we’ll be able to get a boat from somewhere now the light’s beginning to fade. That should save you getting your new cloak wet.”
By this time the river bank was in shadow, its only light the intermittent flare of cressets along the line of booths. It made it safe enough to approach one of the watermen who had been ferrying passengers back and forth all afternoon. He agreed to take them to the other side for twopence, which Hildegard thought exorbitant for the distance he would have to row but she accepted without quibble, eager only to make their escape without drawing attention to themselves.
He held the boat steady while Maud climbed in.
About to follow, Hildegard heard a shout from the bank. She found herself being grasped roughly from behind and she was dragged back off the boat onto the shore.
Looking up she noticed Maud’s startled expression and her lips form a frightened cry as she rose to her feet. The boat rocked.
“Go!” she shouted to the ferryman. “Take her across. Go to the steward, Maud, give him the knife! Hurry!”
The ferryman looked undecided until she shouted at him that it was a matter of life and death and to fetch Roger de Hutton’s steward at once. Maud, she noted with relief, sat down in the boat and the ferryman began to ply his oars with strong, quick strokes towards the opposite side.
Hildegard swung round to face her attacker, and expecting to see the knight or one of his henchmen, gave a gasp of astonishment. It was the brutish, bald-headed servant from the convent of the Holy Wounds. The one they called Matthias.
Chapter Thirty
He pushed his face close to her own in a stench of sweat and human ordure that made her gag. Brutally strong, he gave her no opportunity to slip free but dragged her to a stone jetty out of range of the cresset lights a few yards along the bank where nobody but prostitutes and their clients lurked. He pushed her down among the high weeds on the waste land below the flood wall and held her down.
“Whore of Babylon!” He thumped her on the head. She saw stars. “Punishment!” he mumbled. Slow-witted, he looked as if he was working out what to do with her now she was in his power. Pinned beneath his beefy thighs she was unable to move. Distantly she could hear the hymn singing that marked the beginning of the night vigil.
Her captor raised his fist again but before he could smash it into her face she put as much fear into her voice as she could and whimpered, “Please, great sir! Punish me as I deserve. But I beg of you, don’t take me back to the convent whatever you do!”
He paused, his fist in the air. His garments gave off the rancid odour of animal wax.
“Please,” she said again, “don’t let your mother superior punish me herself! I beg of you, kind sir!”
“Holy mother?” His eyes gleamed with the sudden possibilities her words opened up.
“She’ll punish me most horribly, sir, and for sure she’ll reward you for taking me back to the convent as your prisoner, but resist, I beg you, resist!” She gazed imploringly into his piggy little eyes. “She’ll torture me,” she continued. “She’ll whip me! She’ll cut my flesh! She and all the other holy sisters. And Sister Michael,” she added, remembering the large woman who had tried to keep Maud prisoner. “She’ll wreak a vile vengeance on me, most holy sir!”
The brute gripped her by the jaw and stared intently into her face. He seemed to be trying to read something in her expression. His animal gaze held no trace of rational thought. She could hear his breath rasping in and out, wrapping her in a miasma of rotten food that was enough to make her faint in itself.
“Please don’t take me there, good sir, they’ll pain me beyond endurance,” she pleaded again as he seemed to waver.
His eyes had a veiled look, half-mad, and then she observed a shift in the mud of his thoughts that forced a grunt from between his blackened teeth.
“Take you there? To the convent! Yes! Me do that. My lady well pleased with Matthias. Get up, heretic!” He lifted himself off her and began to drag at her clothing to force her to rise.
Shakily, amazed she could still stand, Hildegard stumbled to her feet. There was no opportunity to make a run for it. He maintained his oafish grip on her garments and when she swayed, about to fall, he merely wrapped one arm round her waist and hauled her along beside him, ignoring her feeble attempts to resist. In the confusion of the moment—lights glittering from the river boats, cressets like stars along the bank—she had chance to wonder what would happen when they reached the guard on the bridge.
They approached. The knight’s esquire was looking for a nun, not a drunken baggage being carted home for a beating by her man. They passed over without hindrance.
Praying that Maud had managed to get across to safety and had enough common sense to make straight for Harpham’s house to tell Ulf what had happened Hildegard found herself being dragged in the direction of the convent.
By tricking Matthias into leaving the isolation of the river bank she had hoped that she could escape once back in the mainstream of the crowd, but she had reckoned without his brute strength and the drunken indifference of the revellers. She regretted the absence of her hounds with all her might. Her only hope was the knife in the sheath on her belt. As he dragged her along she began to jerk it free with small, surreptitious tugs on the haft.
They reached the corner that led into the stews. After that the lane was relatively empty as it went on only to the nunnery and the warehouses where the barges were moored. As they reached the lane end she pretended to stumble.
Momentarily free of his grasp she pulled the knife right out of its sheath and got it in a good grip with both hands. Her captor’s small eyes probably caught sight of the blade as she thrust it upwards under his filthy cloak because he lurched to one side with a grunt of surprise. She felt something sticky on the backs of her hands. She had drawn blood. The knife remained stuck for a moment until she managed to twist it free. Matthias stared at her, a spark of red rage flaring in the depths of his eyes.
By then she was off, running, running fast into the network of alleys that formed the stews, running in the knowledge that a mad-man was in hot pursuit.
* * *
She was deep in the labyrinthine alleys of the stews, not knowing which way to turn next. The doors of the houses stood open and spilling out onto the street was a raucous gathering of musicians, prostitutes, customers and hangers-on, people coming and going all the time. Without looking back she flung herself inside the first door she came to.
No one noticed her. Panting, she glanced wildly round for somewhere to conceal herself, reaching for a stoup of ale from one of the foaming jugs that were going the rounds, burying her face in the flagon and quickly finding somewhere to sit. A couple of men flung themselves down on the bench next to her almost at once and tried to fix a price. She deflected their interest for a moment by pointing to a woman who was doing a seductive dance to the music of a couple of nackermen and a gittern player. Dancing for money, she encouraged the men to stuff coins into the partly unlaced opening of her bodice and had plenty of customers.
One of the men, who only moments before had competed with his companion over Hildegard, took a fancy to the dancer, especially when she bestowed a flirtatious smile on him. He got up and she moved off out of his reach but kept looking back to encourage his interest and when the music changed he danced a few drunken steps in an attempt to copy her.
Just then a woman accompanied by two armed men arrived and was conducted through the crowd to a room at the back. She was welcomed with some deference by the door man. Hildegard’s glance followed her in astonishment. It was Mistress Julitta, Baldwin’s wife.
The entrance to a private chamber was briefly obscured when one of the pimps stepped up to the dancing drunk as he got too close to the girl, and he was hauled back into a corner with some commotion. By that time the door had closed and Julitta had disappeared inside.
It was then that Matthias pushed his way into the building.
His shaven head gleamed under the light of the cressets as he searched the faces of the crowd. Evidently he was well known and one of the women went over and put her garland round his neck. It was too noisy to hear what was said, but he pulled back his cloak and pointed to the blood on his chest and then lurched farther onto the dance floor. There were cries as people noticed the blood. He ignored them, and with a wild expression searched the faces of the onlookers for Hildegard. He had obviously seen her flee into the house and now lurched round the crowded chamber, peering into people’s faces, exciting a lot of attention and some hostility.
“Get out of it, you drunken sot!” Somebody gave him a push and Matthias turned on his attacker with a snarl.
Hildegard whispered to the man next to her, “Would you like to go outside, lover?”
“Would I! Come on, sweet!” With a laugh he pulled her into his arms and leaning heavily against her staggered towards the exit.
Matthias was approaching the dancer now, distracted by her naked breasts as she emptied the coins out of her bodice into a pouch held out by her pimp, and with an inane grin he took a step towards her with his hands outstretched. The blood on the front of his tunic made her recoil. The crowd jostled round to have a closer look.
Hildegard didn’t linger to see what would happen next. As soon as they got outside she broke away.
“Hey!” the man called, stumbling after her, “I thought you said—”
She was already halfway up the street when her potential customer gave up. She heard him shout after her, “Come back if you change your mind!” When she risked a glance over her shoulder he was standing under the light over the door scratching his head and gazing up the street after her. Then, with a mystified shrug he went back inside.
Confident that Matthias had not noticed her exit she didn’t look back again. The strident sounds of the stews gradually faded as she ran on up the hill to the more respectable part of town.
* * *
Once more she found herself outside the French priory near the church of the Holy Trinity. A last group of travellers were arriving at the postern at Micklegate Bar before it was closed for the night. One of them stood out from the rest. It was a pilgrim in a broad-brimmed hat, white robes and a stave in one hand. He paused at the top of the street to drink in the sight of the city glittering lower down as if it had been some time since he had last set eyes on it.
Harpham’s house was on the opposite side of the street and she was about to cross over when Ulf and a dozen men-at-arms carrying flares came clattering out from the inner yard. She fled towards him and saw him check himself in mid-stride. Then he came towards her.
“Hildegard!” he exclaimed, grasping hold of her as she fell into his arms. He held her tight as if unable to believe his eyes.
The security of his rough mail-shirt pressing hard against her made her feel like fainting with relief. Safe at last. With his strong arms wrapped round her in an embrace she rested her head against his broad chest with a sob of relief.
He held her until she was steady, murmuring, “Hildegard, Hildegard, my dear Hildegard, am I glad to see you!”
He stroked her head, murmuring endearments then he started to tell her what had brought him and his men pouring out of their quarters just now. “Little Maud came running in, shrieking her head off, saying you’d both been pursued by a knight and two henchmen and then you’d been kidnapped by a servant from the Holy Wounds. And now look at you!” He gently fingered the side of her jaw where it was beginning to swell. “What did that animal do to you?”