Authors: Cassandra Clark
She crossed the river by Ouse Bridge where St. William was reputed to have saved the lives of the people who fell in when the bridge collapsed as they swarmed to greet him. A story, she judged, with no truth in it, but it was a kind one. At least St. William had been strong enough to keep his vows.
As she climbed the steep rise of Micklegate towards the church of the Holy Trinity at the French priory she had the idea of trying to walk off the turmoil of longing and confusion, but she noticed one of the convent servants, the one they called Matthias, unmistakable with that shaven-head, trailing along behind her.
He was an overweight, somewhat odd-looking fellow.
She did not know what had made her turn her head to look back, but as soon as he noticed that she had seen him he sloped off onto a side street. As unfriendly as the rest of them, she thought. The Benedictine nun who had suggested the convent had warned her that the Sisters of the Sacred Wounds disliked outsiders. Of course, it was nonsense to imagine he had been following her.
* * *
When she reached the priory at the top of Micklegate hill a team of labourers were building a scaffolding across the length of the facade of their church of the Holy Trinity. Surmising that it must be intended as the first station for the pageant, she started to cross over to have a look. A sturdy construction, with a wide platform where benches were being installed, it seemed elaborate enough for someone of importance.
The crowds were denser than ever just here. Micklegate Bar was one of the major gateways and there was a constant stream of people entering the city through the Bar as well as folk going about their everyday business within the walls. Combined with the constant teams of pack animals taking produce to the outlying neighbourhoods, it was difficult to find a way forward.
A group of burgesses were strolling over from one of the merchant’s houses on the other side of the street. Yet as she threaded her way through the crowds she noticed that this expensively attired group was having no difficulty at all. As soon as they approached people stepped out of their way, doffed their caps and made deferential little bows, while a servant with a mace sauntered in front wearing a smug smile as he effortlessly carved a path for his masters.
To her astonishment Hildegard recognised Ulf in the middle of this group.
As far as she could make out he was carrying out an inspection of the stand. Then she remembered what he had told her at Danby’s workshop.
Dear Ulf, she thought now, her heart softening. She had known him almost all her life. They had played as children in the bailey at Castle Hutton, gone tadpoling in spring, built snowmen in winter and searched for beechnuts among the autumn leaves. It was Ulf who had taught her how to use a bow and arrow and wield a knife in self-defence.
Now it was apparent he had become a major figure in Lord Roger de Hutton’s household. She watched him make some comment to a mild-looking fellow wearing a chain of office.
Seeing that he was busy she would have turned away then but for the fact that a couple of constables were beginning to round up a little gang of beggar children close by.
The constables had the intention of putting the gang outside the gates, but the children apparently had other ideas and refused to go.
A hollow-cheeked man with a flea-bitten hood looked on without emotion. He might have been their master, keeping out of things, or he might have merely been an onlooker like herself.
Meanwhile the protesting children were beaten roughly towards the Bar. There was nothing Hildegard could do but call out to the constables to treat them more kindly.
Ulf heard this exchange and it sent him over to add his protests to her own, but his presence made little difference. The children were forcibly herded through the postern and thrown outside the city walls.
“We’re well shut of them,” said a passerby. “We don’t pay our taxes for nothing, bloody little scavengers.”
Hildegard was about to give the stranger a homily on charity when Ulf caught sight of her and came over.
“Hildegard! I didn’t realise it was you!”
“Sir Ulf,” she responded with a rueful glance after the children. “Your support was welcome but it seems there’s little to be done with so many people swarming into town.”
“It’s a new city ordinance. The constables are only doing their job, albeit with more vigour than necessary.” The steward’s expression was worried as he bent his head close to her own. “I’ve been thinking about you, Hildegard. Have there been any developments?”
She told him that the serjeant-at-arms had had nothing new to tell her when she last saw him. “I noticed you inspecting the scaffolding just now. Who’s it being built for?”
“Roger and his guests.” He introduced the man beside him as the mayor and addressing him said, “My lord arrives later this morning. Can you ensure the carpenters make those adjustments?”
“No problem, sir. Lord de Hutton will find nothing on which to censure them.” Bowing he moved off with his men. Ulf turned back to Hildegard. “That’s Mayor Simon de Quixlay with a some of his aldermen. Roger’s going to station himself at the number one spot all day so it had better be right in every blessed detail or my head’s at risk.” His eyes flashed with humour but he immediately became serious again. “So is there nothing new to tell me?”
“Aren’t events at Deepdale enough of a novelty to see you through the week?” She grimaced.
His blue eyes clouded. “Roger’s already sent men over to find this manor near Pentleby and another posse have gone to Deepdale to see what we can save. You still don’t remember seeing any badges or livery?”
She shook her head. “They made sure they weren’t wearing any.”
“Roger went crazy when I told him. He sees it as a personal insult. If the fools had known it was his property they’d have kept well away.”
“They were determined to find Maud. I don’t think even Roger could have put them off.”
Ulf looked puzzled. “Is she betrothed to one of them, or what? It doesn’t make sense. All that trouble for a runaway serf.”
“Betrothal was the last thing on their minds.”
Ulf shook his head. “Has she said anything else?”
“Only what I told you.” She had confided that the men had raped the women and the other young girls like Maud. “The poor child is still rigid with shock. The last thing to do is to rush her. She needs time to recover. Only then will she be able to unburden herself and tell us the full story.”
“You believe there’s more?”
Hildegard bit her lip. “I pray not, but she’ll need to talk when the time’s right.”
“So what’s your plan now—are you going back to Swyne?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got instructions to stay here.”
Surprised, he exclaimed, “You’ve already heard from her?” He meant the prioress as Hildegard understood at once.
She nodded. “Her instructions arrived just before compline yesterday.”
“She doesn’t let the grass grow, does she? Did she tell you when she wants you to escort the girls back?”
“She doesn’t want them back just yet. If at all. Petronilla’s guardian may arrive and insist on taking her home with him. It’s his right. And given what happened at Deepdale those murderers would presumably think nothing of trying to snatch Maud from the priory. She’s safer here. They wouldn’t stop at slitting everybody’s throats either, given the chance. We had a lucky escape, thanks to Dunstan’s quick wits. The prioress is right if she thinks they’re both safer in the town than at Swyne.”
Whether Ulf suspected there was another reason keeping her here or not, he did not pursue the topic but instead told her about Roger and Melisen’s plans. Apparently they had already arrived at the manor in Naburn farther downriver, where they intended to lodge throughout the festivities.
“We have the matter of the chantry window to discuss with Danby as well as the pageant to endure.” He pulled a face. “I’d prefer a joust myself but we can’t choose what we do in Corpus Christi week, can we? A crowd of guests have been invited and Roger’s keen to put in an appearance at the pageant. He’s heard that someone of great eminence may be present.”
“You don’t mean King Richard?”
“That’s one of the rumours, but we’ve heard nothing to confirm it—to my mind that discounts the presence of our young king.” He raised his eyebrows.
She understood at once. “Heavens! A stand-in? Let’s hope you’re wrong and
he
doesn’t put in an appearance. Master Stapylton hinted as much. I’ve got the impression the town won’t tolerate it. On the anniversary of Tyler’s murder? He’d be mad to show his face.”
“And we all know Gaunt isn’t mad, except with ambition.” He gave a grim smile. “So what makes you say the town won’t put up with it?”
“A little fire that flared up.”
“I heard about that. Was it arson? That’s the rumour. It’s being blamed on the White Hart lads. If you hear anything find the—”
“I’ll tell you. You know I will.”
Changing the subject he mentioned that Lady Melisen would be delighted to have her opinion of the designs for the glass if Hildegard could spare time to come by Danby’s workshop after midday. Then he mentioned again that Roger was in a rage at what had happened at Deepdale, gave a swift bow and was called away to deal with further matters concerning the erection of the scaffolding.
* * *
So the Duke of Lancaster was expected. That would not go down well. Agnetha’s warning took on an added force. If the man had an iota of diplomacy he would keep well away. And so would his son, Henry of Derby, the one they called Bolingbroke. The presence of anyone from the House of Lancaster could act as a touch-paper to a, literally, flammable situation.
In the meantime all Hildegard could do was wait for a reply to the note she had sent Brother Thomas at Meaux and for the arrival of the messengers with their unwanted burden from Swyne. Calculations told her that the latter, travelling more slowly than the messenger bringing the prioress’s original missive, would be unlikely to arrive before evening. Thomas, if he was able to escort her as he had suggested, and coming a shorter distance, might even precede them.
* * *
The child running errands for the sisters of the Holy Wounds to whom she had entrusted her note to Thomas was lurking outside the entrance when she returned. He jumped forward as if he had been waiting for some time and stood with his bare feet pressed firmly together, his back as straight as a stick, and told her, lispingly, through a gap in his front teeth, that he had delivered her message to the couriers as she had directed. “My gracious lady,” he added for good measure.
He had been lucky enough to catch a courier just before he left for Beverley, he told her with pride. From there it was no more than four or five miles farther on to the abbey. She was pleased with him and told him so. It meant her message could already have reached Meaux. She gave the little lad the extra she had promised for his pains and as he scampered away she decided to have a word with one of the cloistered sisters about his bare feet.
With Agnetha’s warning of trouble on her mind she went up to the sleeping chamber where she had left her few belongings. There was no sign of the girls. They must be helping the nuns in return for our keep, she decided.
All their belongings smelled of smoke. She bundled a few garments under one arm and went down into the inner yard. No one had bothered her by so much as an unfriendly glance since she arrived in York, except here in the convent, but that was not to say that there was nothing simmering under the surface. If she was going to be picked out as a Cistercian at least her garments would be clean. She went over to the spring.
Mumbled prayers and a snatch of singing came through the open door of the chapel to prove the place hadn’t been abandoned. A strong smell of incense wafted outside. A dry tree stuck out its sparsely leafed spikes in one corner. The sun’s heat was intense.
She dipped the few garments into the cold water, first a voluminous white linen over-gown, then the cotton shift that went under it and finally a gorget. The light fabric ballooned up until the water soaked into it and dragged it underneath where it swirled in diaphanous clouds of white linen. It wouldn’t take long for them to dry in this heat, she was thinking, as she gave each garment a good scrubbing, squeezed them out then pegged them on the line slung across the yard.
The nuns did not want for water as their convent was built over a spring. It spouted pleasingly from the mouth of a wyvern into a deep, stone trough.
She went back to sink her arms in the water after she’d finished hanging everything out. It swept, cool and clean, up to her elbows before she reluctantly withdrew them. Not bothering to dry them she pulled down her sleeves so they were covered, went to the door of the chapel, noticed the girls standing side by side near the front and decided on a sudden to accept Ulf’s invitation to meet at the glazier’s workshop.
It was a year since she had seen Roger and Melisen de Hutton.
Chapter Ten
Hildegard had already guessed that the network of yards and snickets that lay behind the row of cottages on the river bank just a short walk from the convent was where the stews were located. Now, stepping out from the porch into the sunlight, she saw a Dominican friar sidling out of a gap between two houses up ahead.
When he noticed her his expression changed to one that might have been mistaken for holiness. “Ah, greetings my dear sister, bless you, to be sure.” He spoke in such a fawning manner she thought for a moment he was actually going to ask her for alms. But it transpired that he merely wanted to lend a semblance of respectability to himself in case anybody had noticed him lurking in the vicinity of the brothels. Now he began to stroll along beside her as if she might be thought to condone his lechery.
While the bands of child beggars were swept outside the walls by civic ordinance, like so much garbage, the mendicant Orders had a license to beg and were welcomed in, indeed, made especially welcome not just by the brothel-keepers but, as many knew, by the bored wives of wealthy merchants.