Authors: Cassandra Clark
Thomas looked relieved to see them both. He stepped from the passage with a whispered, “There you are! I’d no sooner got to Meaux than they sent me back here again. I don’t know where I am. Something’s up, isn’t it?” He scanned Hildegard’s expression. “What’s going on, sister?”
She told him about events at the mill. He looked shocked.
“It’s difficult to take in. Such cruelty.” Averting his face, he walked off a few paces and then, having recovered himself, turned back.
“I saw them return to the house.” He frowned. “Dorelia seemed in a bad way. She was lying on a litter. I wondered what was wrong. But it wasn’t because of that I was told to come back.”
“No?” She glanced swiftly at Gilbert. He was listening with interest.
Thomas intercepted her glance. He bit his lip. “It’s just something to do with Brother Alcuin,” he said weakly with another glance at Gilbert. “He came flying out of his chambers saying, ‘I’ve got instructions from the prioress at Swyne that you’re to go back to York at once to attend Sister Hildegard.’ Then he muttered something about women and stormed off. I think the job of trying to fill Abbot de Courcy’s shoes is getting too much for him. So here I am.” He didn’t meet her eye. “For what use I am,” he added in a mutter.
“Thomas,” she took him by the elbow, “you are some use and most welcome. It wasn’t your fault things went wrong at the rebel’s camp.” Gilbert was still listening. “Are you staying at the friary again?”
He grimaced. “Back with the Franciscans, being enticed into endless dicing, yes.”
“I hope you win. We can’t have a bunch of mendicants running rings round us, can we?”
Her remark brought a tentative smile to his face. “I do win often,” he admitted. “My belief must be stronger than theirs.”
Gilbert went into the house.
When she was sure he was out of earshot Hildegard said, “There is something, Thomas. It’s probably the reason they sent you back to me. I had the most extraordinary letter from Swyne. The prioress wants me to act as a decoy for the men behind the theft of the cross.”
“Decoy?”
She nodded.
“But I don’t understand. It was the White Hart rebels who stole it. Does she expect them to enter the city to re-steal it?”
“They stole it … but who gave them the information?”
“It was a set-up as we surmised?”
“We’ll have to wait and see, but that’s the drift of her thoughts on the matter.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Thus the trail will lead back to the originator of the theft?” He gave a faint smile. “And I’ve been sent … to protect you from him?” He gave a rueful smile. “Let’s hope I can make a better showing next time. But what are we going to do?”
* * *
Hildegard was still awake when, a couple of hours later, there was the sound of armed men stealthily entering the yard. With a groan she dragged herself to the window.
By the light of several flickering cressets she was surprised to see Ulf, accompanied by a dozen men, leading Baldwin of all people towards his house at the far end. At least the man was a prisoner and in chains. It was the sound of their rattling on the flagstones that was making the noise.
She watched as he was hustled inside his own cottage by an armed posse. The door slammed shut.
As he left Ulf glanced up at her window. She leaned out. “That was never Baldwin?” she called down, still not quite believing her eyes.
“It was. The jail’s overflowing. He’s under house arrest. He won’t get far with those irons on his arms and legs and my men in charge. He’ll stay here until after the feast when they’ll empty the jails again and put him where he belongs.”
“Is Mistress Julitta in there?”
Ulf raised his eyebrows. “Is she! I’ll say! Baldwin seems to fear her more than the prospect of hanging.” He gave a salute. “I’ll see you tomorrow at Harpham’s?”
* * *
Hildegard was still yawning when Brother Thomas returned next morning as they had arranged. She offered him a drink. “I did finally get off to sleep but it feels like only five minutes ago,” she explained, yawning again.
“What’s your plan?”
They hadn’t got far the previous night. “Any ideas yourself?”
“Apart from walking you around the town with the cross on display to lure them out into the open, none.”
“Let’s go outside. It’s another stifling day. What time is it?”
“Near on tierce.”
“And it’s hot already. It’s going to be hellish later on. Are the streets busy?”
“Thronged with early risers. People still drinking from the night before or sleeping in gutters. The peddlers and entertainers out in force.”
“The drunks are probably what Roger’s mason Master Schockwynde refers to as ‘the Saxon element.’” She smiled. “But he always adds, ‘What would we do without them?’ Of course, I’m partly Saxon myself, so I try to defend them. They do drink a lot, don’t they?”
“I thought you were Norse?”
“That as well.”
“That must be where you get your hair colour.”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t managed to keep it covered. Does it offend you?”
“Not at all. It’s most striking. Especially with that coloured headscarf. It’s the colour of sunlight.”
They went outside to sit on Tabitha’s bench. The widow was over at Danby’s. The murmur and fall of voices came from an upper chamber.
Hildegard stretched out her legs and gave a long sigh. Then something caught her eye and she jerked upright. “What’s on earth’s that?”
Thomas followed her glance. “It’s a hat,” he said.
“Yes, but…” She got up and went over to the well. On the parapet was a straw hat. She picked it up. After staring at it she said slowly, “This is the hat I lost when that go-between whipped my pony so unexpectedly as we set off for the camp.”
“Is it?”
“Did you find it?” She came back with it and sat down, turning it between her fingers. It was more battered than when she had last worn it.
“Not me,” said Thomas. “But I saw it fall. Then some servant dashed forward and picked it up. He handed it to his master. I didn’t think it worth getting into an argument over. My only thought at that moment was to get back here, tell Danby what had happened and find out if he knew where they were taking you.”
She picked at the straw with a thoughtful expression. “What livery did the finder wear?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“And his master?”
“Some visiting knight by the look of him. Astride a rather fine-looking horse.”
“And I suppose you wouldn’t have noticed whether they followed you back here or not?”
He paled.
Hildegard dropped the hat onto the ground. “They’ve found me.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“What I don’t understand,” said Thomas after he had got over a spell of calling himself all the names Hildegard had assumed he had never heard before, “is who they are. Clearly they’re not rebels, coming and going through the town gates. And why follow me rather than you and the rebel fellow on the pony?” He frowned. “Why leave the hat here as a sign? Is it a warning? And, what’s more, if they’re really after the cross, where do they imagine it is?” He gave her a sharp glance. “It is safe, I assume?”
She nodded. “Utterly.”
“They’ve got some cheek entering the yard,” muttered Thomas. “The whole thing’s sneaky.”
Not only that, she thought with a shiver, they had entered the yard that very morning while she slept and nobody seemed to have noticed. For sure Danby would have been up-in-arms if he had caught sight of more strangers violating his private sanctum. His noise would have woken her up at once. She rose to her feet. “Let’s go and show ourselves in the town and lure them farther into the open.”
Duchess and Bermonda were ever ready. Hildegard poked her head into Danby’s kitchen and told Kit she was taking the hounds out herself and for him to stay where she knew she could find him. He looked disappointed at not being invited to accompany her but accepted the decision with goodwill. After a word with Danby about Dorelia they left him and Tabitha to their ministrations.
When they reached the end of the passage leading onto Stonegate they were met by a wall of pedestrians shuffling along towards the market square. Nobody would see them in all this mass of people. It was probably a ridiculous plan.
“I thought that knight having the argument with Master Danby was Norman,” Hildegard began, thoughtfully. “He was arrogant enough underneath his smiling manners. It’s a pity you didn’t see him. You might have recognised him. I wonder if he’s involved in some way? But if so, who is he?”
“What was he like?” asked Thomas.
“Smooth-talking, long dark hair, a thin moustache scarcely visible, a broken front tooth.”
“The fellow I saw wore a casque. I didn’t notice his face.”
Still thinking about the knight who had been somewhat discomfited by Danby’s angelic guard, she said, “At the time I thought he didn’t look like your usual sneak-thief. Too well set-up. There was something else about him as well.… I can’t put my finger on it. I suggest,” she continued, “that we walk up towards Micklegate and present ourselves to Roger and Melisen. If there’s a fellow magnate of any note in town they’re bound to know who he is.”
* * *
As well as a miscellany of jugglers, fire-eaters, minstrels, fortune-tellers, acrobats, a man with a marmoset who expected payment for a peep at the creature hidden inside his sack, there were preachers of all persuasions selling their beliefs, or sometimes offering them for free. With the crowd so tight around them there was no choice but to move at the same snail’s pace. It gave them an opportunity to hear a good part of what was being declaimed. Two preachers in particular had set up within speaking distance of each other and their opposing views drew the crowd into rivalry.
Hildegard recognised the one in the russet gown. She had heard him a few days earlier, before she had met his similar, Will Thorpe. He was saying much the same thing about the Eucharist as before. It was topical on this day of all days and the crowd was standing six deep around him.
“How is it that the body of Christ can reside in a piece of bread?” he was asking. “Does that make sense to you? But this is what we’re told when the priest lifts the host and mumbles his pig-latin. I’ve even heard people admonish others for throwing away a scrap of wastel on the grounds that they are throwing away Christ’s body! What nonsense is this? Do they believe Christ can be discarded? If so, where does he go? Similarly, if a mouse eats a crumb of consecrated wafer is the mouse then, having partaken of Christ’s flesh, as holy as Christ himself? Should we worship mice? This is a view to which we have not yet been coerced by our holy father sitting on his golden throne in Rome! But friends, give him time!”
There was laughter.
“Surely, dear brothers and sisters,” he continued, “if Christ is in all things the host is no different from any other piece of bread. We can throw it away willy-nilly—”
There were murmurs of agreement from those who had not grasped his argument. He looked askance before giving an engaging smile. He held up a hand. “Good friends, those who understand, we do not have to believe in magic as the authorities insist. Instead we can live out our days in truth and simplicity, trusting in the evidence of our own common sense, safe in the knowledge that Christ is an idea, a symbol of all that is true and good and most optimistic in human nature, and on those grounds only, worthy of our interest. Truth, goodness, now, in this moment … the bread only a symbol to remind us of true brotherhood, and the wine likewise. And who needs a priest to tell us that? Dear friends, this is all we need to know, the beginning and the end, amen.”
Before he could continue, from across the street came the Dominican view. In thundering tones one of the mendicant friars was exhorting the crowd not to listen to the heretic opposite for fear of hell fire.
“Come the Day of Judgement, which we shall shortly see enacted by the pageant players, every one of us will stand naked before God. Our faults will be weighed in the balance and those found wanting will be cast into the eternal flames of damnation to burn in the most excruciating agony throughout the rest of time. Repent, repent, oh sinners! The Last Days are upon us! The Antichrist stalks the earth. The Apocalypse is nigh!”
At the sound of objections he leaned forward and demanded, “Why the Black Death? Why the floods last year? Why the earthquake at Wycliffe’s trial? Why this infernal heat like the fires of hell itself? Think on it, sinners, heed the signs and heed the portents!”
“And so forth,” said Hildegard turning to Thomas as they were carried out of earshot in the stream of people passing by. “You’ve read St. Bernard?”
He nodded. “I’ve also read that the murder of heretics is like the killing of birds. A necessity.”
“Can you see us in England taking his words literally as they do across the water?”
“I fervently hope not.”
“The Saxons are our saving grace, perhaps? They’ll laugh the idea into oblivion.”
“Or get their fists out”—he looked back at the russet-robed preacher—“after enjoying the argument for its own sake, perhaps.” He gave a half smile. “Even so, no one should lose his life for taking up an opposing view to the one that happens to prevail. Our understanding of the truth is too shifting for that.”
They had reached the end of the line of entertainers and now Hildegard gave him a puzzled frown. “I see no sign of Theophilus today, or John of Berwick as he calls himself. I’m surprised he’s letting a chance to add to his fortune slip by.”
“I see no sign of our friends with a penchant for returning lost hats either.”
“Let’s try to force a path to Harpham’s then.”
Thomas needed no encouragement. Making full use of his height and presence he carved a way for Hildegard through the crowd and she was surprised to discover that people were impressed enough to get out of his way as well as they could.
* * *
The house of Robert Harpham was a substantial residence as befitted the dwelling of a wealthy merchant. It had three floors, the middle one with a wooden balcony, open like a loggia on two sides overlooking the courtyard.