‘You first,’ he invited.
‘How long has he been like this?’ she asked without preamble.
‘Almost since you left. It started like a whirlwind from nowhere as far as anybody can make out. Maybe he had a vision. The brothers won’t say much. Won’t or can’t. He began by throwing out a couple of corrodians he thought were taking his hospitality for granted and spreading corruption. Then he made the novices start getting up an hour earlier for their lessons.’
‘The prioress told me there’d been changes. But why, Ulf? Is it a directive from the mother house in France?’
‘Not according to Anselm.’ Ulf and the cellarer discussed matters concerning livestock and the harvests but, he told her, Anselm was being driven mad by the abbot’s demands.
‘It comes from a desire to get back to the original purity of St Bernard’s vision, he says. The Order was founded to counteract the corruption of the Benedictines. He says the monastics have grown fat on ill-gotten gains. The result is he’s trying to offload a heap of corn on us. Roger’s pleased. Anselm’s in despair. What can he be thinking of at this time of year? It’s not time for the new grain yet. The abbey’s going to find itself short and then Anselm will have to pay over the odds in Beverley cornmarket. Everybody’s going hungry. He’s given half the stuff away already—’
‘So what are they living on?’ she interrupted, remembering Thomas and his bony wrists.
‘Thin gruel. Once a day. It’s madness. A man can’t work on that.’ Ulf took another gulp of his wine. ‘It’s as if he’s trying to expiate some sin. But Hubert has always been so—’ He searched for a word. ‘Correct, yes, he’s always been correct in everything he does. But now? He’s following the Rule literally, down to the last letter.’
‘I can’t see why he would not gain absolution from his confessor for anything he might have done,’ Hildegard pointed out.
‘Maybe so but he seems to think they can go back to the old ways when the abbey was first founded, living in a log hut through the winter with no heat and eating only what they could shoot or trap themselves. But the world has changed. We’re not living in those times any more. There’s a proper community here, good granges, a thriving wool trade, the tannery, the mill, their bakehouse, the scriptorium; the monks have tasks, teaching, tending the sick. That’s another thing: he’s never here any more. He comes in for high mass and that’s about it.’
‘Where does he go?’
‘He spends all his time down at St Giles with the lepers. Eats with them. Practically lives with them. Not many of us would want to do what he’s doing, but he’s the abbot, for heaven’s sake. He’s supposed to be in charge, not carrying on like a novice or a penitent. Well,’ Ulf couldn’t stop, ‘that’s exactly what he’s like, a penitent. But what’s he got to be penitent about?’
‘Doesn’t anybody say anything to him?’
‘Who? The prior? He’s happy, apart from his dining being curtailed. It means he can throw his weight around. He’ll be ousting Hubert next but Hubert doesn’t see it. And Anselm tried to say something and nearly had his head bitten off. The sacristan? He’s tried. Same thing. That’s why the choir’s so pathetic. It’s breaking his heart. You used to be able to hear some good singing here in the old days but now they’re not allowed to sing any of the new stuff, because it’s too full of vainglory, done to show off their voices rather than reflect the glory of God etcetera, etcetera, but I tell you, Hildegard, nobody’s going to come all the way over here to listen to something they can hear in any parish church in the county. And as for the cross—’
Hildegard pricked up her ears.
‘You know he’s threatening to get rid of the Talking Crucifix? Then what? Pilgrim trade will be finished. It’s serious. When the abbey goes under, de Hutton’s in trouble. It’s not just going to be the health of the abbot’s immortal soul down the sluice. It’s going to be the whole Riding.’ He stopped, somewhat abruptly. ‘I’m sorry, Hildegard. We do need to talk but not about the lord abbot. We need to talk about the murder of Reynard of Risingholme and the proceedings to indict young Pierrekyn.’
‘So tell me how that came about.’
‘Somebody appealed him.’
‘You mean somebody formally accused him of murder? But they must have had evidence to do that.’
‘They said they saw him lurking round the wool-shed later that night. They told the constable.’
‘Everybody was there at some point. It was a big event, sending the staple to Flanders.’
‘Well, the constable got a record of proper accusation so they had to act. The sheriff was brought in. It’s got to go to the court of King’s Bench because the murder took place outside the realm.’
‘Did it?’
‘The body was found in Bruges – it’s a vague point and the law-men might be able to make something of it. But I tell you what, Hildegard, there’s somebody behind it and I don’t know who.’
‘It’s because of the risings they’re bringing in draconian measures. Gaunt’s lost his grip.’
‘If only. He holds power even more tightly now, using the Rising as an excuse to clamp down on everybody.’
They had never talked so frankly about their allegiance. It had always been too dangerous, but now, with this practical concern for Pierrekyn, circumspection was thrust to one side.
‘I was astonished when the Count of Male sent men to Florence to arrest the boy. I hope they were good to him on the way over?’
Ulf nodded. They both looked at one another in silence.
‘So, what next?’ she ventured.
Ulf was grim-faced. ‘After the formalities here, and if it goes against him, the abbot will have to hand him over. I can’t understand
why he hasn’t done so already. He knows he’ll have to in the end. And then Pierrekyn’s going to have the joy of being hauled before the Justice of oyer and terminer.’
‘Here or in Westminster?’
‘Down south, probably. Or at the next assize in York, whenever that’s likely to be.’
‘So he could be held in York gaol?’ She shivered. ‘Poor Pierrekyn. Ulf, we’ve got to do something.’
‘You really believe he’s innocent, don’t you?’
‘I do.’
‘I suppose you noticed Gaunt’s livery everywhere?’
She nodded.
‘The Justice is one of his men.’
She went cold. ‘So that was the fellow in the dagged turban in the church just now?’
‘Protecting their own. And all over the death of a clerk? It doesn’t add up.’
‘Has it anything to do with the right of assembly?’ she asked cautiously.
‘You think Reynard was posting notices?’
‘That would be an act of sedition. Is that likely? You knew him better than I did.’ The text copied from
anomenalle
burned in her sleeve. She wanted to tell him about it, show it to him, discuss with him what to do next. But first she needed to be certain of the situation here in the Riding. It had changed in the three months of her absence.
He gave her a long look. ‘What?’
Her lips pursed, and she shook her head. ‘I don’t understand why they’re going to get him tried in the assize, if he’s indicted, that is? I really thought this would be a Church matter.’
‘They’re intending to put him before a presenting jury here, then get him taken to York Castle.’
They were both silent. Hildegard could not imagine why Gaunt was involving himself, unless he knew about Reynard’s activities. There must be a spy at work. Somebody must have informed on Reynard. And then his chamber had been searched. But now that the clerk was out of the way, why not just let matters rest?
‘About Reynard,’ she broached, ‘he was a scribe, a simple clerk. He drew up contracts. He’d been with Roger for years. Is there more?’
The mention of contracts had no visible effect on Ulf. He appeared to be unaware of the details of the business between his lord and Vitelli for he said, ‘Do you think they might simply want to make an example of Pierrekyn? They know his nature.’
‘That would not be just. Look at the court. They can hardly cast stones.’
‘Look at Edward II,’ he countered. ‘If they can do that to their king, what won’t they do to a powerless minstrel?’
‘Is he so powerless, I wonder?’ She was thinking of the velvet turnshoe and its decoration of many pearls.
‘No doubt he’s told you something to make you believe in his innocence.’
‘A little.’
‘And you believe him? We know nothing about him,’ he warned. ‘For instance, what was he doing in Kent before Reynard brought him up here?’
‘I’d like to have a word with him. Then let’s talk again. Is he here in the abbey prison?’
‘I’ll take you down there myself in a while.’ He filled her cup again. ‘I’ll also keep you informed if I hear anything more about Gaunt’s placeman. He’s called John Coppinhall, by the way, and he’s a nasty piece of work. He was commissioner for the poll tax and nearly got done in then but for the fact he always travels with a retinue of armed brutes. There’s a black rumour attached to him. I’ll tell you about it later. Meanwhile, prepare yourself to stand forth as a witness. Pierrkyn’s going to need all help he can get.’
H
ILDEGARD HAD AN errand to perform before she went to see Pierrekyn so she had herself announced and was shown into Roger’s apartment. He was sitting in a window niche, playing thoughtfully with one of his hawks. He seemed somehow smaller and less powerful than when she had last seen him. It was enough to make her greet him with a jocular, ‘Are your rations being kept short as well, my lord?’
He sprang to his feet. ‘Short rations! I’ll say! Have you dined here yet?’ He came towards her, his arms outspread. ‘It’s good to see you safe and sound.’ He stopped short of throwing his arms round her and stepped back, pulling at his beard. ‘And I’d like to know what’s happening up at Hutton while I’m kicking my heels down here. I think it’s a ruse to get at my lands and overrun them.’ He scowled. ‘You know why we’re all called, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘Here, look, I have the purchases you wanted.’ She offered the parcel with its valuable contents.
‘The sleeves? Melisen’s going to be cock-a-hoop. By the way, were you at mass just now? Did you notice her?’
‘I noticed your absence.’
He saw that she was hedging and said, ‘Was she fluttering her eyelashes at Coppinhall then?’ For some reason he looked pleased.
‘About your minstrel,’ she went on.
‘There was nothing I could do to stop them arresting him once they got their teeth into the law books. They’ve even got bloody William back in charge because I didn’t follow due process. I tell you, I’m sick of lawyers. What about the good old days when a man could make up his own mind how to protect himself?’
‘I gather some men still do that,’ she remarked.
‘And they might well go on doing so! And I swear, if I don’t get my own way, with a proper show of arms, then they can have all the law books in Christendom thrown at ‘em! See how they like it then!’
‘I was wondering,’ she broke in. ‘Have they found the knife used to murder Reynard?’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. But I don’t know what they have found. They’re keeping quiet. We’ll find out soon enough. Pity they had to render the body down to bring his bones back. Anything that might have been a clue will have gone down the sluice.’
‘Who gave such an order?’
‘Some lickspittle acting for the Count of Male. Ulf was furious. At least we gave Reynard a good send-off. Not that there was any family to give a hoot. Just somebody from York dressed like a fancy man, skulking at the back of the chapel. Still,’ he frowned unhappily, ‘let’s forget all that. Tell me how you got on in foreign parts.’
She took Ser Vitelli’s letter from her sleeve and handed it to him.
‘What’s in it?’
‘I don’t know that, Roger! I didn’t open it! I’m simply the messenger. But Ser Vitelli seems quite pleased and called you a sharp fellow. I think you’d get on well should you ever meet.’
‘Not much chance of that.’ He broke open the seal and read the letter with a beady expression, nodding when he got to the end. ‘Right. A thousand thanks.’ He stuffed the letter inside the front of his houppeland with a small smile. ‘But what about you? We heard what happened to Talbot from the courier but there’s no word yet about the bastard that did it. We live in evil times. It’s a poor life when you can’t go about your daily business without being shot.’
‘Did you retain him Roger?’ asked Hildegard.
He shook his head. ‘Me? No. Wasn’t it your prioress?’
She shook her head then told him what she could without betraying the prioress’s confidence and finished by mentioning Ser Vitelli’s hint of an arms deal in the event of civil war.
Roger was sombre when he heard about Vitelli’s offers. Seemingly at a tangent he asked, ‘You heard about Despenser’s fiasco in France, I take it?’
She nodded. ‘My own son wears his livery. I hoped that, as the Bishop of Norwich, Despenser would have been unlikely to go to war. We got through the lines shortly after they marched on Ghent.’
‘Nobody got hurt. It was all done to show their muscles rather than use ’em. And anyway, if your boy’s anything like his father he’ll be well able to take care of himself—’ He broke off abruptly, realising how crass this must sound. Hildegard’s husband, Sir Hugh, had disappeared in France many years ago, missing presumed dead, whether able to take care of himself or not.
Hildegard had known Roger most of her life and was familiar with his rough ways. Now she merely asked, ‘Do you think the bishop’s foray served any purpose?’
‘It concentrated the minds of the clergy. They had to prove their allegiance by subsidising him. And an army like Despenser’s doesn’t come cheap. Then it creamed off the rebels in the eastern counties by raising the levies. Some of them don’t care whom they fight so long as there’s somebody on the end of their pike. Sot-wits. They’ll rue their lackadaisical attitude when Gaunt puts the crown on his own head.’
‘Will it come to that?’
‘Not while there are still good men and true.’
Hildegard had never heard Roger talk so openly. To speak against Gaunt could place him in a dangerous position if his words fell on the wrong ears.
He must have read the alarm in her face because he added, ‘I wouldn’t say this to just anybody, Hildegard. I got on the wrong side of the duke, damn his eyes, over that reading of his bloody text about the Rising. Lucky for me Northumberland’s at my back with the rest of the Percy clan. Might even look to the Scots for help. Reforge the old alliance, eh?’
She remembered how Roger’s beloved first wife had been the daughter of an earl of the borders whose shifting alliances had brought him wealth and power. Roger had been able to call on both during times of danger when the Scots were raiding deep into the heart of England and had been given welcome protection. The raids were fewer these days but it was interesting to find that he was thinking of the Scots as possible allies once more.
‘That’s a dangerous game,’ she could not help pointing out. ‘If the Scots are allying themselves with the French, as it seemed last year, they could use you and as soon as they’ve finished with you they could snuff you out like that!’ She clicked her fingers.
‘I know. I feel beset on all sides, and that’s the truth. Why can’t these devils stay at home with their hawks and hounds?’ He gave his own hawk a fond kiss and it returned it as if kissing a vassal. He ruffled the feathers on top of its head. ‘Ambition’s the very devil. It sours everything.’
He glanced round as if to summon a servant, then uttered an oath. ‘God’s teeth! I can’t even call on Pierrekyn to give us a tune.’ He frowned. ‘Tomorrow,’ he advised in a lowered tone, ‘watch what happens at this court hearing. We’re all going to have to tread very carefully.’
The prison was a spartan chamber situated off the cloister garth next to the chapter house. Through an arch at the far end were two small cells, one adjoining the other, entered by a single barred door.
The monk-bailiff greeted them in the outer chamber before showing them in. He knew Ulf well, not only because he was closely connected with disbursements of produce from the granges to the cellarer, but also because they both had the duty of holding customary courts on adjacent manors.
He gestured with his thumb. ‘In there.’ He nodded an acknowledgement to Hildegard. Ulf took a lighted cresset from the wall and she followed him through to the inner cell.
It had one small, barred window that gave onto the south-west corner of the cloister where the brothers could be heard shuffling back and forth to their various duties. Unfurnished except for a narrow bench to sleep on, it seemed bleak enough to allow free rein to a prisoner’s darkest thoughts.
Pierrekyn was sitting on the floor with his head on his knees, looking the picture of despair. There was an uneaten bowl of gruel on the floor beside him.
Ulf went to stand over him. The light fell in a brilliant flood, making the boy’s russet hair dance like flame. ‘I’ve brought Sister Hildegard to see you, lad. Get up.’
Pierrekyn didn’t stir.
‘I’m just back from Tuscany,’ Hildegard said, moving towards him. ‘Did they treat you properly on the way over?’
Still no response.
‘Pierrekyn,’ she tried again, ‘there are things we need to talk about. I intend to stand as witness for you when this matter comes before the commission.’
He lifted his head. His face was tear-stained and his hair was uncombed. It stuck out wildly from under a little green cap. With both hands thrust inside his sleeves he hugged himself and began to rock back and forth, in and out of the pool of light.
‘Pierrekyn.’ She knelt beside him. ‘I need to ask you one or two things about Reynard.’ She glanced up at Ulf. He thrust the cresset in a bracket on the wall and moved away to lounge in the doorway, his face in shadow.
In a lowered voice she said, ‘I have the document. I made a copy of it.’
‘What document?’ Pierrekyn jerked his head up. His green eyes were hostile.
Remembering his treatment as an oblate at his song school and his subsequent hatred for ecclesiastics, she said, ‘I’m not trying to trap you. We both know what document. I have told no one else about it, not even the lord steward.’ She glanced hurriedly over her shoulder. ‘I need to know whether anybody else knew Reynard was making copies of it and disseminating them.’
Pierrekyn stared stonily into space.
‘It’s really important that I know who else received a copy,’
No answer.
‘You said there were others.’
Still no answer. She restrained a sigh.
‘I went to see Hawkwood,’ she continued in a whisper. ‘He laughed in my face as of course we expected, but he took Reynard’s text and said he would read it. I don’t have much hope that he’ll do anything but we cannot know his mind.’ She touched him on the arm. ‘I have the slipper for you, too, but maybe this isn’t the best place to hand it over. Do you want me to keep it safe until they set you free?’
At this he roused himself sufficiently to say in a savage undertone, ‘I will never be set free. They want me dead. I may as well hang myself now and be done with it except they’ve taken away any means of doing so. They’ve even taken my lute and probably smashed it to pieces. I hate them.’
He took his hands out of his sleeves and wrapped his arms round his knees.
On the little finger of his left hand was a ring.
Rising to her feet she said, ‘Trust me, Pierrekyn.’
He lifted his head a fraction but after bestowing on her another despairing glance he buried his face again and did not move.
It was already nearly midnight. The sub-prior could be heard ringing the bell in the dorter to rouse the brethren for the nightly vigil. As Ulf bade her goodnight she saw a junior carrying a lantern, walking at the head of a procession of monks and leading them into the church.
The abbot and the prior stood outside the door as everyone went in. Hildegard pulled up her hood and followed. She took a place at the back and fell to her knees like everyone else, rising only when the abbot processed in. In the distance the bell stopped tolling.
Throughout the prayers that preceded matins she kept a careful eye on Hubert. In the dim light from the candles it was difficult to gauge how sick he was but undoubtedly he was suffering in some way. His voice shook. His steps were uncertain. After the sacristan brought the gospels from the altar he had to be helped to the desk to be vested in his cope while incense and more candles were brought.
Now when he turned she saw his face. It was paler than ever. His eyes were dark in their sockets. By the time he came to read the lesson he could only ascend the lectern steps by gripping the rail as if he would sink to the floor without its aid.
Hildegard felt a flood of rage surge through her. The sacristan continued his duties as if nothing was wrong. The prior and the sub-prior did likewise. Could not any one of these men see that their lord was sick?
Unable to bear it any longer she slipped out into the garth. The service would go on for another two hours. First matins then, without a break, straight on into lauds. She did an entire circuit of
the cloister with her hands thrust into her sleeves. The circator was just going in again with a newly trimmed lantern and she watched as the door opened and closed behind him. From inside she heard a snatch of Hubert’s frail voice, railing against the sins of his brothers. And no doubt his own.
Last autumn she had had a private interview with the prioress at Swyne. To her consternation and disbelief, the prioress had cast doubts on the abbot’s allegiance to the English cause should it come to civil war.
She had drawn a horrifying picture of what might happen if the Cistercian abbeys, like Meaux, Fountains, Rievaulx and the others in the North, obeyed an edict, by way of their mother house in France, from the false pope in Avignon to support another French invasion. The Duke of Burgundy with his allies, acting on behalf of the Dauphin, was arming for war. Everyone knew that. The prioress, and others like her, saw the north-eastern ports as the unguarded back door into England.