‘Go on.’ She came to sit beside him.
He didn’t look at her. ‘I know you people. Say one thing and do another. Power is what you want. Gold. Not after you’re dead – but now, in this world. How strange is that when you’re supposed to believe in an afterlife in which everyone gets their just deserts?’
‘That’s human nature. I don’t condone it.’ She paused to invite him to continue.
Eventually he said, ‘I was introduced to the secret life of the Church when I was seven years old. I’d had precious little kindness till then. And there it was – for a price, of course.’
Hildegard was silent but when he didn’t elaborate she asked, ‘And is that when you were taught to play the lute?’
He shook his head. ‘That came afterwards. It was my singing they wanted me for, as well as—’ His mouth twisted and he shrugged. ‘When my voice broke, I wasn’t much use as a chorister. And especially not with the sort of voice I learned on the streets. I was taught to play this,’ he ran a finger over the curve of the lute, ‘by a minstrel from Provence. Then he moved on, as they do, and I was taken up by another master. A tavern-keeper. Big as a barn. A real brute. He certainly knew a golden goose when he saw one.’ He flexed his fingers and stared at them as if they reminded him of something. ‘At least I can still play,’ he said almost to himself.
‘You play and sing wonderfully. You could have a glittering future. Talented minstrels are always wanted.’
‘That’s what I’ve been thinking,’ he said with a sudden lift in his voice and although his expression was still bleak, he added, ‘Reynard said I should find a way to join the guild and be taken up by some rich lord and become a court musician.’ His eyes flashed before clouding over again. ‘It’s a pity Lord Roger is tone deaf.’
‘I’m sure you can make a good life for yourself somewhere.’ She rested a hand on his sleeve. ‘Just lie low until we can get you out of here. Be patient, Pierrekyn. Let’s see what fortune has in store.’
‘Fortune? Don’t you mean the blessed Mary and all her saints?’
‘Have I your word?’
He nodded, then the light in his eyes went out. ‘What choice do I have? I’m finished.’
Ulf eventually agreed with Hildegard. He would not arrest Pierrekyn at this stage. There was nothing substantial to link the boy to the death of the clerk. They would need evidence if they were to bring him to court. Ulf was also relieved not to have to delay his journey down the Rhine. He told her he would leave a man in Bruges while the lawyers made up their minds what to do with the body.
‘I’ll keep an eye on Pierrekyn,’ Hildegard promised. ‘If I discover anything linking him to the murder I’ll inform the authorities at once. And then it’ll be up to you.’
Together they had hit on the ruse for getting Pierrekyn safely out of the city. Hildegard had countered Ulf’s initial idea of trying to pass him off as her servant and then they remembered that as yet no one knew anything about Sir Talbot. Nothing could be more natural than for him to be accompanied by an esquire to attend to his armour.
‘We’ll have to make sure Pierrekyn hides that hair of his inside a cap,’ Hildegard observed.
Fortunately none of the travellers at the inn was going south and if a description of the hunted boy ever got out she would warn him to go well disguised until he was safely outside the jurisdiction of the Count of Male.
‘I hope my escort is agreeable,’ she added, ‘and can invent a story to explain two esquires.’
‘He won’t need to,’ Ulf replied. ‘Whoever gave him instructions made it clear he should travel alone.’
Shortly before supper that evening Hildegard was sitting in the refectory with a group of Suffolk pilgrims who were staying there for a few days before returning north. When they discovered she was travelling in that direction they were eager to tell her about their recent visit to Rome, but although she was avid for information, she could not prevent her gaze from continually straying towards the door.
Eventually a crop-haired stranger came in and after a brief scrutiny of the rows of diners he noticed Hildegard. His eyes narrowed. A moment later the ale-master’s boy came over and, in a miasma of raw onion, whispered a message into her ear, ‘The square before vespers, Sister.’
After a moment or two Hildegard offered her excuses to the pilgrims and went outside.
The square resounded to the tolling of bells summoning worshippers to church while the ungodly loitered by the dozen round the fortune-tellers and other entertaining tricksters. Hildegard paced thoughtfully under the portico where she had an unobstructed view.
In a moment the stranger materialised at her side. ‘Sister Hildegard?’
She nodded.
‘Sir Talbot at your service.’
‘We’d have more privacy to discuss this matter in my chamber.’ Explaining where to find it she moved away.
If she had wondered how he would make contact when he arrived she was amply reassured now. But why the secrecy? She supposed it was because less attention would be drawn to her – and to the secret purpose of her journey – if she was seen to be nothing more than a lowly nun travelling alone. There could be no doubt he was a tournament knight.
It was a fact, observed Hildegard, that his rough wool cloak concealed everything about him but his athletic physique.
On returning to the inn and going up to her chamber, she found the door jammed. ‘Pierrekyn, open up,’ she whispered. There was a rustle from within but the door remained shut. ‘Open it!’ she urged. Eventually it inched open to reveal Pierrekyn’s frightened face in the gap. When he saw Hildegard he drew it ajar enough to allow her to slip inside and then shut it quickly behind her. Evidently he had imagined a dozen armed constables standing in the passage.
‘I shall be glad to get away from this festering town,’ he whispered. ‘How far is it out of the court’s jurisdiction into safe territory?’
‘Some way.’
With the chair wedged against the door again, she said, ‘My escort has arrived. I’ve asked him to come up here as it’s the only place we can meet without people prying into our business.’
‘This won’t work!’ Pierrekyn flung himself down on the bed and put his hands over his eyes. ‘I’m done for, Sister. I may as well go out and face the mob. Let them hack me to pieces!’
Hildegard tutted as she removed her cloak and hung it on a hook. When Sir Talbot approached the chamber a moment or two later he did so with such stealth she was unaware of his presence until she saw the chair legs bend with the pressure of someone trying to force their way in. Wedging a foot behind the door she opened it a crack.
‘No one saw me come up, Sister.’ He entered instantly and strode about with his head bent to avoid the beams. Close up, he was as striking as when she had first noticed him.
Ruddy-cheeked, with a square, handsome face and dancing blue eyes, he seemed to glow with vitality. His nose had been broken several times but it only added to his cheerful good looks. Light-brown hair cropped short to fit under the helmet he carried under one arm gave him a clean-cut, military look. His shoulders were broad and his neck corded with muscle. He moved in a poised, contained manner suggesting strength and speed beyond the usual. His sheer physical exuberance filled the chamber. Hildegard at once felt safe.
After giving the place a thorough inspection he turned to her. ‘So who’s this fellow?’
‘I’ll explain the situation about the minstrel here in a moment,’ she began. ‘But first, can you tell me who retains you?’
He shook his head. ‘No idea. Somebody powerful. My instructions came through a third party.’ He glanced at Pierrekyn. ‘We can only surmise who instructed them,’ he added meaningfully.
She would get to the bottom of this later, she decided. Meanwhile she selected the barest details about the previous night’s events, telling him that for reasons there was no time to reveal, the boy had to be smuggled out of the town in the guise of the knight’s squire.
&nb
sp; When she finished Sir Talbot chuckled. ‘I’m game for that. It’s going to be more fun than I imagined. There might even be chance for a bit of a scrap after all!’ He gave Pierrekyn an assessing glance. ‘Know anything about the code of chivalry, lad?’
Pierrekyn snorted in derision.
They decided to leave as soon as the town gates opened just after prime next morning. Ulf and his men had left for the Rhine. Ludovico was lodged with the consul according to instructions from his patron. Their own bags were packed. Now all they could do was wait out the rest of the day.
Hildegard went down later to look to her hounds and Sir Talbot tracked her to the kennels. After admiring the animals and lamenting the fact that he had been instructed to leave his own hounds behind, he said, ‘Sister, I have something to give you in private.’
With a covert glance over his shoulder, he drew a sealed letter from inside his tunic and handed it over.
He said, ‘I’m told your cover is that you’re on pilgrimage. But I deduce from the fee they’re paying me that you’re on Church business of some magnitude and,’ he lowered his voice, ‘some danger?’
‘It seems so,’ she agreed.
He stood to attention. ‘You can trust me, Sister. My word is my bond.’ With a nod towards the letter he had just given her, he tactfully withdrew.
When he left, Hildegard’s immediate feeling was to trust him but, remembering he was a hired man, she decided she would remain watchful until she found out who maintained him.
Bermonda pushed her wet nose into the parchment as Hildegard prised open the wax seal. It was one she recognised as belonging to her priory at Swyne. Holding the letter out of reach of the inquisitive kennet hound, she began to read. The message was in the angular hand of her prioress. When she finished she could only stare at the words in astonishment.
After the usual greetings it baldly stated:
Go not to Rome but to Florence. We are told that you will find what we seek in the possession of the sacristan of the church they call Santi Apostoli. God be with you.
There was the familiar flourish of the prioress’s signature.
Florence? After her initial shock she reminded herself that at least the journey would be shorter. She would be back at Swyne – back at Meaux – the sooner.
When she returned indoors she found Sir Talbot at once. ‘Were you informed of our destination?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘I go where you command, Sister. Those are the terms of my employment.’
‘We go to Florence then.’
He nodded, unperturbed, his ruddy features cheerful, and after a quick calculation he said, ‘It’s a journey of under twenty-five days in the height of summer. I reckon it’ll take forty days at this time of year. And as I’m to conduct you back over the Alps as well, forty days to return.’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘By the time we’re back on this side of the mountains, the tournament season will be about to start. The journey should keep me in trim,’ he added. ‘Are you well prepared for the rigours ahead, Sister?’
‘As well as I ever will be.’
She went up to tell Pierrekyn to be ready to leave at first light and found him fingering the strings of his lute in silence. Seeing him occupied, she took the opportunity to check over her own belongings again.
At the bottom of her scrip she found the piece of embroidered silk that had been handed to her on the quayside at Ravenser.
It was a puzzle. There was no doubting what it was. Sir Talbot himself was wearing something similar round his own neck under his gambeson although his was new looking and lacked embroidery in the corner. Long ago the Templars wore similar tokens to the one she held. Borage held the same meaning among all the chivalry.
Courage.
Was it a token from someone who wished her well? The person who had hired Sir Talbot maybe? Or was it a warning? She tucked it back inside her scrip and glanced up to find Pierrekyn watching her.
‘A love token, Sister?’ he asked in mock reproof.
‘Amor vincit, Master, as I’m sure you agree.’
He laughed aloud and, remembering just in time to keep his voice down, whispered, ‘I don’t think you’re a nun. I think you’re a spy.’
When she replied it was in a whisper but the warning was clear. ‘Don’t ever let anyone hear you hint such a thing, not even in jest. Have you any idea what could happen if such a rumour got about?’
‘Why should I care – if you’re spying for the wrong side?’
‘And which one is that?’
‘Ha! You think I’m going to fall into your trap, do you?’ He shut his mouth and ran his fingers over his lips to show they were sealed. Then he began to play his silent tune again.
Hildegard rose to her feet. ‘I’m going out. I’ll bring you back something to eat.’
There was one visit she had to make before they left. With the change of destination it had become important. She had to see Ludovico. His famiglia had their headquarters in Florence. One of the twelve priors who ran the city was his capo, Ser Vitelli. His help might be vital.
Chapter Eight
THERE WAS A sharp wind from the east. It snagged the pennants on the lances of the militia, pulled at the hoods of the travellers milling at the south gate, and made the tarpaulins on the goods wagons billow and crack as they began to trundle down the hill away from the town.
As Hildegard had expected, dawn was the best time to leave. The constable was yawning his head off and paid little attention to what in his eyes must have looked like the usual trail of folk leaving the town – merchants, always merchants, their baggage trains a source of revenue, the drivers and their guards too numerous to count properly, and among them the white-cloaked pilgrims and the riff-raff who followed them, pardoners and friars and others leaving Bruges on personal business.
The constable reeked of ale. All the better she thought, as they jostled past him. Pierrekyn’s face was concealed by a parti-coloured hood purchased, with some forethought, by Sir Talbot in the market yesterday. Now, knight and squire were already through the inner ring of guards. Hildegard had suggested they go on ahead and rejoin her as soon as the convoy was on the move. That way they would draw less attention to themselves. Her hounds remained close at her heels.
Sir Talbot had hired a horse. It had been skittish when it was brought out from the stable, too full of oats and proud of its power over the unskilled riders who usually sat him, but the moment Sir Talbot threw his leg over his back he surrendered at once to a master. Pierrekyn, too, was walking obediently by Sir Talbot’s side as if bewitched into good behaviour.
Holding her breath she saw them start out under the portcullis. They reached the outer gate with its gathering of militia. Then, with a sigh of relief, she saw them pass through. Soon only the erect figure of Sir Talbot was visible as the milling foot-travellers closed in behind.
Her own turn came. The constable barely glanced at a nun in a blue cloak. She followed the stream of foot passengers through the gate and was soon safely on the road to the south.
As she walked with the other pilgrims, always keeping Sir Talbot and Pierrekyn in sight, Hildegard thought about Reynard’s murder and how she might question the boy further. She wondered how much she could confide in the knight when she did not know who had hired him. But she could not help but notice how kind he was to the horse, leading him some of the way, allowing Pierrekyn to ride beside the wagon while keeping an eye on him, now and then gently reproving him for pulling at the horse’s mouth, and giving praise whenever he could, all with the greatest good humour.
Later that morning a wagon drove alongside her and as it drew level the driver called down, inviting her to climb up if she wanted. ‘Always room for a Cistercian, Sister! Make the most of it. Your feet are going to be sore blistered if you’re planning on walking all the way to Rome!’
Thanking him, she climbed aboard. He didn’t waste time in conversation. There were too many pilgrims following the road to make them interesting a
ny more. Instead he chatted to his lad and whistled now and then between his teeth with satisfaction at his lot.
Sir Talbot and his squire continued to make good progress. They managed to get further ahead when the wagon she was on was held up because somebody decided to unload their belongings and travel with friends they’d spotted in the crowd. With much cheerful shouting the wagoner heaved down their luggage, to be grasped by eager hands and hauled up onto another wagon following theirs.
As they started to move off again Hildegard was startled to find a man clambering up beside her.
She recognised him at once, even with the hood half over his face. It was the beggar from the market place, the one who had made off to the alehouse with her alms as soon as he had the coins in his hands. Now he pushed back his hood to reveal his face completely. She drew in a sharp breath.
‘Aye, you remember me all right, don’t you?’
Her heart began to hammer and one hand slid to her knife.
He gave a sneering laugh. ‘You won’t be needing that yet, lady. Do you think me stupid enough to try anything with this mob so close at hand? Not to mention those bloody brutes of yours.’
He scowled at the two hounds. Duchess and Bermonda were trotting beside the wagon, all their attention on the stranger with his head so close to that of their mistress.
‘Escrick Fitzjohn, what do you want of me?’
‘I remember you posed the same question last time we met.’
‘You mean when you broke into my chamber at Castle Hutton in the middle of the night with a blade in your hand?’ She faced him squarely.
‘The answer’s still the same,’ he said. ‘Just a little matter of redress.’
He lifted his left hand and ran a finger down the side of his jaw, tracking the scar that deformed his features. Pricks of blood seeped from an unhealed sore. Reaching out, he ran the same finger across her cheek to the corner of her mouth.
The Red Velvet Turnshoe Page 7