The Scandal of the Skulls

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘Yes,’ added Hubert. ‘How can they get away with it? Have we returned to a realm where the rule of law means nothing?’

  The ship master finished his ale and slapped the stoup down hard on the trestle boards. ‘That’s right, my lord abbot. The law means nothing. Nobody, neither high nor low, is safe.’

  A woman bustled up, one they took to be his wife by the way she greeted him. ‘There’s been more since you put to sea, my lovely.’

  ‘More?’ he demanded.

  Blinking with emotion she turned to attend to one of her customers. ‘In a moment, heart. I’ll be back.’

  ‘Except for the fate of Mayor Brembre, rest his soul, everything is news to us,’ Brother Egbert told the shipman to encourage him to continue.

  He was not to be hurried, however. With a backward glance at his woman he asked, ‘So were you in France long, the three of you?’

  ‘On church matters since the Lent parliament went into session,’ Brother Egbert confirmed his abbot’s reply, withholding enough of the truth to ensure their safety.

  None of them knew anything about the shipmaster beyond the fact that he was at home on water. And had rights in a usefully placed little ale house by the quay. He could be one of Arundel’s spies for all they knew and about to hand them over to the militia. His warning that no-one was safe applied to all of them. Although it seemed unlikely that the harbour here was busy enough to have spies nosing about, watching shipping in and out, nothing was certain at a time like this.

  The shipman was fingering his neck as if already aware of the axe, but eventually he began. ‘This parliament, the one they’re now calling the Merciless, was forced by Woodstock, Arundel, Warwick and their paid shire knights in the Commons. The king was made to preside as is his duty. He must have got wind of something ill coming up though.’ He lowered his voice. ‘One of my customers up in London on business said young Dickon was as white as a sheet when he processed into Westminster Hall to open parliament that day. This was on the second of February just past. He was forced to walk between the massed ranks of the barons’ men-at-arms. Full armour, mark you. You can imagine how he felt about that. Then five of ‘em, the Appellants as they call themselves, marched in together, arms linked, dressed up in their cloth of gold, and put it to him: get rid of these men on our list and keep your throne. Fail to do as we demand and you’re out. What else they threatened him with nobody knows. We can guess, mebbe?’

  He drew down the corners of his mouth and glanced from one to the other. ‘Happen they reminded him of his grandfather King Edward II and the rumoured manner of his murder at Berkeley Castle?’

  Round the table the men shuffled uneasily. Hildegard felt her heart lurch at the terror young Richard must have felt at the sight of his implacable warlord uncle, Woodstock, the new duke of Gloucester, arm in arm with the equally warlike earl of Arundel.

  ‘And the others?’ she asked, ‘You said, five. Who were the other two Appellants?’

  ‘Harry Bolingbroke, earl of Derby, Gaunt’s joust-mad son.’

  Brother Egbert groaned.

  ‘And his fellow jouster, Mowbray.’

  ‘Where Bolingbroke goes, so goes Mowbray.’ Hubert gave a disgusted shrug.

  ‘Arm-in-arm, the lot of ‘em,’ continued the ship master. ‘All against the lone figure of the king.’

  ‘It was his twenty-first birthday only three weeks earlier,’ Hildegard remarked half to herself.

  ‘Did no-one speak up for him?’ demanded Hubert.

  ‘Several spoke up. Now they’re either inside the Tower of London - or on spikes outside it, ruing the loss of their heads.’

  ‘How dare Woodstock move against the King! Isn’t it treason to threaten him?’ Gregory frowned. ‘Edward, the old king, had his justices define it so there could be no confusion.’

  The shipmaster gave a hoarse laugh. ‘Treason is the word they’re defining anew. Now it’s treason to support the rightful King of England, treason not to agree to everything the council and his uncle Woodstock demand. Yes, my friends, treason is the word. We are hearing a new meaning for it. The devil will twist a word to his own ends. And now we’re re-learning it to our shame.’

  He lowered his voice again. ‘I’ll be blunt. We’re loyal to the king here, obviously we are, but there are spies coming out from Arundel’s castle scouring the countryside for so-called traitors. That is, they’re hunting down the true Commons, supporters of King Richard.’

  He called over his shoulder, ‘Now, mistress, what’s this new alarm you’re scaring us with?’

  Wiping her hands on a cloth, the ale wife came over. ‘I don’t know where to start, I honestly don’t. It makes you weep. Take young Thomas Usk. He’s nothing more than a clerk caught up in the rivalries of his betters.’

  ‘What about him?’

  She folded her arms and announced, ‘Beheaded.’

  ‘Usk?’ Hildegard felt a shiver run through her.

  The ale wife nodded. ‘They say his head has been stuck outside Newgate prison.’

  ‘The debtors’ prison?’ Abbot de Courcy queried.

  ‘Aye, as a warning to anybody who takes payment from the king’s supporters for information.’

  ‘I knew Thomas of Usk,’ muttered Brother Egbert. He fell silent.

  The ale wife was relentless with her news. ‘He’s not the only one. In these last few weeks there’s been the Chief Justiciar’s clerk, John Blake: beheaded. Chamber knights, lords Beauchamp and Berners: beheaded. Sir John Salisbury for negotiating a peace treaty with the French - hung, drawn and quartered. Worse still,’ she gave a wail and put her cloth to her face for a moment.

  ‘Go on, wife, what can be worse?’ urged the ship master in a gruff voice.

  ‘This.’ She hesitated. ‘Listen and weep. Sir Simon Burley - ’

  ‘What about him?’ Hildegard leaned forward.

  ‘They put him on trial at Westminster,’ the ale wife lowered her voice, ‘but even their paid judges refused to condemn him.’ She glanced from one to the other. They were hanging on her every word. ‘So they have no choice, they send him back to the Tower. Next they recall him to stand before the justices again. Same story. So back he goes to the Tower. I ask you, who could condemn such a saintly knight as Sir Simon?’

  ‘A war hero,’ her man agreed.

  She nodded. ‘Beloved by everybody. The king’s own tutor.’

  ‘This is truly the End Days,’ muttered Hubert.

  ‘So what happened?’ Egbert urged.

  Gregory was frowning. ‘Have they released him?’

  ‘They sent him back to the Tower to wait for a retrial. And there he remains.’

  Despite having heard rumours, everyone, even Hubert, looked shocked.

  The ale wife dabbed her eyes on a corner of her apron. ‘Old Sir Simon, the king’s guardian. Ever faithful to the poor lad since he was nine and his father departed this vale of tears.’

  ‘Burley’s alleged crime?’ Gregory asked, ‘if it’s not a superfluous question?’

  ‘Treason against the king. Can you believe it, my lords!’

  Egbert was scathing. ‘How could that be?’

  ‘No man alive has a closer care for King Richard’s interests than Burley.’ Hubert was clearly shaken.

  ‘They’re saying he gave the king bad advice and that now it’s treason to do so.’ The ale wife was unimpressed, ‘If every man was accounted a traitor for bad advice the city walls would be bristling with heads.’

  She put one hand briefly on her man’s shoulder before reluctantly turning away to attend to her customers.

  ‘I hope that’s all you’ve got to say, mistress?’ the ship man called after her.

  ‘Isn’t it enough?’ she replied as she filled more flagons from the barrel.

  ‘Enough. Certainly enough,’ muttered Gregory with a glance at Hubert. ‘Sir Simon Burley, a hero of Poitiers. Staunch right hand of our great and doomed Prince Edward, young Richard’s father. A man venerable with age. Who can f
eel safe if this is what treason means?’

  ‘We must move on.’ Hubert stood up. They had finished their broth and he said he was eager to be in a bed as soon as possible, preferably at Beaulieu Abbey no matter how hard the mattress. Hildegard could see how appalled he was by the ale mistress’s news. It made it obvious he was right to advise caution now they were back in England.

  Before they could leave, however, a commotion in the crowd round the barrels thrust a protesting old man into their midst.

  ‘Here he is, the soothsayer!’ somebody announced.

  ‘He’ll tell your fortune if you don’t already know it,’ said another voice.

  Grizzled and stooped, the old man leaned heavily on an ash wand.

  A coin was clapped onto the trestle in front of him by a fellow in a hooded grey cloak. ‘See the king’s head, old man? You can have it if you’ll tell us something: will he keep it or will he not?’

  ‘Leave me be. I know nothing that common sense won’t tell you.’

  ‘Will he keep his crown on his fair head or not? It’s simple enough. They say you have powers to see the truth.’

  The old man stared at the coin. ‘I don’t want the head of the king. And I never shall. You keep it. You’ll be needing a head yourself before long.’

  ‘Why you old devil – I’ll – ’ the betting man made a lunge towards the old fellow but half a dozen others held him back.

  He shook them off. ‘I just want to know,’ insisted the owner of the coin, ‘will they behead him like they’re beheading all his allies? Is that where this is going to end?’

  ‘Am I the devil to know of such evil? Ask Arundel if he’s your master.’

  Jeering followed this remark and the owner of the coin scowled as the onlookers made a respectful path for the reluctant soothsayer as he swept a tattered cloak round his shoulders and pushed through them towards the door.

  When he reached it he stopped, aware that all eyes were still on him. He turned and his sharp gaze swept round the tap room. ‘Remember this, all you living. Death sleeps in the hollow of the crown. Let King Dickon remember that - and all kings after him to the end of time!’

  As he flung open the door rain gusted inside. Then he was gone.

  A silence fell. While everybody registered his words the man in the grey cloak began to snigger. He raised his flagon. ‘To Death, then! Greetings! What have we to loose but the chains of mortality!’

  Abbot de Courcy and his two monks started to gather their things. Hildegard lingered for a moment. The old seer had hinted that the man who had offered the coin was a follower of Arundel. She glanced across but he had his back to the rest of them now and was already laughing and joshing with some cronies. He seemed more interested in using the coin to make another wager than anything else. Hildegard frowned as she picked up her leather bag. Was this one of the ways Arundel flushed out the supporters of the king? By provoking supporters to betray themselves?

  The ale wife bustled over with the abbot’s still damp riding cloak then helped the others into theirs. She refused any payment for this small service but instead murmured to Hildegard, ‘Dangerous times, my lady. Praise God we remain outside the glaring eye of fame.’

  Followed by the shipmaster and some of his crew all four went outside into the pelting rain to be guided along a dark lane to the stables by several lads carrying flares.

  The horses were brought out and a crowd from the ale house followed them a short way down the lane with shouted instructions to the stable lad to watch out for floods, fallen trees, wild boar, swamps, outlaws, and armed gangs.

  ‘They’ll soon be in their warm beds,’ observed Brother Gregory as the men, with cloaks over their heads, hurried back to the warmth of the ale house.

  ‘Then God save us, we have miles to go - and to what destiny?’ Brother Egbert added with a dry smile.

  ‘Let’s spur our horses,’ urged Hubert. ‘We’ll make short work of the next leg of our journey and face what is to come with stout hearts. Onwards! To Beaulieu!’

  TWO

  The abbot was talking to the guest-master when Hildegard emerged from the chapel next morning after lauds.

  She heard, ‘...and then last night we made landfall at a small haven called Lepe.’

  Hubert turned at her approach and shaded his eyes with one hand against the bright sunlight. ‘And here is the domina now.’

  ‘Good morning, my lord abbot. And greetings to you, brother. Your hospitality has been most welcome.’

  ‘So you leave us this morning, my lady?’

  ‘I do. I’m making for Salisbury where I have matters to attend.’

  ‘It should be a pleasant ride on such a fine April morning. Yesterday’s storm has quite blown itself out and cleared the air. The Forest will be in its spring glory, an antidote to the dark news coming from London. Permit me to instruct our kitcheners to make up a small parcel of food and ale for your journey?’

  ‘Most kind.’

  Excusing himself, he left.

  Hubert took Hildegard by the arm and hurried her into an alcove off the busy cloisters.

  ‘Hildegard,’ he began, ‘I want to take this opportunity to have a word without Gregory and Egbert hanging around, listening to everything we say.’

  ‘Oh I’m sure they - ’

  ‘Listen, before we part I just want to say, it’s going to be - ’ he stopped.

  ‘Yes, my lord?’

  He glanced away. ‘What I mean is, without you - well,’ he continued with a shrug of his shoulders, ‘it’ll be strange without you. These last few weeks have been - ’ he hesitated again, ‘what I mean to say is - riding up through France has made me - ’ his uncharacteristic hesitancy was mystifying and he looked away again before saying, ‘What I mean is this - ’ His dark eyes fixed her with a haunted expression. ‘I mean I’ve rejoiced in your presence over these last weeks.’ Before she could reply, he blurted, ‘It’s simply that I shall miss you, my dear Hildegard. Your beloved presence. Your - just you, everything, ’ he finished weakly.

  ‘And I shall miss you, Hubert. But it’s only for a few days.’

  ‘I wish to thank you,’ he said in a serious tone, taking her by both shoulders. ‘I thank you for behaving with such decorum on our ride back from Avignon.’

  ‘Decorum?’ She could not keep a slight hint of derision from her voice.

  ‘You were tres douce,’ he murmured. He drew her closer. She did not resist.

  With a glance to where a group of people were walking into the cloister he pressed his lips, unnoticed, against the side of her head, murmuring, ‘Take no risks, dear heart. Say nothing to anyone about Woodstock’s vassal in Avignon. No-one need know we fell foul of Sir John Fitzjohn and bested him. Take no part in discussions about the terror taking place in London.’

  ‘I’m not likely to - ’ she began.

  ‘I’m aware of that. I’ve seen how discrete you can be - but even so, take the greatest care while you’re alone in Salisbury - far from my help.’

  ‘Salisbury is a quiet enough town, I expect.’ She gave him a tremulous smile. Of course she would miss him, his calm protection, everything, as he himself had just said, but she would rather die than tell him so.

  In response he lifted her fingers to his lips. ‘I was sure I’d reveal my true feelings in front of Gregory and Egbert.’ His voice thickened. ‘Their eyes seemed to be everywhere as if they knew I longed to take you in my arms. Not,’ he hastened to add, ‘that they would have been in any way critical of my regard for you. More likely they would have subjected me to some ferocious ribbing. But I feared even to look at you, let alone allow you to brush the back of my hand with your sleeve - ’

  ‘If they detected anything between us they would have had to be adepts in scrying, better than that old soothsayer last night.’ She stepped back.

  He gave her a sharp glance. ‘How so? Do you mean I was abrupt and unfeeling towards you?’

  ‘I have to be honest, Hubert, but yes.’ She gave him a
gentle glance. ‘I understand why you were sometimes harsh towards me.’

  ‘Harsh? A harsh word itself. I would rather have myself flayed than treat you harshly in either word or deed - ’

  ‘Hubert, my lord, do we need to say these things to each other?’

  She tried to curb the rush of emotion his words aroused after the weeks of being so ostentatiously light in the manner of mere friends but it was impossible to control the way she softened towards him now.

  Quickly she said, ‘Do you need to be reminded that we have settled on a mutual decision to give our vows priority over all other considerations and to have more care for our immortal souls than we have sometimes shown in the past - ? ’

  ‘And is it easy for you?’ He fixed her with a dark glance.

  She made a bewildered gesture.

  ‘Easier than it is for me?’ he insisted before she could reply.

  ‘God forgive you, Hubert - ’ She felt as if she might swoon in his arms if he persisted along this line. ‘How can I know how easy it is for you to pretend when indifference is the last thing I feel - ’ she broke off.

  He seemed to be on the brink of taking her in his arms. Longing for him to do so, she forced herself to draw back, separating them both by a precious, distancing inch or two.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she breathed.

  His response was to place both hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her between them and bringing his mouth down to her own. The cloister had emptied and now they were momentarily alone. Trapped, she could not resist as he pressed his lips to hers.

  I must resist, she thought. But she could not. Did not wish at that moment to resist him. She yielded her mouth to his in the sweetness of desire and it was like a homecoming after a long exile.

  He kissed her then drew back and studied her expression then kissed her again more masterfully and she was unable to control the thrill of desire that engulfed her.

  When they eventually broke apart his eyes were blurred with desire. ‘I cannot let you go.’

  She forced herself to say, ‘Nothing has changed, Hubert. We will both be damned if we surrender.’