He had arrived in the beleaguered city to the ecstatic cheers of the inhabitants after he had saved them from certain slaughter by the Milanese army of Gian Galeazzo. Astride his destrier he looked every inch the hero, with a bluff ‘hail fellow, well met’ sort of manner that disarmed everyone - if you didn’t look too closely.
His infamous acts of brutality, however, were the stuff of nightmare.
And when she came face to face with him in that marble audience chamber, the soft Tuscan light slanting from the high windows had caressed the marble columns to the texture of silk, making the hardest thing in all that radiance Hawkwood’s hooded eyes. His inhumanity showed in their emptiness.
No doubt, too, such a look was repeated in the eyes of his men, revealing to anybody who looked closely enough their complicity in their lord’s unrestrained barbarity.
Such is this fellow, thought Hildegard. A mercenary, whatever he tries to suggest to the contrary.
Now his head was thrown back in a roar of amusement at some quip or other and when it lowered his eyes were still crinkled at the corners as if in carefree humour. The look in them, however, was the same lightless blank as before. He turned as she stepped from concealment and their glances collided.
With her knife held beneath her sleeve she slipped close up to him until she was able to prod him in the back with the sharpened point. To her surprise she discovered that he wore no hauberk or mail underneath his cloak.
‘I believe you are looking for me?’ she murmured.
A moment passed. Glancing over his shoulder, he muttered, ‘The pursuer pursued? How intriguing. Mistress York, I presume?’
‘I am she.’
‘As you are now in control, mistress, the next move is yours.’
‘You only need to explain yourself.’
He tried to give a small bow, all he was capable of in the crush of the crowd, but the knife reminded him who was in charge.
‘Then permit me to conduct you away from this rabble where we can talk?’ He put out a hand and tried to reach for the knife but she pushed it more firmly between his ribs. So deep was the crush where they were standing that he was unable to reach for his own knife and she could have stabbed him and got out into the street while the crowd kept the dead man on his feet between them.
He knew this. With a genial smile he half-turned his head towards her and began to hum a tune while watching her reaction out of the corners of his eyes.
Hildegard stifled any sign of recognition. It was a song she would never forget.
It was during a time of terror and blood on a high cliff in the North Country. The face of the singer swam before her, gilded by the setting sun as he lay dying in her arms and in that wild and lonely place he had confessed his dreams and hopes for a better world for everyone.
He confessed how he and his fellow rebels were survivors of the Rising seven years earlier, and how they had sworn to be true to the cause of the people until every man, woman and child was freed from bonded labour.
De Lincoln repeated the words in a pleasant singing voice. ‘And on that promise yet we stand...whoever wrongs one man...conspires against us all...’
Without saying more he nodded towards the door and raised his eyebrows. Hildegard prodded him forward through the crowd until they were outside in the moonlit street.
She watched him guardedly. ‘So you know the words of the rebels’ anthem? So do many.’
‘That’s not all I know.’
Show no eagerness, she thought. Show no interest. Be not surprised. She waited for him to continue.
Eventually, when he realised she might have the patience to outwait him, he said, ‘Once I knew a fellow called John of Cottingham.’
Still she did not react.
‘He sang that anthem in Beverley, in Hedon and in Hull. He even sang it outside his priory in Cottingham and got hauled before the justices for it. They thought they’d put him in prison for a day or two to cool his heels but when he came out he went to York and sang it there.’
‘All very interesting,’ she murmured. ‘So what?’
‘So you might know him as he’s from your part of the world.’
‘I know of him. Who doesn’t - in any part of the world.’
‘You see, I know where that is. And I know who you are. Domina,’ he said with emphasis, ‘or do you prefer to be addressed as Mistress York?’
She said nothing but went on waiting to hear what he had to say next.
‘I understand.’ He gave a half smile and smoothed his beard. ‘The point is, my lady, we have met before and not only at Clarendon, but elsewhere.’
‘Have we.’ Still no interest. She noted he had changed his mode of address. Her mind was racing though. Who was he? Where had they met? How did he know of her? Most of all, what did he want?
She listened as he offered an explanation.
‘I recall a most remarkable nun with sea-coloured eyes and a make-shift camp in the godforsaken wilderness of the Yorkshire Moors. I remember a hasty ride to the coast to intercept a cargo of armaments destined for the Scottish King Douglas...And I recall a betrayal...And much slaughter.’
‘So?’
‘So I need your help, my lady.’
This was unexpected. She said nothing.
‘Well, shall I have it?’
‘And how did you manage to escape this slaughter you mention? Few did. The trap was well made.’
‘I was not the betrayer.’ He sounded nettled.
‘So you would say.’
‘I do say. I say it because I speak the truth.’
‘Then you are peerless amongst your fellow men,’ she replied, ‘because truth is a rare commodity with men such as you.’
‘Such as me?’
‘A mercenary.’
His lips moved as if smiling but his eyes held the same lightless look she had noticed earlier and he growled, ‘We understand each other. What proof do you want of my good intentions?’
‘What favour do you want?’
He sighed with irritation. ‘I know the realm is on the brink of civil war. It was so then when John of Cottingham was rousing the forces with his anthem. And it is so now with certain barons telling us what treason means. For a long time after the Rising was put down with mass hangings, those who could, escaped into the wildwood. We all know that.’
He waited as if to invite her to comment and when she remained silent he continued. ‘They were not cowards. They thought it better to live to fight another day. They still live in their communes, with everything held equally and no man above another, and women too, if they so desire, living with them in freedom, outside the law.’
‘So I’ve heard. This is common knowledge.’
‘Such were the rebels in Yorkshire by whom you were abducted.’
‘That is so. Why should I deny it?’
‘Do you imagine people will put up with what’s happening now?’ he asked in a scandalised tone. ‘I concede,’ he continued, as if settling into a familiar argument, ‘there is a kind of mad heroism in those who refuse to run and firmly stand their ground all the way to the execution block. But once dead they are of no further account except as an inspiration for those still living.’
‘You mean like the late Mayor of the City of London, Nicholas Brembre?’
‘He and many others like him. Heroic, yes. But foolish as milk maids. If everyone refused to run we would all be executed and the dream of freedom would die with us.’
‘I fail to see how this concerns me. Only someone like John Hawkwood and his White Company could stand against the enemies you have not yet named.’
‘But we do understand who the enemy is?’
‘Do we?’
‘Listen, a thousand defamatory pens have lied away the characters of such men as Wat Tyler and John Balle. They have tried to say that the people’s Rising was due to the greed of a handful of peasants. We both know that is not the truth. A torch for freedom was lighted and it burns still. We cannot allow the
new times we live in to douse it.’
‘I have heard as much said on behalf of Wyclif and his wish for freedom of worship.’
‘The morning star? The herald of freedom from the Pope’s exactions? Yes, and so have I. They are all one in their desire to live as free men and women.’
‘My question still stands. What help do you want from me? It seems to me you are inviting me to speak treason.’
She turned to walk away. A hand came down onto her shoulder and her knife flashed as de Lincoln at the same moment stepped back out of its range.
‘At least you’re ready to defend your cause - whatever that is,’ he added with a sneer, ‘Mistress York!’
He swivelled on his heel and strode abruptly back inside the tavern.
She wanted to shout after him - and what cause do you serve? But Hubert’s warning came to mind just in time.
She stood for a moment or two in the street. He did not re-emerge. Rain began to fall.
An April shower, she registered.
The weather is always with us.
Head down, she began to walk back along the street towards the cathedral.
‘We must find out who retains him.’ Gregory looked grim. He and Hildegard were standing under a tree on the corner of Crane Street where she had met the monk coming down to the Cat as they had arranged.
He had listened to what she had to say about de Lincoln. ‘And you’re sure he knew you? It wasn’t some wild surmise?’
‘He gave me to understand that he recognised me from a time when I was abducted by the rebels.’ Briefly she explained the situation. ‘He must also have found out from someone that later I adopted an alias as Mistress York.’
‘But you didn’t recognise him?’
‘I didn’t. But there were many men at the camp, twenty or thirty, all living rough and looking unkempt. De Lincoln, if he was there, has had a shave and a hair-cut since then.’ She smiled.
Gregory pulled his hood more closely about his face. ‘Let’s get out of this infernal rain.’
‘I’ve had enough of taverns.’
‘We’ll walk along the river bank and find shelter there.’
They set off.
‘So,’ began Gregory when there was no-one to overhear them, ‘are you going to tell me what he said?’
‘He asked for my help.’
‘To do what?’
‘He walked off before he could tell me.’
Gregory gave a muffled laugh.
‘I think he was actually trying to get me to admit my support for the rebels. Of course, everything he said was true. I agreed with every word, although, of course, I didn’t let him see that. He said Tyler’s reputation had been lied away by a thousand defamatory pens, a torch had been lighted and burns still – all of it true, Gregory, and spoken with passion and a sense of conviction.’
‘And yet?’
‘And yet I do not believe a word of it coming from him. He was hoping to lure me into agreement. And then...’ she shrugged.
They walked a little way along the river bank. Rain splashed down continually into the water and at once vanished into the darkness. De Lincoln had aroused many bad memories for Hildegard and the rain and the darkness added to her black mood.
‘I’ve had an encounter too,’ Gregory told her, when the silence had gone on too long.
She roused herself and asked, ‘Did you follow that young fellow who passed payment to de Lincoln?’
‘No.’
‘I thought that’s what you were going to do?’
He explained. ‘Soon after you left another fellow came in. They had obviously arranged to meet. He slapped our man on the back and they fell into a private conversation of some urgency. After a minute or two something seemed to be decided between them and they left. Outside, to my immense annoyance, they separated.’
‘Was he the go-between they mentioned?’
‘Possibly, and on that assumption I decided to trail him.’
‘Was it useful?’
‘Extremely. He fetched up at the house of a well-known merchant as I discovered when I asked an old character lurking about in the street.’
‘What did you say to him?’ she asked in alarm.
‘I gave nothing away. I only told him that I had business with a master Filligrew and was that his house, whereupon the fellow, garrulous with drink, fell to describing the owner of the house, his name, his status, the fact that he’s a widow and the father of five children but to his certain knowledge not in any way my Filligrew, a bachelor of sixty as I explained. I thanked him and expressed sorrow that he was unable to help me over the matter of my friend.’
‘So having charmed all this information from him, where does it get us?’
‘That, my dear Hildegard, is something I shall have to leave to you. What say you pose a few questions to your Benedictine guest-mistress? She’ll know a widower who has five children practically living on her doorstep. Especially as he’s a master mason. Then we can find out if he knows what his son is up to?’
‘If it is his son and not a live-in apprentice.’
‘It’s all one.’
He escorted her back to the house where she was lodged. On the way he happened to mention that if she glanced along the street she would see the house where he had done his sleuthing.
‘See the one over there with the overhang and one light in the attic?’
‘Yes.’
‘Fine building, isn’t’ it?’
‘Those masons make a good living.’
‘I hear the renovations to the cathedral are all but finished. What will our mason do next?’
‘There’s plenty of work around these days and if they’re skilled they need never live in want.’
‘I don’t begrudge them their fortunes. They’re the princes of the realm in my eyes.’
‘I have the greatest respect for them too,’ Hildegard agreed, ‘although their guilds are sometimes run on harsh lines, don’t you think? They certainly like to guard their mysteries.’
‘At least they exact rigorous standards of workmanship.’
‘Yes, that’s something I think of every time I set foot in one of their towering edifices.’
Gregory chuckled and then his voice changed. ‘Now we’re safely past the house we can dispense with the small talk,’ he murmured, ‘what do you think?’
‘It’ll be as I first suggested. They’ll be dealing in stolen venison at the risk of hanging for their culinary taste.’ Only her feeling of unease over de Lincoln made her doubt this.
Gregory himself was clearly unconvinced. ‘You could at least mention the master to the lay sisters when you next see them and find out what they know. It may shed a clearer light on de Lincoln’s purpose’
Rain shimmered on Gregory’s cloak in the moonlight as he wished her good night at the door of her lodgings and moved off into the darkness towards the cathedral. He looked innocent enough. A harmless monk going to his prayers. If any footpads had the urge to attack him, though, they would rue it.
ELEVEN
They were sitting in the part of the refectory reserved for guests and lay visitors later the next morning. Hildegard was in an ill humour.
‘What’s wrong with you today? All the way through France you were sweetness and light whatever troubles assailed us. Now you’re like a thunder cloud. What’s the matter?’
‘I’m sorry, Gregory. I’m worried about Ysabella. Singing and pretty clothes are far from her mind. I’d prefer frivolity to the sort of interests she seems to be developing.’
He gave a gentle smile. ‘What did you seriously expect of your own daughter?’
‘I only hope she can hold her tongue.’ She gave him a worried glance. ‘De Lincoln knows who I am. I fear it is because he noticed the resemblance between us.’
‘That may not mean anything to her harm. Why should it? Especially as he claims to be a supporter of the king’s faction.’
‘If you believe that.’
‘And
you really don’t recognise him? Search your mind,’ he urged.
‘There were two groups among the rebels. The serious, god-fearing ones with a desire to rid the shires of bonded labour and live as free Englishmen. And the mercenaries who were only there to make a profit for themselves. They would kill for either side without compunction so long as they were paid.’
‘And you believe he might have been of this latter group?’
She nodded. ‘They betrayed the true rebels at a pre-arranged signal. It was carefully planned. Someone must have put up the gold to do it.’
‘Did he give any hint of what he wanted from you?’
‘My support in some endeavour, or so I understood, although his temper got the better of him and he left before outlining his request.’
‘He probably thought twice when he saw you were unwilling to trust him.’
‘We shall see. But it’s not only that. I failed you this morning. I should have found out something about our master mason but the sisters were tight-lipped. They’re obviously not given to gossip - and who can blame them in these times?’
‘Here, let me fill your beaker.’ Gregory reached for the flagon.
‘It’s that man, de Lincoln,’ Hildegard continued. ‘He’s dangerous. He knows too much and I can’t imagine where he got his information from. Is it chance he found me or was I tracked here to Salisbury?’
She did not frame another fear,that Abbot de Courcy might be in danger. If she was known, the abbot would be known too. These days the monastics were in as much danger as everyone else. In the old days Hubert had never made any secret of his support for King Richard. The Archbishop of York, too, had made his allegiance known, and look what had happened to him. An archbishop, for heaven’s sake. Forced into exile.
‘I don’t understand what he’s after,’ she repeated. ‘What use am I to him?’
‘Time will tell us the answer to that one.’
‘You’re so practical!’
‘And you’re understandably shaken by discovering that a stranger recognises you.’
‘How did he know I was at that skirmish in Yorkshire if he wasn’t there? It was terrible, Gregory. It was the most bloody slaughter. Many dead. The fisherfolk from the little village in the cliffs sent the corpses out to sea on rafts that night. They set them alight. I can still see it.’
The Scandal of the Skulls Page 10