The Scandal of the Skulls

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘A Viking custom?’

  ‘They’re descended from Viking traders up there,’ she explained. ‘The point is, how did de Lincoln know that I was present? He must have been there too but I don’t remember him. I simply don’t. He must have been one of the mercenaries hired to protect the rebels.’

  ‘That sounds a likely explanation.’

  ‘They were a surly, ill-mannered bunch, forever drinking, swearing and dicing, quite unlike the rebel leader and his men. Both sides lost men that day. Both sides were betrayed.’

  ‘Where is this de Lincoln staying?’ Gregory asked, suddenly. ‘There’s a possibility we can find somebody with a loose tongue who knows more about him.’

  ‘We’re at a disadvantage, not being on home ground.’

  ‘Leave it with me. I’ve met a young Franciscan, a local lad, who seems to want to befriend me. If there’s anybody talkative enough he’s sure to know them.’

  ‘Don’t tell him too much until you’re sure of his allegiance.’

  ‘Never.’

  Gregory went at once to find the friar he had mentioned and Hildegard wondered what she should do here in Salisbury while she waited for her abbot, Hubert de Courcy, to arrive from his stay in the Abbey of Beaulieu. It was too frustrating. Never the most patient of persons, she could scarcely bear the thought of a week or so of inactivity in the small town now she had accomplished her purpose of seeing her daughter. Ysabella clearly wanted her to stay longer, however, and given the way things were she wouldn’t dream of leaving her until she knew she was going to come to no harm. Soon the dowager countess would move her entourage in stages back towards her castle in the Welsh Marches when the purpose of her sojourn at Clarendon, to allow her steward to give the castle a thorough cleansing after the winter months, would have been accomplished.

  This annual progress from palace to palace was, Hildegard realised, a perfect excuse for the countess to do some spying among the noble households of the shire, like the spies Favent boasted had been sent throughout England by the duke and his allies. Maybe, she shuddered, the countess herself was one of these.

  She tried to turn her thoughts to less worrying matters while she waited for Gregory to return. She knew from experience what the annual spring clean would be like, for instance. When married to Hugh she had suffered the cleansing of their own castle near Monmouth, everything turned upside down for weeks on end, stone floors scrubbed, garderobes emptied, moat cleaned, all because they said the Plague thrived in the miasma of fumes from the gong pits. It was the same everywhere now, this obsession with cleanliness.

  In London one of the many good changes Mayor Brembre had introduced were ordinances forbidding the dumping of human waste in the Thames within a certain distance from the shore. It was only allowed to be taken out by special boats at high tide. London was fortunate to be on the banks of a river with a strong tidal ebb that rapidly took the effluent of the City safely out to sea.

  Inevitably she began to think about Hubert de Courcy again, about when he might decide to travel to Salisbury so they could start the long and taxing journey north to Meaux and home, and it was while she was pondering her answer to the question Hubert had posed, that a young girl came into the refectory.

  It was Idonea. She saw Hildegard and came straight over. ‘Domina?’

  ‘Good morning, young mistress.’

  ‘I remember you from when they brought the body of my dear Robin down from the tower. You were kind to me. I took advantage of the fact and dragged you into my heart-break. Pray forgive me.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive.’ She indicated the seat Gregory had left. ‘Please join me.’

  ‘I still can’t believe it,’ Idonea began at once. ‘He was such a sweet - ’ tears began to flood from her eyes, ‘such a sweet, sweet boy. He did not deserve - ’ Her shoulders shook. ‘Why did they have to do that to him?’

  ‘Did you find out who did it?’

  She shook her head. ‘They’re apprentices. No-one will break faith with another. It’ll be kept within the guild. We outsiders are nothing compared to their mysteries.’

  Her words struck a chord with Hildegard. It was only what she and Gregory had been saying as they chatted their way past the master mason’s house.

  ‘Surely they’ll be as keen as anyone to find the murderers and punish them?’

  ‘Murderers? You think there was more than one?’ The girl looked astonished.

  ‘There must have been more,’ she suggested gently. ‘In order to tie a man by the feet someone would have had to hold him down - I’m sorry, but it’s a fact. I only mean that it was more than one man could achieve by himself. And to drive the windlass...Can one man do it alone? Have you thought of that?’

  ‘You can say what you think, domina, whatever it is. I only want to find out who did it and get my revenge. A death for a death. If the guild won’t punish them, I will!’

  ‘I cannot condone bloodshed - ’

  The girl smiled a sudden brilliant smile through her tears. ‘I speak only in an exaggerated fashion as is my habit, or so I’m told. I don’t mean I would actually kill them. Maybe only their reputations? That would be just, would it not?’

  Hildegard studied her expression. ‘How old are you, Idonea?’

  ‘Sixteen.’

  ‘And were you hand-fast with Robin?’

  She nodded. ‘Since the day before it happened. We were at the church door in our parish. We decided, just like that!’ She snapped her fingers. ‘We took everybody by surprise and they all turned up to witness it. We were so in love. I carried spring flowers to show it was a special thing we were doing. Robin picked them for me in the mead that morning, the morning before he - ’ her face crumpled again. ‘Everyone seemed so happy for us.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  Her eyes hardened. ‘Except my brother.’

  ‘He was the one whose face you slapped?’

  She nodded. ‘He deserved it. He hated Robin. He was glad when he - ‘ she broke off and bit her lip as if struck by a sudden thought. ‘He wouldn’t - I mean, it could not have been him? He has a temper but - ’

  ‘Why did he dislike Robin so much?’

  ‘Jealousy.’ She was emphatic. ‘I’m his little sister. He wanted to be the one to arrange a marriage for me. A good one, he kept saying, as if my sweet Robin was a vagrant. But he was an apprentice in his first year. You can expect a lad like that to be wild. His heart was good. He was the sweetest lad I’ve ever met.’ Tears flowed again.

  She leaned forward. ‘Domina, someone is walking round this town with blood on their hands.’

  Another exaggeration, thought Hildegard. The boy had been tied by the feet and then winched into the steeple. They said it was two or three hundred feet to where the labourers worked but he had been no more than fifty feet up, or so they said. Even so it was enough to kill anyone if they were left there for any length of time. That must mean there were collaborators. To get him up there.

  ‘Are they still working inside the steeple?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s been going on for ages but they’re near finishing, maybe by May Day, Frank says. It’s like a cat’s cradle of wooden beams at the top. Half a forest of trees! Robin took me up - against the rules of course. Frank was furious when he found out.’

  ‘Frank?’

  ‘My brother. “You might have fallen and broken your neck.” He was raging. “So might you,” I said, “but you go up every day.” “I know what I’m doing. If he had an iota of regard for you he would never have done such a thing.” He gave poor Robin a right bollocking but, being Robin he only laughed and made some silly joke and gave me a little kiss and said, “I’d never harm a hair of this little darling’s head,” and that’s how he was, domina. My sweet Robin.’

  ‘Maybe your brother had a point,’ Hildegard remarked reasonably. ‘I imagine it is quite dangerous up there.’

  ‘He’s jealous, I’ve told you. He hated Robin because everybody else loved him and forgave him
everything.’

  Privately thinking there might be a lot to forgive she instead asked, ‘Were your parents at the hand-fasting?’

  She shook her head. ‘Both dead now, bless them.’

  ‘I saw a kindly woman come to your aid when Robin was brought down?’

  ‘That was Robin’s mother. A dear soul. She’s like a mother to me.’ Idonea gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Father was always strict, especially with Frank, but he was truly a dear at heart.’ She sighed again. ‘It’s Frank who thinks he runs things now. He’s always laying down the law to me. Since father died he’s become obsessed with making money. I’m his latest way of acquiring a fortune. Can you believe it?’ She gave a tinkling laugh and threw back her hair over one shoulder.

  Grief for his father, pondered Hildegard. Sometimes people threw themselves into some all-consuming activity to keep grief at bay. Frank did not sound as bad as Idonea pretended, merely heavy-handed with a wilful younger sister to watch out for.

  ‘How does he think you’re going to make his fortune?’ she asked.

  ‘By marriage!’ she exclaimed. ‘Except that I’ve spoilt that one for him.’

  ‘Did he have some wealthy suitor in mind?’

  Idonea gave a hollow laugh. ‘He’s over-reaching himself, I can tell you.’ She rose abruptly to her feet. ‘Can’t sit here gossipping. I’ve been to Mass. Now I must get on. Thank you for listening to my woes, domina. It’s always pleasant to talk to a nun.’ As she smugly patted her gown into place she added, ‘I don’t know how to find out who killed Robin but I’m going to have a good try and then they’d better watch out!’

  TWELVE

  After Idonea left Hildegard stayed on to wait for Gregory and think things over. If Idonea had just left Lady Mass the message of peace and forgiveness had not taken root.

  She wondered whether she would be able to track down the murderers as she claimed.

  It was obviously murder because no-one could have done that to themselves. It did not seem like the act of someone in a rage, however, for which the penalty might be less, but seemed calculated, involving others. The question then was how would you persuade people to join you in such a barbaric act? Could it be a gang killing of some kind? Towns always had their gangs, often based on rival guilds, sometimes and increasingly connected to the rival factions of the local landowner and his retainers, and sometimes with differences reaching as far as the split in Westminster between the king and his enemies. In these dark days the rule of law was frail.

  It was certainly true that the law-givers up in Westminster had until recently been trying to bring in legislation against the running of these affinities. They had been talking about making it illegal to wear the colours and insignia of any particular lord, in the belief that it fostered rivalry. But little had come from such discussions. There were too many vested interests in keeping it legal to wear signs of allegiance. It suited the barons to have their own private armies and the landowners also liked to be able to keep order on their own manors with the help of a few armed militia.

  It meant that retainers, armed and marching under the same colours, had the appearance of a military unit. Look at the Duke of Gloucester, she reminded herself, his men marching under the shadow of the dead fox that swung from his lance.

  Look at the earls of Arundel and Warwick.

  Look at Bolingbroke.

  They all had their own banners and coats-of-arms, the badges to show their affinity. They had even mustered their armies against King Richard at the gates of London itself after his own small army’s defeat at Radcot Bridge last autumn. And so it went on down the hierarchy of landowners until the most impoverished manorial lord had his own armed group of enforcers with some sign to show their allegiance.

  Men, she sighed. Why did women not dress up in fancy colours and fight each other? Thank heavens we’ve more sense, she was thinking, just as Gregory appeared. He was smiling and had a young friar in his wake.

  ‘Here’s our observant friend, Brother Jonathan, ready to bring us the information we need,’ he announced.

  They clearly had a good relationship already because the friar gave Gregory a wide grin and said, ‘Like a hawk, me. Release me from your gauntlet and I’ll return with your desire before you can blink.’

  Chuckling, they both sat down. Gregory called for small beer and some cheese.

  ‘You’ve already broken your fast, brother,’ Hildegard pointed out.

  ‘Ah,’ Gregory looked mystified then smiled, ‘so I have. Well, I think I’ll break it again. What about you?’

  When everything was settled and they were furnished with more food and ale they got down to the matter in hand.

  ‘We have a mysterious knight who seems to know quite a lot about Hildegard and as he has seen us both we cannot sensibly stand outside the Cat and follow him home to find out more about him.’

  ‘Which is where I come in?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What does this cove look like?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘Over to you, Hildegard.’ Gregory sat back.

  ‘He’s about as tall as Brother Gregory but with short military style fair hair, a very tidy forked beard, and he wears a sword Gregory would like to have a better look at. Isn’t that so, Brother?’

  ‘It’s damascene. Nice workmanship,’ he agreed.

  ‘That should be enough to go on,’ added the friar. ‘You say he hangs around the Cat? That’s a lawless place.’

  ‘Good cooking, though,’ Gregory licked his lips.

  ‘He has a couple of contacts we believe to be local, judging by their accents who in turn - ’

  ‘Who in turn,’ interrupted Gregory, ‘have a colleague who lives in the house of the mason in charge of work on the steeple.’

  ‘That’ll be Master Gervase. I know the house. He’s a widower with five children. He has one lodger, Jack Field.’ He turned to Hildegard. ‘May I ask what this de Lincoln fellow wants with you, domina?’

  ‘You may. But in fact I have no idea. He’s a treacherous devil when it comes to luring people to speak treason.’ She recounted her conversation with him as objectively as she could, adding, ‘That’s dangerous talk these days.’

  Jonathan looked pensive. Hildegard wondered if he was calculating their own allegiance and with Hubert’s warning in mind rapidly went over what they had both said.

  There was nothing to suggest their support for either side. Horror at the beheadings in Westminster was a natural reaction from anybody even half human. They would no doubt get a chance to speak seriously when they were more sure of each other.

  Jonathan rose to his feet. ‘I’ve nothing much to do. Prayers said. I’ll get down there now before I have to say them again at tierce.’ He addressed Gregory. ‘You know where you can find me, the market cross at the top of Silver Street.’ Smiling, he walked rapidly towards the door.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Gregory following him with his glance.

  ‘Seems cheerful and willing.’

  He gave her a glinting smile. ‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’

  ‘How did you meet him?’

  ‘He was beset by a gang of Dominicans who had nothing better to do than heckle his homily at the Cheese Cross. Things started to get lively. I judged the odds a little uneven. I was also disinclined to have them break his jaw as I rather enjoyed the silver words he was pouring forth with such pleasure as well as his rather Wyclifite sentiments. It seemed a shame to disappoint his appreciative listeners too. He’s most entertaining and what annoyed the Dominicans is the ease with which he persuaded the crowd to give him alms.’

  ‘You didn’t use your sword, did you?’

  ‘It’s safely back in my lodgings.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

  ‘What have you been doing all this while?’

  ‘I’ve been listening to Idonea threatening vengeance on the murderers of her sweet Robin. Don’t you find the whole thing a puzzle?’

  ‘What intrigues you
especially?’

  ‘She’s coming to the idea that her brother Frank is involved.’

  ‘Maybe he is.’

  ‘I thought, while we’re kicking our heels here, waiting for Hubert and Egbert to finish their business in Lymington port, we might have time to find out a little more about these masons.’

  ‘Go on,’ he invited.

  ‘What strikes me is that his murder must have been planned with some care.’ And she told him what little she knew.

  ‘And these are going to be carvings for the west front.’ The foreman, accompanied by one or two assistants, waved his arm over some half carved blocks of sandstone.

  ‘Are they based on known local characters?’ Gregory asked in innocent tones, peering at the heads.

  ‘Some,’ agreed the foreman. ‘No doubt.’

  ‘Any monastics among them?’

  ‘We sometimes have a bit of fun with you lot.’ He gave an amiable chuckle.

  ‘I know,’ agreed Gregory in like manner. ‘We are much flattered to be noticed. How long would it take for me to hew out something recognisable from such stone?’

  ‘A while,’ replied the foreman with a grin. ‘It depends on your aptitude with the tools.’

  The other men laughed.

  ‘I knew some masons in a place called Handale Priory,’ Hildegard told him. ‘They had a woman imager, daughter of a master mason. She was extremely skilled at getting a true likeness. I doubt, brother,’ she turned to Gregory, ‘whether you’d learn to do it in a hundred years.’

  ‘I doubt it too. Each to his own craft, say I.’

  It was in such a mood of genial banter that the underlying purpose of their visit seemed to have been forgotten by both of them.

  They followed the foreman’s lead towards the thatched lodge where several stone-cutters were working in between drinking stoups of ale. Thirsty work. Dust flew everywhere, shrouding their clothes and turning their hair grey.