The Scandal of the Skulls

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘What, everyone?’

  ‘The countess and her household, domina.’

  ‘When? Why? No-one told me they were leaving. Did my daughter go with them?’

  ‘All gone, set out after nones yesterday,’ replied the servant unheeding of Hildegard’s evident distress.

  She took him by the arm. ‘Tell me where my daughter is. Where is Ysabella?’

  ‘Gone, domina.’

  ‘With everyone else?’

  ‘The countess decided to go yesterday of a sudden and left some of her household to follow on.’

  ‘Ysabella among them?’ Hildegard shook his arm.

  ‘Aye.’ He stepped back and she was forced to release him. ‘She went accompanied by her betrothed.’

  ‘Her what?’

  ‘I know nothing, domina.’ He began to sweep the floor again. ‘It’s not my doing.’

  Hildegard stared at his bent back as he plied the broom. She felt like cracking it over his stupid head. Then she swivelled and hurried into the next chamber. And finding that empty, went on into the next with her thoughts tumbling from one possibility to another.

  The servant must be mad. Surely the whole household had not left so suddenly? What had made the countess leave without warning anyway? And why had Ysabella not sent for her as soon as she knew they were to be on the move? Why betrothed? She could not be betrothed. Was it to Ivo? And de Lincoln’s warning if you want to see your daughter again...What was she to think?

  In fear she ran from chamber to chamber, calling Ysabella’s name, receiving no answer, finding only an echoing emptiness until she finally reached the solar where the countess had first received her.

  It was as deserted as everywhere else.

  Things seemed to be as they were left, dropped down as if their owners had been in too much hurry to take them: a tippet lying on a stool, a pair of velvet turnshoes under a bench, and on the table an upended goblet, a platter with food half eaten upon it, flies buzzing, and a cat slinking about to grub up what morsels it could find.

  No sign of her daughter.

  No sign of anyone.

  She ran into the privy chambers, the countess’s great bed already dismantled, knowing by now that it was no use but unable to stop herself from calling Ysabella’s name as she went, in a cry that dwindled dismally to the rafters and brought no response.

  When she turned back her face was twisted in anguish. Hurrying into the Great Hall again she saw the servant still sweeping the floor.

  ‘Who accompanied Ysabella when she left?’

  ‘I know nothing, domina. It’s not my job.’

  ‘Did she leave with the man called de Lincoln?’

  After a long pause while he thought it out he eventually nodded. ‘That might be the name.’

  It was enough to send Hildegard racing outside to find her palfrey and snatch up the reins. As she urged him back through the gatehouse, her thoughts were drumming. Gaunt’s palace, the man said, the hunting lodge Gaunt owned outside Winchester.

  Calling down to the sleeping guard as she went under the west gate again she saw him jerk to and she had to repeat her question. ‘Which way did the countess and her retinue go, east or west?’’

  ‘Why, to the east, domina.’

  ‘To the duke’s palace at King’s Sombourne?’

  ‘I believe that is their destination, domina.’ He tried to straighten his clothes and look alert.

  ‘And her damozel, Ysabella - she left in the company of John de Lincoln, is that so?’

  ‘Sir John, domina, yes.’

  She was about to ride on without comment when she thought of another question. ‘Was the countess’s ward Ivo with them?’

  ‘I ain’t seen him.’

  Worst fears confirmed and aware that this was all the information she was going to extract she pressed her heels into the horse’s sides and set off at a gallop down the path from Clarendon to join the Winchester road.

  Such a large household could not travel as swiftly as a single rider, no matter how urgent their purpose, but slow as they would be they would easily have covered the ten or so miles to Sombourne by night fall the day before. She would find them at Gaunt’s palace even if they were planning to move on to Winchester.

  Fear gripped her by the throat. The idea of the countess being made welcome in one of Gaunt’s houses sent shock waves through her.

  Something momentous must have happened to send them flying off without warning. Did it mean Sir Simon had been released? Was he even now gathering an army to outface Gloucester?

  She told herself over and over to trust that Ysabella was safe but it was the word betrothed that hammered in her head above all else. It had to be Ivo. The idiot servant was wrong. He had to be. But what if he wasn’t? And where was Ivo anyway?

  She hardly dare allow the alternative into her thoughts. De Lincoln’s rage as he left her yesterday morning after their confrontation had looked genuine. It was more than frustration at being slapped down. He had not wanted to be the loser over the question of Ysabella’s dowry.

  And yet, he could not carry out his purpose without the countess’s permission and she, surely, would not allow it without first seeking Hildegard’s approval. They had decided to take it slowly, to delay a commitment for as long as possible. The countess had agreed. She had said she agreed. But this, this promise, was it now betrayed? Why had she allowed Ysabella to go off with de Lincoln, knowing what he wanted?

  It was like de Lincoln to pre-empt any decision and force the issue.

  But why King’s Sombourne? What did the countess intend by going there of all places? It was an enclave of the king’s Lancastrian enemies. De Lincoln was no friend to the king. His claim to have changed and become penitent and given his support to the legitimate monarch and King Richard’s few remaining allies was suspect. Now her doubts over the countess’s allegiance seemed to have foundation too. Even with these thoughts battling through her mind the ten miles or so to King’s Sombourne passed like a penance.

  First to a vill called Pitton, then on without a break past the manor lands straddling the Winterslows, on along the straight road the Romans had left and through the sinister arcades of Buckholt Forest, eventually dropping down the hollow way to Broughton.

  After a hard gallop even Hildegard had to bring her horse to a stop, allow him a brief drink and one for herself at a village spring, and then on again along the brook to the bank of the River Test, and across to the outer pale of Gaunt’s deer park.

  A long climb out of the valley led up to the palace set amid meadows and well-tended field strips.

  A busy manor with a water mill, farm buildings and every trapping of a successful holding where royal hunting parties could be entertained, lay before her. A confusion of retainers, evidence of the countess’s recent arrival, roamed about on various errands within the yard.

  Hildegard brought her flagging palfrey to a halt and with a brief pat threw the reins to a stable lad.

  She stormed up to the entrance and argued her way past the guards.

  When she entered the hall, the countess was standing by a high window and turned. ‘I saw you ride in,’ she said.

  ‘What does it mean?’

  The countess looked bewildered. ‘Did he not give you my message?’

  ‘What message? Who?’

  ‘De Lincoln, of course?’ The countess frowned and came forward. ‘I sent him to you in Salisbury yesterday morning to tell you that we have to go on to Winchester. Did he not say?’

  Hildegard tightened her lips. ‘He did not.’

  ‘How strange, he told me he had seen you.’

  ‘Yes, that much is true. But he gave me no message other than to mention that you had informed him of my rejection of his suit.’

  ‘He took it in good part, I’m pleased to say.’ While Hildegard stared at this she added, ‘There is news from London about Sir Simon.’

  Hildegard’s heart leaped. ‘Has Burley escaped the Tower?’

  Th
e countess looked surprised. ‘He has been taken back to Westminster to answer further charges brought by the duke of Gloucester. We are awaiting the verdict.’

  ‘But - ’ For a moment Hildegard fell silent then the main purpose of her mad dash to Sombourne returned. ‘I came in haste because I understand my daughter left Clarendon to travel on here in the company of de Lincoln. So where is she?’

  The countess took Hildegard by the arm. ‘They have not arrived.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They came on after us. At least that was their intention. I sent Ivo with them. He and Ysabella have made a token promise to each other. I knew you would agree with me that it would be best to thwart de Lincoln by a fait accompli - ’

  ‘So where is she? Didn’t they come on here?’

  ‘That’s what we expected. But there’s no sign of them yet. I’m sure there’s no cause for anxiety. De Lincoln seems to have resigned himself to Ysabella’s rejection and made himself the most congenial company yesterday when he returned to Clarendon. He told me you had put forward cogent reasons for saying no to his proposal and that on reflection he considered it best for her to marry someone of her own age and inclinations.’

  ‘So where are they now?’ Hildegard’s voice rose.

  ‘Maybe they changed their minds and decided to go back to Salisbury?’

  ‘They set off yesterday? When?’

  ‘Domina? Do you think something has happened - ? You’ve gone quite white.’ The countess put her hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t look like that! I would never forgive myself if my dear girl had come to harm - ’

  ‘When did you last see Ysabella?’ demanded Hildegard, all conventions of politeness leaving her. ‘Tell me! I must know!’

  ‘It was yesterday at Clarendon. They watched us leave. Some problem with de Lincoln’s horse delayed them – ’

  She took Hildegard by the arm. ‘I admit I was mystified when they did not catch up with us. Indeed, I was not a little annoyed when they failed to show up at supper. Then I assumed they must have changed their plans and decided to go on to Salisbury instead. It seemed reasonable to assume they decided to meet you there and ask your permission for a betrothal. I thought maybe they might even have planned to bring you back with them...’

  The expression on the countess’s face showed that she had lost faith in this explanation even as she uttered the words.

  Her grip tightened. ‘I’ll send men. You surely don’t believe de Lincoln would cause any harm to either of them - ? God in heaven! If it is so! And on top of what is threatening Sir Simon. How can we survive such disastrous events?’

  She crumpled onto the window seat and closed her eyes. One of the nearby damozels dabbed her brow with a cloth soaked in lavender water.

  ‘My dear Hildegard, she is like a daughter to me but your distress must be ever the greater as she is your true daughter in blood. I will send armed men.’

  She rose to her feet. Calling for the captain of her body guards, she issued orders for him to ride with a posse in all haste to Salisbury or elsewhere if they heard news of de Lincoln and Ysabella to the contrary.

  ‘And send a man on to Salisbury itself whatever else you do. Bring them back! Bring back my ward too. They will have gone to the House of the Benedictines to look for the domina. Bring the two young wards back to me. Brook no objections from John de Lincoln.’

  ‘I cannot stay here merely waiting to see what transpires - I must go and find her myself,’ Hildegard told the countess after a brief respite while she gathered her thoughts over a goblet of wine and water.

  Bread and cheese, some choice morsels of fish from the extensive ponds nearby and tidbits of venison were brought but Hildegard had no appetite.

  ‘Will someone find me a horse? I’m sure my hired palfrey has been ridden out these last few hours.’

  ‘Fetch a horse,’ the countess ordered. ‘I see you must leave at once.’

  She voiced the thought unspoken by either women. ‘If de Lincoln really has abducted Ysabella then Salisbury will be the last place he will visit.’

  Hildegard hurried into the yard.

  The entire forest lay before her even as far as Beaulieu and the sea. Where would it make sense for de Lincoln to hide out until the expected search parties had given up? It seemed a hopeless task. He could be anywhere in this wild domain.

  Then she gave a gasp and hurried back to find the countess.

  ‘This is something I’ve remembered. I may be clutching at straws but did you not mention a manor belonging to de Lincoln’s family somewhere in the area? You told me it was the alleged purpose of his visit.’

  The countess gave a shriek. ‘Of course! What a fool I am. Why did I not think of that? It’s a place of no significance but close enough to Clarendon.’ She told Hildegard the name but it meant nothing. ‘I’ll send a local man with you.’

  It was obvious she was beginning to understand the seriousness of Ysabella’s disappearance.

  Abductions were rife at all levels of the realm. Even Bolingbroke and Gloucester had not been above suspicion when they each married the de Bohun heiresses in outright competition with each other and were now deep into apparently endless litigation over who had the right to the larger fortune. To gain the fortunes of the two sisters had been the purpose of the abductions. Gloucester had even had the younger sister incarcerated in a nunnery as soon as he heard that his nephew, Bolingbroke, intended to make a dynastic match with her.

  Bolingbroke, not to be outwitted, had forced her release and quickly married her. She was a child, a mere thirteen years old, but he got her pregnant at once. Even so the litigation continued. What the unfortunate sisters felt about this battle to lay hands on their wealth could only be guessed.

  Aching after her earlier ride Hildegard was hoisted astride a fine, mettlesome bay from the countess’s own string. A reliable looking man called Breck rode alongside. He wore a broad sword.

  ‘I expect you’re able to use that,’ she greeted with a gesture towards the sword.

  ‘Test me, domina. I won’t fail.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  THIRTY

  Master Breck of Pitton was a silent companion but for Hildegard that was all the better.

  As they cantered back the way she had ridden earlier she ran through everything the countess had told her, back and forth, from beginning to end, and back again, but with no more certainty of resolution than at the start. Only a face to face meeting with de Lincoln would provide that.

  To fortify herself against the darker thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her she told herself that it must be as the countess first suggested. De Lincoln, having had a change of heart after their bitter argument that morning, must have decided to escort Ysabella and Ivo to Salisbury to announce the betrothal - and somehow or other, decided Hildegard, I missed them. Maybe a horse had thrown a shoe and they had taken another route on foot. She was clutching at straws, and knew it.

  She forced herself to continue along this line, however, as it was the only one to give her any hope. She tried to work out when they would have arrived in Salisbury. If they left around vespers they would have been at the gates no more than an hour later.

  When did de Lincoln deliver his message to Sister Elwis? It had probably been quite late. Ysabella and Ivo might even have been with him. It was her own fault that she had not been there to greet them. Instead she had been at St Thomas’s, dwelling indulgently on her own affairs. The three of them must have spent the night in town. By chance De Lincoln’s message didn’t reach her until next morning, making her leave in such a blind panic that by the time they called back at her lodgings she would have been half way to Clarendon.

  Yet it made no sense to hope and imagine he had had a change of heart between their argument and his appearance at the house of the Benedictines.

  No comforting fantasy could account for the plain warning in de Lincoln’s message. There was no way of getting round that. He had intended it as a threat.

>   This is my own fault entirely, she accused herself. Impatience is my besetting sin. The prioress at Swyne is always telling me so. But what would patience have made me do? I should have gone straight back to the house and been there when he brought his warning letter. Remorse at her suspicion of de Lincoln’s motives assailed her until she recalled the malice in his eyes when he assaulted her that morning.

  How could she trust him? Of course she could not. Despite what he said about his epiphany he had been a mercenary, paid to kill. He had been one of Swynford’s thugs. Nothing on earth could have made him have such a radical change of heart. She could not bring herself to believe in miracles. His written words said it all.

  Exhausted, Hildegard slid down from her horse as soon as they reached Clarendon. Breck, being local, exchanged a few words with the guard sitting outside the gatehouse. There was no news, he told them, except that a Cistercian had come riding in and was rubbing down his horse in the stables.

  They had no need to go over to find him. Brother Gregory came striding out at that moment. Hildegard wanted to fall into his arms and only the astonished look from the monk should she do anything so untoward prevented her. Quickly she told him everything that had happened since they last met. All she omitted were the details of her encounter with de Lincoln the previous day.

  He was blunt. ‘Ysabella would have sent a message to you unless she had been prevented. I agree, we cannot assume de Lincoln’s intentions are benign.’ He turned to Breck. ‘Where is this manor of his?’

  ‘Not far. I’ll take you there now if the domina is content to get back on her horse?’

  ‘Of course I am. Let’s go.’

  Gregory gave her a leg up. ‘My horse is in its stall. Ride on. I’ll catch you up.’

  Breck told him the precise turning he should take and told him he would soon catch up with them. ‘Best to ride on together...just in case,’ he added darkly.

  They set off.

  Soon, after only a short ride down a dark track between closely growing scrub oaks, they sighted a collection of farm buildings hidden in a fold of the hills. It looked well-tended but too small to bring any sort of prosperity to its owner.