‘Forgive Carlotta,’ he remarked as she took the goblet from him. ‘I believe she resents Hubert’s affection for you.’
‘Tell her she has no need. Our vows are firm.’ She did not intend it to sound like a reproof.
He did not take it as such. ‘Vows do not obliterate the feeling. She’s jealous, a hard life before she met me, a furiously passionate woman. She can’t help herself.’
‘I’m sorry to hear she has had a hard life.’
‘So be it.’
‘I have one question only.’ She gave him a look that should have extracted every nuance of truth from him but met only his handsome, bland, concerned stare. ‘I noticed something odd in my cell when I returned after the nun had been murdered there.’
His brows came together.
‘It was something so small as to be almost negligible but what it means is of far greater consequence.’
His frown deepened.
‘It was the paw marks of a squirrel - and its droppings,’ she added in case he should brush aside her words.
He turned away and went over to the window where the light fell more brightly through the slats of the shutter across his tortured expression. He rubbed his fingers over his temples as if in thought.
With a sudden exclamation he turned, swept past Hildegard and went into the bedchamber next door. She heard a sharp argument then Carlotta, hair hanging loose to her waist, barefoot, her silk night gown creased, a fur being placed over her shoulders by Fondi, stood glowering in the doorway.
‘Tell her,’ Fondi ordered.
‘Oh caro, don’t bully me so.’
‘Tell her, will you.’
‘This is about that damned squirrel again.’ She gave Hildegard a reproachful look. ‘I admit it. I went into your bedchamber and I had Bel Pierre with me. He’s a warm little thing and it’s so cold here, and anyway, I must have put him down on the floor.’
‘Was the body there?’ Hildegard croaked. Her fingers tightened round the goblet containing her untouched drink.
‘It was. Already laid out by the woman who does such things. It was a shock, I can tell you. I would have thought they’d take it away quickly enough but no. I suppose it’s normal with you people, death, dead bodies.’ She shivered.
‘Why did you go?’
She gave a shamefaced look at Fondi. ‘I wanted to see if you were there.’
‘Dead, you mean?’
‘I hadn’t heard about the murder at that point. I just wanted to see if you had really gone away with Hubert.’ She was mumbling now and went quickly over to Fondi, putting her arms underneath his shirt and burying her face in his shoulder. ‘It means nothing, caro. I just wanted to know.’
He patted her head much as he had patted Bel Pierre.
**
Hubert. Striding up the steps towards the Fondi apartment. Hildegard leaving the same. He noticed the expression on her face. He stopped. ‘I apologise for Carlotta.’
‘Everyone apologises for Carlotta. Tell me, does she deal in poison?’
She stared him out until he was forced to reply, ‘You know I can’t answer that.’
‘I have no time for you, de Courcy!’
He stepped back as if she had slapped his face.
**
It was true then. The velvet cloaks, the embroidered silks, the linen so fine it was transparent. And the furs. The jewels. The horses. The villa and all its rich appurtenances. Paid for by dealing in the instruments of death. It must be true. What other explanation for Hubert’s dismay?
**
She turned a corner but there was no guard on duty at the foot of the steps. Quickly she wound her way up to the roof of the tower and stepped through the door, breathing in the clear, fresh gusts of a westerly wind that seemed to promise and end to corruption.
With no rain the sky was pale blue, rinsed clean, heralding spring and new life. Resting her head against the cold stone of the battlements she eyed the distant country, seeing the horizon as a promise of home and safety.
Back at the Abbey of Meaux, however, there would be no escape. Hubert de Courcy ruled. How could she ever have dealings with him again? He knew about Urb.Md. Mandrake of Urbino. He must surely know about the purpose of it here in Avignon, the devilish reason it had been brought here by the poison-maker and sold on to Clement.
Something so potent no-one could survive it.
Nothing so tellingly demonstrated Hubert’s allegiance to the Clementists.
He was a fallen star. A Lucifer. A traitor.
Her enemy and her love.
A sound behind her made her spin round and she saw Cardinal Grizac standing in the low doorway. He was panting slightly. He must have followed her.
He bent his head and stepped out onto the roof. A gust of wind blew his cloak out like the wings of a hawk. His cross gleamed with a sinister authority. He was not the bullied and apologising figure she had witnessed earlier. He was as he had been when he uttered that furious invitation at the top of the stairs. Tell your mentor I know who the guilty man is.
Hildegard felt behind her for the reassuring solidity of the wall as Grizac strode heavily towards her.
‘Did you tell him what I asked you to?’
She shook her head. ‘He is no more my mentor than -’ she struggled to find the most unlikely person she could think of and blurted, ‘than Thomas Woodstock!’
Grizac gave a start. ‘Woodstock? How did you know he was involved?’
She decided to risk everything with a shot in the dark. ‘Isn’t it obvious? He had the miners kidnapped to give to Clement in return for a poison that could not be detected. But you set Maurice to steal it before his vassal could get his hands on it. I don’t understand why.’
Grizac did not contradict her nor enlighten her. She found herself slipping into a quagmire where all the questions and suppositions she had made over the last few days were flying together in one inchoate mass and in a moment she would be overwhelmed by some incontrovertible fact that would be an epiphany, revealing the truth.
I’m not ready for this. Let Hubert not be involved.
Even at this last ditch, let Hubert not be involved.
For a tense moment they regarded each other until eventually she said, ‘You ordered Maurice to break into the treasury and steal the dagger because you knew it contained a poison with no antidote. Is it true, yes or no?’
‘Neither. He needed no order when he knew what it was and what it would be used for.’
‘Which was?’
‘Clement guessed what I wanted. He may not have guessed why I wanted it!’ He gave a wild laugh, quite out of character. ‘He knew I’d overheard him discuss its potency and that he intended to use it as a bargaining tool with the English traitor, Woodstock. When his bodyguard found Maurice in there it showed my own involvement. He was overjoyed to show me the body of my - he was overjoyed to see how much I – ’ Grizac’s voice failed him for a moment but then he gathered himself enough to say, ‘It must have been one of his happiest moments, to bring me to my nadir! Little did he realise that his own life had been saved. He had no idea why Maurice was willing to risk his life to get hold of something so powerful.’
‘You mean - ?’
‘We wanted to do the world a service. We wanted atonement for the thousands killed in cold blood in Cesena.’
‘You were going to poison Clement?’ Her mouth opened in astonishment.
‘The important thing was to stop Fitzjohn returning to England with it. I knew why they wanted it.’
‘Does this mean you murdered Taillefer to try to get the dagger back when it disappeared from the mortuary?’
‘Why would I commit such sacrilege? Taillefer was innocent.’
‘He got the dagger from someone. And you wanted it.’
‘And so he had to die? Is that what you think? Poor boy. It breaks my heart to think of him, caught up in something he did not understand. The man who murdered Maurice stole the dagger and then killed Taillefer when he ra
n off with it.’
‘And the nun in my cell? What had she to do with it?’
‘Maybe you were the intended victim? You knew too much. You were already getting close to the truth, I believe.’ He took a step nearer. ‘But tell me, domina, if you know so much, maybe you know who Clement obtained the poison from?’
‘Fondi?’
He laughed. ‘And that she-wolf? And who else knew about it? Your damned Abbot.’ He moved towards her. ‘And now you.’
‘Not I, not until later. It took me too long to realise that it wasn’t the dagger anybody was after but what it contained. I only discovered that when we found the dagger on Taillefer’s body as he was taken from the river. I was about to open the compartment in the hilt when I recognised what it really was, not a dagger at all despite its sharp blade but a receptacle for something too dangerous to handle.’
‘Didn’t de Courcy tell you what it was?’
‘Why should he?’
‘Because he must have known. Fondi would have told him. Then he warned Clement it would be stolen. And Clement sent in his assassin to wait for Maurice to appear.’
‘Not so.’ A voice from the doorway cut in. They both turned.
Athanasius stepped onto the roof. He looked frail as if the wind would blow him over and he was out of breath after the long climb but gathering his black cloak round him he stepped into the lee of the battlements for shelter and surveyed them both with thin-lipped amusement from beneath his black hood.
‘It was I who told his holiness about your plan to steal the poison and thwart his business with Woodstock. That is my job, after all, as you well know, Grizac. You must have suspected as much or why else would you have appeared in my cell to bewail your vast ignorance of the matter?’ He chuckled. ‘Clement would never have been taken in by that even if I had passed on your protestations of innocence to him.’
‘So how did you find out what I intended to do?’
‘You yourself told me.’
‘I?’
‘That night in Clement’s private chapel you were like a man on a gridiron, which is probably how you’ll end up when the Inquisition gets hold of you. It was clear to anybody with eyes in their head that you were up to something. Sweaty hands, darting eyes, gibbering like a lunatic whenever anybody spoke to you. Of course I couldn’t know the details but I thought it worth mentioning your behaviour to Clement’s bodyguard and he, good man, went down to have a look round. He went well armed, prepared for anything. And discovered your little thief.’
‘Maurice was just an unarmed boy.’
‘Ah, so sad.’ Athanasius shrugged with no compassion in his eyes. ‘It’s a shame you can’t tell a lie without showing your guilt, Grizac. That, I venture to say, is your greatest failing. You’re too honest for this world and the quicker you leave it the better, don’t you agree?’
‘You’ll burn in hell for your diabolical plots.’
‘Maybe. In the meantime what shall we do to solve another little problem? Pray, advise me. Unfortunately our guest,’ he gestured towards Hildegard, ‘knows too much to allow her to return to England. Incarceration in one of our stricter nunneries might be a salutary reward for her interference.’
‘My abbot might have something to say to that,’ she said with unfounded conviction.
‘De Courcy will do as he’s told.’
Hildegard looked askance. ‘Are we talking about the same man?’
‘If not told, then bought,’ he snapped, ‘and if not bought, then erased.’ He turned to Grizac. ‘The important thing is what you say to Clement’s inquisitors. They’ll want to know the name of your master.’
‘I work alone.’ Grizac sounded suddenly calm. He even managed a smile. ‘I’ve never had allies. Never felt I could trust anyone enough. Except, of course, for Maurice. And you’ve taken him from me, brother. There’s nothing more you can do to me.’ He began to laugh. ‘I’m astonished a man of your cunning and malevolence could make such a massive mistake. It’s really quite amusing.’ He began to shake with laughter. ‘Imagine! Your one hold over me and you destroy it! What a fool you are, little man. I’ve never been impressed by your humourless threats. You’re too much of this world, brother. You have not been favoured with divine grace and it renders you impotent. You’re nothing more than a rat scrabbling for power over other rats. I pity you, Athanasius. Know it.’
Grizac walked slowly over to the battlements until he was standing beside Hildegard. ‘Have I misjudged you, domina? Are you not of the Woodstock affinity after all?’
‘Never. King Richard is our anointed and legitimate king. He’s been beset by enemies since the day of his coronation when he was a mere child.’
‘We might have been allies then. I could have trusted you.’ He gazed sadly into her face. ‘I knew the prioress of Swyne in my days in York and was impressed by her integrity. I should have known her nuns would have been chosen for similar qualities of character.’
She lowered her voice. ‘Maurice did not die in vain. Don’t despair. What he wanted to achieve has been done.’
‘What?’ He peered into her face.
‘I have it. Urbino Mandraco. You may not fulfil your intention to destroy the antipope but the king is safe.’
Grizac put a hand on her head in a brief blessing. ‘May he protect you, domina.’
He turned to Athanasius. ‘Your secrets are revealed. Tremble before the gates of hell. You will burn and suffer. God save Urban!’
Then with a movement so quick both she and Athanasius were taken by surprise he pulled himself onto the parapet, stretched out his arms in the shape of a cross and with a cry of just one word that told of everything in his heart, plunged from the battlements like a great, winged bird with his cloak streaming behind him.
Athanasius gave a howl of rage. His face was a contorted mask of hatred.
Hildegard gripped the wall with both hands and after a moment forced herself to look over the edge. Far below, Grizac’s fluttering red cloak came to rest over his broken body where he lay face down, bones shattered, in a spreading pool of blood.
**
The paste white face of Athanasius, twisted and stark under the black hood, expressed a profundity of evil like an astral force. It sucked all goodness out of the world and tried insidiously to draw her into its realm. He was motionless.
His shock at what the cardinal had done was obvious. Grizac had escaped him. Grizac had transcended his evil star. Grizac had triumphed.
The blanched lips curled in a snarl. ‘Are you going to follow him, domina? I suggest it as the better alternative to what awaits you.’
‘You heard what Cardinal Grizac said. I endorse every word. But I have not finished yet.’
As she spoke he made a furious, tottering step towards her, raising one hand with a knife in it but, as he brought it down in a glinting arc, she pushed him hard against the wall, shouting, ‘Out of my way, you creature!’
Do not trust him.
It was Athanasius, not Grizac. The prioress had tried to warn her about him.
Before he could gather himself and raise the knife again she tore across the roof to the door, burst through it and slammed it hard behind her, forcing her whole weight against it. With no idea what to do, where to turn next, nor whether Athanasius had recovered and was even now spidering across the roof after her, she suddenly noticed the key in the door. Grasping it with both hands she revolved it in the lock.
It bought some time. If only she could get past the sentry at the bottom of the stairs she could run to safety. She might even be able to saddle a horse and escape before Athanasius managed to free himself and call the guards.
Down the spiral staircase, twisting giddily, hands slithering down the walls on both sides to keep her footing, plunging down in a flying descent until she reached ground level, she saw, with a gasp of relief, that the sentry was not at his post. The empty passage stretched ahead.
More steps. Up, this time. Two at a time. Breathless. Another corr
idor. Through an arch. Running along a gallery on the other side she chanced on the hidden place under the buttress where the pages met.
A sudden idea. Edmund. Prepare a horse from the stables. Make her getaway under cover of darkness. She did not doubt that when Athanasius freed himself from his temporary imprisonment he would call out the militia and track her down. Then it would be the Inquisition. The heretics’ pyre in the market place.
She ducked under the arch with a sense of having found sanctuary. Mounds of straw untidily stacked as usual. How the boys emerged from it that time when she came to meet them. She saw it move.
Whispered, ‘Edmund? Are you here?’
The straw heaved. Someone. All not lost. Soon a horse and escape.
Then a shape reared up, shedding straw. A figure emerging, growing taller. Filling the space. Taller still. Too tall.
Not Edmund.
No, not Edmund. Not one of the pages. It was the pope’s personal bodyguard.
A big man, well over six feet, he had to cruck his head under the slope of the roof when he stood up, bulking in the tight space, the secret space above the Great Audience Chamber.
She was transfixed.
Armoured in a black leather cuirass, greaves, gauntlets and a leather casque covering his head with the upper half of his face concealed, he wore a broad sword in a leather scabbard on a low-slung belt with an extra knife stuck in a leather sheath near his right hand. His eyes were bright behind the slits of the mask.
‘Patience finds its own reward, just as they tell us.’ He took a step forward.
Hildegard. Still transfixed, stared.
‘I knew you‘d have to visit your boys some time,’ he chuckled, sly, confident, very much in charge. ‘Don’t worry, domina. We have them safe.’ He beckoned with his left hand. ‘Come, we have a reckoning, you and I, more even than you might guess. Make it easy.’
He slid the knife with a relishing slowness from its sheath.
**
They were less than a yard apart. She could smell the strong, feral scent of him. Hear him breathe. See the rise and fall of his muscular torso under the protective leather bands of his cuirass. She could even see the individual black hairs round his mouth. Beard roughly shaven. Lips moist. Teeth broken and black. Breathe foul.
[Hildegard of Meaux 06] - The Butcher of Avignon Page 30