Hildegard could scarcely speak. Hubert had crossed the bridge? He was the only English abbot around that she knew of. ‘And you saw them all cross to the other side?’
‘Nah, I was in my shelter. I told you, it was pelting down. Windy. A nasty night. I let ’em go. They were bona fide.’
‘Did you hear an argument? I’m told there was one,’ she added when he seemed about to shake his head at whatever she asked next.
‘First I heard of it. The wind was howling off the river. You don’t hear nothing inside that niche. Isn’t that so, Jeanot?’
The other sentry, stalled by curiosity from going off duty, agreed. ‘That’s right. Can’t hear a thing. See nothing. Hear nothing. Know nothing. Once they’re on the bridge it’s their own look out till they get to the other side. There’s the chapel half way along if they need it. We just take the tolls and check the baggage for duty, and beat off beggars.’
Does this mean I have to go across to the Villeneuve sentries and cross question them as well? Hildegard’s spirits sank. She was getting nowhere.
If the men he named crossing the bridge were over in the palace for matins then stayed for lauds they all had cast iron alibis. The priest said he heard the argument just before he rang the bell in the chapel. If anyone had arrived late for lauds it would have been very late as it would take a fair time to walk from the bridge down the lane, past the guard house and into the labyrinth of the palace itself before finally reaching la Grande Chapelle. The short service at that time of night would have been almost over. Then the return with everyone else?
She was wasting her time even considering it. Anyway, they were prelates.. There was no-one more unlikely to be involved in cutting a boy’s throat than any of the men named by the sentry.
The question of Hubert, Abbot of Meaux, was another question entirely. What was he doing out? She could not deal with that just now.
‘Just tell me again,’ she invited, ‘nobody else crossed the bridge that night?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Thank you for your help.’ She gave him a coin and because the other fellow was still hanging about gave him one as well.
What would Athanasius make of all this? she wondered as she walked away. Maybe now the dagger had been recovered he would have no further interest in the unexplained murders of Cardinal Grizac’s acolyte and an esquire of the Duc de Berry.
**
She found the sentry at the other end of the bridge guarding the entry to Villeneuve. He was leaning over the parapet and looking thoughtfully into the rushing current ten feet below. She greeted him and he turned with a grimace. ‘Life’s short, domina. I could fall over this parapet and that would be that.’ He clicked his fingers to demonstrate the brevity of life. ‘So what can I do for you?’
She explained. ‘I’m trying to find out who crossed the bridge between matins and lauds this morning.’
‘I didn’t see the lad that got cut, if that’s what you’re asking. He didn’t come from over here.’
‘It’s the others I’m interested in.’
‘You won’t get much joy there, either, if you’re looking for somebody to blame. Nobody but cardinals and their hangers-on came back. The same ones that went over to dine early on.’
It had to be one of them.
‘Can you name them?’
‘I can indeed.’ He reeled off the same names as the other one, except that he gave Hubert’s abbey the French pronunciation. She wondered if that meant he had seen it written down.
‘Can you read?’ she asked.
He nodded, pleased with himself.
She could not help asking, ‘And has the Abbot of Meaux crossed over the bridge before?’
‘Never seen him before. I was told to expect him by Cardinal Fondi. He wrote his name down for me so I wouldn’t forget it but then he came over with him. I hear he’s in the running to be made a cardinal,’ he added, looking pleased at being the one to have the latest news.
Hildegard went cold. If true, this was proof - if she needed more of it - that Hubert was one of Clement’s men and an enemy of King Richard. ‘I expect it’s just a rumour,’ she murmured.
‘Not a bit of it. I hear it’ll be only days before they make the pronouncement.’
With no reason to linger on Villeneuve she walked leadenly back to the Avignon side.
**
To Athanasius. He was sitting up at his lectern again, looking much better than last time she had seen him. When she finished speaking he summed up in his usual dry, meticulous tones.
‘The involvement of the cardinals we must discount as too preposterous.’ He shot a sudden dark look at her as if inviting her to reveal what she knew about absconding miners.
He would not catch her out in an involuntary admission again. ‘The crucial point,’ she replied smoothly, ‘is the bell for lauds. Those who heard the argument near the bridge, the ferryman and the priest, say that the bell rang immediately after the argument. It must provide an alibi for the cardinals named by both sentries - and the abbot,’ she hastily added, ‘provided they all attended lauds. The distance is too great for anyone to have reached the Grande Chapelle in time.’
‘Nor would it be within their ethical code to murder anyone in cold blood.’ His expression did not change by as much as a flicker.
Hildegard thought of this man’s master and shuddered. Did he not know about the thousands massacred in Cesena?
‘That is a point,’ she replied in a neutral tone.
His piercing glance never left her face. He looked undecided as to how to take her response. Instead of letting it hold him back he launched a sudden riposte. ‘For what reason was the duc’s esquire on the bridge at that time of night? Did you find out?’
‘Was he on some errand?’ she countered.
Athanasius gave a thin smile. ‘If that is so the sentries on duty at the palace would have seen him leave.’
‘And they did not?’ Hildegard looked suitably astonished.
Athanasius said nothing.
‘I fear the whole thing is a mystery, magister.’
‘A mystery I am now sufficiently intrigued enough to attempt to solve. What will you do next?’
‘I? I will hope, magister. I will hope that sometime, somewhere, the murderer will accidentally betray himself so that by God’s good grace he may be punished.’
**
In fact she knew exactly what she was going to do next. No stone shall lie unturned. Reaching her cell, thankful to find it empty, she rummaged in her travel bag to find the plain brown wool kirtle she had worn as Mistress York on her pilgrimage to Compostela and now carried to cover such eventualities as this.
Quickly pulling it on over her Cistercian habit and then covering it with her cloak, she let herself out again and went down into the great courtyard.
The rain was back. Just as she was hurrying with her hood up towards the gate into the street she nearly bumped into Hubert de Courcy striding out of the courier’s office with something flapping in his hand.
He gripped her by the edge of her cloak to detain her.
‘Just the person I need to see. I have news from London.’ He held up a letter. ‘Bad news.’ He held her arm with some ferocity. ‘Hildegard, this is really bad news. I fear it heralds something even worse. I don’t yet know how to comprehend it.’
‘What is it?’
‘Mayor Brembre. Executed.’
‘What?’
‘Beheaded on Tower Green.’
‘On what pretext?’
‘Treason.’
‘But that’s nonsense!’
‘Of course it is. The wolves are truly circling. Meet me. We must discuss this at once.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘Last week. I have a fast courier direct from headquarters. London is in uproar.’
‘I was just going out on some other business,’ she explained, undecided what to do.
‘Can’t it wait?’
‘Of course.’
A novice from the Order was hovering at the top of the steps. Hubert went up to him. ‘Ask my brothers to attend me in the loggia, will you?’
**
The meeting place Hubert had chosen was an ante chamber at the top of the main staircase. It was used whenever the pope wanted to show himself to the crowd gathered in the Court of Honour to receive his blessing. It had links to other parts of the palace, from the austere old palace to the newer more richly decorated one, and was busy enough to allow some conversation in private. With a high, flamboyantly carved ceiling in keeping with the latest ideas of the masons and, with its marble floor, it echoed to the footsteps of people passing from one part of the palace to the other.
As soon as she appeared Hubert led her to the far end to where a window niche afforded some privacy. He settled himself on the sill. Hildegard, keeping her distance, remained standing, waiting impatiently for his brother monks to turn up and thinking: and you are a future cardinal of Pope Clement. She could not look at him.
‘Why did Brembre not escape while he had the chance?’ she managed eventually.
Hubert, looked unexpecedly stunned by the news. ‘How could he foresee that the rule of law would be disregarded?’ he eventually ground out. ‘He had trust in it even though he didn’t always stick to it himself. No-one would expect the King’s Council to behave in this monstrous manner. Now everything is changed. The law means nothing.’ He got up and began to pace back and forth.
‘What about the others? Does your letter say anything about them?’ She meant the other advisors to King Richard.
‘We must fear for them.’
‘I can’t see Alexander Neville running away.’ She reminded Hubert of the time when she had been travelling with the Archbishop to Westminster, to the parliament King Richard had summoned to discuss the threatened French invasion.
Their char had been halted by a band of men in dense woodland outside Lincoln. The men had clearly imagined it contained only the driver, a nun and a young monk.
Then Neville, asleep in the back under cover, had risen from his couch to put in a dramatic appearance when he realised what was happening.
“I,” he had declaimed, rising up with a huge sword swinging from his belt, “am the Archbishop of York!”
The men had been knocked back from their felonious intentions by the sheer magnificence of his appearance and the obvious inference that he could use his sword to good effect.
Hubert managed to bring a faint smile to his face when she mentioned him. ‘That’s Alexander all right. Firey Neville. I agree, I can’t see him running away. But he has no army of his own. If it comes to the worst, what can he do?’
‘The bishop of Norwich will urge him to reconsider arming the Church. He’ll cite his success in putting down the Peasants’ Revolt in Norfolk by means of his own armed militia.’
He frowned. ‘Most of us joined the Order precisely because we did not want to go on killing. We put down our swords. We believe there’s a better way of solving our differences than resorting to violence. We seek peace.’
‘Is it possible to live unarmed in this world?’
He rubbed his eyes. ‘It seems not, unless we turn ourselves into martyrs. Heaven prevent Alexander from being forced to take that route!’
The other two monks arrived. Hubert had referred to them previously as his supporters. Now it was clear why he had done so. They would present him to the school of cardinals as a prospective candidate. Everything showed that he took precedence over them.
They listened in silence to what he had to tell them. Made one or two conventional exclamations of horror. And then waited to see what he would say next. The tall lanky Brother Gregory, the one she imagined as a swordsman, looked as if he would burst into tears. His companion, Egbert, clenched and unclenched his fists and bit his bottom lip.
Hildegard grew impatient. ‘We should be in London, giving a voice to all those who are repelled to see the king’s council acting outside the law.’
Hubert’s eyes gleamed then quickly clouded. ‘Would it were possible. I am tied here - for various reasons,’ he added avoiding her raised eyebrows.
Stiffly she said, ‘My gratitude for this information about current events, abbot.’ She bowed her head and was about to move away when he got up from his seat and stepped towards her.
‘Wait!’ He put out a hand but let it fall. Turning to the monks he growled, ‘I shall see you at compline, brothers. We’ll discuss this matter further.’
When they left he said hurriedly, ‘Can you go back?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you have instructions to remain here?’
She knew what he meant. He was trying to find out whether she was in Avignon at the prioress’s behest and if so what was her business.
With his allegiance to Clement and not to the rightful Pope Urban, she merely shrugged. ‘There’s the mystery of the murder of two retainers to keep me here at present and - ’ she hesitated.
‘And?’ he prompted.
‘Hubert,’ she spoke slowly, ‘were you ever over at Villeneuve?’
His smile was suddenly knowing. ‘I see. There was a whisper you were asking questions. You must have already heard I went over there this morning after lauds.’
‘I heard something to that effect.’
‘And you want to know what I know?’
‘That would be a tall order.’
‘If you want to know whether I saw somebody murder the esquire of the duc de Berry the answer, to my sorrow, is no. I crossed over with Cardinal Fondi, his concubine and child after attending lauds here in la Grande Chapelle. Many people saw me. When we crossed it was terrible weather, wild, windy and with a pelting rain quite as bad as anything we suffer in Yorkshire. We saw the light in the St Nicolas chapel half way along the bridge and considered taking shelter there but the thought of a warm bed persuaded us to continue. Apart from the weather there was nothing else of note.’
‘Who else was there?’
‘I told you, I went across in the company of Fondi. I believe other cardinals who had been attending night office at the palace were also crossing but, truly, it was difficult to see who they were as everyone had their hoods up and one or two were even carried back by litter.’
‘Thank you.’
His voice was steady and, it seemed, full of concern. ‘It was a terrible thing to happen. And to know we were so close we might have prevented it.’
‘Taillefer was such a bright, handsome boy, full of promise for the future.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’
‘You need to find his murderer. But I wonder if you suspect something more behind it? A link to the other boy, the English one?’
‘You always read me,’ she gave a half smile. Not always, heaven forfend.
His eyes were dark with compassion. ‘Have you considered the possibility that there is no mystery, that it’s nothing more than coincidence? It’s very rough down there under the bridge at night. Maybe the French boy was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘And Maurice?’
His eyes held that smoky look that made her weaken for him and now, despite everything, she felt some of his immense compassion directed towards herself struggling to survive among the countless cruelties of the world. It succeeded in weakening her further. Then common sense told her that he might have a reason of his own to suggest she return to England.
Before she could speak he leaned closer. ‘You think there’s more to it.’
‘Isn’t there always more under the surface than we see at first glance?’
His smile sparkled for a moment. ‘
That can be so indeed.’ He took her arm. Changed the subject. ‘Where were you going when we met just now?’
‘To the inn near the bridge.’ She could have bitten her tongue off at the indiscretion.
‘There?’
She saw his glance sharpen.
‘You intend to question someone? Who?’
‘I just thought I’d ask if anybody had heard anything. You know what those places are like for getting hold of information.’
‘I do indeed. And I’m coming with you. It’s not safe for you to go alone.’
‘I must go alone. They’ll not speak openly if two monastics turn up to badger them.’
**
Le Coq d’or was a typical quayside inn, keeping its licence to open by staying just inside the law. Hildegard had seen enough in York to know what they were like, what types were attracted to them and the sort of fare on offer.
It was already dark and still raining hard when she hurried from the shelter of the gatehouse and crossed over to it. With hood pulled well up and white habit tucked out of sight, she entered with as little fuss as possible. No-one took any notice of her.
She found space at the end of the long communal trestle and when the grizzled landlord came round she asked for a stoup of ale and a portion of bread and cheese. He soon slapped them down in front of her and she put a few coins on the table in exchange.
Sitting next to her was a man and what might or might not have been his wife and they soon got into conversation. Hildegard allowed it to be thought, when they asked, that she was on pilgrimage from a little town near Paris. A conversation of sorts followed. It wasn’t long before the murder was mentioned and soon they attracted a few comments from others who thought they were in the know.
‘I was here in the early hours,’ an old man sitting opposite told them. ‘I saw the doomed young fellow with my own eyes. Live as a cricket, he was, as spark as you or me. Fancily dressed,’ he added.
‘If he was fancy what was he doing in here? Why not at one of the inns in town where they like that sort of thing?’ asked the woman in a sharp, critical tone. Her question saved Hildegard from asking the same.
The Butcher of Avignon (Hildegard of Meaux medieval crime series Book 6) Page 19