The old man gazed lugubriously into his stoup of ale for a moment before answering. ‘Wenching, wasn’t he?’
‘I knew him,’ another one butted in. ‘Used to come in here when he could get out of the palace, nights. A mate of his used to leave a back postern unlocked for him. Putting one over on the pope’s guards, he used to say.’
‘I knew him well,’ the old man reminisced as if it had all taken place long ago.
‘Was he with a girl that night?’ asked Hildegard.
‘Of course he was. Yolande. His favourite.’ The old man gazed deep into his ale as if reading something in it.
The conversation turned to other things while Hildegard waited until eventually, after her patience was tested, she heard the same name above the buzz of conversation. It was the inn keeper, shouting over his shoulder to someone in a back room. A girl appeared, flushed, scantily dressed, her eyes red rimmed as if she’d been crying. She patted her hair as she came through and looked the customers over.
‘Get yourself in here and do some work, will you, Yolande? What do you think I pay you for?’
The girl grimaced and went to a group of men taking up the end of the main table. ‘Come on fellas, let me earn an honest living tonight. What’s wrong with you all?’
There was some muttering, an agreement was reached and one of them put his arm round her waist and led her out.
Not much chance of talking to her for a while, thought Hildegard. She turned to the old man. ‘Let me fill your stoup, master.’
He pushed it towards her. ‘An angel from heaven, bien merci, ma dame.’
The landlord came over again. When Hildegard put more coins on the table he hovered, aware he had a reliable customer.
She looked up at him. ‘I heard about the trouble you had last night, sir. The poor young man was in here, then?’
The inn keeper leaned his untidy bulk against the edge of the trestle and wiped both hands on his apron. ‘It’s a sad business, ma dame. You wouldn’t believe it. Young gentilhomme comes in here after a dagger. Said it was stolen from his lord from inside the palace and there’d be trouble if it wasn’t found.’
‘Did he find it?’ she asked, pretending ignorance.
‘Found more than what he was looking for, that’s for sure.’ The inn keeper guffawed in a heartless manner.
Cautiously she asked, ‘So was somebody trying to sell such a thing?’
‘Fella comes in here, never seen him before, said he was just passing through and had something of value he wanted to find a buyer for. You know how it is, we spread the word. That must have been how the young’un heard about it, to his rue.’
‘This stranger?’
‘Scar faced. A mercenary in the French wars? I didn’t ask. He was looking for a buyer for a little jewelled dagger. Showed it me. Pretty little thing worth a small ransom.’
‘And you thought it was the one the young courtier was looking for?’
‘Me, middle man. Word gets out. No harm. Pope gets enough in taxes.’
‘So what happened?’
‘The young lad asks around and somebody points out the stranger and says, ask him, so what does he do? He goes right up to the fella, looks at the dagger and offers money, straight off.’
‘So did he have to pay a large sum to get it back?’ She wondered where Taillefer had got the money.
The inn keeper shook his head. ‘Not a bit of it. The strange fella refused point blank. Said his instructions didn’t involve entering into a bargain with some losel without a silver coin to his name and to bugger off.’
‘That wouldn’t go down well.’
‘It didn’t. But this is the bit that made us laugh. The lad insisted, the stranger refused, the lad insisted again so the stranger says, “All right, let’s see the colour of your money or go to the devil,” and you know what the lad does? He offers him a bill of credit! Laugh? We nearly wet our britches.’
‘So what next?’
‘This is where he brought trouble on himself. He scraped to the bottom of his money pouch for a night with Yolande then when we were all asleep he creeps out in the dark and sneaks this dagger from out of the stranger’s pack, brazen as you like. He gets out into the street before the fella realises his pack has been tampered with. When he finds sout he lets out a bellow enough to wake the dead. I thought, there’s a stabbing now. I’m down them stairs in a trice with my knife at the ready but I only got there in time to see scarface disappearing down the street. The wench he’d been with, Juliette, stands at the top of the stairs with just a sheet round her shrieking, “Leave be, master!” she says. “He’s a violent bugger and he’s in a fury. Leave him or get a knife in your gut!” And she was right there, wasn’t she, considering what happened next? I had my angels watching over me that night, praise the saints.’
‘So you stayed inside?’
‘I did. Not my business, is it? An ill star was shining. I didn’t reckon he’d catch the lad but he did and that’s that. Pity. He was a regular paying customer, the lad I mean.’
He wiped his hands on his apron and went to the tun to pour more ale into one of the jugs a customer was holding out.
‘So the stranger got away with it,’ Hildegard’s neighbour observed. ‘Me, I wouldn’t want to be walking around here at night by myself with him on the loose.’ She touched her companion on the arm and they exchanged glances.
She turned to Hildegard. ‘I don’t want to alarm you in view of what we’ve just been saying, mistress, but there’s a fella watching you. Don’t look now. He’s sitting over there by the door.’
When she had an opportunity Hildegard half turned her head. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Hubert de Courcy. His give-away white robes were concealed under a thick black cloak but his features were unmistakable despite the hood he wore. She gave an involuntary scowl and he raised his stoup of ale to her.
‘You’ve got custom,’ chuckled the woman’s man friend.
‘He’s well set up by the looks of that cloak,’ observed the woman.
Hildegard accepted the offer of ale in return for the one she had bought them and turned her back on Hubert. Let him sit there all night. She refused to leave just yet. Not until she was sure there was nothing else to discover. Who was the scar-faced stranger? That was the question. It must be the one who had stolen the dagger from the mortuary. At last, she was getting somewhere.
‘Did this stranger not return?’ she asked the inn keeper when he came over again.
He nodded. ‘He was back a while later as brazen as you like. “Damned thief got clean away,” he said. “I’m getting my pack. I’m not staying here in this den of thieves.” And he got his gear and left.’ He gazed off into the distance. ‘Of course at that time we didn’t know he’d done for the lad.’
‘Surely there was blood on his hands?’
‘None that I saw.’
To her new companions Hildegard said, ‘At least we know the fellow over by the door isn’t the murderer of that poor boy. No scars.’
They all turned to stare at Hubert’s hawkish, alabaster features in silence.
**
It was close to midnight. The inn was at its rowdiest. Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder and a voice whispered, ‘Isn’t it time for matins?’
She swung round. ‘I told you not to follow me, Hubert.’
‘In most things I’m your obedient servant but not on this occasion. Let’s go.’
‘I need to speak to the girl Taillefer was with last night.’
‘Who was that?’
‘Yolande.’
Hubert said nothing. He simply closed his eyes in exasperation, turned on his heel and walked away. She expected him to leave then but to her surprise he went over to the innkeeper and she saw him mutter something. Money changed hands. He’s settling his bill and then he’ll leave, she thought.
But instead the innkeeper went into the back room, re-emerging a moment later with the girl she had seen earlier. To her even greater
astonishment Hubert put his arm round her and led her into the back room.
‘That’s him sorted,’ sniggered the woman beside her, having watched this charade with interest. ‘I wondered who he was queuing for. You should have taken your chance when you had it.’
Her companion grunted, ‘Pretty face, that Yolande. She certainly pulls in the punters.’
For that he got a slap from his woman.
**
The great bell in the tower over on Villeneuve had boomed out its count of twelve.
Hildegard stood in the doorway of le Coq d’or preparing to hurry out into the rain to cross back to the palace gatehouse when Hubert came up behind her and put his arms round her in a blatantly familiar fashion.
‘Don’t come near me!’ She knew it was him before she even turned because she recognised the alluringly masculine scent of limes and sandalwood he used.
She swivelled to face him. ‘Go away!’
A faint smile flickered over his lips at her response. ‘Tonight I’m your disobedient servant. You’ll thank me tomorrow. There are three or four blackguards giving you looks I wouldn’t want if I were you.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘It’s not nonsense, Hildegard. Just step outside now, into the rain with me. It’s dark away from the lights of the inn. We’ll hurry and we’ll pretend you’re my woman.’
‘I don’t need a man to protect me. I’ve got a knife.’
‘We know about the usefulness of knives,’ he observed, ignoring her attempt to pull away. ‘Put your hood up. This rain is really coming down.’
Resigned to leaving with him but determined to get away as soon as they reached the palace gatehouse, she allowed him to put his arm round her and lead her away from the lights of the inn.
They had gone no further than a dip in the lane that led to the palace when there was a scuffle behind them. Hubert staggered back and Hildegard felt some other hands grip hold of her and a voice in French said, ‘I’ve got her.’
Then her attacker was trying to drag her away, along the lane to where it met the bridge and she was kicking out but failing to free herself. A gasp of someone receiving a hard blow confused her. They were attacking Hubert. There were shouts. More sounds of bone on flesh. Shapes appeared and disappeared in the darkness of the unlit lane.
There were three of them. No, four. The one holding her tried to drag her towards the bridge. She turned and smacked one hand hard against the side of his head, catching him off balance and as he stumbled she nearly managed to free herself but then one of the others grabbed her arms and pinned them behind her back. A voice somehow familiar shouted, ‘Watch out, the bastard’s armed!’
Then it was a chaos of movement in the darkness. Grunts. A howl of pain. Someone on the ground coughing up the contents of his stomach.
All at once her arms were released and Hubert was beside her. ‘Can you run? I’ll hold them off.’
‘Ridiculous!’ She drew her knife.
A second glint of steel must have made the men hesitate. Hubert lunged as a shape burst from the shadows and launched himself in a full-on attack but then, as Hubert parried and sent his opponent’s sword clattering to the ground, the attackers must have realised the fight wasn’t worth the risk. As suddenly as they had appeared they vanished into the night.
Hubert was licking one of his wrists as they entered the gatehouse a few minutes later. She had a close look at it underneath the fitful light of a cresset, saw with relief that it was no more than a graze.
‘I’m sorry.’ She pulled a face. ‘If you say, I told you so, I shall scream.’ She gave him a rueful smile.
‘No hard feelings. Luckily we had the advantage of darkness. They didn’t know whether they were stabbing each other or us.’
‘I should have listened to you. I’ve been warned often enough today about that place.’
‘I had a better view than you and could see how things were shaping up.’
Then she remembered the age he had spent with the whore, Yolande. ‘I’m sure you had a different view while you were in that back room.’
‘I did.’ He grinned. ‘Come up to the Tinel - we both need a drink after all that - and I’ll tell you what she said.’
**
They shared a jug of warm spiced wine in the echoing refectory with sleepy night staff floating among the empty tables and dreamily wiping up around them. It seemed unreal to be sitting with Hubert in such surroundings.
He reached out when the servant had moved out of earshot and took her hands in his. ‘Were you hurt just now?’
She shook her head. ‘Only my pride. What a fool I was. I owe you.’
‘It’s a debt I shall call in one day.’
‘I’m duly warned. But tell me what that girl said to you.’
‘She knew Taillefer. He was one of her regulars. Yesterday he asked her to let him know if anybody had been in trying to sell anything valuable. Something stolen from his master, le duc.’
‘Le duc de Berry’s a known collector of beautiful objects.’ She nodded.
‘She promised she would, the inn being one of those places where stolen goods change hands. Then last night a stranger came in looking for a buyer for a dagger. A rich piece, jewelled, clearly once the property of a nobleman. She got the message to Taillefer and he came back just after midnight. She said to him, apparently, “you’re eager, you were only in here a few hours ago,” and he said, “I’ve been locked out.” Note this, “My usual way must have been discovered. I’ll have to stay here till morning so I hope you’ll give me a bed.”’
‘That would cost him,’ she observed dryly.
Hubert smiled. ‘These girls are often willing to work for very little.’ Hildegard drew back. ‘Or so I’m told,’ he added, seeing her expression.
‘Go on, Hubert. Your activities are hardly my concern.’
He frowned. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting I’d ever break my vows with a whore?’
‘It’s the practise here. That’s plain to a blind man. Look at Cardinal Fondi. He’s not the only one.’
‘Fondi is - I’m not of these people, anyway. I’m - ’ he broke off. ‘Let’s not wrangle. I have something important to tell you - that is if you’re still intent on finding Taillefer’s killer?’
‘Of course I am. I’m sorry, Hubert, I’m still shaken by what happened just now. Nothing seems real. That voice - one of the attackers - I’m sure I recognised it. I just can’t place it.’ She shivered.
‘You think they were more than casual footpads?’
‘I don’t know. But do go on. Tell me what else she said.’
‘Well, Yolande told Taillefer about the stranger with a jewelled dagger for sale and she thought it was that that had brought him over last night, that - and not being able to get back into the palace. She said he was interested enough to try to buy the dagger but the man would not sell unless he had gold for it, and of course, the boy didn’t have gold.’
‘He tried to use a bill of credit, apparently.’
‘Yes. But later, as you know, he stole the dagger and made off with it. The stranger followed and then, of course, the body was found at first light.’
‘This stranger, who was he? Did she have any idea?’
‘She said he told everybody he was just passing through but she didn’t believe it. She thought he was staying in the palace, either as a kitchener, or in some similar fairly menial job, anything he could take, maybe in the retinue of one of the guests.’
‘Why did she think that?’
‘Because she had a feeling she’d seen him in the street a few days ago, wearing mail but with no sign of his affinity and also because of the big way he was talking. She felt it didn’t ring true. He mentioned his master who was no petty lordling, apparently, but close to being a king in his own right, to hear him talk, and, he seemed to hint, a guest or envoy of someone with immense power, which of course could only mean the pope and she assumed he was hinting that he was a guest at the palace.’
‘Did she name this lordling?’
He shook his head. ‘She had no ideas on that but what she did seem sure of was that the stranger was not French. His scars suggested he’d been in the wars, a mercenary, maybe, and she suspected he was a deserter from the English army. Evidently they regularly fetch up here. She said she’d heard the accent often enough.’
‘Gaunt’s men are scattered all over the region since his Castilian campaign. There are probably deserters from Aquitaine as well. And of course,’ she gripped Hubert’s arm then remembered herself and let it go.
‘What is it?’ he urged.
‘Woodstock, of course, and his Brittany campaign. It went on for long enough. When he was paid off after the duke changed sides many of his men stayed over here rather than return to England.’
‘Some had no choice but to remain abroad,’ quipped Hubert with a knowing smile. ‘There was that little question of back pay which escaped Woodstock’s attention.’
‘There’s also Woodstock’s vassal, Sir John Fitzjohn - ’
‘The stranger might even have arrived with him.’
She grimaced. ‘Let’s face it, Hubert, these are just suppositions and he could be anyone.’
Hubert wore a serious expression. ‘It fails to tell us why he would murder the lad. He could have forced him to hand over the dagger, surely? It seems unnecessarily savage to kill him. Or was there a personal element? Could it have been a vendetta against the duc, his liege lord? Or -’ he paused.
‘Or what?’ she prompted.
‘Was it simply Taillefer’s misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?’ He gave her a searching look. ‘If Taillefer had been able to get back inside the palace after his nighttime exeat,’ he continued, ‘and if the stranger had found another buyer…?’ He paused. ‘Wrong time, wrong place.’ He pulled his cloak on. ‘I’ll have to leave it for you to mull over yourself.’
‘Thank you for your help. I’m not sure why you should bother but I’m pleased you were there this night. It leaves us with the question of how the stranger got hold of the dagger in the first place. He must have been already inside the palace or entered it unnoticed.’
The Butcher of Avignon (Hildegard of Meaux medieval crime series Book 6) Page 20