The Dragon of Handale A Mystery

by Cassandra Clark

  “My feelings entirely. Is it really impassable down by the river?” she asked.

  “Yes. Matt tried to get out that way this morning, but with no luck. It’s in drifts waist-high. He came back blue with cold.”

  “It’s a pity we have no boat.”

  “You’d risk a drowning if you tried that. Don’t you think we’ve already considered it?”

  “And then there’d be the problem of getting anywhere else, even if you did reach the road. Unless you wanted to go to Kilton Castle, of course.”

  Carola gave her a sharp glance. “Why would anyone want to go there?”

  Hildegard shook her head.

  The wine jug came round again. No one refused.

  “How did you get permission to be allowed inside the enclosure?”

  Carola looked pleased. “We persuaded the captain of the guard from Kilton to plead for us. He said he couldn’t be held responsible if Dakin escaped while he—the guard, that is—slept. ‘They cannot spare another man from Kilton at present,’ he told the prioress. ‘They’re expecting important personages and need all the men they possess. Which ain’t many,’ he added to us.” She brought a rueful smile to her face. “Dakin and the guard seem quite content to be bound to each other. We’ll never let Dakin live it down.” She frowned, adding, “Assuming he’s ever freed.”

  “I’m sure Prioress Basilda will withdraw her charge when she realises he’s going to fight back. After all, he has the guild behind him. I”m sure they’ll need strong proof before they’ll allow the accusation to stand.” She paused, “Who is the important personage due to arrive up at Kilton? Do you know?”

  Carola shook her head. “Some local knight, presumably. The guard was no doubt exaggerating his importance.” She shook out her dark hair. “I’d no idea I’d be kicking my heels in this godforsaken place all winter. I’ll never work outside Durham again.”

  Hildegard shared her dismay and as she did so, she chanced to glance up.

  Desiderata was watching them both with an unfathomable intensity. When she noticed Hildegard look across, she turned away.

  “Where are the men staying?” she asked Carola.

  “In that guest wing with Fulke.”

  “Now he’s gone.”

  “Gone? No, he’s still here. He’s got a cold and is having his meat and drink sent up to him.”

  “At the prioress’s invitation?”

  “I suppose so. Why?”

  So after making his sale to the coxcomb, after his assault in the woods, he had come back and been welcomed in? She asked, “Has he mentioned anything about the so-called dragon attacking him?”

  Carola laughed aloud. “What? I’m sure he would have if—” She peered into Hildegard’s face. “Are you serious? When was this supposed to have happened?”

  “The other night,” replied Hildegard, deliberately vague. “I’m astonished he didn’t mention it. I thought he’d been injured.” She stopped, realising that she had said more than she needed.

  Carola gave her strange look. “So you saw it yourself?”

  “I heard something.”

  “We all heard something.” Carola turned away. “We were inside the enclosure by then.”

  “All of you?”

  “What is this? Has something happened?”

  It was Hildegard who turned away this time, asking, “What is it? Or, more to the point, who is it? What is their purpose? Is it just a mean trick to frighten everybody? Or is there more to it?”

  When she turned, Carola was biting her lip. “Do you think it’s some prankster from the castle, mistress? Putting the wind up the nuns. You know what lads are like,” she added.

  “I thought it might be Fulke. Trying to keep everybody out of the woods so he can—” She broke off. “Something like that?”

  She made an excuse to end the conversation by going to get more bread from the platter on the other side of the chamber, and by the time she had broken some off and returned to finish what she’d been saying, everyone was beginning to move off to the next office.

  Feeling as if she was on a treadmill, Hildegard gulped it down and followed last of all.

  CHAPTER 22

  Time seemed to drag. It was the feeling of being cooped up against her will that was so hard to bear. Hildegard knew that. For the last year, she had been freer than at any time in her life. Free to walk the long pilgrim route to Santiago de Compostela. Free from the oath that bound her three times over. Of those, the vow of poverty was the least exacting.

  She heard someone following her across the garth. It was Mariana. When they reached the shelter of the guest chamber, she called, “Mistress York?”

  Hildegard turned. She eyed the nun warily. “What is it?”

  Mariana dipped her head. “I have come to beg your forgiveness. Lord knows I don’t deserve it. You caught me out in a place I should not have been in. I imagined you had been sent to spy on me.” Her face puckered, eyes red-rimmed, the faint scar where Hildegard had defended herself showing up.

  “Who would send me to do a thing like that?”

  “Our most holy mother prioress, Basilda, of course.”

  “Why?”

  “She does not trust me. Nor does Master Fulke. I thought you were one of his allies.”

  “Hardly likely—although I can see how you might have imagined it,” she added, remembering that she was not wearing her nun’s habit. “Why do they not trust you?”

  “I shall always wear my sin like a brand on my forehead. They will never allow me to forget it.”

  “Mariana, may I ask you something?”

  “What is it?”

  “Where is your baby now?”

  Sister Mariana gazed off into the distance, unseeing, eyes filling. “They won’t tell me. I trust he’s being cared for and loved.”

  “I’m sure he is. Can you not find out? Surely they won’t withhold his whereabouts from you if you demand to be told?”

  “They say it’s part of my punishment for breaking my oath. That I deserve to live in this state of—this state of not living. In their eyes,” she added bitterly, “my tears can never wash away my sins.”

  “I wish I could help.”

  Mariana’s face bore a strange, ferocious look and her lips trembled. “There is no help. And as I’m condemned to hellfire, as they constantly tell me, then nothing matters much. Why should I care about anything?” Her head lowered and she pulled her hood up. “That’s all I wanted to say. My rage was not meant for you.”

  As she was about to walk away, Hildegard put out a hand to detain her. “A moment. If I may ask, were you looking for anything special in the prioress’s private belongings?”

  Mariana nodded. “I thought there might be some clue as to where they had sent him. But it was just her store of gold.”

  “Perhaps there is a record elsewhere?” She took a risk and added, “Perhaps in the scriptorium, where the other records are kept?”

  “Do you think so?’ A brief flash of hope appeared in her eyes. Then she frowned. “I daren’t go back up there. I’ve tried it before. They’d flay me if they found me there again.”

  “But not me.”

  Mariana looked at her in astonishment.

  “No promises,” Hildegard warned. “My time is my own at present. Let me try.”

  As Hildegard walked away towards the dortoir, she was aware of someone watching from just inside the guest house porch. It was a nun. One of the prioress’s spies, she supposed. But when she saw who it was, she went cold. It was Desiderata. The woman was smiling. A few fair curls escaped from under her wimple. With hands clasped inside her trailing sleeves, she stepped into Hildegard’s path.

  “Dear Mistress York, this weather must be very trying for you?”

  “Indeed. As it is for all of us.”

  The woman was all smiles and dimples. Hildegard wondered if there was another nun with the same name. It was difficult to believe what she had seen written in the roll.

  “I
noticed you earlier, chatting, so friendly to us, and as the rules are relaxed, I thought I would stroll over to have a chat, too. The guest house becomes quite a little haven of friendship at times like these. I love to hear news from the outside world. It reminds me how fortunate I am to be a sister at Handale.”

  “You are indeed,” murmured Hildegard. “Clearly you don’t find it harsh.”

  “Harsh?” She gave a peal of laughter. “If it is harsh, it is because we deserve it. But I am privileged. I am trusted, unlike some of the nuns here.” Her small mouth pursed in distaste. “Shall we go inside, out of the cold, and continue our conversation?”

  Hildegard spent a dull hour listening to Desiderata chat with all the vacuity of a provincial housewife. She would do well at Watton, she decided, remembering the nunnery not far from Meaux where the well-off widows of knights and the more distinguished kind of merchant ended their days.

  It was no penitential Benedictine prison house. Quite the opposite. If Desiderata were as innocent as she appeared, she would enjoy the chattering company.

  She risked broaching a question to see what answer she would get. “I wonder, did you ever consider living in a gentler part of the county, such as Watton?”

  Desiderata looked shocked. “But they’re followers of Giles of Sempringham. I could never follow him. He’s an Englishman. I’ve heard they’re quite licentious. They take their pet animals into mass and wear whatever they like and have a constant stream of male visitors.” Her light tone belied the sneer that briefly flitted over her lips. “They appear to find their oath of chastity impossible to keep.” She gave that sudden catlike smile again—so soft, she was almost purring. “But you don’t have to bother about that, mistress,” the nun blandly continued. “Your couplings are an accepted sin as long as you obey the Church’s rules and fornicate only for the procreation of children and within the times and days decreed by our Holy Father, the Pope. Is your husband a York man?”

  “Dead—” Something caught at her throat to prevent her from saying more. It was astonishment, either at her own ease in lying or grief at the deeper truth that lay beneath. “I must go,” she added hurriedly.

  But, with her mind still on the same topic, Desiderata had not heard her. “Women who behave in such a way deserve to be whipped, naked and in public, as fornicators, for flouting the Rule. Like that novice who disappeared. May she burn in hell. But burning is too good for them. She was a whore, hanging round the priest at every opportunity, driving him to sin. Those sort deserve to suffer cold steel—I’ve heard that in Spain they have a very special kind of torture for whores. It involves sewing their eyelids open and inserting—”

  “No, I must go. I have something urgent to attend to.” Hildegard backed away.

  The guest house was crowded. Desiderata was not the only nun to have come in to take advantage of shelter from the bad weather and the relaxation of the rules. The masons were there, too, including Dakin and his guard, and Carola, of course. They were standing nearby and turned to stare at her as she made a clumsy exit into the open air.

  It was a relief to escape such venomous prattle. With her promise to Mariana in mind, she made her way across to the scriptorium. There might be a reference in one of the rolls to the nun’s baby and its whereabouts.

  The task she had set herself was not as easy as she had supposed. The rolls referring to the running of the priory—the decretals, the copies of replies to a large number of official missives, and the copies of judgments taken on visitations by the bishop—were in no sort of order.

  Unsure where to begin, she decided to order them by date. That way, she could narrow it down to the year when Mariana had been brought here.

  The problem then was that many of the rolls were undated, so she had to open them, skim through the contents, deciphering the handwriting as well as the Latin and French as best she could while looking for clues to the date. Many different scribes had contributed to the records. Some had written in what the prioress would call a fair court hand; other documents were crabbed and blotted and almost illegible.

  It took time.

  The day drew on. She was forced to light the candle again, but it scarcely made an impression on the northern gloom.

  At nones, she heard the nuns go down, the choir strengthened by Dakin and his guard. Heard returning footsteps, a door bang shut, silence again. Patiently, she continued the task. It was astonishing what was recorded here. With a sigh, she opened another undated roll and began to read.

  With her back to the door to get the most of the light from the window, she was unaware of anyone having come in until she felt a cold draught tucker at the edges of her sleeve. It snuffed out the candle at once.

  She made an exclamation and half-rose.

  Before she could turn, something caught round her neck and tightened. She began to struggle for breath. It was a ligature of some kind. Grappling at it as she fought for breath, she tried to get her fingers underneath it, but it was too tight. She kicked out at her assailant. It made little difference.

  She was beginning to choke. It had happened quickly, the ligature thrown round her neck with such deftness, she had been taken completely by surprise. She fell against something. Tried to kick out again. Missed. Stumbled. Felt the noose tighten.

  The blood was pounding in her eardrums. She felt as if her lungs would burst. She could not pull a single breath in.

  She fell to her knees. Everything became black and swam away.

  Matt was bending over her. His face was very close and illuminated by a taper.

  Hildegard clawed at her neck and found something cutting deep into the flesh. She pulled at it and was able to take a deep, nurturing breath.

  “What happened?” Her voice was hoarse.

  “Take it easy, mistress. No hurry. Your attacker is gone.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I’ve no idea. The culprit wore a hood.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, suspicion tinging her voice.

  “Carola said you wanted to get away. I thought I’d come and ask you if you were game to try tomorrow morning—if there’s no snow in the night and we go prepared, we should be able to dig our way through. Steady,” he added when she tried to get up. “I thought you’d had it.”

  “My neck hurts.” She rubbed it, winced, then massaged it where the ligature had bitten into the flesh. It was like a cord of fire round her neck.

  After a moment or two, Matt was able to help her to her feet. “Come down when you feel you can walk. I’ll get you a drink from the buttery. It’s lucky I arrived when I did.”

  “Luckier still if you’d arrived before the person managed to get this thing round my neck,’ she croaked, trying to make a joke of it. The effort to laugh was too painful and she nearly choked as bile rose up. She unwound the noose completely, rolled it into a ball, and put it inside her sleeve. She would look at it later in a good light.

  Matt held a taper and lifted it to show the way down the stairs. As he did so, her last memory before being attacked flooded back.

  She recalled what she had just discovered among the priory rolls. It was so sensational at first, she imagined it must be a delusion brought on by being nearly choked to death. But she knew it wasn’t. It had been there, written in an elegant hand. It was nothing to do with Mariana and was not what she had been looking for. It came from an earlier time and had been kept separately. The whole place would be rocked to its foundations when, or if, the truth came out.

  CHAPTER 23

  “And I noticed the door was open, so I went straight in, and whoever was in there heard me and nearly knocked me flat while rushing out, leaving Mistress York lying on the floor inside. My first thought was, Oh no, she’s dead.” Matt gave Hildegard a quick glance. “Then she gave a sort of choking sound. I was that glad.”

  Hildegard was shivering, despite a beaker of warm wine held between both hands. “I owe my life to you, Matt.”

  “I hope it’s a debt I’ll
never have to call in.” He grinned, and she realised he was still young enough to believe he was immortal.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “But if, one day…”

  “Morbid,” clipped Carola. “I suppose it means you won’t consider making an attempt on the outside now?”

  Now, more than ever, Hildegard wanted to say. Instead, she nodded. “It won’t stop me.”

  “Straight after prime, then?”

  “At prime, Matt, as far as I’m concerned,” she replied. “Less chance of anyone seeing us, as they’ll all be in church.” She gave him a level glance. “I assume you feel discretion will be a good thing?”

  He gave Carola a quick look, as if to find out how much he should tell her, then nodded.

  Carola said, “We believe our messages to the master and the coroner did not get out.”

  “But the prioress said—”

  “We know,” said Matt, interrupting her. “But we’re all of the same opinion.”

  Hildegard glanced round the warming room, where Matt had taken her after obtaining wine from the buttery. The nuns had returned to their cells and only she and the masons were present, apart from one of the conversi, who was stoking the fire and intent on his job.

  She asked in a low voice, “Do you have a reason for coming to such a conclusion?”

  Hamo, silently stroking his red beard until now, spoke up. “Two deaths? She won’t want coroners asking questions.”

  “Two very different deaths,” Hildegard pointed out.

  “And the rest,” he added. “The comings and goings in the woods.” He held her glance. She remembered what a good view he’d had from the top of the scaffolding and wondered now how much he knew.

  “I don’t mind telling you, I shall be glad to get away, especially after what has just happened.” She fingered the welt on her neck “But before I leave, I would like to know who did this. I feel there should be some kind of reckoning.”

  “Best leave well enough alone,” suggested Hamo unexpectedly. “You’ll never win against the Church. They’ll stick together, even when they know one of them’s a bad apple. They’ll want to deal with it in their own way. Best out of it altogether, say I.”