“Whatever the case,” Ulf continued, “my lord is very well pleased with what he’s seen of your work so far.” He raised his stoup and clashed it with that of his host. Danby, smiling, looked, even so, somewhat wounded by his brother’s apparent disloyalty.
* * *
Hildegard left when Ulf did and they came to a stop on the corner of the street before parting. “That journeyman really has a skill out of the ordinary,” she commented. “Danby’s a lucky man.”
“He is. Gilbert would be setting up on his own but for the fact that he’s a foreigner. He’ll find it difficult here, even with his master’s support.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Some way down south, midlands somewhere. He appeared six months ago.” He gave her a sidelong glance.
“Oh,” she replied, taking in the possible implication that Gilbert had been outlawed in another shire.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “No doubt Danby suspects what he’s taken on as well.”
“I believe the master’s a man who runs his life according to where his heart leads him,” she observed. The burden of having to admit to what had happened at Deepdale made her attempt at a smile falter.
Ulf, aware of every nuance of her expression, bent his head. “There’s something wrong?”
It was then, omitting nothing, she told him about the destruction of the grange.
He was enraged by the time she finished. “Why didn’t you tell me straightaway?”
“You were at the workshop on business. I’m telling you now.”
“So who the hell were they?” He ran a hand through his hair in bewilderment.
And so she told him about the poisoned gift of two runaways the prioress had sent from Swyne. He smiled wryly at that description but was clearly furious by what had happened. “You might have been slaughtered.” He gripped her by the forearm and seemed too overcome to say much more.
“I sent a messenger to Roger at Castle Hutton,” she told him.
“He’ll have a wasted journey then. Roger’s already left. He and Lady Melisen are establishing themselves for the duration of the feast at a place called Naburn Manor a few miles downriver. I’ll let Roger know what’s been going on when I get back there later today. He’s going to be incandescent.”
She told him everything she knew, both what Maud had told her and what she had observed herself during the attack. “Their horses were good ones. He was most likely a knight, the other two his henchmen. He wore a silver emblem on a chain. Not Gaunt’s chain of ‘esses’ but something else. I can’t place it.”
Ulf listened carefully and after a few concerned questions about her well-being and a warning to be careful, told her he was going up Micklegate to inspect the stand Roger was having built where he, Lady Melisen and their guests could watch the entire pageant in comfort.
He was still flushed with anger, however, and his parting words were, “Whoever did this to you and your sisters will wish they’d never been born.”
* * *
“I would so love to see the mystery plays,” sighed Petronilla the next morning as they shook out their straw pallets and tidied up the sleeping chamber. She gave Hildegard a hopeful glance.
The nun shook her head. “Are you hoping to stay in York with the Sisters of the Holy Wounds even longer?”
Petronilla frowned. “Heaven forfend. Last night was the worst I’ve ever spent. I do believe I have flea bites on every inch of my body.”
“I told you to rub yourself in pennyroyal,” Hildegard remarked. “We’ll find something to soothe your bites while we’re in town. But what are your hopes for the future—now you’ve eluded your wicked guardian?”
Petronilla rolled her eyes but made no other reply.
It was true what she said about their lodgings, thought Hildegard, and yet they had no choice. Until word came from Swyne they would have to stay here. She sighed with impatience. Waiting on other people to make decisions, or for a change of fortune, was not her nature. Inwardly she fumed at being trapped in York when all she wanted was to face up to the problem of Deepdale. She was damned if she was going to accept its destruction with the equanimity of a sheep. She was ready to fight back.
Crossing herself briefly at the thought of damnation she vowed that if the place could not be restored to its former state she would look elsewhere for suitable land. Deepdale or somewhere like it would rise again.
More immediately, Petronilla’s guardian had to be contacted. The prioress would understand that. But would she understand the urgency? It wasn’t the prioress who was trapped in a broiling city, her senses assaulted by the sights and sounds and stench of so many bodies squashed into one small place under a burning sun. It was festive all right, with all the flags and bunting and the atmosphere of excited expectation at the forthcoming processions, but after the silence of the moors it struck Hildegard as the backdrop to hell. At peace in her priory, surrounded by the familiar fields and woodlands the prioress would scarcely realise the need for decisiveness nor would she understand Hildegard’s impatience at being forced to wait on others.
She felt a qualm of guilt. The prioress’s continual reproof was of Hildegard’s impatience. She gave another sigh and finished with the pallet by giving it a final savage shake.
Arrangements would have to be made for Maud too, she was thinking as they made their way through the whispering nuns in their gloomy dormitory. Now orphaned, the poor little thing was homeless on top of everything else. Not only would the murderers of her family have to be hunted down and brought to justice, she herself would have to be found a safe haven. If it turned out that she had no living kin, the sisters would probably want to take her in even if they had to buy her freedom from her overlord.
Wondering how best to cope with the frustration of doing nothing until the situation changed, Hildegard decided to take it as an opportunity to visit the famous shrine of St. William here in York Minster. It might afford some solace to them all, she said, when she put the idea to her charges. Petronilla, at least, was enthusiastic.
“I’d adore to see it!” she cried. “It’s the most famous shrine in England. How I’ve longed to make pilgrimage there. Shall we have to wear special garments and carry palm leaves?” she asked excitedly.
Hildegard could already see she was devising a fetching outfit in which to make her appearance as a pilgrim.
“Probably it’s more devout to turn up as we are,” she replied, careful not to deflate her enthusiasm.
* * *
It was one of the most famous shrines in England, equalled perhaps only by the one to St. Thomas à Becket down in Canterbury, and it attracted pilgrims from all over the British Isles and from even farther afield. Before they set out Hildegard warned the girls that at a time like this, with visitors flooding into the city for the feast, it would probably be seething with folk and they should be prepared to have a long wait to get inside. Petronilla was undeterred. Despite her vanity and rather shallow nature her quick delight in the smallest incident softened Hildegard’s heart.
Now the child skipped along as soon as they were free of the convent precincts. It was plain to all of them that they were not welcome there. It seemed it was only their silver the convent wanted. Gladly, they set off to the shrine. Even Maud, slipping her hand into Hildegard’s, pushed back her hood a little and lightened her step.
* * *
The minster itself was easy to find. It was visible as they made their way through a warren of small back streets. Pinnacled and romantic, it soared above the roofs of the houses. There had been a church on the same site since before the Normans invaded, since before Danelaw, and even before the Saxon kings ruled in the north and, Hildegard told them, some people believed there had been a holy place here even before the time of the Romans, who called the town Eboracum and made it an outpost of the Empire.
Awed, they joined the slowly moving queue in the yard waiting to enter through the great doors. By the time they managed to get inside both girl
s were plainly tired, but even so they stopped in wonder on the threshold.
Pale stone columns rose to an immense height as narrow and gracefully unfolding as ancient trees in a forest. The roof was delicately vaulted and ribbed with gold bosses emphasising its long length. Great windows of coloured glass, set within a lace-like tracery of stone, held the lustre of gems. Like Petronilla and Maud, the many visitors, dwarfed by the splendour of such height and breadth, gazed upwards in open-mouthed admiration at the work of the anonymous master masons who had conceived the idea of building such an edifice.
“It must be bigger than the king’s palace!” whispered Petronilla.
Even Maud, clutching her hood to keep it in place, had raised her glance to stare upwards.
A choir of canons and boy-choristers were practising for the forthcoming mass deep within the recesses of the nave. It sounded like the singing of angels. Despite this, Maud, after that one swift glance at the soaring roof, barely gave another glance at anything except the floor, merely following at Hildegard’s heels like someone both deaf and blind.
Petronilla, on the other hand, was so entranced she almost forgot to talk until, drifting alongside Hildegard with the pilgrims towards the entrance to the candle-lit shrine, she tugged on the nun’s sleeve and whispered, “Sister, I’ve seen a most beautiful man. He’s like an angel himself. See?” She pointed to one side. “Over there near that pillar. I thought it was me he was looking at, but to my chagrin I realise it’s you.”
Chapter Eight
Hildegard glanced over. A figure wrapped in a grey cloak was leaning against one of the pillars in the new nave. It was Master Danby’s journeyman, Gilbert. His hair was unloosed. It shone like pearl in the filtered light. He bowed his head when he saw Hildegard glance over and she replied in like manner. Then he returned to a study of the Bell window, gazing up at the bright yellow bell-pattern with his translucent grey eyes as if nothing else existed.
Hildegard had to explain to Petronilla who he was. The girl could not take her eyes off him.
After a long wait in a queue that snaked all the way along the nave, they eventually reached the steps leading down into the small stone crypt. It was jostling with pilgrims. Many were vying for a place beneath the shrine in the niche made for that purpose, and there was a constant din of prayers being offered along with the shrieks and moans of those suffering in physical and spiritual torment.
Hildegard felt shaken by such anguish and stood a little to one side out of the crush with Maud clinging to her sleeve. The place was dark and hot and reeked of sweat and unwashed garments. The billowing clouds of incense did little to sweeten the air. Undaunted, Petronilla inspected the entire place, slipping through the press until she reached the shrine, eventually returning to where the other two were waiting. Then they lit candles for St. William and at last reemerged into the fresher air aboveground.
“He’s still here,” observed Petronilla in a tone of voice that made Hildegard wonder what she had been praying for at the shrine. Sure enough, though, it was Gilbert, visible through a gap in the crowd.
He had gone to stand below the Five Sisters window this time. The vast expanse of silvery-figured glass allowed a clear, northern light to fall over those who walked beneath it. It dwarfed them, and the colours of their clothes were reduced to a subtle mingling of browns, greys and russets.
How appropriate that he should be looking at the Five Sisters, Hildegard thought.
The same wash of silvery light entering through the patterns of grey glass had been brought to mind when she first saw him. He was gazing with rapt attention as before, but this time did not notice when they walked by. She wondered if he was waiting for someone.
Petronilla skewed her head until he must have looked like nothing more than a grey shape between the slender stone pillars.
* * *
They stepped outside into the blazing heat of another stifling hot June day. There was not a breath of air. Despite this Maud’s hood was still up. Petronilla donned her hat and tilted the brim.
Hildegard pulled on her own wide-brimmed straw. “I propose we go out along the river where it’s cooler,” she suggested. “If we walk by the postern down near St. Mary’s Abbey we’ll avoid the crowds pouring in through the barbican as well as the sight of all those severed heads being pestered by crows on Bootham Bar.” Everyone had carefully avoided mentioning the sight as they came in.
“Thank the Lord,” Petronilla commented. “You agree, don’t you, goosey?”
Maud gave a brief nod from beneath her hood.
* * *
The meadows outside the walls were even more crowded with encampments than when they had arrived. Fires had been lit and the smell of cooking wafted towards them as they approached. With Maud walking a few paces ahead Hildegard glanced down at Petronilla and, deeming it a good opportunity, casually asked, “And how was it that you and Maud turned up together at Deepdale?”
“The prioress sent us,” Petronilla replied, somewhat evasively.
“I know that already.” Hildegard was patient. “But I wonder how it is you were together?”
There was a pause. Then Petronilla’s eyes brightened. “Oh this is a story, sister, listen! It was like this. I just happened to be walking along a road—having run away from my wicked guardian—when I saw a small figure ahead of me. She looked just like she does now except that her cloak was more ragged. That russet one she has on was given to her by the nuns at Swyne. They were so kind to us—”
“Well, that’s their job,” Hildegard broke in. “They delight in being kind. But you say you just happened to see her walking ahead of you?”
“There’s more to it. It so happened there was a little yard by the road with hens running around and as we passed by one of them got off its nest and went to peck at some corn—”
Hildegard stifled a sigh. This was clearly going to be a long story and she wondered if it was going to lead anywhere after all.
“Well, in a flash,” Petronilla continued blithely, “the little figure, who at that time I didn’t know as Maud, stopped in its tracks then suddenly darted to the nest and picked up the egg, hid it under the cloak then hurried on. At that moment a woman burst out of the house, screaming about thieves taking her eggs and how she was going to call the constable and she stood in the road, shouting after Maud, who, thank heavens, took no notice but simply increased her pace. I thought the woman was going to raise hand and horn against her so I went up to her and said, ‘I’m astonished at all this fuss, mistress. It’ll look bad for you if you go blaming that stranger up the road when it was a fox who took your egg. I saw it with my own eyes.’ I know it was a lie, sister, and I will confess it, but it seemed unfair to shout after a poor, wretch of a child for no more than an egg.”
“So what happened next?”
“The woman gave me the blackest look. ‘Did you see a fox?’ she demanded. So I had to tell another lie but I don’t regret it. ‘He ran away towards those barns,’ I said. ‘Good gracious me!’ the woman exclaimed. ‘That’s where my chicks are kept.’ And she went running off. I caught up with Maud and was quite surprised to find it was a girl. I said, ‘You nearly got yourself caught there. I hope that egg is worth it.’ But she just kept her head down so I said, ‘Let’s walk along together as we are both alone,’ and she didn’t object. So that’s how we came to travel together.”
“And how is it you finished up at the priory?”
“We joined a band of beggar children. I know it’s low to beg but we were hungry and they seemed to know all kinds of tricks to get people to give them scraps, but after a while we tired of their roughness, and when I saw some men working in a field I asked them whose domain it was and they said it belonged to the prioress of Swyne, so I said, ‘That’s where we’re going. How far is it?’ and the labourer told me and so we both went there.”
“Lucky for Maud you took pity on her,” Hildegard remarked.
“It was. She could have finished up in the sto
cks.”
* * *
It had been a long, hot day. The girls looked exhausted by the time Hildegard conducted them back to the convent of the Holy Wounds.
The nuns there, as was their duty, kept strictly to the offices of the day and didn’t bother about the comfort of their guests with their tolling bells and vociferous chanting. They were giving voice in the chapel again when the porteress admitted them, so Hildegard took the girls up to their small chamber, telling them, “I may have to go out again. I know this waiting is making us all impatient but we will hear something soon and then we’ll leave. I’m going to have another word with the lawman and when you’ve both rested a little you might ask the nuns if there are any small chores you can do to help.”
She couldn’t resist giving them both a hug before she went out. Doused thoroughly in pennyroyal they were sprawled asleep on their straw pallets almost before she was through the door.
Justice had to be done on Maud’s behalf. Hildegard was determined to do what she could. Surely the lord of Pentleby manor, like Lord Roger, would object to his property being destroyed and his villeins murdered. He would demand redress. The men would be apprehended. Witnesses would have to be called. It would all take time. She was prepared, however, to pursue the matter to the bitter end. They could not be allowed to go unpunished.
Then there was Petronilla’s guardian to be contacted whether the child wanted to speak to him or not. Reluctantly she had named a merchant in Knaresborough.
Hopefully Hildegard climbed the narrow stairs to the serjeant-at-law’s chambers.
Again, however, he had nothing useful to tell her. Secretly Hildegard doubted whether he had sent anyone to investigate, but she daren’t annoy him by suggesting so. It would not be top of his list now that the town was full of strangers. With many out to cause trouble, and with the feast day imminent, there was even less chance that the necessary procedures would be followed with any particular haste.
The Law of Angels Page 7