The Law of Angels

by Cassandra Clark

  “I’ll tell you. You know I will.”

  Changing the subject he mentioned that Lady Melisen would be delighted to have her opinion of the designs for the glass if Hildegard could spare time to come by Danby’s workshop after midday. Then he mentioned again that Roger was in a rage at what had happened at Deepdale, gave a swift bow and was called away to deal with further matters concerning the erection of the scaffolding.

  * * *

  So the Duke of Lancaster was expected. That would not go down well. Agnetha’s warning took on an added force. If the man had an iota of diplomacy he would keep well away. And so would his son, Henry of Derby, the one they called Bolingbroke. The presence of anyone from the House of Lancaster could act as a touch-paper to a, literally, flammable situation.

  In the meantime all Hildegard could do was wait for a reply to the note she had sent Brother Thomas at Meaux and for the arrival of the messengers with their unwanted burden from Swyne. Calculations told her that the latter, travelling more slowly than the messenger bringing the prioress’s original missive, would be unlikely to arrive before evening. Thomas, if he was able to escort her as he had suggested, and coming a shorter distance, might even precede them.

  * * *

  The child running errands for the sisters of the Holy Wounds to whom she had entrusted her note to Thomas was lurking outside the entrance when she returned. He jumped forward as if he had been waiting for some time and stood with his bare feet pressed firmly together, his back as straight as a stick, and told her, lispingly, through a gap in his front teeth, that he had delivered her message to the couriers as she had directed. “My gracious lady,” he added for good measure.

  He had been lucky enough to catch a courier just before he left for Beverley, he told her with pride. From there it was no more than four or five miles farther on to the abbey. She was pleased with him and told him so. It meant her message could already have reached Meaux. She gave the little lad the extra she had promised for his pains and as he scampered away she decided to have a word with one of the cloistered sisters about his bare feet.

  With Agnetha’s warning of trouble on her mind she went up to the sleeping chamber where she had left her few belongings. There was no sign of the girls. They must be helping the nuns in return for our keep, she decided.

  All their belongings smelled of smoke. She bundled a few garments under one arm and went down into the inner yard. No one had bothered her by so much as an unfriendly glance since she arrived in York, except here in the convent, but that was not to say that there was nothing simmering under the surface. If she was going to be picked out as a Cistercian at least her garments would be clean. She went over to the spring.

  Mumbled prayers and a snatch of singing came through the open door of the chapel to prove the place hadn’t been abandoned. A strong smell of incense wafted outside. A dry tree stuck out its sparsely leafed spikes in one corner. The sun’s heat was intense.

  She dipped the few garments into the cold water, first a voluminous white linen over-gown, then the cotton shift that went under it and finally a gorget. The light fabric ballooned up until the water soaked into it and dragged it underneath where it swirled in diaphanous clouds of white linen. It wouldn’t take long for them to dry in this heat, she was thinking, as she gave each garment a good scrubbing, squeezed them out then pegged them on the line slung across the yard.

  The nuns did not want for water as their convent was built over a spring. It spouted pleasingly from the mouth of a wyvern into a deep, stone trough.

  She went back to sink her arms in the water after she’d finished hanging everything out. It swept, cool and clean, up to her elbows before she reluctantly withdrew them. Not bothering to dry them she pulled down her sleeves so they were covered, went to the door of the chapel, noticed the girls standing side by side near the front and decided on a sudden to accept Ulf’s invitation to meet at the glazier’s workshop.

  It was a year since she had seen Roger and Melisen de Hutton.

  Chapter Ten

  Hildegard had already guessed that the network of yards and snickets that lay behind the row of cottages on the river bank just a short walk from the convent was where the stews were located. Now, stepping out from the porch into the sunlight, she saw a Dominican friar sidling out of a gap between two houses up ahead.

  When he noticed her his expression changed to one that might have been mistaken for holiness. “Ah, greetings my dear sister, bless you, to be sure.” He spoke in such a fawning manner she thought for a moment he was actually going to ask her for alms. But it transpired that he merely wanted to lend a semblance of respectability to himself in case anybody had noticed him lurking in the vicinity of the brothels. Now he began to stroll along beside her as if she might be thought to condone his lechery.

  While the bands of child beggars were swept outside the walls by civic ordinance, like so much garbage, the mendicant Orders had a license to beg and were welcomed in, indeed, made especially welcome not just by the brothel-keepers but, as many knew, by the bored wives of wealthy merchants.

  The Domincan’s white habit looked much like her own, but Hildegard resented the fact that he assumed they shared the same point of view. She decided to test him.

  When there was a pause in his monologue she threw in a casual remark. “I see the constables are doing their job of putting the gangs of beggar children outside the walls.”

  He pulled a face expressing approval. “Indeed. Mayor de Quixlay, courting popularity among the poor as usual, wanted to make some dispensation for them over the festivities. He was voted down to our intense relief.”

  “The competition would have been unfair,” she remarked, wondering whether he would hear the irony in her tone. He didn’t.

  “Indeed,” he replied. “We must all uphold the law.”

  Especially when it works in your favour, she thought. They reached the bridge. Hildegard made some excuse to get away and they parted. As she crossed the street into Conyngsgate she thought, Nothing will change in this realm until the mendicants set their affairs in order. It was most unlikely. In the meantime all the Orders were tainted by the same accusations of greed and hypocrisy.

  * * *

  A handful of servants wearing the de Hutton livery of a lion d’or rampant on a ground gules were lounging around in Danby’s yard when she reached the glazier’s workshop.

  “Is your lord within?” she asked of them generally.

  A spry young fellow nodded and jumped forward to sweep open the door for her. She entered to the murmur of voices.

  * * *

  The workshop was crowded. Hildegard had to peer over the tops of heads to catch sight of Lord Roger.

  A man with his back to the door was blocking the little passageway leading from the yard. He wore a light sleeveless tunic over a cambric shirt bunched in under a thick leather belt and was bareheaded. When he moved aside to let her in she noted again the jewel glinting on a chain round his neck. This was the third time she had seen Master Baldwin.

  He gave the man standing next to him a nudge. Edric Danby turned and, seeing who had arrived, greeted Hildegard with a beam of pleasure.

  He wore an orange turban on his head, despite the hot weather, but his dark blue surcoat was of light linen suitable for such intense heat. Even so he looked as if he was about to expire. His face was filmed with sweat and he wiped the back of his hand across it before he spoke. “You’re most welcome, sister. The lord steward told us he’d invited you along and Lady de Hutton was just saying she hoped you’d come by and offer your opinion. It seems we’ve reached stalemate.”

  Roger himself came forward and gripped her by the arm. “Bad business, this attack on Deepdale, Hildegard. Praise the Lord none of you were harmed. We’ll bring those devils to book, don’t you worry. I’ll have them tracked to hell and back. It’s all in hand.” He released her arm.

  Lady Melisen stepped forward in a scented cloud of lavender. “It’s shameful, sister. All your ha
rd work gone for nothing. But now I need your support against another set of dreadful men!”

  Gilbert, with a stick of charcoal in one hand and his hair loose, had a smile on his face. Jankin was attending to the filling of the wine cups, and two pages in de Hutton livery were leaning against a workbench with bemused expressions, as if they’d never seen anything like it. Clearly these were not included in Melisen’s sweeping description.

  “There they are!” she announced, indicating her husband, the glazier himself and the steward. “Just listen to them! You won’t believe your ears!”

  “Oh now, my lady, I’m sure we can reach some accommodation with your wishes that won’t run counter to those of Lord de Hutton.” Master Danby spoke in the tones of somebody who wants to make peace at any cost.

  His words brought forth a sarcastic laugh from a dark-haired woman standing next to Baldwin whom Hildegard had not immediately noticed. Evidently she was Baldwin’s wife, judging by the way she was resting one hand on his sleeve. Her fingers and wrists were weighted with gauds and baubles and her dark hair was coiled in a crispinette kept in place by an embroidered padded roll. With a narrow smile she was taking obvious pleasure in Master Danby’s discomfort.

  The glazier introduced the sarcastic woman as his sister-in-law, Mistress Julitta. She bestowed on the nun a perfunctory nod. Standing in the background was the master’s young wife, Dorelia, her violet eyes vacant as she gazed off into space in a world of her own. The discussion resumed and Hildegard observed everyone in silence.

  Julitta was a plain woman. She looked more so next to Dorelia’s luminous beauty, yet there was something hard about her that did not yield precedence to anyone. Hildegard concluded that she was the sort of woman who would go to any lengths to please a man and to whom experience had taught the most effective method of doing so. All this in a flash. I’m being unfair, she thought.

  It was certainly the case, however, that in such close juxtaposition, Dorelia looked even more ethereal, her features devoid of expression, her strangely empty eyes, though beautiful, never resting on anyone for more than a moment. As the matter of the glass was discussed, Hildegard silently pondered a question suitable for one of Melisen’s elevated supper party discussions: Which is the more dangerous: stupidity or cunning? She glanced from Dorelia to Julitta and could not make up her mind.

  What puzzled Hildegard was the undercurrent of hostility emanating from Baldwin’s wife.

  Gilbert was watching everyone in silence. It was difficult to guess what he was thinking. His pale eyes reminded her again of the grisaille glass in the minster. He has her measure, she realised, as his glance rested briefly on Julitta’s hard features.

  As affable as usual, and happily unaware of any undercurrent, Master Danby invited them all to try to resolve the issue of the glass by going through to the inner workshop where they could have another look at the sketches he and his journeyman had put together.

  He led the way to the inner sanctum where there was a long trestle in the middle of the room with a little stack of vellum pieces on it. “As you know, anything can be changed at this stage. We only aim to please.” He gestured towards his journeyman. “Gilbert has been working up a few changes but we can change things again. As soon as we get it right we can proceed with the vidimus.” He punched his journeyman on the shoulder. “Go ahead, Gilbert. Show ’em what we’ve knocked together.”

  They all positioned themselves around the trestle and Gilbert picked up one of the pieces of vellum from the top of the pile. It was small, no more than five inches square, and done in pen and ink.

  “Are we all agreed on this one?” Danby asked.

  Roger gave a brief nod. “We saw that last time. I liked it then and I like it now. It’s good. The Queen of Heaven. Very good. I said so before.”

  “Except that she still has no face,” objected Melisen. “I trust you will give her a face when it’s drawn to scale? I don’t want a simple blur of light. I want—and so does my lord,” she added hastily in deference to the fact that he was footing the bill, “we expect definite features to make her human.”

  “Human. I’ll make a note of that.” Gilbert put it to one side. It was difficult to tell what mood he was in. Had that been a note of irony? He turned the drawing over and showed them the reverse. “My lady?” He held it in front of Melisen so she could have a better look.

  “And this one we like as well. The angels on either side. You’ve added more detail to their wings. That’s really quite wonderful. And the baby is so charming. Yes, we love that.”

  “And these little roundels,” added Roger, “the ones with my coat of arms on them and the ones with the flower. They’re good.”

  “This little fox is very sweet,” commented Melisen, fingering the smaller sheets with the border drawings on them.

  Gilbert took it from her and pushed it out of sight

  “That’s his sign,” said Danby. “Gilbert, the little fox.” He smiled with innocent good humour at anybody who met his eye.

  “Is this a drawing of some sleeves?” Melisen had found another small drawing and held it up. “Look at the folds. You can almost feel the softness of the silk. I take it they were silk?”

  Gilbert made no reply.

  “You seem to be in agreement on most of it,” Hildegard remarked. “Where’s the problem?”

  “It’s in the figures of the two donors,” said Roger, turning his back to glare at the wall. He was plainly irritated but unwilling to let off steam in his usual manner in front of strangers.

  “I saw the drawing of you when I was here with Ulf before. It looked very fine.” She gave Gilbert a smile as she knew he was responsible for it.

  Roger turned back with a sigh. “It’s what Melisen has in mind for the depiction of herself that’s causing the problem.”

  “You simply don’t understand,” Melisen scolded. She turned to Hildegard. “If Lady de Clare can do it, why can’t I?”

  Hildegard’s lips parted in astonishment.

  Melisen continued. “I want myself depicted exactly as I am. Gilbert is quite willing to attempt the drawing.”

  Roger gave the journeyman a baleful glance. “I’m sure he is.”

  Gilbert was unabashed. He took the collection of smaller drawings from Melisen and put them back tidily on the trestle. “If I may make a suggestion, my lord, why not allow Sister Hildegard to be present while I do the drawing of Lady Melisen?” He gave Hildegard a glance. “That way my master will have no qualms about anything indecorous taking place and, my lord, I trust you will feel the same way?”

  “It’s what’ll be going through your mind while you draw my wife babe-naked that worries me!” snarled Roger.

  Lady de Clare, it was well known, had been drawn as Eve in the Garden of Eden with only her famously long hair covering her modesty.

  “Oh sweeting,” cried Melisen, putting her hand on Roger’s sleeve. “I’m sure Gilbert has never had an impure thought in his life. You’d be willing to be present, wouldn’t you, sister?”

  “Would you?” demanded Roger.

  To Hildegard it seemed he had already bowed to Melisen’s desire. She knew him. He was making a meal of his objections now but it was really all over. He had given in, proving that his fifth wife could twist him round her little finger. Astonishing, thought Hildegard.

  In order to ease his defeat she said, “I’ve heard about the glass depicting Lady de Clare.” She turned to Melisen. “I assume this is the one you’re referring to?”

  Melisen nodded.

  “I admit I haven’t seen it myself, but I’m told it’s a most reverential depiction and if everything is holy under God, as we are told, then I see nothing wrong with the naked human form as such. It’ll stand as a memorial to youth and beauty. Any husband would be proud to sponsor such a theme. And, as Lady Melisen has pointed out, there is a precedent for a donor to appear unclothed. And the figure will be small, no doubt. And if you want your chantry to be celebrated, Roger, this will do i
t.…” She trailed off feeling that she had overdone things.

  Roger gave her a stony glance. “So I’m to relish having a pack of strangers gawping at my naked wife in return for a few prayers?”

  “I’ll draw her in profile,” suggested Gilbert, as if that would help. He received an even stonier look.

  Hildegard had one more idea. “Why not let her wear a close-fitting garment like the one Eve wears in the pageant?”

  Melisen clapped her hands. “I knew she’d solve it! What do you say, my lord? You can’t possibly object to that!”

  After an involved discussion about the quota of truth to illusion in the glazier’s art it was agreed. She could wear the Eve suit and still appear with her natural youth and beauty—as if unadorned.

  Danby wiped his brow. He was plainly delighted that the commission was now firmly in the bag and invited everyone to return to the larger workshop where they would be more comfortable and could tie up any other loose ends while they finished their wine. When they went through Gilbert remained at his bench. Hildegard lingered. “Will that be satisfactory from your point of view?”

  He gave her that bright smile she had seen before when his eyes seemed to shoot sparks of silver. “It won’t affect my drawing, although I can’t believe Lady Melisen will be satisfied to do as they tell her—” He broke off with a laugh. So he had got her measure too. Proving it, he added, “I might draw in the lines of an imaginary Eve suit just to tease her.”

  “She would probably take a hammer to the glass in that case!”

  “Indeed, I pray she will should I be so dishonest!”

  “It won’t put you off to have an audience?”

  “Nothing puts me off drawing. Let’s just keep my master and Lord Roger happy.”

  “Agreed. So when do we start?”

  “Let’s go through and find out.”

  She was slow to follow. “Gilbert, is Fox really your name?” she asked.

  He shook his head.