For a moment Hildegard was torn. Then two vergers hurried up and a woman stepped from the crowd saying, “I’m a leech. Quickly! Let me attend him.”
Without waiting Hildegard pulled Maud into the thick of the onlookers and grasping her by the hand ran with her towards the minster doors. Shouts broke out behind them. A glimpse over her shoulder gave an impression of people stumbling out of the way of the knight in black and yet others reaching out to detain him. It was enough to make her rush Maud outside without further hesitation.
They ran across the minster yard towards the gates, then made a left turn onto Petergate where the crowds were thickest. If they could lose themselves in the throng they might give him the slip.
“Where are we going?” panted Maud. “Just tell me where we’re going!”
“We’ll go back to Harpham’s house. Ulf and his men will protect us.” But first, she thought, we have to elude our pursuer, otherwise we’ll never make it across town.
* * *
She urged Maud into a back lane that led off the street they were on. It ran parallel to Stonegate. Assuring her that it would take them in the direction of Conyngsgate she explained that they could eventually cross the river by Ouse Bridge and run up to the safety of the house.
When they arrived panting at the top of the street, however, one of the knight’s henchmen was there before them. He must have been with his lord in the minster and, taking notice of what had happened, had gone on ahead.
He was a stocky, thick-set fellow and was having difficulty looking over the heads of the crowd. So far he had not spotted them. When she glanced over her shoulder she saw the knight himself just sprinting round the corner in pursuit. The lane was narrow, thick with revellers. The knight pushed his way with difficulty towards them.
Near at hand were the back doors to the shops that fronted onto Stonegate and, dragging Maud with her, Hildegard plunged through one of them at random. A leather worker at his bench glanced up in surprise when they barged in but with no time to explain they ran straight through his shop and out into the street on the other side, his shouts fading as they ran into a yard directly opposite.
A church, its doors open, swathes of incense sweeping out in a dizzying scent and a glittering array of candles visible on the altar within was the only refuge. All the churches would be open now, she realised, the guilds processing around the town already before beginning their vigil on the eve of Corpus Christi. Unseen by their pursuers, they ran inside.
“There must be another door,” Hildegard told Maud, hurrying her down the short length of the nave and ignoring the startled glances of a scattering of worshippers. They reached the altar but there was no door behind it, merely a smooth sweep of painted wall with an aubry and a curtain slung across an alcove where presumably the priest kept his regalia.
The sound of jangling spurs in the doorway brought Hildegard’s heart into her mouth. “Quick, in here.” She pushed Maud behind the curtain and followed after.
A voice from near the door was heard to ask, “Did two miscreants just run in here?”
“No, sir, no one like that,” replied an unfamiliar voice. The jangling spurs receded.
After waiting a moment Hildegard looked out. There was no sign of the knight or his henchman but a stranger in the robes of a guildsman was hurrying down the aisle towards them.
He pulled the curtain aside. “You’re clearly in distress. Do you need help, sister?”
“We do. No time to explain further, master. Is there a way out of here? We need to get into Micklegate.”
“Follow me.”
He led them briskly to the back of the altar and moved the aubry to one side. Behind it was a door painted to fit in with a scene from the Garden of Eden on the wall.
“This is the Mercers’ Guild church,” he told her as he opened the door. “Follow the passage. It’ll bring you out on the river bank not far from the bridge. It’s dark in there,” he added, “so watch your step. Wait a moment—” He disappeared round the front of the altar and returned with a candle. “Take this. St. Benet be with you.”
Thanking him and with Maud already groping her way in terror down the narrow tunnel she set off. When the secret door closed their only light cast jumping shadows along the walls bringing Maud to a sudden halt.
Hildegard urged her on. “Go on, Maud. We have to get to the bridge before the knight does.”
The walls were running with water and there was a scuffling sound like rats. After a seemingly endless few minutes, slipping over wet stones, they came to a farther door. Not knowing what was waiting on the other side, Hildegard pushed it open an inch or two and peered through. The lifted candle revealed a bare, windowless chamber with another door at the far side. They could hear the sound of many footsteps shuffling past with a sound like waves breaking on a beach.
She said, “We must be below street level in a cellar of some sort.”
“I’m frightened,” whispered Maud. “Can’t we just stay here?”
“We must get to the bridge first, otherwise we won’t be able to cross the river to Harpham’s without being seen.” She only hoped that the knight’s retainers were not already posted at the bridge. “Come on, Maud. Be brave,” she urged. “We’ll tread with great caution.”
* * *
The empty chamber must have been a storeroom at some time. The faint scent of grain lingered. It reminded her of the kitchen at Low Mill. They had no idea where they were when they opened the far door, but to their relief they found themselves in the open air at the back of a row of booths fronting the river. The latch snapped as it shut behind them. Pinching out the candle Hildegard slipped it into her sleeve.
“Which way is the bridge?” asked Maud, clinging on to her like a limpet.
Hildegard hesitated for a moment until she got her bearings. There was a staithe to their right with a couple of barges moored beside it and farther downriver to their left the rows of booths continued along the bank for some way.
“It must be down that way,” she said, pushing Maud to the left with a firm hand on her shoulder. No one paid any attention to them and the bridge soon came into view. Then Hildegard felt Maud give a shudder of alarm.
“That’s the one called Hogg,” she exclaimed, drawing back.
Hildegard peered towards the bridge. A man-at-arms was lounging at the steps and giving the faces of the crowd a careful scrutiny He was thick-set, wearing a mail-shirt and paring his nails with a knife.
Such was Maud’s fear she was standing as if transfixed. Then her eyes darted to the water. It was a heaving mass of swimmers. Every few moments a boy would jump off the side of the bridge and land with a great splash. “I can’t swim,” she said as if an already frantic train of thought had been followed.
“Tell me something. Who is that knight?”
“He’s just called ‘my lord’ by his men. I don’t know who he is. He said he claimed our manor by right of arms and to hell with law. That’s what he kept saying. But what are we going to do now, sister? We’re trapped.”
“Not a bit of it.” She sounded more certain than she felt. It would only take the appearance of the other men to put a permanent guard at the bridge. Even if she tried to get Maud across by boat they would be clearly visible as they climbed up the embankment on the other side.
The mystery of the knight’s apparent interest in the cross could be solved later.
Pondering the possibilities open to them Hildegard considered searching out a constable and putting their lives in the hands of the law, but what Maud had said about no one believing her, as a bonded maid, rang true. She could easily imagine the charm the knight in black would switch on and the ease by which he would talk his way out of the situation and reel Maud back into his clutches. The law was tough when it came to a matter of runaway bonded labourers.
“I’m going to send a message to Sir Ulf,” she told Maud, mainly to keep the girl’s spirits up. There was the problem of finding a reliable messenger, of stayi
ng out of sight of their pursuers until help arrived. It wouldn’t do. “Meanwhile,” she continued, playing for time, “we’ll make it more difficult for them to recognise us in the crowd.”
She hurried Maud into one of the nearby booths where a range of clothing was for sale. There were rough cotton kirtles, tunics in various weights of fabric, cloaks and capuchons of every colour. Selecting a light green summer cloak for Maud, she told her to discard her old brown one. “Leave that one here. We can come back for it if you want it.”
Maud did as she was told. As she straightened it for her, Hildegard asked, “What’s in this bundle you always carry, Maud?” She indicated the cloth tied in a knot over Maud’s shoulder.
“It’s what I did it with,” she mumbled. She hung her head.
“What?”
“Killed him. Or thought I had.”
“You mean it’s a weapon?”
Maud nodded.
Hildegard was aghast. “You mean you smuggled that through the Bar when we first came here, despite the warnings?”
Maud nodded again.
“But why? You could have got us all locked up.”
She shook her head. “I daren’t leave it anywhere.”
They moved away from the booth. Hildegard had tied on a dark ochre kerchief that she pulled low over her brow, and Maud’s abundant and eye-catching hair was hidden under another one. They took shelter behind a stall selling pancakes. The smoke from the vendor’s brazier billowed out in thick blue coils but at least it served as some concealment.
“Now,” she said, “will you show it to me?”
Nervously Maud undid the knots that tied the bundle to reveal a long-bladed dagger.
It was expensively crafted.
The haft was worked in silver and studded with what looked like diamonds and the blade was well honed, a narrow and sharp instrument of death.
It seemed astonishing to Hildegard that such a lethal-looking weapon had not killed the knight outright. Maud must have stabbed out so wildly in her panic that she had missed her target and merely drawn blood. The knight no doubt considered himself fortunate to have his life.
Maud rewrapped it.
“Wait a moment.” Hildegard asked to have another look. “What’s this?” The pattern on the haft was not some abstraction created by the silversmith. It was a recognisable shape. It was a swan, its wings studded with small diamonds and its feet marked by sapphires. It was the same emblem the knight wore in silver round his neck.
Maud was staring at her as if afraid of what she would say next.
“Do you realise who he is?”
Maud shook her head.
Hildegard’s head was swimming with the knowledge. This proved the identity of the man who had destroyed Maud’s manor, killed its inhabitants and also devastated Deepdale. It would stand as evidence in a court of law.
The reason for his ruthless pursuit fell into place.
It wasn’t the Cross of Constantine that interested him. Nor, even, was it an absconding servant. It was the incriminating evidence of the embossed dagger. It was a direct link to the massacre of the villeins near Pentleby and the devastation of the Cistercian grange at Deepdale.
* * *
More and more people were coming out onto the streets as the hour of vigil approached. Groups of twenty or so were gathering with lighted candles. The air was sweet with the scent of bees wax.
For most of the next hour Hildegard and Maud remained on the bank of the river, far enough from the bridge to pass unnoticed but near enough to observe the eventual arrival of the knight and two more of his retainers. The men stood around, evidently discussing matters, and the one guarding the bridge was shrugging and shaking his head. The three of them fanned out again to trawl the streets in different directions. To Hildegard’s consternation one of them started to advance along the river towards their hiding place.
Warning Maud to keep her wits about her Hildegard led her back along the river path towards a house with a bunch of broom tide to its gable. There they mingled with a crowd of people drinking outside. The ale-wife whose house it was looked red-faced and happy at the profit she was making and Hildegard added a little to it by pressing some silver coins into her hand and asking if her child could sit in a private chamber for a little while as the sun had been too much for her that day.
When they came out later the man had gone but there was another one standing at the bridge.
“That’s Ivo,” said Maud.
“It’s a pity you can’t swim,” said Hildegard trying to lighten the girl’s fear.
“With all those rats and dead dogs,” said Maud. “I wish I could. Better than the rats on that bridge. Oh, sister, what on earth are we going to do? I’ll give myself up. That’s the best. Then you can get away with the knife and I’ll jump into the water and end it all.”
“You do give up easily, Maud. I think it looks as if we’ll be able to get a boat from somewhere now the light’s beginning to fade. That should save you getting your new cloak wet.”
By this time the river bank was in shadow, its only light the intermittent flare of cressets along the line of booths. It made it safe enough to approach one of the watermen who had been ferrying passengers back and forth all afternoon. He agreed to take them to the other side for twopence, which Hildegard thought exorbitant for the distance he would have to row but she accepted without quibble, eager only to make their escape without drawing attention to themselves.
He held the boat steady while Maud climbed in.
About to follow, Hildegard heard a shout from the bank. She found herself being grasped roughly from behind and she was dragged back off the boat onto the shore.
Looking up she noticed Maud’s startled expression and her lips form a frightened cry as she rose to her feet. The boat rocked.
“Go!” she shouted to the ferryman. “Take her across. Go to the steward, Maud, give him the knife! Hurry!”
The ferryman looked undecided until she shouted at him that it was a matter of life and death and to fetch Roger de Hutton’s steward at once. Maud, she noted with relief, sat down in the boat and the ferryman began to ply his oars with strong, quick strokes towards the opposite side.
Hildegard swung round to face her attacker, and expecting to see the knight or one of his henchmen, gave a gasp of astonishment. It was the brutish, bald-headed servant from the convent of the Holy Wounds. The one they called Matthias.
Chapter Thirty
He pushed his face close to her own in a stench of sweat and human ordure that made her gag. Brutally strong, he gave her no opportunity to slip free but dragged her to a stone jetty out of range of the cresset lights a few yards along the bank where nobody but prostitutes and their clients lurked. He pushed her down among the high weeds on the waste land below the flood wall and held her down.
“Whore of Babylon!” He thumped her on the head. She saw stars. “Punishment!” he mumbled. Slow-witted, he looked as if he was working out what to do with her now she was in his power. Pinned beneath his beefy thighs she was unable to move. Distantly she could hear the hymn singing that marked the beginning of the night vigil.
Her captor raised his fist again but before he could smash it into her face she put as much fear into her voice as she could and whimpered, “Please, great sir! Punish me as I deserve. But I beg of you, don’t take me back to the convent whatever you do!”
He paused, his fist in the air. His garments gave off the rancid odour of animal wax.
“Please,” she said again, “don’t let your mother superior punish me herself! I beg of you, kind sir!”
“Holy mother?” His eyes gleamed with the sudden possibilities her words opened up.
“She’ll punish me most horribly, sir, and for sure she’ll reward you for taking me back to the convent as your prisoner, but resist, I beg you, resist!” She gazed imploringly into his piggy little eyes. “She’ll torture me,” she continued. “She’ll whip me! She’ll cut my flesh! She and all the other h
oly sisters. And Sister Michael,” she added, remembering the large woman who had tried to keep Maud prisoner. “She’ll wreak a vile vengeance on me, most holy sir!”
The brute gripped her by the jaw and stared intently into her face. He seemed to be trying to read something in her expression. His animal gaze held no trace of rational thought. She could hear his breath rasping in and out, wrapping her in a miasma of rotten food that was enough to make her faint in itself.
“Please don’t take me there, good sir, they’ll pain me beyond endurance,” she pleaded again as he seemed to waver.
His eyes had a veiled look, half-mad, and then she observed a shift in the mud of his thoughts that forced a grunt from between his blackened teeth.
“Take you there? To the convent! Yes! Me do that. My lady well pleased with Matthias. Get up, heretic!” He lifted himself off her and began to drag at her clothing to force her to rise.
Shakily, amazed she could still stand, Hildegard stumbled to her feet. There was no opportunity to make a run for it. He maintained his oafish grip on her garments and when she swayed, about to fall, he merely wrapped one arm round her waist and hauled her along beside him, ignoring her feeble attempts to resist. In the confusion of the moment—lights glittering from the river boats, cressets like stars along the bank—she had chance to wonder what would happen when they reached the guard on the bridge.
They approached. The knight’s esquire was looking for a nun, not a drunken baggage being carted home for a beating by her man. They passed over without hindrance.
Praying that Maud had managed to get across to safety and had enough common sense to make straight for Harpham’s house to tell Ulf what had happened Hildegard found herself being dragged in the direction of the convent.
By tricking Matthias into leaving the isolation of the river bank she had hoped that she could escape once back in the mainstream of the crowd, but she had reckoned without his brute strength and the drunken indifference of the revellers. She regretted the absence of her hounds with all her might. Her only hope was the knife in the sheath on her belt. As he dragged her along she began to jerk it free with small, surreptitious tugs on the haft.
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