‘How will you do that?’
‘I’ll ask one of the fellows at the gatehouse after a few stoups of ale.’ He left her at the door of the infirmary.
Hubert was as white as the sheet that covered him. Even by the flickering light of a tallow candle his eyes were dark in the deep sockets above angular cheekbones. When he saw Hildegard enter he reached out and despite the shrouded figure in attendance pulled her close. ‘Thank you for visiting my sick bed,’ he greeted in a voice of exaggerated pain and then he gave his familiar roguish smile. ‘I am waited on with more assiduity than ever I receive at Meaux.’
He indicated the friar who, with a tread as light as thistledown, had followed Hildegard out of the church and across the courtyard.
He materialized beside the bed with arms folded inside his sleeves, acknowledged Hildegard with an austere nod then turned his attention to Hubert. ‘How are you faring, my lord? I have something to help you sleep if you’re feeling restless.’
Hubert shook his head. ‘I want for nothing at present, Brother Hywel. You may get to your bed as you well deserve. My gratitude for your attentions. You’re setting a high standard for my own people to live up to.’
Though dismissed the friar lingered. ‘I think I would like another look at your wound, my lord, if I may?’
Hubert nodded but was clearly annoyed at having someone else present now Hildegard had arrived. ‘Have you settled into your accommodation?’ he asked of her in a formal tone.
Hildegard said she had and with a close look at the friar asked, ‘How do you think the patient is faring, brother?’
‘As well as one would wish, domina. If he can be persuaded not to attempt to discard the brace too soon he should make a good recovery.’
‘I fear the lord abbot is a poor patient.’
‘We must do what we can to make sure he does himself no further harm.’
Hubert turned the conversation away from himself.‘Domina, as well as being the apothecary to the abbey infirmarer, I’m told Friar Hywel has some knowledge of the stars and planets. On that basis he is certain that soon the tide will be right for the trading cog we noticed anchored out in the middle channel to come in close enough to discharge her cargo. I imagine it’ll be bustle and chaos on the quay and in the abbey when that happens?’ He turned to the friar. ‘Is that so, Brother Hywel?’
‘I’m told the ship has brought goods from Outremer, my lord, so we should expect many exotic spices to delight our palates.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘And I hope, also, many antidotes for the ailments that will result from over-indulgence.’
‘Prepared for all things, brother?’
‘I endeavour to be so.’
‘And when do you expect this mayhem to break out?’
‘I have observed the phases of the moon, my lord, and I calculate that there will be enough water the day after next to allow the vessel to anchor in the channel closer to the shore. Until then she will remain in mid-river.’
‘And after that will she take off the pilgrims on the first leg of their journey?’ Hildegard asked as if out of interest to know how long the guest house might be busy but in reality to hear him speak again.
‘Indeed she will. Bound for France. Let’s hope their billets of passage will be respected. St James will no doubt take care of his own.’ The friar’s lips twitched but he said nothing more.
He seemed satisfied with Hubert’s wound and replaced the bandage. ‘I shall bid you goodnight.’ He bowed with palms together and left as silently as he had entered.
Hubert watched him leave then as soon as he was out of sight patted the bed beside him. ‘Now tell me why you’re looking like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like a bird about to be pounced on by a large ferocious cat.’
‘Am I such an open book to you?’
‘Sometimes. I would not venture to claim that your thoughts are always open to study. But, come on, quit stalling. Something seems to have disturbed you. What’s the matter?’
‘You mean something more than a natural worry about your state of health?’
‘Hildegard – ’ he warned.
‘Well, if you must know, it’s the friar...’ She bit her lip.
‘Brother Hywel?’
‘Yes. He does prowl like a cat. I had no idea he’d followed me across the garth.’
‘That’s a small thing to arouse anxiety.’
‘It’s more than that. It’s his voice. It’s quite distinctive...and it’s not the first time I’ve heard it.’ Then she told him about the midnight rider and the hurried conversation in Welsh below her window. ‘I heard the name Glyn Dwr, and Sycharth, and we know Glyn Dwr is one of Arundel’s body-guards.’ She lowered her voice in horror. ‘Can it be possible that Glyn Dwr himself is here – in the abbey?’
Hubert smoothed the back of her hand. ‘Fear not. Arundel will have forgotten us by now. The bloody purge of the king’s ministers is sending everyone fleeing from London. There are bigger fish around than us, ones who might turn on those traitorous Appellants and make them rue the day they decided on vengeance to further their ambitions.’
‘Egbert thinks much the same.’
‘But you’re not convinced?’
‘It seems peculiar, that’s all. Even if you’re right,’ she said slowly, ‘what is he doing here at Netley of all places?’
‘You cannot be sure it was Glyn Dwr himself. And travelling with no men of his own? It’s highly unlikely, Hildegard. It’s more likely that his name simply cropped up in conversation. There’s nothing strange about that when two Welshmen get to talking things over.’
‘You may be right.’ She frowned. ‘We’re too near Arundel’s fief for comfort. I’ll be glad when we can leave.’ She allowed her glance to take in the sight of Hubert lying helplessly on the bed with his leg encased.
He read the cause of her anxiety. ‘What can Arundel do? Even if one of his spies has discovered we’re here, he can’t have us hauled out of the abbey. This is sacred space.We can claim sanctuary in the church. Even he, surely, would not attempt to dislodge us from so holy a place?’
‘I see that we can only wait until daylight to discover this fellow’s identity.’
Despite his trust in the safety of the sanctuary Hubert would be helpless to defend himself should anyone ignore it and try to drag him from the abbey precinct by main force.
He held onto her hand as she rose to leave. ‘Are you going already?’
‘I must get some sleep, Hubert. I’m dozing on my feet. It’s not surprising I feel menace in the air. Ordinarily I wouldn’t give a second’s thought to our encounter with that gang in the woods. Now, with this latest threat, if it exists, I can’t get the fear of imminent danger out of my mind.’
She shivered and was only partially reassured when he squeezed her fingers between his own and said, ‘Go then. Fear nothing. Sleep well.’
Exhausted after the previous day, it was already daylight when Hildegard woke to the sound of footsteps in the corridor outsider her chamber. She realized that it was probably guests going down to Prime. She must have slept through the summoning of the bell but been awoken by the lightest of footsteps. Throwing her summer cloak over her shift and pushing her hair back under her coif she opened the door and poked her head out. Several women were coming out of the shared chamber further along the corridor. They were yawning and discussing what fare would be on offer to break their fast.
Recognising them as those who had been standing near the gatehouse when Hubert was carried inside, Hildegard joined them. The one with red hair arranged with becoming carelessness under a white kerchief was the undisputed centre of the group.
‘Have I missed Prime?’ Hildegard asked her in astonishment. She had hoped for another chance to have a look at the mysterious Welshman to discover whether it really was Glyn Dwr himself.
She gave Hildegard a sympathetic smile. ‘You must have slept well,’ she replied. ‘Prime is over. Come in to break your fast with
us.’
They walked down into the garth. The sun was already beating down in an intense assault that made the red-haired woman pull her kerchief over her face. ‘I burn so,’ she explained, ‘I must ask that handsome Friar Hywel for some chamomile. At least we have the shade of the cloisters to sit in. They say this heat-wave is going to last for another week. I dread the thought of going on board ship with so little protection from the sun.’
‘And it will be unloading its cargo soon, I hear?’
‘I hope so, and then we can go on board and our adventure begins!’She was a voluptuous woman of about Hildegard’s own age and briefly the nun imagined herself before she was widowed and took her vows. She might have stayed as a guest accompanied by her husband exactly like this, to set out on a long pilgrimage overseas, maybe with the purpose of reaffirming their vows to each other – but then she thought, more realistically, that with Hugh it could never have happened. He was committed to war and the acquisition of material wealth and had met his death because of it.
‘I saw you with your husband as I arrived,’ Hildegard reminded. ‘I believe he’s called Simon?’
‘That’s right, the old owl. And I am Alicia, but Lissa to you, domina.’
She yawned behind her hand, stretched a little and said, ‘Forgive me. We had a long ride from Winchester to get here and arrived only shortly before you did and what with those bells tolling through the night I’ve scarcely had a minute’s sleep. I can’t imagine how you manage it all the time. I hope it’s true about the ship. We have to wait until it’s ready to sail again and I’m so impatient!’
They walked across towards the refectory, talking about the excitement of taking ship and the dangers of pilgrimage and all the other problems of travel while the situation with the French was so uncertain.
‘Although, the way things are I’m somewhat pleased to be leaving,’ Lissa added. ‘I hope by the time we return the realm will be at peace again and our dear young king will have all his honours reinstated as is right and just.’ She covered her mouth with her hand and murmured, ‘I can’t stand that Arundel. He takes all our young men from round here to fight in his army then sends them home without any pay. No wonder he’s able to strut around in that big castle of his. Forgive me, domina,’ she broke off. ‘I should not talk so openly. Simon is always telling me I’ll land myself in trouble one of these days with my big mouth.’
‘You only express what many are thinking,’ replied Hildegard.
Entering the refectory and seeing the men already seated at the table reserved for guests, Lissa invited Hildegard to join her and her husband who found a space for them both on the bench. It turned out that one or two others had arrived only the day before as well and they shared stories about the difficulties of the journey while the barefoot conversi supplied them with bread and cheese and a jug or two of watered wine.
Two young women in their twenties were sitting opposite and Hildegard’s new companion, Lissa, suddenly burst out laughing. ‘My! You two look like peas in a pod. I’ve only just opened my eyes enough to have a good look at you. Are you sisters?’
They nodded. ‘They call us Mistress Sweet and Mistress Sour,’ one of them said. ‘We leave you to decide which is which.’
It was a challenge and Lissa gave them a shrewd glance. ‘If it’s not impertinent I’d say you were Mistress Sour,’ she smiled kindly at the speaker. ‘But I would imagine it’s a somewhat inaccurate description of your nature.’
The young woman laughed. ‘You’ve scored a bull there, mistress. It’s because I think before I speak and have dark hair while my twin here speaks before she thinks, don’t you, Ceci? And has fair hair,’ she added with a lugubrious glance at her sister’s tumbling flaxen locks. ‘Men go for that Saxon colouring,’ she added, ‘and she makes the most of it, don’t you, Ceci? Speak up.’
Ceci was staring at a woman further along the bench who had trailed after them from the guest house and now she came to with a jerk of her head. ‘They do,’ she replied equably, ‘but I can’t help that.’ She gave them her full attention. ‘We’re not pilgrims. We’re dairy women, if you want to know. We have our own dairy business which we’re seeking to expand. That’s why we’re staying at Netley. We hope to do business with the cellarer here. We’d like to persuade him to take our cheese for the abbot’s lodging for when he entertains his special guests.’
‘We’re also going to the Monday market at Hound,’ the dark-haired sister added, ‘to see what opportunities are there.’
A man had risen to his feet when the woman joined and now sat down again. He leaned over. ‘So where is this dairy of yours?’ he asked.
Mistress Sour answered. ‘It’s near Southampton. I may as well tell all before my sister spills it out. When our mother died, a very admirable dairywoman and a widow for all our childhood, she bequeathed the business to us and, like new brooms, we decided we would make a clean sweep and expand beyond our nearby weekly market. We began to take in more milk from the many little villages around who produced more than they could use. Soon we had to move to bigger premises for our cheese-making as we also inherited a secret ingredient which makes it, I say this without boasting, some of the best cheese on the market.’
Her sister picked up a lump of the thick cheese that she had cut off from the wedge that had been set out for them. ‘This,’ she said, ‘is nothing like the cheese we make. This is coarse stuff. We’re grateful to the monks for providing it for all that. But ours is for the discerning. We sell to some of the best houses in Southampton.’
The man rose to his feet again and bowed. ‘You may call me Master John,’ he announced in resonant tones. ‘I own the ship at anchor. I buy and sell. I also transport pilgrims across the Narrow Sea.’ He glanced round the table. ‘You others will be my guests once you’re on board my ship the St Marie, so welcome, one and all.’ He smiled benignly on the two sisters who smiled back. ‘My ship man will look after you all once you’re on board. My only sorrow is, I shall not be sailing with you. Pity me for having to stay dully ashore and see to business!’
Hildegard had already recognised the ship-owner as the late-comer at Matins, the one she had mentally marked out as a merchant. She hadn’t been far wrong. This was no ordinary merchant though if the ship was entirely his. Most owners took out shares in a suitable vessel in order to spread the risk, sometimes as little as a ninth but usually at least a third, and then there was insurance on top of that. Trading was a risky business these days, especially with the frequent raids from the French and pirates out towards the Spanish coast. Wine ships trading down as far as Guienne often had armed men on board to repel attackers. And then there was the weather. Unpredictable and in the hand of God. She wondered if the ship merchant had many wealthy backers.
A pretty though somewhat sharp-featured woman with hair as black as ebony was sitting on the opposite side of the trestle further downs and now she exclaimed in a high, tweeting voice, ‘So you are our merchant ship owner, our saviour! Now I am reassured.’ She glanced round. ‘May I introduce myself to everyone? I am a widow but you may call me Delith as we are going to be ship-board companions, and this silent body beside me is my maid, Lucie.’ She looked at the merchant from under her lashes. ‘I confess, master, I’ve been so frightened at the thought of putting out to sea – one hears such terrible stories about unseaworthy vessels and their unscrupulous owners who only want to take our money and then care nothing whether we live or die and preferably die so they can collect on their insurance – but now, with your personal reassurance, master, my fears have dissolved.’
She took a breath after this outpouring and, stalled in whatever he had been about to say to the sisters, the ship-owner turned to have a good look at whoever had put such instant faith in him and held his fellow ship merchants with such cynical disregard.
The woman’s black hair was oiled and severely plaited and pinned under a white coif, tightly tied. She fluttered her eyelashes then demurely directed her gaze down to
her cleavage and two ample breasts showing above an unexpectedly low-cut bodice. Invited to follow her gaze, the merchant faltered, decided to accept her invitation and gave a complicit smile.‘And are you traveling alone, mistress?’
‘Oh no,’ she opened her eyes wide as if in innocent misunderstanding. ‘I travel with a most devout group of pilgrims. Several are still at their prayers inside the church.’ She leaned far forward for the merchant’s benefit and whispered, as if it were a great secret, ‘We’re traveling all the way to Compostela to kneel at the feet of St James. It is fitting, is it not, that his feast day will be celebrated here in this very abbey only a short while after we leave? It will be as if he is watching over us from beginning to end.’
A yellowy-looking, sparsely bearded old fellow further along the trestle glanced up from the small book open on the board beside him at the mention of St James. ‘If all goes well, mistress, we should be on the point of arrival when their celebrations start here. Isn’t that so, master?’
The merchant gave a quick nod, his glance scarcely leaving the dark, young widow as she fingered the lacing of her bodice and began to twirl the loose end between her fingers.
Mistress Sour butted in. ‘As I was saying, we’re here to do business.’ She gave the ship merchant a challenging stare.
Master John dragged his glance from the winding and rewinding of the bodice string and his eyes narrowed with a calculation of shared interest when he met the steady grey gaze of the more serious of the sisters. ‘Come and talk to me when you’re finished here, dear ladies, if you will. I have affairs of business in this little stretch of country. It is so far from the towns it tends to be forgotten but I believe there are chances here not available elsewhere.’
‘It happens to be ideally placed for overseas trade,’ Mistress Sour observed with a calculating smile.
The dry, yellow man turned a page with a pair of wooden tweezers and went back to his reading.
Lissa leaned against her husband and sighed. ‘It’s so hot even in here, my dearest. Shall we go for a walk by the river, to cool down?’
The Alchemist of Netley Abbey: Eighth in the Hildegard of Meaux medieval mystery series Page 4