The Alchemist of Netley Abbey: Eighth in the Hildegard of Meaux medieval mystery series

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘More than that, I’ll bring you some to eat.’

  ‘Then my cup of happiness will overflow.’

  ‘Maybe I should explain – ’

  ‘You need never explain to me, my dearest Hildegard.’

  His smile stayed with her all the way across the garth, past the Chapter House and beyond that into the upper meadow.

  It was a sad and disheartening business, picking the stranded fish from out of the grass. Their rapid gasps to take in air had all the desperation of any living creature that finds it cannot breathe. The kindest thing was to kill them at once by rapping their heads against the sides of the wooden buckets that had been collected from all round the abbey.

  Hildegard was about to wade forth to help when Brother Heribert who had been standing by came over to her. ‘We do not need to take part, domina. Enough that the lay-brothers do our work for us while we pray. But do fish have souls, I wonder? Is it our duty to pray for their salvation?’

  ‘The teaching is somewhat vague,’ she replied, her mind on the flashes of silver starring the meadow grass as the fish floundered in the shallow overflow from the stream. ‘Do they yet know how the sluice became blocked?’

  He look uninterested. ‘It is not our job to sort it out. I’m off to inform the prior of the latest development and to inform him that the situation is in hand. We shall soon be to rights again, I pray

  He wandered off, splashing knee deep now and then as he made his way round the perimeter of the meadow towards the Chapter House.

  Prime had already begun when Hildegard edged her way inside. Because the weather was as hot as ever the cool of the church was a welcome refuge and it was crowded with impatient pilgrims who wanted only to get away by the next available ship. Looking round she silently counted them off.

  There was Simon on his stick beside his wife, his head devoutly bent throughout, and Lissa, her glance discretely roving and settling and roving again, but always returning to the commanding figure of Master John.

  For his part he glanced out of the corners of his eyes now and then, half-smiled when their glances met, and somehow seemed to take in those nearest him as well.

  One or two newcomers, innocent and eager to be on their way, exchanged smiles.

  The two sisters, straw hats trailing coloured ribbons and freshly picked daisies, their eyes piously lowered, were there, and the bookish man who kept to himself, and Lucie, looking lost, her mistress nowhere to be seen.

  Hildegard glanced round again. Delith was missing.

  Even the three mercenaries were once again standing at the back looking useless as usual without their swords.

  But still no Delith.

  Managing to cross from the west door into the garth as the monks, the service ended, began to file out from the other door to go into Chapter, she greeted Gregory and Egbert and, reading the signal Gregory gave her she paced over towards the cloisters. They joined her there a moment later.

  ‘Has Hubert told you anything about last night?’ Gregory asked at once. ‘What is all this about the theft from the St Marie?’

  She said, ‘I don’t know what I can add but I can tell you that Brother Hywel is offering more than he can possibly possess to get hold of it and apprehend the thief.’

  ‘That’s news to us. We heard from Hubert that there was an offer for it but not from him. But what about Mistress Delith? Is she still missing?’

  ‘It seems so.’

  ‘And then there’s the problem of the sluice,’ added Egbert. He looked troubled.

  ‘I saw them collecting fish from the overflow before prime. What are they doing about the blockage?’

  ‘Sending a small boy down again. Are you going over there while we’re in Chapter?’

  ‘I will do. Hubert is fretting about not being able to eat fish!’

  They parted their separate ways and when Hildegard entered the kitchens she found quite a crowd ahead of her. They were grouped alongside the half-wall next to the fish trap where the water usually flowed in. A small boy, the one she recognized from last night, was standing on the wall like a little king.

  She said to lay-brother nearby, ‘So they’ve persuaded him to go back?’

  ‘Not without the promise of this penny he’s been on about.’ The man chuckled. ‘We all had to swear on our saints’ names we’d ensure he was properly paid for his courage.’

  Hildegard gave a half-smile. ‘Let’s hope he earns it then. What’s he doing now?’

  ‘Making some sort of speech in case he doesn’t return.’ The man grinned. ‘Lads? Can you credit them!’

  To cheers of encouragement the boy finished his speech and was let down into the dry bed of the stream. Everyone pressed forward to watch. When he came to the entrance to the pipe he hesitated and encouraged by a few jeers from his friends he ducked his head under the entrance and dropped onto all-fours to crawl inside. They could see his feet for a moment or two before he wriggled out of sight.

  An anticipatory hush fell.

  ‘He’s stuck!’ somebody remarked when he failed to reappear.

  Anxious mutterings arose. Some bantering remark about sending somebody else down to prise him out was received in silence.

  Eventually, when it seemed this suggestion might have to be taken seriously the backs of two small boots appeared. Everyone leaned further forward. Squirming and wriggling the boy reappeared bit by bit, bare legs, rumpled tunic, a tousled head. When he was fully out he stood up, red-faced, and with a dramatic shriek flung out his arms.

  ‘I told you all! But you didn’t believe me! I touched it, I tell you! And it was like a cow’s hide! And it’s a devil so now will you believe me?’

  Speech over he tried to scramble back up the wall as frantically as if the hounds of hell were after him and many willing hands reached down to hoist him bodily, still yelling, to safety.

  Several by-standers crossed themselves. His friends, however, were still in a jocular mood.

  ‘It’ll be a piece of rubbish thrown in further upstream,’ one of them insisted.

  ‘Feared of your own shadow, you!’ said another.

  ‘You go down then if you’re so sure!’ retorted the boy. He seemed determined to wring everything he could from his minute of fame. ‘I tell you, it was a devil lying there, not moving, dripping water where it seeps in and covered with a rough skin like – like...’

  ‘Like a cow’s hide, you said. Some devil!’ And they all roared with laughter.

  ‘Could you not push it or pull it?’ asked the master kitchener, scowling at his unruly staff. ‘What happened when you prodded it?’

  ‘Nothing, master. It’s jammed tight.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to send somebody in from the other end.’

  ‘In under the water?’ the assistant Kitchener asked. ‘Nobody’s going to do that.’

  ‘I’ll go.’

  The master turned. ‘You, Alaric? Are you sure?’

  ‘I reckon I’m the only one of you lot who could hold their breath long enough to reach it.’

  Eager not to put a volunteer off, the master kitchener and his retinue marched out with Alaric at their head and took the path along the stream behind the buildings to the place where it should have been freely flowing into the wide mouth of a culvert instead of flooding the meadow with fish.

  Hildegard noticed a dozen or so lay-brothers already hefting the laden buckets back towards the kitchens as they approached. Most of the fish had been picked up. A cat was playing with one as it struggled for life in the grass, dabbing at it but reluctant to enter the water to snatch it up and kill it. A lay-brother scooped up the fish as he passed, dropped it onto the heap in his bucket, and scared off the cat with a kick.

  Alaric had already jumped down into the stream by the time the last of the procession arrived. He had taken off his tunic and stood bare-chested in the sunlight.

  Breathing deeply a few times he filled his lungs with air then ducked his head under the surface of the water and, such was
its clarity, he was visible to them all like a silvery, sinuous, silvery aquatic creature as he swam into the opening.

  ‘It narrows when it gets near the kitchens,’ somebody explained as they all watched. ‘That’ll be where it’s blocked.’ One or two people were holding their own breath to match Alaric but long before he reappeared they were gasping for air.

  Eventually they saw him emerge from the culvert. Dripping shards of silver droplets, he rose from the waters like a Triton.

  The Master Kitchener leaned forward. ‘Well? See anything?’

  Breathing deeply to refill his lungs Alaric shook his head. When he recovered he said, ‘It’s too dark down there to see anything, master. But I touched something. Cloth. And something soft and flowing.’

  He made no attempt to climb out of the water. ‘I must go back. I believe there is someone down there.’

  ‘Some one?’

  People were beginning to draw back.

  ‘I fear what I touched felt like human hair.’

  With a few deep breaths he again submerged himself and swam into the culvert. Nobody wanted to leave now even though it was time to retire to the refectory to break their fast. Besides, no-one would be present to serve them. It seemed as if the entire abbey laity was present. In Chapter the monks were missing everything.

  It took Alaric two more dives into the culvert for him to say he was certain that it was a body but that it was jammed into the section of the pipe that narrowed where it was diverted into the kitchens and he was unable to move it.

  ‘We’ll have to get something to push it from the narrow end of the pipe while somebody pulls it from the water end,’ declared the Master. ‘If you wouldn’t mind going down there yet again, Alaric, my son, after you’ve had something to eat and drink, of course?’ He spoke with unusual deference.

  Offering his hand he pulled Alaric out of the water. The sun was blazing down now, at mid-morning, and Alaric, dripping wet, his hair plastered to his skull, his eyelashes, even, glistening with water drops, was the coolest one present.

  Several of the younger conversi were already throwing off their tunics and splashing down into the stream amid warnings that if they went into the culvert and got stuck, there they would stay until they too were corpses.

  Somewhat subdued, everyone began to make a move towards the refectory.

  Hildegard expected that as soon as food and drink was brought and an air of the familiar took over the conversation would start to buzz with speculation about who was down there. Alaric’s opinion was to be trusted. The consensus was that he was a steady type, not given to wild flights, a brave lad, worthy of reward, and what he said was likely to be true.

  She saw Jankin go up to him and slap him on the back. ‘I would never have dared,’ she heard him say. ‘Good lad, and to offer to go down again!’ She saw him shake his head in wonder at his friend’s folly.

  They are friends now, she thought as she turned away towards the infirmary. Both from similar backgrounds, one fortunate to have found an apprenticeship, the other destined to stay as a servant for the rest of his life. Alaric seemed to feel no bitterness about their differing fates.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hubert’s eyes lit up when he saw her. ‘I gather they’re all down trying to solve the mystery of the blocked culvert?’ he began.

  ‘It’s partially solve. They’re going to get on with it as soon as they find some suitable implements with which to push and pull the blockage out.’ She gave a grimace. ‘It’s very sad. Alaric is convinced it’s a body.’

  Hubert looked startled. ‘Does that mean Gregory’s search is over?’

  Hildegard’s mouth opened as his meaning dawned on her. ‘Could it be?’ she found herself whispering. ‘Oh, no, Hubert! That would be such a dreadful thing. But how could she…how would she fall into the stream and be swept along? It’s shallow enough where it disappears into the culvert.’

  Hubert was frowning. ‘Didn’t you say she had an argument with that fellow from Southampton?’

  Hildegard put her hand to her mouth. ‘You mean to say he might have – ’ She shook her head. ‘No, surely not! It was little more than a tiff. They spoke in anger, that’s true, but only in the manner of people like that, neither willing to listen to the other.’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘Delith told him she had a secret that would change his life forever. It would make no sense to harm her, would it?’

  She recalled how the young woman had protested against some violence done to her by…Lionel, was it?...and had told him not to touch her. She mentioned it to Hubert who merely replied, ‘This is speculation. Let’s wait until we see who they’ve found.,,Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him since…’ she frowned. ‘I haven’t seen him since yesterday.’

  ‘Is he still within the precincts?’

  ‘You mean he might have…and then absconded?’

  Recoiling from the horror of their supposition she told him what Alaric had said, about it being too dark to see anything. ‘Maybe it’s just as the conversi are saying. It’s rubbish thrown in from further upstream.’

  ‘That’s the most likely explanation,’ agreed Hubert.

  Hildegard sat on the edge of his bed. ‘I haven’t asked you about your leg today.’

  ‘It’s well. Friar Hywel seems to know his business. He believes it’ll heal straight and true and that I’ll not be left with a limp.’

  ‘I would still love you, even if you were confined to a chair for the rest of your life with two bent legs.’ She kissed him.

  There the matter was left because Gregory and Egbert emerged from Chapter, yawning and looking as if they needed some action to clear their heads. What was uppermost in Hildegard’s mind was what she had heard earlier. ‘Is it true Mistress Beata has had another offer for this damnable book?’

  Hubert looked pained. ‘Such a fuss. That’s what I meant about her visitors…She was honoured by a visit from Master John - and he wasn’t the only one. Sit down, brothers, and I’ll tell you everything I know.’

  With a glance round the infirmary to see if anyone was close by he said, ‘Mistress Beata sent her husband a message by one of the young lads here to ask him to visit. He came along with an ill grace, telling her that he was a busy man, beset by the difficulties of getting the pilgrims off on another ship so he could justifiably collect their fees. He went on in this strain for a while and she bore it with great patience, I thought, and then she butted in. “A moment, my dear, I have knowledge of something that was stolen from our ship – note that, “our ship” – on the night of the fire and as you are so keen for it I thought you would be willing to pay me for it.”’

  ‘That’s bare-faced! To her own husband!’

  ‘Quite so. But ordinary behaviour to them I should imagine where all their exchanges come with a price.’

  ‘So what did he say?’

  ‘He grunted, ‘”What’s this ‘something’ you’re talking about?– clearly not quite believing it was anything important. And then she gave him the title of the book and you should’ve seen him! He reared off his stool like a man shot by a bolt from a cross-bow then bent over her and hissed, “Perfidious mistress, how did you get hold of it?” “I’m not saying I have,” she replied, “but I can get it for you – for a price.” Then she added, “after all, dear heart, what’s mine is yours and vice versa. Possession is everything as you have so often said yourself.”’

  ‘What on earth did he say to that?’ Hildegard’s eyes widened.

  ‘He said he would decide on a fair price then let her know. He was only persuaded to say that after a lot of arguing. His voice is truly penetrating even when he imagines he’s speaking softly.’

  ‘Meanwhile I suppose he’s losing no time trying to find her contact and the hiding place of the thing?’ Gregory suggested. Hildegard blew out her cheeks and Hubert nodded.

  ‘Just so.’

  Egbert slapped his knee.

  With a glance round to make s
ure no-one could overhear her she said, ‘Hywel is after it too. It was at his instigation that Abbot Philip had the thing imported. His reason for wanting it – ’

  ‘To finish this magnum opus we keep hearing about?’

  ‘More than that – it’s connected somehow to the Philosopher’s Stone.’

  ‘That old story!’ The men laughed outright and Hubert said, ‘Don’t they realize yet that it doesn’t exist?

  With their common-sense putting everything in its proper place it was a relief to hear it after the over-heated meeting with Hywel in the night. Hildegard had almost begun to believe in his talk of the sun and moon and an alchemical marriage, and other such stuff that in the light of day could be seen for nothing more than the ravings of a man who spent too much time alone.

  Reluctantly she had to leave but only after she had promised Hubert to return as soon as she could.

  ‘I have an errand as yet unfulfilled.’ She brought the note Beata had given her from where it was hidden inside her sleeve so he could catch a glimpse of it. ‘It’s her price. To be delivered to Hywel.’

  Everyone was leaving the refectory now and the usual little group were taking up their positions at the end of the cloister, near enough to the gatehouse to be first to notice if any message came through about their delayed departure.

  Master John, it seemed, was already down on the waterside talking to his ship man and was said to have sent couriers to nearby harbours to find another ship. How he was going to do this was one of those mysteries that people not in the guild would never understand.

  ‘Please God let it be soon,’ Lissa was heard to say, a point of view echoed by the other pilgrims.

  Alaric was back running errands as usual but now he was escorted by an admiring throng of younger conversi who followed him with dog-like devotion wherever he went.

  Not wishing to let it be known that she sought Jankin she merely waved at the master of this little cavalcade as she passed on her way towards the stables. Hywel’s drying hut where he prepared his herbs was close by and if she looked in there first she might find Jankin and if not she would have a ready excuse to look in on the work shop where he would undoubtedly be at work again. Her excuse was the usual stand-by, the need for cures for Hubert.