Before she reached the corner the three mercenaries came in under the gatehouse arch. They were arguing.
Such was the heat of their exchanges it was impossible to tell what the problem was until eventually the captain held up his hands.
‘Hold your tongues! We have orders. We stay until we have it. The wagon should be here later today. We load it with the bales and then we’re off. You won’t be afeared driving through the night, will you?’
‘While all the masterless men are abed?’ The men, so recently angry, broke into derisive laughter.
‘Then that’s settled.’ They walked on with the captain grumbling, ‘You don’t think I want to stay here a minute longer than necessary, do you? With a lot of mumbling pilgrims and them monks looking down their noses at us?’
‘They’ll be blaming us for this body, given half a chance.’
‘If it exists.’
‘Aye, it’s probably a giant rat got stuck.’
‘Or a fat monk.’
‘Same thing.’
They marched on out of earshot and Hildegard continued on down to the herb garden.
Everything looked brittle in the strong sunlight but the heat brought out the full perfume from the leaves and for a moment she thought how lovely it must be to have a job like Hywel, working with herbs, discovering the secret healing powers of each one, recording treatments, finding cures for the sick and elderly. Hubert said Hywel knew his business. Last night had been a misunderstanding. The moon cast a ghastly aura over things which in the light of day were seen to be harmless.
Without finding Jankin she was forced to go up to the work shop. Wondering how she would lure him outside to give him the message without Hywel noticing, she was surprised to find the place deserted.
She was just standing inside, wondering if she could simply leave the little piece of parchment on the bench and, in fact, was on the point of reaching inside her sleeve for it when she happened to glance behind her. She recoiled.
Hywel himself was standing silently in the doorway watching her. He looked as if he might have been there for some time. With a shiver she met his gaze.
He waited without speaking, testing her nerve, it seemed, until, remembering her excuse, she mentioned Hubert’s cure.
His response was to give her a searching glance. ‘But I left him some when I was there earlier.’
‘Did you?’ Her voice rose of its own accord, sounding shaky and deceitful. ‘I must have misunderstood.’
‘It’s not like you, Hildegard - to misunderstand.’ He came rapidly on into the workshop.
After a sweeping glance over the bench he turned to face her. ‘In fact you’re surprisingly quick at understanding.’ He paused. ’Aren’t you?’
‘Am I?’ she replied inanely.
Adopting an over-casual manner he asked, ‘Did you find anyone here when you walked in?’
‘No. Should I have?’
‘No message lying on the bench?’
‘How would I know that?’
He gave a sigh. ‘Would you like a beaker of my apple elixir now you’re here?’
‘I need to go to…’
Before she could think of a reason he murmured, ‘…to avoid me. Well, then.’
Mentally kicking herself she went out without another word. Jankin was just coming across the garth with Lucie.
She went up to him. ‘Remember what we were talking about? I have a reply but he’s standing there – I couldn’t leave it. Can you make sure he finds it?’
Jankin guessed at once what she meant and looked pleased to be given the task. ‘You can trust me, domina.’
Glancing back at the workshop she saw that the door was still open. Jankin understood and moved so that Hildegard would block him from Hywel’s view. He stuffed the note inside his belt then taking Lucie by the hand they strolled on.
Why did I do that? She asked herself when she reached the privacy of her own chamber. ‘Why did I not hand Beata’s note to him? What difference would it make whether he thought the thief had given it to me or to a go-between?
It’s because I don’t trust him, she answered herself. Or is it that I don’t trust myself?
The compelling dark eyes filled her imagination with the promise of an unending descent into other worlds.
She did not trust him.
She did not trust the power in his inscrutable, dark, intense contemplation whenever he looked at her.
Lying on her bed with the shutters at the one window opened as wide as they would go she tried to sleep. Only sleep would make his power dissolve until it faded away without harm but as soon as she began to breathe more easily she remembered Delith and gave a shudder of fear.
Strangely, the scene in the herb garden came back. ‘Stay with me,’ Hywel had asked her and then Delith had appeared and made that suggestion to him and it was as if he already knew what she was going to offer and his revulsion was palpable. His face had turned to stone. If the silly young thing had understood she would not have gone on to make things worse – but she had and now, in restrospect, Hildegard remembered that she had believed he was about to strike her - something profound in him had been wounded by her expectations of him – but his icy control had taken over. Her own presence, maybe, had held him in check.
Now there was the girl’s body, if the rumours turned out to be true, and whoever did it had not been held in check by anything.
Several events took place in quick succession on that stifling hot morning when Cloister Garth was beginning to acquire the appearance of a brown-baked desert.
First, a courier from Southampton came riding in before Tierce with a message for Master John. Everybody about the place saw him take it, wrench it open, read, glance round with a smug smile, then hand over some coins to the sweating rider.
Next, the thing blocking the drain started on its slow journey into the outside world of air and light. Alaric became the hero of the moment again with his many dives under water. He came up panting after the fourth or fifth time in the culvert and gave a nod to the Master Kitchener.
The bystanders thrilled with a strange fear to hear him say, ‘I’ve attached the rope to what I believe are its shoulders, master.’
‘Is the knot secure?’
‘Trust me, I know about knots.’
Hildegard went back into the kitchen to fill a jug to take through into the refectory and went over to the kitchen sluice.
A couple of men were standing down there in a trickle of water. The boy was also presumably there too because one of them bent his head and called into the pipe to ask him if it was having any luck. A muffled echo came back. The man straightened. ‘He says it won’t budge.’
His companion scratched his head. ‘It’s going to take a while to shift it.’
‘Aye. We’ll be here all morning.’
The Master came bustling back into his kitchen. ‘Can’t he do anything?’
They shook their heads.
Hildegard went on into the refectory and placed the jug on the trestle within reach of the others. The two sisters were talking in low voices in that way they had that set them apart from everyone else. Now Mistress Sweet, Ceci, got up from the trestle with her wastel half-eaten but her sister, Genista, pulled her down again. ‘Not yet!’
Chastened, Mistress Sweet sat down with her head lowered and a secret smile on her face. She began to nibble at her bread crust with small, feral teeth.
Lissa and Simon watched as the merchant entered with a great deal of bustle and noise. ‘Greetings, John. Is that the one you were waiting for?’ Lissa indicated the parchment piece in his hand.
‘Good news!’ He sat down beside them. ‘A trading cog is being sent down from Hampton at this very moment. She’ll be here soon. Then it’ll simply be a question of getting you all on board.’
The pilgrims further down the trestle gave a cheer when they heard this.
Simon smiled and patted his wife’s hands. ‘There, my dear little skylark, didn’t I tell y
ou everything would turn out for the best?’
‘Best for us, maybe, but hardly best for that poor young woman in the culvert. Will they get her out before we leave?’
‘Unshriven, poor woman, but we must trust in God’s divine grace.’
‘I, for one, will be glad to be out of this accursed place. I scarce dare sleep at night,’ one of the pilgrims admitted. There were murmurs of agreement.
‘Master,’ Simon stemmed the ghoulish turn in the conversation to ask, ‘What are you to do about the St Marie?
‘Good news there as well. She’s being towed up to the docks for refitting. That seasoned oak takes a while to burn. It was her saving grace that she was so well-built. The crew of the replacement ship will take her upriver and my good and trusted ship man will command the new vessel. And then to France! Very satisfactory, if I may say so…’
‘You say it’s satisfactory,’ Simon began with a kind smile, ‘but what’s this I hear about a theft? Some book gone missing?’
‘That,’ replied John loftily, ‘is also going well. I’m in the process of buying it from someone who has come into possession of it.’
‘The thief, you mean?’
‘By no means. In fact, I doubt whether it was stolen at all. Someone found it, fair and square, no doubt it having been dropped in the general confusion during the storm and, its worth not being understood, it was merely cast aside where it was found and on the basis of ‘finders, keepers’ it is now to be sold to the highest bidder…to myself, I may suggest, as I am the only one with a right to it and sufficient wherewithal to make a serious offer.’
Wondering if Hywel knew he had a rival, when she went to make her morning visit to Hubert, Hildegard told him of John’s expectations.
‘It’s not at all certain that his wife will sell it to him. She’s quite amused by the number of offers she’s receiving. It seems one or two others would like to purchase such a book too.’
‘Do they know what it is?’
‘A rather dry and esoteric account of current thinking about the stars? I doubt it. But if enough people talk as if it’s something wonderful the more money will be offered for it. Beata is delighted and is doing her best to make it seem more important than it is.’
‘Value, like beauty, is entirely in the eyes of the beholder,’ she commented.
‘What fools they are. Paying over the odds for some worthless piece of ephemera.’ He chuckled. ‘It makes the world go round, I suppose.’
‘But who else wants to buy it?’ Before he could answer she said, ‘I must say, Hubert, you seem to be at the centre of events today.’
‘I’m finding my stay here in the infirmary to be a source of great interest. But the other would-be purchasers you will see shortly. I gather there are two sisters here to sell their produce to the abbey, for the abbot’s high table?’
‘They are the ones I mentioned. The pilgrims call them Mistress Sour and Mistress Sweet… but frankly I see little difference between them other than the colour of their hair. Surely they don’t imagine they can match Master John?’
‘We shall see. Maybe in the end Beata will choose by paying heed to the promptings of her heart?’
Hildegard gave him a look that showed her view of this opinion. ‘If you really think so,’ she remarked in guarded tones.
The next thing that happened was the arrival of a covered wagon.
It came creaking in underneath the gatehouse with scarcely an inch to spare on either side. The stable-hands hurried out and paid the horses much attention, suggesting that the wagon belonged to someone of importance and that they had been fore-warned.
The mercenaries swaggered up. ‘Are you staying?’ the captain demanded of the waggoner.
‘I am.’
‘Get something to drink then. We’re going to get these abbey servants to start loading when you’re ready. You’ll have to drive it to the sacristy yonder.’ He gestured in the general direction of Cloister Garth.
The waggoner nodded and he and his lad jumped down and headed for the refectory as quick as they could.
Hywel came to the door of his workshop and stood there, looking thoughtful.
Avoiding him and, with Gregory and Egbert nowhere to be seen, Hildegard made her way alone under the gatehouse to the beach path and began to wend her way through the trees.
When she came out on the bank she could see the sailors on board the St Marie moving about the deck with a show of purpose. It must be a wrench for the ship man to have to abandon his beloved to others, she was thinking, but at least he had agreed to do so which must mean he trusted his employer, Master John, to see to her refit with care.
A sound behind her made her turn. It was Hywel. He came to stand beside her without saying anything.
They looked across Southampton Water, at the dancing lights as sunlight struck the surface if the water, at the distant shore with its scattering of fishermen’s huts, at the sky, an upturned bowl of heavenly blue.
After a while he muttered, ‘Do you know about this?’ He held out the piece of parchment Beata had given her. Jankin had done his errand.
‘What does it say?’ she asked, avoiding his question.
He noted that and played along. ‘It says that my price may be accepted but that others have yet to place their offers.’
‘Do they know what they are offering to buy?’ she asked.
‘Of course not. It’s nothing but a commodity to them. What’s this thief going to do? Will ‘they’ sell it to anybody purely on the basis of the money they’re offered? I’m the only man in England who’ll understand what’s written there.’He grimaced and more modestly added, ‘one of the only men, I should say.’
He caught her eye and suddenly smiled. ‘You think I’m mad. At least I expect you do.’
‘You said you would pay anything? That might be considered mad.’
‘I should have said I will give everything I have. Even so, it wouldn’t amount to much. I take my vow of poverty seriously. My choice. My destiny. I’m not complaining.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘Master John is willing to top every other offer, I understand? That means I have no chance. I wonder, is that the only way he can regain possession of it?’
‘So it seems.’
‘Having to buy back something stolen from him?’
‘It does happen.’
‘I’ve never heard the like. Can’t he find it? It must still be in the abbey precincts. Surely he’s got enough sense to put out a search for it?’
‘I think his thoughts have been engaged with the problem of getting the pilgrims another ship so they can leave. No doubt Abbot Philip is keen for him to get them on their way as well. I heard one of the kitcheners saying they’re eating the abbey bare.’
‘Who’s got it?’ he asked abruptly, swiveling at the same moment to scrutinize her expression. ‘Come on, Hildegard, you must know.’
‘Hywel, I can’t be involved in this – ’
He grabbed her by the arm above the elbow and held it in a savage grip. ‘You are involved. Up to your beautiful neck.’ His face came close to hers as he stared into her eyes. ‘Who are you protecting? Is it that abbot of yours? Is he involved? He seems to know a lot about what’s going on. Tell me!’
‘I’m sure one minute of conversation with Hubert would reveal that he’s amused by it all. He can’t imagine why anyone would want a treatise on astronomy in this one particular copy when another one might be obtained.’
He released her.
Realizing what he had done he took her wrist and rubbed it where he had held it, saying, ‘I hope you don’t need a salve for that.’
‘Hywel, he knows about the Stone. I told him. I heard about it from – elsewhere. Does John know about it? Is that what this is about?’
Hywel became very still.
Eventually he said, ‘That apprentice of mine talks too much.’
More from a wish to protect Jankin than from any other motive she said, ‘Don’t assume it was he.’
<
br /> ‘Who else would know it?’ He turned away. ‘I cannot count on you. You feel not an iota of good will towards me. But remember something, Hildegard, this is not ended.’
He stalked off through the trees.
Chapter Twelve
Shortly before tierce began the final notable event took place that morning. It was not the long-awaited pulling of the body from the sluice, however.
When Hildegard went back into the garth the wagon was still standing where it had been left with its cover rolled back. A few ropes were coiled inside ready to bind the cargo when it was brought on board.
One or two people were going about their business as usual when one of them noticed something underneath a pile of sacking begin to move.
It was a lay-brother who first noticed it. ‘Hey! There’s something under there!’ He grabbed his nearest companion by the arm and began to back off, pointing towards the waggon. Their shouts brought others running.
A few pilgrims roused themselves from their cloistered gossip about Delith’s murder and ambled over. Soon a group of spectators hung about in a wary group, eyeing the wagon.
One of the kitcheners came to his door. ‘What’s up, lads?’
‘There’s something on this wagon.’
‘We saw it move.’
‘What’s it doing now?’ He came over, beefy arms swinging, a look of skepticism on his face.
‘Just lying there under them sacks. Still.’
‘Dead,’ somebody added.
‘Lift the sainted cover off then!’ Climbing onto the tail-board he reached out and gave the corner of the sacks a tug. When it slipped aside everybody gasped.
One or two stepped back in horror as at the sight of a ghost.
Indeed, to some, it was a ghost.
‘I thought she was dead!’ a voice exclaimed in horror, putting everyone’s thoughts into words.
The Alchemist of Netley Abbey: Eighth in the Hildegard of Meaux medieval mystery series Page 26