‘Is it important?’ asked Gregory, his eyes lighting up at the scent of a trail opening out.
‘It may be. I don’t know.’
She explained how the journeyman, Osmund, had told her that they were the most friendly hounds imaginable, especially whenever Ulf stepped into the silversmith’s yard, with their fawning and whimpering to be stroked, but how they bristled and howled like wolves whenever the coroner, Sir Bernard, appeared.
‘Most of the time they’re lambs, he said. Ulf trained them up from being puppies and gave them to his bride when they married, as guard dogs, a wedding gift to show how well he meant to protect her. Poor Ulf,’ she said. ‘Poor Eunice, too,’ she added. ‘I wonder if we shall ever find out how she died.’
‘I understood it was a case of a broken-neck?’ Egbert said, blunt as ever.
Hildegard shuddered. Everything abraided her senses at present, as if she had lost a protective layer, and she murmured something about a suspicion of poison.
‘Ulf is accused of purchasing and administering poison, is he?’ Gregory’s interest kindled. ‘I wonder how they’ll try to make that stick?’
‘Where’s he supposed to have got it from?’ asked Egbert.
‘I suppose it’s easily available if you know what you want.’ Hildegard put her head on one side.
‘And would he know what he wanted?’
‘He’s a countryman, Gregory, he was brought up in the woods and dales near Castle Hutton. How could he not know a thing like that?’
‘Forgive me, Hildegard, I don’t think that’s the right question if we intend to defend him.’
The two got up to go.
‘Remember to ask Ulf if he heard the dogs,’ she reminded.
After this, on the third day, a thundering like the sound made by a cavalcade of horses crossing a stone-built bridge lured even the most assiduous spinner of silk from her work room.
‘God have mercy!’ exclaimed one of the nuns. ‘Look at those fine fellows in their pride. What are they here for and who are they?’
‘I believe the man riding at their head is the coroner from York, Sir Bernard Vavasour,’ Hildegard told her. ‘He seems to have brought some assistants with him.’
‘Is that little fellow beside him his clerk?’ The nun, Sister Emma, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads of the others. ‘He’s carrying a wooden writing table over his shoulder.’
Hildegard looked on the scene with dread. Ulf’s trial must be imminent. Her fear was confirmed when a sword-bearing, well-set fellow and three armed companions followed the Coroner under the arch of the gatehouse. There was a confused halt as they were relieved of their weapons.
‘And that’s the Sheriff,’ announced Sister Emma, ‘with his three bailiffs.’
Hildegard turned abruptly from the window and bumped into Agnetha who at once gave a gasp. ‘Your wound, domina! Pray forgive me – I didn’t expect you to turn so abruptly!’
‘No harm done,’ Hildegard said without flinching.
Sister Agnetha offered a careful hug then gave her a considering appraisal. ‘All will be well, and all will be well, domina. Trust it will be so.’
To everyone’s surprise, the cavalcade, now looking dejected, rode back over the bridge even before the next Office. With some shouting and jingling of harness the men eventually disappeared into the evening mist.
After Compline Brother Egbert crossed over to settle his patient comfortably for the night.
Hildegard heard him calling for Agnetha. ‘Sister, will you attend?’
‘Indeed, I will,’ came Agnetha’s reply from the depths of the house.
Both of them entered her chamber together. They persuaded Hildegard to lie back and she closed her eyes and tried not to grimace as Egbert pulled away the bloodied bandages.
‘It’s looking well. The inflammation is much abated. How does it feel?’
‘Like the fires of hell. But bearable.’ She heard him open his scrip and the sound of glass, two phials maybe, clinking together as he took something out.
‘So they were sent away again? What happened?’ she asked.
’You heard that crowd who arrived a short while ago, did you? I’ll tell you what transpired when I’ve finished. It will amuse you.’
She settled back with some impatience. ‘What is this you’re using?’
’Something your Norse ancestors would have rubbed onto their skin before going into battle,’ he murmured as he worked, ‘or maybe they used it on their long, cold, sea voyages into the grey unknown? Who knows.’
His words were strangely reassuring. If they could survive, so could she.
‘In a few moments,’ he told her, ‘the pain will ease again.’
His woollen habit brushed her arm as he turned to Agnetha. ‘Keep this by if she needs it later.’
Something passed from hand to hand. Hildegard opened her eyes in time to see Agnetha take hold of a phial with a wide neck containing some waxy substance.
‘More cures from Outremer, brother?’ Agnetha peered into the glass.
He smiled. ‘Something the Norsemen used in order to force their way over the hostile leagues to Constantinople maybe, or perhaps they found it there. We don’t know. I deem it so useful I have it sent to me.’
He began to re-bandage the wound.
’So, that crowd of horsemen.’
‘They left quickly enough.’
‘Aye,’ he chuckled. ‘Pity you weren’t there. It would have amused and delighted you.’
‘What happened?’
‘That fine fellow riding in at the head of his little army was Sir Bernard, the coroner from York.’
‘Yes, I recognised him.’
‘Backing him up, as he hoped, came the Sheriff and his three bailiffs.’
‘One of my sisters recognised him.’
‘Nothing gets past you women, does it?’ he remarked, as he did something that made her gasp. ‘My apologies, Hildegard, it had to be done quickly as to take more time over it would only drag out the pain. There,’ he began to put away his things, ’That’s coming along in a most satisfactory manner.’
‘My gratitude, brother. But tell me what would have amused me?’ she asked quickly in order to take her mind off the boiling pain in her shoulder.
‘I’m afraid it was him. Abbot de Courcy at his best!’
She closed her eyes and kept very still so that Egbert would not guess how mention of Hubert was tearing at her heart.
‘The Coroner clearly thought he had things sewn up,’ Egbert continued. She could tell he was smiling from his voice. ‘Our good man was fuming by the time the abbot was ready to give him audience and he came striding into the Chapter House as if he owned the place. “I have come, my lord abbot, to take back a prisoner of mine whom I believe has been brought here under error.” Our lord abbot said nothing except, “Name him, if you will.”
“He is Sir Ulf of Langbar, accused of the murder of his wife”
“Ah” says Hubert, as if our prisons are full of prisoners and he had only just identified the man under discussion. “I do have such a fellow in the abbey prison.”
“Then I shall gladly take him away with me, back to York, where he’s to stand trial.” Hubert put up a hand. “I should point out, sir Coroner, that he was escorted here by two brothers of this abbey while he was seeking sanctuary at Meaux.” “Sanctuary?” exclaimed our man. “He was absconding from the law! He’s a common murderer, an outlaw, aiming to escape over-seas! He was arrested on a beach waiting for a boat to take him off!” Hubert was gazing into the distance but the good Bernard hadn’t finished. He says, “I demand his release into my custody at once!” “Demand?” asks Hubert in a most mild manner. “You make demands in my abbey?” If the fellow hadn’t been so busy blustering about his rights he would have seen at once that he had said the wrong thing, especially to Hubert, who can be as stubborn as an ox and very much on his high horse when it comes to bullies. For good measure he adds, “I must inform you, Sir Bernard, no-one commands m
e in my own abbey.” I can tell you Hildegard, my heart was in my mouth as to what Hubert would say next.’
‘So is mine,’ she replied. ‘What did he say?’
‘“My dear fellow,” says he, very calm, very cold, ‘I cannot allow prisoners to be wrested from our jurisdiction. There is precedent to be followed. Due process under canon law.” “I will have him!” Sir Bernard replies, beginning to rage in earnest. “He’s my prisoner. I arrested him. I examined the body of that poor, dear girl. I have my rights!’
‘He also has a financial interest in the matter,’remarked Hildegard, drily. ‘Did he mention that?’
Egbert shook his head. ‘Not a murmur, of course, and Hubert, who has been apprised of the coroner’s interest in the matter, told him again that he could not do as he asked. “Forgive me the Rule under which I live and conduct matters in this abbey, Sir Bernard, but I cannot release him.”’
Hildegard lay back on her pillows with a sigh of relief. ‘Oh Egbert, he said that? He has refused? Did it end there?’
‘Not quite. There was a lot of ill-humour and our man called forth the Sheriff who tried to lay a deposition on the table but Hubert, as apologetic as if he had no choice in the matter, refused to accept it.’
‘So what now?”
‘He turfed them out, more or less, doing little more than raise one finger to make the presence of those burly lay-brothers more obvious, with the words, “My suggestion is this. We will examine the prisoner, as we must, and if found guilty we shall hand him over to the secular authority. Will that suffice?” The Sheriff knew he was beaten for the time being and gave the nod but our Sir Bernard was in a fury. To worsen matters Hubert said with all the blandness of a saint, “I shall send to York for all those who were in the house at the time of the incident and any others who may be said to have a knowledge of events that night. I shall call character witnesses for the accused. You will attend with all members of your household, Sir Bernard, at a date to be decided after letters have been sent out to all interested persons.” Then he got up. “My gratitude for your assiduity in bringing this matter to my attention.” Then he strode out in that way he has though still reliant on his wooden crutch, with robes flying, face like a piece of marble new-cut, looking neither to left nor right.’ Egbert was chuckling. ‘I can see this has cheered you, domina.’
‘I can just imagine Hubert...’ a tear slid unexpectedly down one cheek.
‘There, he will relent. His anathema will not be laid on you. Give him time. He spoke in haste.’
‘It’s not as easy as that, Egbert, but I offer you my gratitude for your kindness. At least Ulf has a reprieve. Some clue as to the identity of the real murderer may yet turn up.’
18
Time, that was what Hubert had procured, but was it only to taunt Ulf further with the prospect of acquittal, and then to snatch it away when he handed him back to the authorities in York?
Her own little ordeal over, Hildegard lay back while Agnetha came in to clear away the discarded bandages.
When she was alone again she thought about the large number of witnesses Hubert was apparently going to call to Meaux. Knowing him he could be expected to be thorough but she was surprised all the same. He would have to call the housekeeper who had announced Ulf on his arrival in Stonegate and who next morning rushed hysterically into the street to make the murder public.
There would be the two bailiffs who had taken Ulf into custody straightaway, and the journeyman with his bird’s eye view into the yard and across to the house. There must also have been stable hands around who could vouch for Ulf.
And what about Eunice’s so-called lover? Where was he? Was he the figure outlined against the candle-light when Ulf first called up? Who else might be involved? She had no idea.
One thing she was certain of, the Coroner would call every Tom, Dick and Harry to speak against Ulf. Word of mouth was taken seriously, no matter how biassed and ill-informed. A man could lose his life if enough bad feeling was whipped up against him.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just. But that was how things were done.
The mob, she thought. Fickle in their love. Fickle in their hatred too. She thought of John of Gaunt’s son, Bolingbroke, hated at first as son of the hated duke, but now, somehow, without saying very much, sidling back into good estimation.
In this bigger world even King Richard’s allies, eight of them murdered without proper trial, were now being further vilified in order to cast doubt on the king himself.
How could such diabolical methods be countered? The king was too kind to his enemies. A more ruthless monarch would have rid himself and the realm of such vipers.
What could Ulf do to defend himself if Sir Bernard persuaded opinion to turn against him?
As her eyes began to close she remembered the Prioress. She would have received her note by now. What would she say to all this? Her own brother, Alexander, had been forced to seek exile. He was the Archbishop of York and firmly on the side of the anointed king. Even he had been denounced as a traitor by the dukes who, for the moment, were in the ascendent.
It was Gregory, bringing in a bowl of broth next morning who woke her from a troubled sleep that had brought no rest.
‘Under instructions from your kitchener,’ he announced with a cheerful smile. ‘I came over because I intend to be away for a few days. Going to Faxfleet,’ he explained. ‘I must pay my respects to my father’s uncle. Now seems a good time while Hubert is calling in the witnesses.’
He set the bowl on her lap once she was in a sitting position.
‘I thought you were forbidden to speak to me?’ she asked after expressing gratitude for his kindness.
‘I didn’t come over to speak to you – that is, with the intention of speaking to you. Who could accuse me of that unless they could magically see into my thoughts? I would rather say I came over to inform your sisters that a messenger has arrived from the Archbishop’s palace in order to discover news about his cope. I hear that it is finished and ready to be taken to show him.’
‘And you just happened, then, to see me by chance and out of civility found yourself forced to acknowledge me?’
‘Exactly so. And let our lord abbot prove otherwise!’ He was smiling kindly again. ‘Egbert mentioned that Hubert’s displeasure is causing a certain feeling of melancholy.’
‘It is. I can’t help it. I keep telling myself that he’s right. I should leave here before he can drag me before Chapter and have me disgraced in front of everyone.’
Gregory pulled up a stool. ‘Is that what you want to do? Run away?’
‘It’s a coward’s way, isn’t?’
‘But understandable.’
‘I won’t run. I’ll stand my ground. I accept blame. I’ll accept censure. I will make amends if I can.’
‘Will that be a solution?’
She shook her head. ‘Not for the real problem between us.’
‘Eat before it gets cold.’
With little relish she put the spoon into the bowl and lifted the contents to her lips but there she held it with no inclination to put it into her mouth. ‘I can’t, Gregory. I have no strength.’ She replaced the spoon.
‘Answer one question for me, Hildegard.’
‘If I can.’
‘It’s this: which is worse, to live without Hubert or to live without God?’
‘I know what my answer should be.’ She looked down. ‘But I know it will be otherwise. His casting me off is worse than anything I can imagine.’
‘Then see it in a different light.’
‘How?’
‘One is a love unchanging, the other is as changeable as the seasons. One is eternal, the other transient. Would you willingly choose the latter?’
Looking at his kind, clever face she understood the choice he must have made in Outremer and he seemed to confirm it by adding, ‘Even the sense of loss we feel at the absence of someone we love is ephemeral – our grief comes and goes like the sweep of tides as do all
mortal feelings tied to changing states – but think of this, forever with us is the certainty of an eternal love that transcends everything and cannot change.’
She hesitated before saying, ‘Gregory, I do not...I mean I cannot...I cannot feel your certainty...It seems imaginary – like something invented to console.’
‘Then for now you are lost and I shall pray for you. In time you’ll pass through this crucible of fire. Something unexpected and beautiful will change you.’
She remembered the old ecstasies, his very presence, every small thing about him.
When she brought her attention back to Gregory she understood how his Damascene moment had rendered him less quick to judge others, more giving in terms of compassion.
When she tried to explain she added, ‘Is that what love is? This perfect, unchanging light? But how forgive the horrors of what men do in the world? Where is God in this? How can we live without the solace of earthly love? How endure the slow drizzle of a life without the presence of the beloved? Where is your idea of God in that?’
He weighed her words then nodded. ‘The high saints of the early days of our awakening to belief were wont to live out their youth in recklessness and as soon as their physical powers waned they had the deep conversion that turned them in hatred from the material world they had once enjoyed and they became as cruel as any godless barbarian who glories in slaughter. Look at the diatribes of St Augustine after his misspent youth! Look at our founder – how he ranted and punished and called down god’s retribution in fire and brimstone on those he called heretics. Yes, I agree. It is hard. Even saints fail. And yet, again, would you choose to turn away from what you must perceive as the better way? Life over death, Hildegard. That is the choice.’
He took the bowl with the uneaten broth from her and placed it where she could reach it. ‘For later, maybe? I can see I’m tiring you –’
‘No, you’re telling me something I know but cannot believe.’
‘Time heals. Time brings understanding. Don’t expect too much at present. We live in the world of phenomena as well. That is our fate since we were thrown out of Eden.’
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