His glance was sceptical now and he folded his arms to show he was immovable. ‘I believe many things, domina, that other mortals might deem ridiculous but I can’t believe you have no idea what this place is used for.’
‘You tell me, brother. I only have suspicion to go on.’
‘You can trust me,’ he insisted. ‘But can I trust you? Here,’ he unpinned the silver brooch. ‘Look inside.’ He opened it for her and took out the tiny scroll. ‘Read it. This proves my allegiance.’
‘I know what it says. Osmund showed it to me. Now you know you can trust me.’
‘I didn’t fathom that it was Osmund who was my contact here until he returned my brooch with apologies for having stolen it. Then he told me he had been as suspicious of me as I of him and quite right too. Of course I’m not that poor girl’s uncle! It would have stretched coincidence too far.’ He looked at her with his head on one side, again the invitation to confide in him apparent. ‘Well, it can’t harm him now he’s dead so I’ll tell you about Brother Anselm. If they dig up his body and take their vengeance posthumously as is their wont he’ll not know or care.’
Hildegard thought she could already guess what he was going to tell her but something else had started to nag at her when he mentioned the brooch. She turned her attention back to what the friar now began to say.
‘Anselm was one of the many scribes copying pages of Wyclif’s Bible into English. You’ve surely managed to work out that I’m the courier between the various scribes? The silver brooch opens out to contain a few lines in case my identity is in doubt. There, you now know enough to hang me.’
A sound made them both turn.
From behind one of the pillars a figure swathed in a dark cloak and hood stepped out. He pushed the hood back to reveal the notable face the Circator had not been able to recognise.
Hildegard glanced at his feet but he was wearing riding boots.
‘No need to wait for a hanging, friar, nor you, nun. I can do the honours myself.’ He gave a jeering laugh and moved so quickly towards the doors to cut off their escape that even Hildegard was taken by surprise. He produced a knife with a long, narrow blade. ‘Which one shall I take first?’ He toyed with the knife. ‘No point in resisting and you’ll have to do without the henbane first but I’ll make sure you won’t feel a thing.’
‘You murdered Eunice? And you also murdered Brother Anselm?’ Hildegard gazed at him with loathing. ‘You must be in the pay of Bernard Vavasour.’
‘Save your breath unless you have any last confessions to make. And it’s no good screaming for help, nun. The kitcheners have gone back to work. The lay-brothers likewise. And the monks are still gossiping in Chapter.’
Discounting Hildegard, based on an assumption that his threats were enough to keep her quiet, his mouth twisted as he turned to Friar John.
‘It’s just you and me, friar. This is the end of your rebel activities. You’re right. You are doomed.’ Tapping the knife in the palm of one hand he began to saunter towards him.
Both Hildegard and Friar John were standing between the writing desks with no easy avenue of escape.
As if they were having a normal conversation the stranger said, ‘When I rid us of the monk I was doing a favour to Lancaster. He’s determined to cleanse the county of free thinkers. You know well he wants no English Bible, no subversion of the Pope’s edict. Only Richard’s bunch of poets and rebels want it otherwise. You sad little folk with your dreams of rebellion! Free speech? Freedom to read the Bible for yourselves? That’s over. You were defeated seven years ago.’ He smirked. ‘When will you give up? Slaves you are,’ he deliberately misquoted, ‘and slaves you shall remain.’
He considered Hildegard with narrowed eyes. ‘I’m going to get rid of him first and then, nun, we’ll get to know each other a little better before I get rid of you.’
With a sudden grab he caught hold of the friar and twisted him so that he held one arm across his neck with the knife levelled at his throat.
Friar John managed to shout, ‘Run for it!’ before his words were cut off by the stranger tightening his grasp in a stranglehold that made him choke.
Scarcely knowing what she was doing Hildegard picked up an inkhorn from the nearest desk and threw it full force into the knifeman’s face. He made a bid to duck out of the way but it hit him hard in one eye and he yelled in rage and pain as the liquid spilled out.
Releasing the friar while clawing ink out of his eyes he lunged for Hildegard but she managed to put a barrier of desks between them. With an animal roar he thrust them aside in a splintering of wood and came after her again.
Running between the desks she was soon trapped against the far wall and before she could dodge out of the way he grabbed her sleeve and dragged her backwards.
The knife hovered before her eyes. Before he could bring it down she swivelled to bring one knee up and thrust it hard into his groin using all her force. As he gasped and jerked forward she grimaced and forked two fingers into his eyes. She nearly gagged as she encountered jelly.
Behind her she heard a commotion as first Friar John ran to her aid and then a group of monks hurled themselves into the chamber. They crashed against the knifeman who found himself smashed against the wall by the abbot using his wooden crutch and then Gregory held him by the hair while Egbert punched him in the stomach hard enough to wind him.
With such assailants he was groaning in agony and unable to put up much of a fight. Even so Friar John unwound the cord from his waist and lashed it round both the captive’s wrists.
Hildegard picked up the knife from the floor.
Kyrie
Straight after Prime everyone was invited by the Proctor to meet in the Chapter House. He insisted that the Sheriff bring along the newly accused in what was now being called the Stonegate Murder before taking them off to York to face charges with an eager and quickly rounded-up posse brought in from Beverley.
Sir Bernard was sullen, his wife on the point of collapse. The Vavasour household servants, with no idea what was to happen to them nor where their next meal was coming from, stood in a subdued bunch by the doors.
Present was everyone who had been involved in the fracas in the scriptorium plus porters, the minstrel Pierrekyn Haverel, and Lord Roger and his new page Donal. Osmund came in late and with a nod to Lord Roger was heard to whisper, ‘She’s wearing it!’
Hildegard glanced quickly at Lady Avis before turning back to wait for someone to begin.
Her nuns, bursting with questions, restrained themselves enough to look the picture of piety as the abbot, a glance sweeping over them for any sign of frivolity, made an entrance that caused everyone to kneel.
He looked washed out. Some might have said he looked ill, Hildegard thought worriedly, but he barely glanced at her when she rose to her feet and she trained herself to accept that she meant nothing to him and his health was no special concern of hers.
Ulf walked in accompanied by a couple of smiling lay-brothers and stood to one side while Gregory followed in order to take up his position in front of the lectern.
The Proctor waited for the signal from Abbot de Courcy before he began.
When all was quiet he stepped forward. ‘Rumours about events that took place in the scriptorium are flying about the abbey precinct and I regret to say even some of our brothers have been taking a more than casual interest in what happened yesterday.’ He glanced severely round the assembled group. ‘I trust they will take appropriate action to bring their thoughts back to God. Now I’ll hand over to Brother Gregory who will no doubt allay further speculation.’
The doors had opened while he’d been speaking and now Gregory peered over the heads to someone at the back.
‘Will you step forth?’
Hildegard stared as the crowd parted to reveal the stranger in the leather leggings with two tough-looking lay-brothers on each side. He looked confused until Gregory beckoned him forward.
Warily obeying the summons, the stranger steppe
d up to the dais and stood gazing at Gregory with an insolent expression.
‘Will you tell us who you are?’
‘I’m shipping agent to Sir Bernard Vavasour and my name is Henry Rufforth.’
‘Well, Henry Rufforth, this,’ Gregory held up a piece of vellum Hildegard recognised, ‘is a drawing made by a journeyman to a pattern one of my brothers described. It is the pattern of the footwear of someone he saw leaving the scriptorium at about the same time Brother Anselm was murdered. No-one here,’ he glanced round, ‘wears anything but the sandals made in our own workshop by our brother cobbler. These, therefore, are unique in this abbey precinct.’
He pointed with an unwavering finger at a pair of sandals he had suddenly placed on the lectern. ‘Yours, I believe?’
Henry Rufforth said nothing.
‘I know they’re yours because one of our lay-brothers was instructed to search your bag and we found them inside.’ Gregory leaned on the lectern. ‘I repeat, they fit the pattern of those worn by someone suspected of being the murderer of our Brother Anselm.’
‘I’m not from Meaux. I’ll wear what sandals I want!’ the man replied in confusion. His eyes were red and swollen but the fact did not dampen his aggression.
‘You may not be from Meaux itself, friend, but you were indeed here within the precinct on the night in question.’
‘I – no, I wasn’t – what night? I was – elsewhere...’
‘Not according to our porter who is meticulous in his record-keeping.’
Sir Bernard was not finished, despite the burly guards now keeping an eye on him. He brushed them aside, shouting, ’These are more lies! What have his sandals to do with anything! You’ll need more than that if you’re going to nail him! This man is employed by me! Is that a crime? He’s been nowhere near Meaux this past three months! Your porter is lying! As for yesterday you’ll rue the day you laid a hand on one of my men! You must be mad to take the word of a friar before mine. Lying rogues, every man-jack! Do you know who I am? And that nun, everybody knows she’s up for excommunication! You’re taking the likes of them and their word against mine? Wait until my liege lord hears of this gross insult to me! I am one of the duke’s vassals!’ He raised his voice to a scream as the guard tried to silence him. ‘You are nobodies!’ he shrieked as the bailiff weighed in to aid his colleague. ‘You cannot touch my agent and you cannot touch me!’
They began to drag him towards the doors as, still shouting, he resisted as strongly as he could. ‘I have the protection of the greatest duke in the realm! I will not submit to your mad logic! I shall bring down the Duke of Lancaster’s wrath on your heads! This abbey will be put under an interdict by the pope and all in it will burn in hell!’
He was still shouting as he was dragged outside.
‘Take his agent and put him in a cell until the Sheriff is ready to return to York,’ Hubert directed in a voice that carried to all corners of the chamber. ‘All this is for him to prove with his own methods. I accept the testimony of the friar and the nun. I myself saw enough yesterday. Now I wash my hands of the whole business.’
Rufforth was dragged out and as the doors opened Sir Bernard could still be heard shouting as he was escorted across cloister garth.
Looking more exhausted than ever Hubert put his head in his hands for a moment. When he looked up he seemed surprised to see everyone standing in wait for what he would say next.
Hildegard stepped forward. She knelt at Hubert’s feet showing as much humility as she could and begged forgiveness for mentioning another matter that touched on murder.
His eyes slid over her face with nothing to reveal his thoughts but with a small nod he said, ‘Continue, domina.’
‘This touches on the matter of the drowning of Mark of Huby. It may be nothing –’ she hesitated.
‘Go on. We shall decide that. That’s why we’re here.’
‘The victim wore a silver brooch as I’m sure many people noticed. I believe it was made in the silver workshop in Stonegate. I happened to notice that when his body was brought in and he was lying on the trestle in the refectory as I and my nuns prayed for him, the brooch had gone. I thought that it might easily have fallen off in the scuffle at the waterside but later I thought that someone may have taken it.’
Hubert was staring at her with a piercing intensity that made her falter for a moment.
‘How are we to discover the truth?’ he asked softly, ‘about anything?’
‘If I may be permitted to make a suggestion. Although some things will remain forever dark, as we know to our grief, we can discover the truth about other things, and my point is I have seen someone wearing a brooch similar to the one worn by the apprentice himself. So similar, indeed, that I humbly suggest that they are identical.’
As the crowd pressed forward so as not to miss a word Friar John began to edge towards the door.
Hubert asked, ‘Can you point this person out?’
‘I can.’
‘Then do so.’
She got up and while Friar John froze in the doorway she pointed. ‘There it is! Perhaps the journeyman will confirm that is the brooch that belonged to his apprentice?’
Walking up to Avis she touched the brooch on her wimple. ‘This was Mark’s, was it not?’
The abbot gestured to Osmund. ‘Confirm it, if you will.’
Osmund was only too eager to do as instructed. He went over and asked Eunice to hand him the brooch. After a brief glance he gave it back. ‘That’s Mark’s all right. Eunice had it made for him as a way of plighting her troth.’
Avis, not quite accepting that all was lost anyway, continued to bludgeon her way through the thicket of lies that surrounded her. ‘It’s mine, you lying little toad! You’re not the only silver smith in York! I had it made specially for me!’
Hildegard said then, ‘If it is yours maybe you can show us if there’s anything special about it?’
Avis looked blank.
Osmund stepped forward as if to take it from her. Putting up a hand she gripped the brooch in bewilderment.
‘Can you show the domina what is so special about it?’ asked Hubert in a bored voice.
‘It is merely a brooch, my lord abbot,’ she mumbled.
Osmund reached out. ’May I show you?’ He turned to the abbot. ‘May I be permitted, my lord?’
‘Go ahead.’
Taking the brooch from Avis’s tight grasp he held it up then pressed the secret little spring underneath one of the petals. At once the flower opened and the cavity inside was revealed. He stared inside at the contents for a moment then handed it to the abbot.
Hubert looked inside then handed it to Brother Gregory. ‘There’s something inside. It looks very like a knot of the hair you obtained from Jerusalem, brother.’
‘It is a similar shade, my lord,’ Gregory agreed as he inspected it. ‘This, I would guess, is the original and no imported hair-piece. This is Eunice’s hair I presume?’
Osmund said, ‘I remember having to place it inside to make sure the cavity could be closed up again.’
‘The question is then, Lady Avis, how did you come by this lover’s token?’
Avis, with her entire weight which would never be measured against its equivalent in gold, slowly fainted to the floor in a quivering heap.
Brother Gregory waited until several women servants from the Vavasour household managed to drag her out of the chamber. Then he said, ‘I put it to you, my lord abbot, that once again we behold the devilish cunning of this couple. Learning of Mark’s claim to be handfast with Eunice, they saw their hopes of inheriting the unfortunate girl’s fortune dwindling with the appearance of yet another claimant. They resolved to get rid of him without the intermediary of their henchman, Henry Rufforth, and do the job themselves in all haste. Inviting Mark to accompany them in a stroll along the canal path it was easy to push him down the steep bank into the water and, when he tried to climb back to safety as her husband battered the poor boy into insensibility, the wife
snatched the brooch from his doublet. Presumably driven by avarice.’
Hubert sighed. ’My lord Sheriff of York?’
‘My lord?’
‘You have much to do. Leave when you will and take these people far from Meaux.’
The Sheriff bowed. ’And the prisoner for whom this hearing was first convened –?’
The abbot raised his head and glanced wearily around the Chapter House. ‘Where is –’ he stumbled over Ulf’s name and had to repeat it. ‘If he is present I wish to announce my decision as to his liberty or otherwise.’
Ulf detached himself from his guards, who appeared as supporters rather than anything else, and went to stand in front of Hubert and for a long and indecisive moment the two men stared face to face as if neither knew who should make the first move.
Then Ulf quickly knelt at Hubert’s feet.
‘My lord, I most humbly beg my freedom.’ He hesitated and lifted his head so he could look straight at Hubert again and, throughout what he had to say next, his eyes never left his face. ‘I also most humbly beg your understanding and forgiveness for anything I might have done to incur your displeasure. Mea culpa, my lord, mea culpa. Whatever sin I am guilty of committing in my ignorance it was done with no intention of causing harm. I am at fault, my lord and beseech your forgiveness.’
Hubert’s lips moved in a kind of rictus of disbelief, or so it seemed to Hildegard. She was holding her breath. Ulf bent his head again as if awaiting the descent of a sword.
‘And are you truly contrite, my son?’
Still looking at the floor Ulf mumbled that he was, most truly and humbly.
Hubert struggled to his feet.
He took a pace forward. She noticed he was not using the wooden crutch today.
‘My dear fellow, brother in sin, I bless you and pronounce you free to go wherever and whenever you will. You are forgiven all sins. Go with my blessing.’
Hubert made the sign of the cross and placed his right hand on Ulf’s head. ‘Bless you. Go in peace.’
Murder at Meaux Page 26