The Red Velvet Turnshoe

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘Let’s assume you’re right. Is someone protecting Escrick?’

  She wondered whether she was being led into a trap. ‘I imagine he was maintained by someone.’

  ‘Someone in the locality?’

  She was silent. It seemed so obvious. Why was he trying to get her to spell it out?

  ‘And you believe they instructed him to get rid of the clerk?’ he pursued. When she didn’t answer he said impatiently, ‘Well?’

  ‘It looks like that,’ she agreed.

  ‘And no doubt you have a view as to their identity?’

  She shook her head.

  He changed tack. ‘This seditious document, so-called, was found in the clerk’s temporary lodging in my abbey.’

  Believing that she now saw which way his thoughts were tending, she said, ‘I don’t believe there’s any suggestion that you’re implicated.’ Roger’s accusation rang in her ears.

  Hubert made an impatient gesture to dismiss the possibility of his own involvement. ‘The question we have to ask is how did anyone know the clerk possessed such a document? Was it found accidentally as we are supposed to believe? Or did Escrick point them in the right direction? If so, how did he come to know of it?’

  It was back to the same thing by a different route. It had been her very own thought, however, and now she could only shrug. At least it was beginning to look as if Hubert was as puzzled as she was that Reynard’s activities had come to a head within the abbey purlieus. With Coppinhall in mind, she said, ‘We may guess the name of the master who pulls Escrick’s strings, but you’re right, we must ask ourselves who told him about Reynard’s activities.’

  ‘There’s a spy in my abbey,’ he replied.

  ‘Not necessarily so. Reynard might have mentioned the document to someone elsewhere who passed the information on. Maybe his master then gave instructions to get rid of Reynard. Maybe they decided it would be easier to do so while he was away from Castle Hutton.’

  ‘But what is gained by his death? Why not just go on betraying his contacts to the authorities and pull them in, one by one?’

  ‘Reynard may have guessed what was happening and revealed his suspicions to someone he thought he could trust.’

  Hubert gave her a piercing glance.

  ‘Or maybe the document was discovered by chance,’ she suggested.

  ‘In that case why hasn’t the servant who found it been called? What are they waiting for? It could only bolster Coppinhall’s case.

  ‘There are a million ways in which its existence could have been discovered.’ She couldn’t help adding, ‘It must be a cause for joy that secrets don’t lie hidden for long.’

  The look he gave her sharpened and she thought she had either gone too far or been misunderstood, but he returned almost at once to his theme. ‘Maybe someone forced the truth of the document’s existence from the minstrel himself?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of him as the weak link.’

  ‘Tomorrow we shall see,’ he announced grimly. He turned, pulling down his sleeves. ‘Time for vespers.’

  She watched him leave. He ducked his head under the lintel to make his way back inside through the crowded hospitium, many hands reaching out to touch the hem of his garments as he passed. By the time she was at the door herself he was already at the bridge. Unrolling her own sleeves she watched him walk swiftly across and without looking back go under the great arched entrance of Meaux.

  Hildegard decided not to go to vespers and returned straight to her cell but when she opened the door she came to a halt on the threshold.

  A doughy smell, like the scent of yeast before the bread is proved, made her nostrils twitch. Her glance flew round the small chamber and alighted on her leather travel bag. It was exactly where she had left it on the end of the bed.

  She went over to it.

  The two laces that held the flap in place were now tied in a slack granny-knot. She always used a fisherman’s hitch as it could be unloosed more quickly and never jammed in the rain.

  Curious, she opened the bag and looked inside. There was little to attract a thief: a few garments in need of washing, some writing materials, her missal. It was all there. She flicked through the pages of the missal, relieved that she had removed Reynard’s document and given it to Roger. Replacing the missal, she looked around for further evidence of the intruder.

  Her night boots were arranged slightly differently, aligned rather too precisely side by side under the bed. Her cloak hung on the hook on the back of the door, its folds much as before. Then she noticed her beaver hat was missing. Glancing around, she found it wedged between the bed and the wall, and then she noticed that the bedcover itself must have been moved. Someone had even searched her mattress.

  That they had done all this while she was down at St Giles suggested that they knew she would be away for some time. The porter had spoken to her as she went out and any one of a number of people must have seen her leave the abbey.

  They had got nothing for their pains, she thought with satisfaction. But then she considered the way Hubert had delayed her with those meaningless questions in the yard. Was that to ensure the intruder had time to get away undetected?

  Haunted by such speculations, she went to see Roger at once and told him what had happened.

  ‘Hubert,’ he said and looked troubled.

  Alarmed at the speed with which he had jumped to that conclusion she asked, ‘I hope the copy of anomenalle is safe?’

  His answer was to pat the opening of his houppeland. ‘Nobody but Melisen gets this close.’

  He dismissed his servants and turned to her. ‘Take a beaker with me, Hildegard. I want to say something in private.’ He paused. ‘I want to thank you.’

  ‘What for?’ she asked.

  ‘That pair of red silk hosen.’

  A picture of Ser Vitelli handing her a gift as she prepared to leave Florence came back. ‘I was given them,’ she explained. ‘They do things differently over there. The donor was not to know I wouldn’t be allowed to wear them.’

  Roger handed her a goblet of wine. ‘Melisen sends her thanks as well.’ He lifted his wine in a toast and, philanderer that he was, blushed scarlet behind his beard.

  From the yard beneath the window the sound of hooves could be heard. He invited her to look. ‘That’s that Danish mare Ulf brought back for Melisen,’ he told her.

  They looked down. A groom was putting the mare through its paces. Then, in a most casual-seeming tone, Roger said, ‘So you know something about commenda contracts, do you?’

  It was late in the day by now and the only light in the chamber other than the one that drizzled in from outside came from the fire flickering in the hearth. Shadows were sent in a dance macabre across the tapestries with their scenes of the hunt. She could make out a stag, arrows piercing its shoulder, the huntsman drawing a knife to complete the kill. It had never appeared at all sinister before now. The absence of servants became suddenly oppressive.

  Roger moved up close behind her. She could hear him breathing. He went to the casement and flung it open.

  ‘That’s a long drop, ’ he observed, gazing down into the yard. He leaned out and shouted down to his groom, ‘Take her in now.’

  Hildegard saw groom and horse disappear round a corner towards the stables. Roger turned back inside, leaving the window open. She moved away but heard him tread after her.

  ‘You must have talked to Vitelli about contracts,’ he continued. ‘I expect you know everything there is to know by now.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I knew much,’ she replied.

  Just then a servant hurried in after a brief announcement, then skidded to a halt.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Roger testily, glaring at him.

  ‘Lady Melisen awaits you, my lord.’

  Still clutching his goblet, he turned towards the door. ‘Tell her I’m on my way.’ He glanced back at Hildegard. ‘Can’t keep her waiting. We’ll talk later.’

  Hildegard released the
stem of her goblet after he left, her knuckles white.

  Roger might well want the witness to his contract with Melisen’s father dead. Reynard. And whoever else knew about it. A long drop. She shivered and finished her wine in one nervous gulp.

  Hildegard went to visit Pierrekyn in his prison cell. This time he had his lute but it lay beside him while he stared at the flame of a candle. He looked up when she entered. ‘Praise heaven. You must help me, Sister—’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘No, I mean you have to get me something. I cannot stand the idea of torture. I will not be tortured.’

  ‘No one will torture—’

  ‘They’ll break my fingers and cut me. I know what they did to a friar down in Kent. They said he’d accused Gaunt of treason, so they cut out his tongue. Then gouged out his eyes and slit him and—’ He was shaking with fear, she saw now, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. ‘Their accusations were based on hearsay as well. Imagine how they’d mutilate me.’

  She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Pierrekyn—’

  ‘Give me a potion of henbane, anything. Let me die before they rend my flesh, please, I beg of you—’

  ‘Pierrekyn.’ Her voice was calm and practical. ‘Let’s not leap into hell before we’ve even seen the gates. It’s not at all likely that that appealer’s accusation will stand. It’s his word against yours. I will provide testimony for your character and so will others.’

  ‘The sheriff found no malice in the accusation—’

  ‘We will prove him mistaken. They cannot hold you.’

  Pierrekyn was not convinced. ‘Coppinhall’s charge will stick—’

  ‘Only if they can prove a link between you and the copy of anomenalle. They can’t charge you with sedition otherwise.’

  ‘They’ll try to blacken me and claim I’m of notorious repute. They will not set me free. I know they will not!’

  She sat down on the bench. ‘Listen to me. I need to know what Coppinhall is going to say next. He seemed very confident that he could indict you on the basis of your association with Reynard. Finding the anomenalle document in his chamber was unfortunate, to say the least. But if that’s all he has to go on, your denial of conspiracy must stand.’

  Pierrekyn threw himself down on the floor and with his head in his hands began to sob his heart out. ‘They know about me,’ he said between sobs. ‘They’re going to rake up everything from the past and I won’t stand a chance.’

  ‘What do they know about you?’ Hildegard insisted.

  Pierrekyn shook his head and went on weeping until she stood up.

  ‘If you’re not going to tell me then there’s nothing I can do.’

  She began to walk towards the door and he looked up in alarm. ‘Wait!’ He wiped away his tears with the backs of both hands and mumbled, ‘I was given three exigents before I left Kent. It’s probably gone up to five by now.’

  ‘You mean you’re outlawed?’ She was aghast.

  ‘Why do you imagine I came up here? And then leaped at the chance to get out of the country?’

  ‘I suppose it was out of the question to face trial?’

  ‘And have those lying snakes condemn me anyway?’ He seemed calmer now he had told her the worst of it.

  ‘Were you guilty?’ she asked.

  ‘Of killing my master? I’m not mad, Sister. I know the penalty for petty treason. It was during the purges after the Rising. Everyone was caught on some invented charge or other. So many disappeared or were being hanged that the wiser ones took to their heels. I thought I was being wise too.’

  ‘Did Reynard know about the exigents?’

  ‘Of course he did. He smuggled me out in his own retinue when he left for Castle Hutton. Without him I’d be dead by now.’ He came to kneel in front of her. ‘I’m not asking for your respect. I’m a coward. I’ve tried to be like Talbot. He was afraid of nothing even though they got rid of him anyway. But I just can’t take it.’

  Hildegard rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘Pierrekyn, I promise if it comes to it, I’ll give you whatever I can to ease your pain. But give me time to consider this whole matter again. I think we need the help of an expert man of law. Have courage. The game is not yet lost.’

  His fear did not abate but he bent his head and kissed the backs of her hands. ‘I’ll hold out a little longer. I’m beginning to trust you again. If anyone can free me it must be you. Blessings on you.’

  She got up to go but he called her back.

  ‘Do you remember asking me about my name?’

  She nodded. ‘Didn’t you say Haverel wasn’t your real name?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I said, part of my name isn’t real. It’s the “Pierrekyn” part that’s false.’ He tried a smile. ‘It was Reynard’s idea. He thought my own name, John, was too commonplace so he renamed me after a friend of his, once a king’s minstrel and now a corrodian at St Mary’s in York.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘He said it was because I was worthy of playing before the king.’ He looked shamefaced. ‘I’ve told you everything now. No more lies.’

  It was shortly before the end of lauds. Steeling herself for what she had to do next, she waited outside the abbot’s lodging. As soon as it was over and Hubert came out of the church, she approached him.

  ‘My lord abbot,’ she began, ‘I beg audience with you on a matter of life and death.’

  He stopped in the process of dismissing her. ‘Has something happened? ’ he demanded.

  She inclined her head.

  He gave a sigh that seemed to rise from the soles of his feet. ‘Then you’d better come inside.’

  He glanced once round the garth before admitting her into his private sanctum.

  ‘My lord, I am not intent on trying to reinstate myself,’ she said as soon as they were within. ‘After the trial of the minstrel is over I shall withdraw to Swyne as you have ordered. However, I am much exercised by the plight of the poor boy. He is innocent of the crime of killing Reynard as I believe even Coppinhall must admit, but he now he has to face this further charge—’

  ‘Sedition by association. We’ve said all we have to say, haven’t we? Has anything new occurred?’

  She hesitated. ‘I wonder about the legality of bringing someone to court on a charge and then accusing them of something else. Surely this isn’t just?’

  Hubert frowned. ‘Are you suggesting I make an intervention on a point of law?’

  She nodded. ‘It would delay things until we can find a way round the charge of sedition.’

  ‘And why would we do that – if it’s true?’

  Her voice was firm. ‘Gaunt’s attempt to stifle the truth could itself be seen as sedition and it’s unjust in essence – unless,’ she added, ‘we deem freedom of speech a crime.’

  ‘Do you imagine that to be my view?’

  ‘I would be at fault to suggest it.’

  Moving to a set of books in the aumbry against the wall, he ran his fingers along their spines until her came to the one he was looking for. He opened it and scanned the pages and after a moment lifted his head.

  ‘It may be possible. I congratulate you, Sister.’

  He looked at her in silence for a moment and when at last he spoke his voice had thickened. ‘And this is the only reason for your presence in my chamber?’

  ‘I beg of you, represent poor Pierrekyn at the court tomorrow. Introduce this point of law. Allow him justice.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘And is that all?’

  She bowed her head. ‘It is.’

  ‘I can only ensure that due process is followed,’ he told her. ‘If I suspect that Coppinhall is trying to sway the judgment of the jury, then I shall step in. Have no doubt of that. I imagine you are aware that the men of law will happily argue between themselves for some time about whether it would be appropriate to introduce this point or not. To mention it at all could delay matters for weeks. The boy would have to remain here in the abbey prison.’ His eyes gleamed and she knew he had seen through her
ruse. ‘If I bring it to the attention of the court will that satisfy you, Sister?’

  ‘As long as there is someone who understands the detail and can delay matters until we can unravel the plot against Pierrekyn, then yes,’ she replied. ‘Otherwise I fear Coppinhall will try to stampede the jury into condemning the minstrel and having him drawn to the gallows, quartered and hanged before any appeal can be lodged.’

  ‘That would not accord with my deepest understanding of justice,’ he replied. ‘Be assured of that.’

  The problem, as she saw it, was that the minstrel was a stranger to the area and was, as he had pointed out himself, what the courts officially termed ‘of notorious record’.

  With at least three writs ordered against him he would automatically have been outlawed on the fifth. There were several ways he could avoid punishment: he could flee to another country, which he had already tried; or enter the king’s service, which was not easy; or he could lie low until he could afford to buy a pardon. This was probably the best course but only if he could remain out of reach of his enemies for long enough.

  If Hubert could play for time on the morrow it would give them an opportunity to find the best solution.

  The way the abbot conducted matters would reveal his own affiliations too. He might merely go through the motions and yield at once when Coppinhall insisted on taking the matter out of his jurisdiction.

  It was obvious someone had leaned on the appealer. He was scared half out of his wits when they asked him to stand forth and in the tumult following the adjournment Coppinhall’s guards had kept a close watch on the man. They had left together, allowing nobody a chance to question him.

  She smiled grimly. Maybe she could appeal Coppinhall herself on a charge of misprision. If her suspicions were correct it could be claimed he was guilty of concealing treasonable acts against the king himself.