The Scandal of the Skulls

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘Look!’ she exclaimed, noticing a crowd of men emerging from the west door.

  In the moment before the bystanders surged forward she saw a make-shift stretcher with a sack pulled over something on it.

  Gregory pursed his lips. ‘Are we to join the onlookers too?’

  ‘Not in a spirit of animal curiosity, Gregory, but maybe there’s something we can do. We both have some skill.’

  ‘Indeed I have, with broken bones and battle wounds but by the look of things it’s not that sort of repair they need.’

  A young woman was barging her way through the crowd, weeping and shouting, evidently torn by the conflicting emotions of grief and rage.

  Unable to help themselves the two of them moved closer. Gregory took the reins of the horses. ‘You want to involve yourself?’

  ‘I can’t help it. I’ve already seen enough to make me a participant. Maybe there’s something we can do to help calm things?’

  ‘I’ll look after the horses if you want to go over.’

  As Hildegard drew near the young woman was creating quite a stir. Screaming something unintelligible she went up to one of the bystanders and slapped him hard across the face.

  The young man stepped back in surprise and was about to draw his knife when he recognised his assailant. ‘Idonea! What the hell was that for?’

  ‘You know what it’s for, you lying, vicious devil. You’ll burn in hell for this!’

  The man spread his arms in an exaggerated show of innocence. ‘I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about. What have I done?’

  ‘You’ve done this!’ She gestured with contempt in the direction of the cathedral. ‘You and your rabbling, vicious apprentices! Why did you have to harm him? What has he ever done to you? The Devil take you by the balls and – and - !’ She launched herself at him again, fingers reaching for his eyes and leaving a bloody trail of scratches down the side of his face before he could fend her off.

  By now a couple of constables were walking briskly towards the group. ‘So what’s all this?’ one of them demanded.

  ‘She’s mad!’ declared the young man holding a hand to his face. ‘She attacked me without provocation.’

  ‘He’s my brother and I wish him in hell!’ the young woman screamed. Hair flying, she made another attempt to launch herself against him but the constables dragged her back. She was spitting and screaming with fury and her face was distorted with venom. ‘Ask them!’ she shouted gesturing toward the masons who were standing shoulder to shoulder with her brother.

  ‘We can’t have this here,’ One of the constables attempted to control her and got a kick on the shins.

  ‘We’ve got other business to attend to. Control yourself, woman!’ Anotgher one joined his colleague and together they grappled with her until their serjeant came pushing through the crowd. When it opened to let him through it revealed several monks approaching, bearing a stretcher. ‘This ’im, is it?’ demanded the serjeant, ignoring the shouting girl.

  Hildegard followed him through the opening in the crowd.

  ‘We brought him down from where he was found,’ explained one of the monks. ‘It didn’t seem right to leave him hanging up there.’

  ‘How hanging?’

  ‘By his feet. Somebody must have tied him by the feet to the windlass cable and hauled him up.’

  ‘That wouldn’t kill him. If they’d tied him by the neck it would.’

  The constables gave sickly smiles at their chief’s attempt to lighten the mood. A sense of animosity was growing in the crowd. They were turning into factions. Some were visibly on the side of the girl, and others, squaring up to them, and mostly masons by the look of them, were standing firm with her brother.

  The focus of the two sides had a face like granite. When the serjeant turned to him, he repeated, ‘I swear I know nothing about this. She’s mad.’

  Hildegard edged forward.

  ‘We believe,’ said one of the monks, ‘that he was tied to the rope while down below and then winched up a good way inside the steeple. He didn’t get to the top. It’s over two hundred feet. He got far enough though. It proved fatal. We suggest this on the evidence of the blood that has rushed to his head. His eyeballs,’ he murmured, indicating the sacking that had been placed over the body. ‘If you want to see - ?’

  ‘Show me later when the coroner arrives. Let’s get away from this mob. Take him into the cloister. All right!’ He raised his voice. ‘It’s all over now. Nothing to see. Get away to your homes.’

  Reluctant to disperse until the mystery was clarified most people nevertheless moved away when the constables, obliged to release the young woman who had caused such a fracas, began to use their night sticks on the nearest onlookers.

  The girl refused to move and instead sank to her knees and began to sob. She was younger than she seemed at first sight, maybe no more than sixteen, thought Hildegard, who somehow found herself kneeling beside her.

  ‘Poor child,’ she murmured putting an arm round her shoulders.

  The girl stopped sobbing for a moment when she saw a nun, a friendly one, with no sign of censure on her face, beside her. Then she clung to her and began to sob profusely again, speaking incoherently until Hildegard managed to calm her down for a moment.

  ‘Is the dead man a friend of yours, my child?’

  The girl’s story was straightforward and it came tumbling out.

  The dead man was her betrothed but her brother had been against the match from the beginning and now he had done for him and she, Idonea as she was called, would never marry, but die an old maid. All because of her brother’s murderous jealousy.

  Before Hildegard could decide what to do an older woman elbowed her way through the crowd and took hold of the girl. ‘Come on, pet, let’s get you home. We’ll talk to the serjeant when he’s finished his examination. You’re sure it was Robin?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Oh, how could Frank do such a thing?’ she sobbed. ‘How could he be so evil?’

  Weeping more copiously than ever Idonea allowed herself to be led away. A little troop of neighbours followed, one or two weeping when it was confirmed who the dead man was.

  ‘A saucy young fellow,’ somebody said on the fringes of the crowd. ‘You couldn’t help but smile at some of the things he said. It’s devil’s work for a young’un to be cut off in such an evil manner.’

  When Hildegard returned to where Gregory was still holding the reins of the horses he greeted her with a muttered, ‘I heard what happened. There’s nothing we can do. Get up, quickly.’ He handed her the reins. ‘You were being watched by a fellow in a grey cloak who fits the description of your stranger at the Cat. He’s just going. We’ll see if we can find out what he’s up to.’

  Hildegard climbed into the saddle. Still dazed by events she asked, ‘Which way did he go?’

  ‘Follow me.’

  When they left the Close they found themselves in a busy lane that ran towards the market place. Their quarry had a horse tethered nearby. Swinging into the saddle he turned its head and continued along a lane going east.

  ‘This is in the direction of Laverstock, the lane I expected us to take ourselves,’ Gregory told her. ‘See him up ahead? Pity he has his hood up.’

  From out of the bustling crowd dressed in their yellows, blues and ochres, a figure in a cloak of what looked to Hildegard like Colchester russets dyed to a, by now, familiar dark grey, was riding at a comfortable trot away from the town.

  She turned to Gregory, ‘You’re right. That’s him. I’ve seen that cloak before, in the Cat tavern.’

  He suggested she tie a scarf across her face. ‘Even if he doesn’t know you if he turns round and catches sight of you it might mean something to him.’

  He pulled his own hood further down over his face so that it was in shadow.

  ‘That’s good middle range cloth,’ she observed to Gregory, as they followed the man down a lane leading to the next hamlet. ‘I was surprised when I saw it before.
It’s not cheap. He’s definitely not some rootless vagabond.’

  ‘Did you catch sight of any blazon to show his allegiance?’

  ‘No, but somebody well set-up must be maintaining him. His boots are Spanish leather.’

  Eventually they left the straggle of cottages on the edge of town and entered some woods. After a ride that brought them nearer to Clarendon their quarry left the track as if reaching some expected sign. He disappeared into the bushes.

  ‘Call of nature,’ suggested Hildegard.

  ‘Let’s dismount.’ Gregory reined in. ‘We’ll tie the horses somewhere out of sight and follow on foot. He won’t be riding hard in all this.’

  So saying he threw one long leg over the horses’ croup and slide to the ground.

  Already the hawthorns were beginning to come into bud. The air was not yet sweet with their perfume but the branches were clothed in enough bright leaf to give cover to their horses where they hobbled them.

  The stranger did not ride on far himself. They glimpsed him through a gap in the trees dropping down off his horse and go forward, like themselves, on foot. They followed.

  Soon they caught sight of him come to a stop in the middle of one of the deer lawns. He was simply standing with his arms folded as if waiting for someone.

  ‘Let’s separate, one on each side to get as wide a view as possible,’ Gregory suggested. ‘It looks as if he’s meeting somebody. What do you think?’

  ‘Must be,’ she agreed, ‘but why off the beaten track in secret? There isn’t a dwelling hereabouts, there’s no path.’ She pointed to the long grass between the maze of trees. ‘He clearly knows his way. He must have been here before.’

  ‘Maybe he detected some sign we didn’t notice,’ suggested Gregory. They went on deeper into the bushes, losing sight of their quarry in the open glade for a moment until the sound of voices came to them on the still air.

  ‘This is it. His friends have arrived,’ murmured Gregory. ‘I’ll take the left side, you the right.’

  He trod silently through the trees and soon vanished from sight. Hildegard took the opposite route, bending her head beneath the boughs of saplings and moving as silently as she could. She was still not sure what this had to do with her but at least they might get a clue as to the man’s reason for asking around the town taverns about her.

  The sound of voices was loud enough for the words to float clearly to where she was concealed and she risked parting the branches an inch or so to see if she could catch sight of the speakers. A glimpse of yellow like a sleeve or a capuchon flickered in the bright glade.

  Confident she was unseen she leaned against the trunk of an ash and tried to catch the drift of conversation. Their man had evidently introduced himself to two others although she did not hear any names.

  ‘That messenger did his job then?’ a pleasant voice was asking. It was their man.

  ‘To be trusted. I told you that. Have no fears.’ It was a deeper tone, somewhat harsh.

  ‘Are you going up there now?’ asked a younger third voice.

  ‘I am.’ The first man answered. ‘It seemed best to link up with you on the way while I’m expected to be out of town.’

  ‘So what’s what?’ The older man again.

  ‘My contact is trying to push up the price.’ That was their man in grey. ‘He knows he can call the shots. Another 20 marks. What do you say?’

  ‘I say he’s a blackguard but if he can deliver I’m willing to pay. The question is, can he deliver?’

  ‘Anything’s worth a chance,’ interrupted the younger man in a fervent tone.

  ‘It’s not your gold,’ replied the other, somewhat testily.

  ‘I would think it worth it at any price,’ replied the man from the Cat. ‘But it’s up to you, of course.’

  ‘I’ll get it to you by tomorrow. The lad here will bring it. Are you at the same place?’

  ‘He knows where he can find me.’

  She saw a flurry of movement as if hands were being shaken over a deal. It made little sense.

  Then suddenly she froze. Another figure was walking into the grove. Openly, with no attempt at concealment. It was Gregory.

  SIX

  ‘Hail, fellows!’ she heard him say.

  A silence fell.

  She edged closer to get a better view. There were three men as the voices had indicated, the man in grey, an older thickset fellow, but tall with a military bearing and with a clipped white beard, and a younger, gaudily attired lad of doubtful importance.

  The men seemed taken aback by the monk’s sudden emergence from the trees. The silence lengthened while they sized him up.

  The older man recovered first and stepped briskly forward but it was the man in grey he addressed. ‘Were you followed, you sot wit? I thought you could be trusted, I - ’

  ‘No, no, my friends.’ Gregory pushed himself between the two men as if he expected a fight. ‘He’s a stranger to me. I’m heading for Sarum but found myself deceived by a short cut I thought I might prove. Finding myself lost I luckily heard your voices. I hope you might be able to set me in the right direction for Sarum? Sarum?’ he repeated, in a tone that suggested that a place no more than a mile up the road might be unknown to them.

  The man in grey spoke. Smoothly he said, ‘Hail, stranger. For King Richard - ’

  Hildegard saw him reach out as if to grasp Gregory by the hand. She held her breath. It was a test. Would Gregory know the correct form after being abroad for so long?

  The monk ignored the proffered hand and instead replied, ‘And for the true Commons, brother.’

  At that he thrust out his hand and to her astonishment the man in grey clasped it as if in brotherhood. The gesture brought an unexpected lowering of tension.

  The older man, however, was not satisfied. ‘Where do you hail from, if I might ask?’

  ‘The Isle of Wight,’ Gregory replied, not altogether untruthfully. ‘And yourselves?’

  ‘Never mind us.’ There was a sudden rasping of steel. The older man had drawn a sword.

  Hildegard froze. She well knew how adept Gregory was with a sword in his hand but what would the men say to a monk with such obvious skill? And there were three of them. All armed she now noticed.

  The man touched Gregory tauntingly in the chest with the tip of the blade and Hildegard saw Gregory’s hand drop to his side. The tip of the sword hovered around the monk’s exposed throat, wavering and unpredictable as if the man was choosing his moment to do the brother harm. The swordsman began to laugh in a mocking manner and drew back the weapon as if preparing to plunge it into the monk’s throat.

  ‘I don’t trust you!’ he spat. His sword quivered.

  In a flash Gregory unsheathed his own sword and there was a spinning brightness of steel as the older man found his weapon flicked from his grasp to fall into the long grass under the trees.

  He did not go at once to pick it up but instead said, ‘So now, monk, shall we introduce ourselves properly?’ Unabashed he folded his arms as if addressing an underling.

  Gregory lowered his sword.

  ‘I’m Brother Gregory of the Order of St Aurea,’ he replied promptly, ‘late of Outremer.’

  When the older man went to retrieve his sword Hildegard noticed the other two men fan out on both sides of the monk and that the younger one already had his hand on his sword’s hilt.

  Gregory had noticed too and, without appearing to turn his head, suggested, ‘I do not advise you to try it, young fella. Talk always achieves more than steel.’

  ‘Just tell us, so my friends here understand me,’ interrupted the man from the Cat. ‘Did you follow me?’

  ‘I believe I’m the one with the authority to ask questions. I’ll ask again, which way to Sarum?’

  The older man rammed his sword angrily into its scabbard. ‘Come on, you two. Time’s marching on. He’s just some holy fool. And if he’s not, he’d better watch his step. Let him get on his way. We have no time for this. Sarum’s that way.�
�� He stabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

  The younger man was reluctant to let Gregory go and had to be dragged away by one arm.

  Gregory backed into the thicket. ‘Listen and learn,’ he called. ‘Words not steel. Bless you, my friends.’

  With that he melted from view. The man from the Cat helped to hold the young hot-head back as he struggled to go after the monk.

  ‘Stay, lad,’ he said firmly. ‘He’s nothing but a travelling holy man. We can’t get mixed up in his affairs. It’s mere chance he showed up, that’s all. I guarantee nobody followed me. Let’s arrange to meet later when everything’s fixed up.’ He turned to the older man. ‘You know where and how to get hold of me to bring me the gold.’

  Hildegard nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand covered her mouth.

  ‘Don’t cry out!’ whispered a voice in her ear.

  When she discovered who it was she gave a sigh of relief. Gregory grinned and put a finger to his lips.

  ‘I’m going to move the horses before those fellows come out onto the road. Stay here until you’re sure they’ve gone then take the Clarendon track again. Make sure they’ve left. Start up towards the palace on foot. I’ll find you.’

  He melted back into the hawthorn brakes.

  Hildegard glanced back through the trees to where the three men could be seen. The youngest one was still making a show of following after Gregory with his sword half-drawn but, pulling his grey cloak more comfortably over his shoulders, the stranger was urging him to give up.

  ‘All battles are to be won, but not all battles are to be fought. It was chance he turned up. Forget him.’

  Eventually they disappeared up the track and she did as Gregory suggested after she was sure they had gone away. She had trudged only half a mile at most before she heard horses coming towards her. She stepped off the track into the trees but it was only Gregory, leading her palfrey at a trot, and when he drew level he slowed enough for her to remount.

  She turned on him in fury when she was in the saddle. ‘I thought you were going to be killed. What on earth made you do that?’