The Scandal of the Skulls

by Cassandra Clark

  The Hawthorn Bush was a peculiar place. For one thing there was no sign of a hawthorn and for another where there should have been one above the door there was only a broom bush, glaringly yellow. Assuming the recognition of plants was not one of the ale-master’s skills she pushed open the door.

  Inside were a dozen or so labourers. As one, at the sight of her, they fell silent and turned to stare.

  Having taken the precaution of concealing her monastic robes underneath her old riding cloak she was, even so, an obvious stranger. It was a close-knit town. On top of that she was a woman in a man’s world as she quickly realised.

  Resisting the impulse to turn round and beat a retreat she headed with determination for the trestle where a barrel was resting with a few clay pots lined up waiting to be filled. It was as she passed by the corner where the empty barrels were stacked that a hand emerged from out of the shadows and tugged at her sleeve.

  ‘Over here,’ a voice muttered.

  It was the windlass man, Ulric. He was sitting over a game of dominoes at a table set up behind the barrels in a private space of its own. A shaft of light from a high-up window shed a watery glaze over the chequered board but left the rest of the space in deep shadow.

  Like Ulric, his opponent had a hood pulled half over his face. In the secrecy of their gambling they reminded her of a couple of assassins.

  Ulric shifted on the barrel he was sitting on to make room for her.

  Then he stretched out a hand and silently moved one of the pieces. The other player considered things.

  When he didn’t make a move Ulric muttered, ‘We didn’t know the fellow who paid us off. He had a hood down and it’s dark up there. He said he was Frank’s friend of old and had just got into town. He wanted to surprise him.’

  His companion edged one of the pieces into another square which caused Ulric to make a move that won him a couple of pieces. A grunt of annoyance followed from the shadows on the other side.

  ‘In fact,’ Ulric continued in a mutter, ‘it was us who were surprised. Stunned rigid we were, once we found out what he’d done.’

  ‘Where were you when the body was winched up?’

  ‘Right here.’

  ‘So one man is capable of working the windlass himself?’

  ‘If he’s strong enough - which obviously he was. Stopping it landing your goods right back on the ground is the problem.’

  ‘How could one man cope with that?’ She was still sceptical about this lone stranger.

  Ulric showed his teeth in a smile. ‘He was crafty. He managed to sling a loop round the brake handle and hold it until he could grab the brake himself.’

  ‘Have you ever done that yourself?’

  ‘No. It’s against Guild rules to mess with it. But we worked it out. Ain’t that so, brother?’

  He kicked his companion.

  The other man nodded.

  ‘That’s how Robin was kept from plunging straight back down to the ground when this fellow we’ve told you about stopped treadling.’

  ‘Given that you couldn’t recognise this fellow again, it being dark, as you said, what impression if any did he give?’

  ‘Big, he was a big devil. All muffled up in a cloak and never spoke above a whisper as if he thought they’d hear him down below and it would spoil his little game.’

  ‘So he just appeared while you were working?’

  ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘And what he said was enough for you?’

  ‘It came to more than what he said.’ He turned one palm and moved his thumb over it. ‘As you suggested.’

  ‘I did, didn’t I?’ She kept her thoughts to herself.

  ‘We heard him coming up the ladder and thought it was Gervase checking on us. Then he loomed up through the floor. “Hey, lads,” he said, “want to earn a few stoups of ale for yourselves?” Godric said, “What are you doing up here? Does Master know?” “Don’t bother about him. I’ve come to offer you a reward for an hour’s cooperation.”

  ‘You both said yes?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I can’t believe you accepted as easily as that.’

  ‘Don’t sound so shocked. We were taken by surprise. It was near the end of our shift and we shouldn’t have been working at that time as it was. We were dead sick of it. Master knew that. It was against regulations. “Keep it to yourselves,” he told us. “I’m master round here.” We thought it best to make no fuss and do as we were bidden.’

  This version was slightly different to the earlier one but the same in essentials. ‘You told me all this earlier, didn’t you? Why this meeting away from Godric?’

  ‘He’s got qualms. He doesn’t want to be involved any more. Also, I wanted you to meet my friend here.’

  He indicated the other assassin.

  Hildegard drew back.

  TWENTY FOUR

  For the first time she was able to take a good look at Ulric’s opponent on the other side of the board. He pushed his hood back a little. ‘You saw me in the yard the other day when you were having a word with Frank about his modelling. I was working next to him.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Short clipped hair, a wisp of beard, he was vaguely familiar.

  ‘He’s something to tell you. Tell her, Col.’

  ‘I saw Frank yesterday. After the hue and cry had given up.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I won’t tell you that yet. Right now everybody thinks he’s escaped over the town walls. But I know better. He’s found somewhere to hide inside the town. He’ll bide his time until he thinks it’s safe to come out again.’

  ‘But doesn’t he realise that the longer he stays away the worse it’s going to look?’

  ‘You never could tell Frank nothing.’

  ‘So where would he hide?’

  ‘Ah, that’s the big question. You mark my words, though. He’s found a hidey-hole.’

  Hildegard eyed him doubtfully. She felt that Col probably did not have an inkling where Frank was. She asked him again. ‘Where did you say you’d seen him?’

  He was in no hurry to tell her. He turned back to the domino board and began to consider his next move.

  Already she was beginning to wonder how soon she could get out of here. She was sickened by the smell of unwashed bodies, urine, and stale food and by a group of girls, slatternly and looking used up, sprawled on one of the benches near the door to the stairs waiting for custom. Intermittent shouts erupted from among the drinkers with no apparent cause. The noise level was rising as more ale was downed.

  Col was taking his time to reveal his secret and he made his next move with the dominoes as if he had all night, as perhaps he had, and then, eventually, he said, ‘It was as I was coming back along the river bank. I saw him, plain as day, on the other side of the trees.’

  ‘Near the Close?’

  ‘On the edge on that bit of rough land before you reach the Close.’

  ‘Was he with anyone?’

  ‘No. I was going to call out then I thought somebody might overhear so I cut through the trees to where I thought he’d come out but he’d vanished.’

  Like thistle-down, thought Hildegard, remembering Jonathan’s words.

  ‘Have you told anybody else this?’

  ‘Only ‘im.’ He nodded towards Ulric and at the same time jumped a piece in a zigzag across the board and scooped up several pieces at once with a leer of triumph.

  Ulric let out a groan. ‘You sneaky devil!’

  ‘I thought you’d seen it coming?’

  They fell to a discussion of the finer points of the game and Hildegard got up to go.

  ‘Hold on. You’re not going to sprag on me to them serjeants, are you?’ Col glared at Ulric. ‘You told me she was on the level.’

  ‘So she is. I’ve spoken to the monk she travels with. He’s all right. He’s worked the road to Jerusalem. He’s nifty with a sword and knows when to use it.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell anybody anything,’ she interrupt
ed. ‘Besides, what could I say? I don’t even know which bit of the river bank you were walking along.’

  On an impulse she reached into her scrip and pulled out a couple of coins and let them drop onto the board. As she left she heard the scrape of boots as they stood up to follow.

  By the time she reached the end of the street they were walking on either side of her. When they overtook her she let them lead the way.

  It was a lonely stretch of ground with the dark snake of the river winding below a steep bank with a copse and rough ground covered in docks and thistles, and on the other side the water meadows stretching to the distant field strips. A path had been worn from their side of the river through the trees back towards the wall enclosing the cathedral close.

  Somewhat alert, unsure how far she could trust them, Hildegard followed the two hooded shapes along the path and into the copse.

  They did not stop there but continued out onto the other side to the rough ground Col had mentioned. ‘This is where I lost sight of him,’ he admitted, gazing round as if expecting Frank to materialise in front of their eyes.

  ‘Where does this path lead?’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘What’s over on the other side of the Close?’

  ‘Behind the Cathedral? Just burgages behind a row of houses fronting onto Friary Lane.’

  ‘Anyone Frank knows there?’

  ‘He might. Nobody I’ve heard of. What about you, Ulric?’

  ‘Me neither.’

  It was bleak hereabouts. She could see no reason for anyone coming over here. But there was that thin meandering path, the one they themselves had just taken. Any local would know about it.

  ‘Those houses across the Close are quite far away,’ she remarked.

  Neither of them disagreed.

  Standing under the trees she gazed across towards the massive edifice of the cathedral with the soaring steeple disappearing into the night sky. Between here, where Col claimed to have seen Frank, was nothing but undulating scrub with a few bushes dotted about.

  They were not on the north side, on the devil’s side, where no-one liked to walk alone but it was bleak enough, a place suited to felons and murderers.

  ‘Have you searched the bushes?’ she asked. ‘Could he be hiding out somewhere like that?’

  ‘The hue and cry flattened them. They scoured every leaf and blade of grass. Even a rabbit couldn’t have escaped notice.’

  ‘Did you join them?’

  ‘Had to, hadn’t we? We’re liable.’

  ‘So you need to find him,’ she added, almost to herself, ‘or you’ll have to pay up.’

  ‘We’re off back to our ale, mistress.’ Col evidently did not know she was a nun. ‘Have you seen enough?’

  ‘I’ll just have a bit more of a look round.’

  ‘This is no place for a woman by herself,’ remarked Ulric. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Thank you for your concern. I’m sure the angels will protect me.’ As well as my knife, she added silently.

  His face, little more than a blur in the falling darkness, expressed scepticism but the two men nodded and began to walk away.

  Hildegard waited a moment then began to follow the narrow pathway where it trailed around out of the woods onto the scrub land. It seemed to have no purpose. And yet it existed, people had clearly walked it at some time and they must have had a reason.

  It became hard to make it out in the gloaming. She lost it at one point then doubled back until she found it again. Eventually she came out among a few gorse bushes. They were in full bloom and stood as high as a man.

  She hesitated. A faint sound seemed to come like a shift in the air. At first she thought it was the sound of singing from the cathedral before she realised the source was closer than that.

  Cautiously she moved towards it. It was like a breath. Now it stopped. A thread of sound. As fine as thistledown.

  She put her head on one side the better to hear.

  It did not come again. The wind whispered through the trees. Nocturnal creatures scuttered in the grass. It was a bleak and lonely place. Fear could play tricks and invent sounds where none existed.

  She was about to turn and follow the two men when something drew her forwards, deeper in amongst the gorse.

  A man, if he eluded the hue and cry, could hide out somewhere like this, she decided as she wrapped one hand inside her sleeve and pushed the prickly stems to one side.

  Here the path seemed to disappear but then she picked it up again where it ran on in a faint trail between the gorse. Shadows thickened. A breath of air like a hand brushed her face. She came to a halt.

  There where the bushes opened out was something little more than a dark shape on the path. She stepped closer.

  TWENTY FIVE

  At first she thought it was a well. A circular wooden cover lay in the grass among the docks, no more than a few broken pieces of wood, long forgotten. She stepped to the edge and looked down. It was the blackest hole, a void, a nothing in the nothingness of pitch. It could have been a hole into hell, into the black Styx that divides life from death.

  She knelt down on the edge. ‘Hallo-o-o?’ The echo of her voice returned weirdly distorted. It seemed that something shifted and stopped, like the fleeting movement of a wild animal. She called again. ‘Frank? Are you there?’

  Her voice came back with all its uncertainty amplified.

  A scuffle in the depths of the black hole made her dip her head to hear more clearly. But there was nothing but silence.

  ‘Frank? I’m a friend. I know you didn’t murder Robin. Frank? Speak to me.’ Her words were thrown back, mingled without sense, confused and fading.

  When they died a sound like a wounded monster wound its way to the top of the shaft.

  ‘Help me. I’m dying.’

  Dying.

  ‘I will help.’

  Help, came the echo.

  ‘Wait! Are you alone?’ His voice came back frightened as well as full of pain.

  Alone.

  ‘I’ll have to get help. Are you wounded?’

  Out of a cacophony of echoes came a groan. ‘My legs! My back!’

  Legs. Back.

  ‘I’ll get help.’

  Help.

  ‘Who are you?’

  You.

  ‘Hildegard of Meaux. And you are Frank Atkinson and I believe you are innocent.’

  From out of the depths came the clear words.

  ‘Bless you, lady, I am almost done for.’

  Done for.

  Hildegard stood up and ran as fast as she could - back along the path, over the rough ground, through the trees, picking up the river path on the other side and, finding no sign of the two windlassmen, she rounded a corner and ran on into the street.

  They were walking briskly up ahead.

  ‘Stop!’

  They both turned. When she ran up she said, ‘You must have a powerful thirst to be so quick off the mark!’

  She could not see in the poor light which one replied but one of them said, ‘We knew you’d come running-scared if we left you.’

  ‘It’s not that. I’ve found him! Frank. I know where he is and he’s injured and I need your help at once. Can you get a rope from your yard?’

  It had involved forcing the lock on the gates to the masons’ lodge but Ulric seemed to have no problems with that. They accompanied her back along the river bank, through the copse and onto the rough ground, moving at a run, eager to see if what she said was true.

  ‘He must be down that old surveyor’s shaft,’ Ulric said.

  Breathless, Col panted, ‘My grandam used to warn us about that. Bottomless it is. They say that bishop had it dug before they laid foundations for the cathedral back in the time of the old kings.’

  They reached the edge of the shaft and looked down into it.

  ‘Give him a shout then,’ suggested Ulric as if suddenly frightened of committing himself to the rescue by submitting his own voice.

  Hildegard kn
elt down on the edge and peered into the void.

  ‘Frank?’ The name echoed back to them like a voice from a crypt. ‘It’s me. I’m back with help. Can you hear me?’

  The echo added its emphasis as before and from the same confusion of reverberations the same growl wound its way to the top. ‘Get me out of here!’

  Hildegard turned to the men. ‘Good job you’re both strong lads. What I suggest is, you lower me down first to see how badly injured he is and to make sure the rope’s tied safely on him. We don’t want him falling twice over.’

  They uncoiled the rope and she tied one end round her waist and, while the two winchmen held onto the rest of it in a reassuringly confident manner, she sat on the edge and with feet pressed on the opposite side began to inch slowly down the shaft.

  It was a nerve wracking procedure because she had no idea how deep it was nor whether the rope would be long enough. Half way down she encountered a lot of crumbling earth, made loose by the roots of a bush working its way into it. Then gravel and then, suddenly, she was sitting on the ground with something living and animal-like pressing against her.

  ‘Frank?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘What’s this about your legs?’

  ‘I can’t stand. I think I’ve broken them.’

  ‘Anything else broken?’

  ‘Only my heart.’

  ‘We’ll deal with that later.’

  ‘I should be dead. A bush broke my fall. But for that I’d be...’ He began to weep.

  Frank’s exit from the shaft involved a lot of groaning and stertorous breathing from above. Down inside it was even blacker when Frank’s bulk blocked out the paler light of the night sky at the rim. She sat in darkness for a moment until he was levered out. It was full night up at the top. The silvery April twilight had been erased some time ago leaving only starlight in a bright road across the heavens.