The Scandal of the Skulls

by Cassandra Clark

  There was no sign of life other than a herd of cows in a nearby meadow and a chained hound in the yard.

  ‘Is that de Lincoln’s animal?’ asked Gregory.

  ‘I think it belongs to the tenant,’ Breck said. ‘Let’s go down and talk to him. What say you, domina?’

  ‘Good idea.’ She doubted whether it would be as easy as that. De Lincoln was no fool.

  Gregory put out a restraining hand. ‘Let’s just watch a while. I never think it’s a good idea to enter a strange dwelling without a period of observation first.’

  Seeing the wisdom of Gregory’s caution Hildegard forced herself to be patient. They sat on their horses among the trees and watched.

  The hound got up, rattled its chain then went to lie down in a patch of sunlight. Nothing else happened for an age.

  At the back of Hildegard’s mind was what might have happened to Ysabella last night. Where had she lain and with whom? Ever since her daughter’s disappearance she had tried to keep the thought at bay.

  If with de Lincoln it would have been violently against her will. If with Ivo, well, what could she say to that if they were already betrothed? But would de Lincoln truly stand by while the two young ones enjoyed what he wanted himself in order to seal his claim on her fortune?

  And what if he had harmed Ivo and despoiled Ysabella? And what if he then discarded her out of spite after stealing her fortune? She would be thankfully free of him but it would be at a high price. Her dowry was probably not large enough to remove the stain on her character and her chance of a good marriage would be ruined forever.

  ‘Deep in thought, Hildegard?’

  ‘Gregory, what shall we do? I’m impatient to go down. God knows what that man might be doing to my daughter. I must go down but would you come with me? Breck too.’

  ‘Look,’ breathed their guide, interrupting. ‘See him?’

  A thick-set man had come out of the building and was standing at the door. He yawned and scratched his crotch.

  ‘That’s the tenant,’ said Breck. ‘I know him. Let me go down and have a word, man to man. You two keep out of sight until we find out how the land lies.’

  ‘Good idea,’ murmured Gregory. ‘Shout if you need help.’ He slipped down from his horse and settling his sword more comfortably underneath his habit found a convenient look-out post further down the slope in a stand of oaks.

  With a nod of assent from Hildegard Breck rode on down the lane towards the farm. The tenant had gone back inside now and they watched Breck tether his horse to a rail outside the house before stepping inside.

  He seemed to be gone for ages. Gregory was just saying, ‘I think I’d better go down and - ’ when he reappeared. The tenant was with him and both men were smiling. Before he got back onto his horse Breck shook hands with the tenant then began to ride up the lane towards them.

  ‘No luck?’ Hildegard waited until he reached the line of trees before going forward to meet him.

  ‘He says de Lincoln called in a few days ago but only to check that the pewter was still in place and to count his stock. A task, our friend says, that didn’t take him long.’ Breck chuckled. ‘Sir John is he? I didn’t know that. Is there a bounty on this fellow?’

  ‘You’ll get your share when we find him,’ commented Gregory brusquely.

  While he was speaking they had walked back a few yards up the lane and Hildegard’s attention was caught by something lying on the ground. She went over and picked it up. When she straightened she called to Breck. ‘How honest is your friend?’

  ‘He’s a farmer. Lies come as easily as prayers to a monk. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Do you believe de Lincoln really is in there?’ Gregory asked with interest.

  ‘Not he,’ Breck said at once. ‘I insisted on a tour of the place. Three people couldn’t hide in a building like that’n without a trace. He was speaking the truth. While the cat’s away the mice will play.’ He grinned. ‘He had a woman in there.’

  ‘Not Ysabella, I trust?’ asked Gregory.

  Breck looked shocked. ‘Do you think I’d be riding back unaccompanied if she was? Of all the countess’s damozels she was the fairest.’

  Scarcely listening Hildegard held something in her hand, holding it up so they could see it. The men looked baffled.

  ‘Lavender,’ she announced.

  ‘I’m aware of that.’ Gregory took it and held a few stalks between his fingers. ‘So?’

  ‘It is the sign Ysabella said she would use in an emergency.’ Hildegard’s heart began to thump. Her fears for her daughter’s safety were surely about to take shape. ‘You see, there’s nothing like it growing round here. It has come from elsewhere. Someone has dropped it.’ She scarcely dare believe it might be Ysabella.

  Fingering it, Gregory observed, ‘It’s damp. It must have lain there all night. The sun doesn’t penetrate far into this grove of oaks or it would have dried out by now.’

  He went over to where Hildegard had first seen it and with his eyes cast down began to walk into the trees as if following a trail invisible to the other two. When he came to a drop in the ground he turned and called back.

  ‘It’s clear enough. At least two people have been this way. The ground is still wet enough to reveal their tracks. Follow me, Hildegard. Breck, you bring up the horses although I suspect we shall not be able to ride them. There’s marshland ahead.’

  Hildegard hastened to his side. Her heart was in her mouth. What would they find if they followed the trail? Unspeakable horrors beset her imagination. She wanted to run to her daughter’s side but without a slow and careful examination of the trail it would be too easy to go off in the wrong direction.

  Trusting in Gregory’s tracking skills she allowed him to walk ahead. Silently she followed him deeper into the woods.

  The birds uttered warning cries from tree to tree and then fell silent as they passed. The woods were shrouded in a gloom of shadows where any concealed figure could be imagined. Damp grass swished against their knees and there was a regular sucking sound with every step as their boots were withdrawn from the mud. Hildegard gave up trying to keep the hem of her robe clean.

  Gregory took his time. When he eventually turned he held out another few stalks of lavender.

  ‘This proves what you said. At first I imagined it had come here by accident. But look, it lies in a straight line pointing down this deer track round the edge of the quagmire. I would not have noticed it otherwise. And see there? The grass is crushed the wrong way where something as large as a human being has walked through it.’

  ‘Assuming it was people, how many of them do you estimate?’

  ‘I can’t tell. At least two - ’ and seeing her face he added, ‘maybe three.’

  ‘I pray so.’ She had liked Ivo and wanted no harm to have befallen him. It was Ysabella who was the prize for de Lincoln, however. Ivo would be a hindrance to his purpose and thus in a different kind of danger.

  They came at last to open marshland. With few trees it was dotted with gorse, a brazen yellow between brackish pools of stagnant water as far as the eye could see. A wide pond covered in a green mantle of weed barred the way.

  On the far side, in a small thicket, was what looked like a huntsman’s hide made sturdy with thick oak branches intertwined with new willow shoots. There was no evidence of anyone around. The heavy silence was broken only by a distant, repetitive bird call.

  ‘Are we being watched?’ whispered Hildegard with a shiver.

  ‘Wait here. I’ll see if the trail leads towards it or not.’

  In the greatest anxiety she watched him edging his way round the rim of the pond.

  In moments he was back with mud up to his knees. ‘No further signs. It looks as if a trail continues on up to the hide on the other side but it’s difficult to tell if anybody has walked it recently.’ He gave her an anxious glance. ‘Don’t despair, Hildegard. This is a wallow where the deer come to drink. If de Lincoln came this way his tracks will have been destroyed by n
ow.’

  She noticed how the mud was trampled all about by the slim pointed hooves of the herd.

  Breck brought the horses up. ‘Need back up, brother?’

  ‘Keep watch, Breck. We’ll go and have a look inside there.’ He nodded towards the hide on the other side of the pond then took Hildegard by the arm. ‘Tread carefully. Some of these bright green tussocks conceal gullies deep enough to draw down a buck.’

  Recalling the plight of the stag they had seen on their way from Beaulieu she took care to step only when Gregory’s prints firmly showed the way.

  In some places reeds grew right up to the edge of the deer track and in others water seeped under the bushes and around the roots making the way even more treacherous. The hide, as they discovered, was surrounded by mud and the marsh stretched back beyond it further than they could see. Broken branches rose up like severed limbs, half in and half out of the water, with skeins of white moss clinging to the rotting bark. A rank smell hung in the air. Countless animals must have blundered into this death trap.

  Gregory reached the shelter ahead of Hildegard and she saw him push aside the vines covering a gap between the branches. He turned and called urgently, ‘Here! Quickly!’

  She saw him disappear inside. In her haste to reach him she sank up to her knees and felt the disgusting trickle of mud through the lace-holes in her boots.

  When she pushed aside the creeper Gregory was bending over a figure lying on the ground. It was too dim to see who it was but bound wrists were the first thing she saw. When the monk turned the body over she saw it was Ivo. He had a gag over his mouth. It pulled down his jaw in an ugly grimace. His wide open eyes stared fixedly at the branches of the hide.

  ‘No! Not dead?’ She hurried forward.

  ‘He’s alive,’ muttered Gregory, swiftly untying him.

  ‘Only just!’ came a croak as the gag was ripped away. ‘That devil has taken Ysabella!’ He rolled onto all fours and retched. Recovering quickly he turned to peer into the faces of his rescuers. ‘Forgive me, domina.’

  ‘Ivo, I’m so glad you’re safe.’ Hildegard knelt beside him. ‘Are you hurt?’

  He spoke with difficulty and rubbed his jaw to get the life back into it. ‘Pride, that hurts mightily.’ He grimaced. ‘I could not defend her, domina. He took my sword, otherwise it would have been a different story. I beg your forgiveness. I have failed Ysabella and I have failed you.’

  ‘You have in no way failed. But tell us where he has taken her, quickly!’

  ‘Somewhere deeper into the forest among the marshes. He said he was leading her into the labyrinth where no-one would find them until it was too late.’ He groaned in despair as he tried to stand but found his legs giving way.

  Gregory held him steady. ‘When was this?’

  ‘As soon as he had me trussed up like a capon. When we left Clarendon last night he made straight for a farm with the excuse that he needed to speak to his tenant. We waited for him at the top of the lane as he asked us to. We had no real suspicion of him. He was affable and courteous at first. Only as we waited did Ysabella say she did not trust him. It was then she had the idea of strewing lavender to show the way. I’d picked a bunch for her earlier,’ he added.

  He gazed at Hildegard in wonderment. ‘But how did she know you would follow?’

  ‘I’m her mother. What else would I do?’

  Brother Gregory pushed aside the branches and when they emerged from the shelter Ivo stood shakily for a moment or two until his strength came back. Then he straightened. After being tied up through the night and most of the day he looked as determined as the other two to set off in pursuit of de Lincoln.

  Gregory paced the small islet on which the shelter stood then turned to Hildegard with a suggestion. ‘We must separate. I’ll go this way and you that.’ He pointed. ‘Unless you can think of a better idea?’

  ‘If Breck leaves the horses we can cover three directions.’

  ‘Count me in,’ exclaimed Ivo. ‘I want nothing more than to get hold of that fellow and kill him.’

  There was no more lavender to show the way. Breck’s local knowledge only told them that the forest with its mixture of heath and marsh stretched pathless for miles in all directions. Far enough north they would reach the Wiltshire Downs, east, eventually towards Winchester, and west would take them back to Salisbury itself. A few small farmsteads and verderers’ refuges might lie between. If they doubled back and took a southern route then they would be faced with acre upon acre of the New Royal Forest and its secret places in which anyone could hide.

  ‘Let’s get on.’ Hildegard, like Ivo, could not contain her impatience. She was torn between hope and despair at the task that lay before them.

  They agreed on a certain call if they found anything and, separating, set off at once.

  As she made her way deep into the marshland it mirrored her sense of desolation. Soon the others were out of earshot. The regular sound of mud sucking at their boots had vaguely reassured her but soon it faded completely until all she could hear was the squelch of her own boots as she pulled them from the grip of the mud. With every step she knew she was plunging deeper into what de Lincoln had called the labyrinth.

  A dead and sinister silence lay over the land. It was broken only by the occasional plaintive cry of a bird in the reed beds. Nothing benign could survive in such a place. Everywhere she turned rusted grasses grew in clumps surrounded by deceptive layers of acidic green weed that had the misleading appearance of solid ground. She found a stick and poked it through the surface of weed to reveal a frightening chasm of brackish water below.

  The others had spread out across the marshes in different directions as agreed and were out of sight. The levels were broken only by the humped and decaying scrub that revealed nothing. It made the task of finding any living person seem the more hopeless.

  How, in all this desolation are we to find Ysabella? Hildegard asked herself. And yet, the fact that a deer track, wide enough for a man to walk along, wended its way over the tussocky ground between the ponds, brought a spark of hope. She pressed on.

  The path led her back and forth. She began to disbelieve in any destination at the end of it but she could not give up.

  Gregory, Breck and Ivo seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. When she glanced back through the fading light her glance met nothing but the endless green of marsh-grass dotted with the deceptive brightness of gorse. She edged gingerly round innumerable ponds.

  Then, well hidden behind a scraggy bush, she came upon another hide. It commanded the killing field above a wide, brackish wallow. Full of sudden fear at what she might find inside the shelter, she approached with caution.

  Without warning a figure emerged. Unable to stop herself, she threw herself forward with a shriek. ‘Ysabella!’

  Seeing her mother, Ysabella gave a gasp, followed by a warning shout.

  Hildegard half-turned to glance back, taking an incautious step forward. She at once found herself sinking thigh deep into the mud. Struggling to lift her feet out, she found they were trapped. She could not move. She was held as firmly as if in a man-trap. Frantically reaching for something to hold onto, she began to sink. Mud clung to the hem of her cloak, dragging her deeper still. She was being pulled down with a force like a lead weight. Everything she grasped turned to slime and sank beneath her touch. She was up to her waist now.

  ‘I can’t get hold of anything!’ she shouted in panic.

  Ysabella ran to the edge of the quagmire and managed to grab a bunch of cloth in both hands and heaved until she could reach for Hildegard’s hand and then, with much gasping, she managed to drag her mother to the edge of the mire. Somehow Hildegard got a firm hold on some grass roots and with Ysabella’s help managed to fetch up on the bank in a welter of arms and legs as the mud suddenly released her.

  For a long moment they clung together. But it was not for the danger of the marsh that Ysabella had cried a warning. It was for another sort of danger.r />
  It was for de Lincoln.

  THIRTY ONE

  ‘Like a nightingale into a net,’ he ground out, appearing from the bushes. ‘How did you manage to find us?’

  Hildegard ignored him and clutched Ysabella in her arms. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  She shook her head. ‘He did not touch me.’ She gave him a black look. ‘He said no-one would believe me so the deed might as well have been done and that he had no taste for inexperienced young chits.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that.’ She turned in fury on de Lincoln. ‘How dare you abduct my daughter. Why did you do it - ?’

  ‘Why?’ he broke in with a harsh laugh. ‘Are you so unworldly you’ve forgotten the matter of a dowry?’

  ‘I shall never marry you!’ Ysabella shouted. ‘I am already promised!’

  ‘A mere verbal contract without witnesses,’ he scoffed. ‘Any lawyer can overturn that for me. And I’ve told you. We stay here until you agree.’

  ‘Never!’ she shouted in fury.

  ‘Then your little paramour stays where he is, trussed, hungry and in danger of dying from thirst and cold.’

  Hildegard went right up to de Lincoln. ‘She’s coming with me. You can’t stop us.’

  Turning, she pushed Ysabella back towards the thin trail round the edge of the marsh. ‘Run back! Don’t slip. Gregory and Ivo are somewhere close by. Go to them. Quickly!’

  De Lincoln was chuckling with malign pleasure. ‘She’s going nowhere, my lady.’

  ‘We’ll see about that!’

  ‘Out of my way or else I’ll - ’

  ‘You’ll what?’ Hildegard drew her knife.

  De Lincoln, about to push her aside to reach Ysabella, stepped back.

  He was wearing a sword she noticed now and before he could yank it from its scabbard she launched herself against him with the knife at his throat.

  He was strong, tall, angry, but he was also taken by surprise. He stepped back, slithered in the mud and with one more push was sent sprawling onto his back.