With no will to let him know that she had the list bearing his name among the others she left without a word.
‘It is clear to me,’ remarked Gregory as they walked away, ‘that Medford knows more than he is telling us. Sir Simon’s reappearance before the court at Westminster is a disaster. He rightly claims that it confirms that Burley has failed to make his escape. If everything had gone according to plan, by now he would be flying free. An army of men loyal to the king would be on the march. Medford is trying to put as much distance between himself and the king’s allies as he can.’
‘That’s a most terrible thought - that the plan has failed. Pray you are wrong, Gregory. There may yet be time. They will have to take him back to the Tower unless they mean to execute him on a make-shift block outside Westminster Hall itself. Surely even Gloucester would not be guilty of such barbaric haste?’
‘Whatever the truth, your Mr Medford has found a reason to distance himself.’
‘His heart is broken. He loved King Richard. Who can blame him for denying him?’ Hildegard spoke without expression. Her heart bled for the increasing isolation of the young king and his beloved queen.
‘You blame him.’ Gregory was terse. ‘And so do I. He’s a turncoat.’
Ranging restlessly about, Gregory eventually told her he was going back to the cathedral to get on his knees to ask for divine guidance and pray that for Sir Simon all was not lost. He walked off before she could ask him when they would next meet.
Being close by the masons’ lodge she decided to make one final attempt to unravel the mystery that was still nagging at her.
When she looked in through the gate she saw a scene of intense activity. At first she thought it must be something to do with the May Day celebrations on the morrow but with a closer look she realised it was something more.
The pulley that lifted work materials up inside the steeple was being dismantled. The cable was being winched slowly up to the top with only a token weight and a line on the end to keep it steady.
At ground level hurrying labourers were packing most of their equipment and stacking it in the yard. While a few men continued to work at the stone blocks which would eventually adorn the pillars and other places where decoration was to be added, others were loading horse-drawn wagons with the withy hurdles that had formed the scaffolding. Planks from the platforms were stacked against a wall waiting to be taken away.
Master Gervase was holding forth under the thatch of the lodge. Those who were still loading the gear were half listening to him as they carried materials outside while now and then others strolled up to join the Master’s audience.
‘...And it is this,’ she heard him say as she approached. ‘May Day is no excuse for rowdiness. I will not have it. I am still Master here. You are still my men. We have our rules. We have our punishments. And I say again, when the mayor comes to you, you make obeisance. Is that clear?’ There was a shame-faced murmur of assent. Gervase continued. ‘If it’s the bishop who comes, you make obeisance. If it’s the serjeant-at-arms - you make obeisance.’ He glared round at everyone. ‘The top man? Always obeisance. Get it? Nothing is different just because we are celebrating the maying.’
‘What about the King?’ somebody interrupted.
‘What about the King?’ Gervase came back.
‘What if he’s dragged before the court at Westminster?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I was just wondering. Say we were at Westminster, which some of us journeymen might be as work’s still going on there, and the king comes to inspect our work along with Master Revele - what then?’
‘He’s top man - you make obeisance.’
‘What about Master Revele? Does the king top him?’
‘He does. Always.’
‘But what I want to know is can King Dickon be top man when he stands accused before the judges?’
‘Who says he’s accused?’
‘That’s what they’re saying. After Sir Simon Burley, after the Chancellor, after the Chief Justiciar, after the Archbishop of York and after the King’s own chamber knights and some of the clerks – after all them have been done in and executed and beheaded and drawn and quartered, they’re saying it’ll be the King’s turn next.’
‘Are you suggesting that the duke of Gloucester will dare to execute the King of England himself?’
‘It’s only what they’re saying. They’re saying, “what if” and I ask now, master, what if - ?’
‘Then tremble, brother. Tremble in your boots and find a quick ship to France. Praise God and St Thomas nobody hears you talking treason. Would any true Englishman dare to harm the King of England? I say again, if you’ll listen and keep to the point,’ he put up a hand to quell the buzz of talk that arose, ‘if the top man is present you make obeisance.’
‘What about Gloucester then?’
Gervase quelled one of the stone cutters with a hard glance. ‘Gloucester will never be top man. Even if he’s in a chamber standing naked by himself and as alone as the North Star he will never be top man in that or any other place on God’s earth.’
Laughter arose at the image of Gloucester, alone, probably carrying his lance with the dead fox swinging from it, with no-one to command.
‘But what about the pope, Master?’
There were more mocking guffaws at this and somebody remarked that he would be lucky to get work on a cow bier, forget Rome and its palaces.
‘You do as I’m advising you. And if even his most illustrious majesty the glass King of France comes shimmering up to you - ’ there was more laughter which Gervase encouraged, ‘then, brother, you know what to do.’
‘Aye, throw a brick,’ quipped a wag.
‘But listen,’ Gervase silenced the laughter with a glance. ‘This is not what I’m saying to you. Listen well. What I’m telling you is that these are only earthly powers. These kings, except our own dear Richard, God preserve him, these princes, these fine fellows with their new titles and their show. What are they?’ He clicked his fingers. ‘They are nothing. They, we, pass as all earthly beings pass. What remains? It is this and only this - ’ he slapped the block of stone beside him, ‘this endures. This is our substance. On this we build and put our trust. This is our master and our lord. Wrong him and the earthly world will tumble into dust and be as nothing.’
‘On this rock we build,’ a pious voice added.
‘That’s right, brother. Never forget it.’ Gervase looked round at every one of his men and even the ones loading the wagons who had come to listen. He smiled. They were his men.
He raised his voice.
‘Tonight, we down tools. We away to the woods. On the morrow we raise the maypole and we salute the King and Queen of the May - and may God go with you, my dearly beloved brothers, you journeymen as you travel forth on life’s path to find work with new masters. Work as you have done here and I shall be proud to call you brethren. And you apprentices, despite the sorrows of the past week, be loyal to the Guild and to your brother masons. And all my trusted brethren,’ he turned to a group of men standing shoulder to shoulder beside him, ‘all, go in peace and celebrate the May!’
As the group broke up some had tears in their eyes. Many had worked together over many months and might never meet again except on some faraway building site when the next richly endowed cathedral would be built.
There was a lot of back slapping. Some, the ones remaining, returned to the blocks they had been working and pulled the covers over them, others went to dismantle the remaining scaffolding that had been built up against the inside walls of the cathedral, yet others prepared their equipment for moving on. The major phase of restoration on the steeple at Salisbury was over.
Master Gervase was deep in conversation with his foreman and a couple of other men, one of whom Hildegard recognised as Godric, one of the windlass men, but when Gervase spotted her hovering at the gate, he lifted a hand in greeting and called, ‘In a moment, domina, but pray enter.’
She knew she was being honoured to be allowed inside the sacred place where the masons practised their mysteries. Today was a special day for their ceremonies but with the master’s permission she went to stand under the thatch to shelter from the rain that was just beginning to fall.
Looking round she noticed that Frank’s sculpted block of stone was still covered by its sacking. It looked reverential as if someone had died and this was his memorial.
When she went over to it and Ulric’s fellow windlass man, Godric, appeared beside her at once. ‘Best not touch it, domina. It’s private is that. Frank will come back to finish it when he can.’
Wondering if the other two had told him about their rescue of Frank from the shaft she asked, ‘When will that be?’
Godric’s face turned sour. ‘If someone has done him in this, unfinished, will stand as his monument and we’ll sure as hell hunt his killer down and pronounce punishment on him and all his allies, you can bet on that. Frank is our brother. Harm one, you harm us all.’
His words sounded like a rephrasing of the rebel song.
‘And if he’s in hiding somewhere?’
‘Then he has friends we know nothing of so God save them as our friends also.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘Do you happen to know something of the matter?’
So Ulric had not told the fellow who, every day, worked beside him, that Frank had been found? She kept the surprise off her face. ‘What I don’t know,’ she replied, giving him a steady look in return, ‘is who murdered Robin and Jack.’
‘Best leave it. This is masons’ business, not yours. We don’t come poking and prying into monastic matters, do we?’
‘So we have little pockets of the realm with its own laws and punishments?’
‘That’s the way of the world, domina, as I’m sure you know.’ He gave a sort of leering smile, adding, ‘As in Westminster, so here.’ With that he sloped of to his own tasks.
Why had Ulric and Col not told him of Frank’s whereabouts? What did it mean? Was he not to be trusted? He seemed to be on the level but he was acting as if he knew something. Whatever it was it confirmed her suspicion that de Lincoln was the wrong man for surely the others would have been keen to point the finger of blame.
Col was over by the stone block he was working on and when he picked up his mallet he began chipping at a piece of the yellowy soft sandstone that was used to sculpt the corbels to adorn the inside of the cathedral. In its present state it was difficult to work out the detail of what looked like a face perhaps with coiled leaves sprouting from its mouth. A green man. A pagan symbol.
She had the impression Col had been listening in to what Godric had been saying so she went over. ‘You kept quiet about our friend.’
He glanced up. ‘We always keep quiet, domina. Folks do well to remember what belonging to a guild means.’
‘So doesn’t even your master know where Frank is?’
‘The fewer who know, the better until them serjeants lay off.’
‘Surely you’d want to put your master out of his uncertainty?’
‘Him?’ He gave a derisory smile. ‘He’s our rock, uncertain or not.’
Suddenly she thought, he knows everything. He did not look like a leader. Yet he knows who the murderer is although he’s not going to tell me, and he knows where Frank is, whereas the others, if they guess the identity of the murderer, do not know if Frank is alive or dead. Godric’s warning just now to keep out of it had been spoken lightly but underneath it the threat was evident.
He was right. She had no business here. It was a closed and secret world with its own loyalties. If the culprit had been de Lincoln there seemed no purpose in protecting him and now, especially, when he was dead, why should they?
Confused, a touch on her shoulder made her jerk round in surprise. ‘Master Gervase!’
His bulky form seemed to block out the light that filtered inside the lodge. She stepped away from where Col was working.
‘You turned up just as I was making my valedictory speech, domina. We’ve finished our commission here. A few journeymen are moving on to another site over in Wells and my stone-cutters have some carvings here to finish off for the bishop. But this is it. A clean sweep. Everything finished bar the celebrations. The end. Amen.’
‘And will you stay here in Salisbury, master?’
‘This is my home now though I have work waiting for me in the Welsh Marches later on. I’ll be setting out with my inner circle in a day or two to draw up a few plans, then back here to my family.’ He gave a smile to suggest that he had a good reason to return.
‘What about Frank?’
The Master caught her glance and held it. ‘If he doesn’t turn up they’re going to pronounce an exeat on him in a few days when May Day is done.’
‘That’s serious.’
‘You don’t have to tell me. Frank outlawed? It’s a monstrous perversion of justice. He’s no more guilty of murdering Robin than I am. I know that now I’m more calm than I was when we last talked.’ He gave a small perfunctory bow. ‘My deep apologies for my untoward behaviour, domina. These boys are like my own flesh and blood. I was not thinking straight and allowed my anger to get the better of me. But I wish to heavens I knew where he was.’
‘And the other man, the one who was stabbed?’
‘Jack Winter? The serjeant might point the finger at us because of the gouge that was found beside his body but it takes him no further than that. He can claim it was a mason who used it but I say it was stolen from my yard. Prove otherwise.’
‘It must be worrying for you.’
She was on the verge of admitting that she knew where Frank was hiding out when he said, ‘As for worrying, me? The only time I worry is when the last stone is put in place. Will it stand, will it fall. That’s when I worry.’
They had moved from under the thatched roof as they talked although rain was now sweeping across the yard and at his words they both turned to look up at the steeple.
Gervase gave a smile of satisfaction. ‘Not my work, I regret to say, but we’ve strengthened it and made it so it can stand a thousand years. What’s one death here or there placed against something as eternally magnificent as that?’
With his hands on his hips he put his head back and gazed up to the top of the steeple with the rain falling on his face. Hildegard could not tell whether it was rain or tears in the corners of his eyes.
Before she could open her mouth to tell him about Frank, whatever value he put on his life compared to the value of his steeple, he became brisk.
What he said made her eyes widen.
‘You and your Brother Gregory are welcome at my house tomorrow morning. I’m to be married and we plan to feast as nobody has feasted in this town for a generation.’
Before she could summon a reply he hurried off to help some of his men with a load they were hoisting onto the wagon. Then the rain started to pour down in ever larger, fatter drops, wetting everything in moments. The masons expecting rain pulled sacks over their heads. Others ran to get the last pieces of equipment on board before they got drenched then the wagon driver clicked his tongue behind his teeth and the horses moved off.
Standing under the shelter of the eaves she watched the cavalcade splash off through the rain.
Married?
To whom?
Did Frank know about this?
THIRTY THREE
May Day was one festival the Church did not celebrate. It was seen as a pagan rite but was too deeply embedded in the hearts and customs of the people to forbid.
The night before, on the thirtieth and last day of April, the streets were emptied as everyone not too old to make the walk into the woods outside the walls left their beds and went to gather branches of may blossom and behave with scandalous unrestraint.
The clamour of pipes and tabors, the excited giggles of groups of girls running to and fro among the trees, the sporadic singing and shouts of glee echoing throughout the night heralded the time w
hen many a babe would be conceived.
By the time the glimmering of the new day began to silver the leaves and the solemn-faced monastics were filing into Lauds, men were already dragging the great straight trunk of the maypole into position on the green and drawing forth a noisy crowd of helpers.
From every house the young and old began to erupt in a grotesque array of disguises. Many wore home-made masks in the shape of devils, stags, bears, two-headed dogs, invented animals copied from the cathedral sculptures, strange and exotic birds, angels, sprites and other fairy folk. There were hooded figures. Robed burgesses. And now traders wearing fancy costume. The apprentices not involved in raising the maypole appeared in the splendid coloured gowns of their guilds. All were joined by the garlanded young emerging from their night of debauchery in the woods, their arms full of blossom to decorate the pole where it lay on the ground. When the ribbons were fastened in their sack the final stroke was to tie the immense wreath of hawthorn blossom on top.
Then began the exacting task of hauling the huge tree trunk by means of masons’ cables into an upright position and tethering it at the four corners. The men groaned and sweated as slowly it rose up and when it was fully erect a loud cheer went up. An even louder cheered followed when the guy ropes released the coloured ribbons in a flurry to the waiting hands below.
May blossom was everywhere giving off a heady, sweet smell that dizzied the senses.
The nuns at Hildegard’s lodgings, up already for lauds as usual, greeted her warmly and smiled indulgently as they came back inside to eat their bread and cheese. Most remarked how a little frivolity was good for people as it had been a hard winter and summer was here at last.
Before Sister Elwis went in to see Frank, Hildegard stopped her. ‘I understand Master Gervase is to marry today?’
‘So we have just heard. Isn’t it exciting!’
The Scandal of the Skulls Page 29
