The Scandal of the Skulls

by Cassandra Clark

  When she opened out the parcel she held it up. ‘How perfect!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘How seditious,’ Hubert observed dryly.

  It was a perfectly carved hart, reclining with a chain round its neck, the symbol used often by King Richard and his followers.

  ‘I should have been more profuse in my thanks,’ Hildegard worried.

  ‘To save a life is beyond any gift,’ Hubert reassured her. He added hurriedly, ‘not that I see you as in any way beholden to me for that trifling incident in the steeple.’

  They came out into the stable yard of the George, the town’s largest hostelry and the place where the couriers came in so it was no surprise just then to hear a horse ridden through the gates at speed and to see a courier tumble from the saddle with his bag falling from one shoulder.

  ‘My lords and masters!’ he roared as loudly as he could, still breathless from his ride. ‘I have news from Westminster!’

  A crowd gathered at once.

  He pulled a scroll from his bag and unfurled it.

  ‘Oyez! Hear this!’ A hush descended. ‘On the third day of May just past and by order of the King’s Council led by his grace the duke of Gloucester, it so happened that the lord Burley, Sir Simon, knight, was executed on Tower Hill for traitorously accroaching the king’s regality.’

  There was uproar. Hildegard did not hear the rest. She gave a cry and Hubert held her in his arms as if he could shelter her from the news.

  ‘That’s that! Barbarism rules!’ Egbert punched one fist into the other as if he wished it was Gloucester’s head. ‘What now, friends?’

  ‘The country will be up in arms,’ Gregory observed. ‘We must prepare.’

  Hubert took charge. ‘King Richard is now in the gravest danger. It makes it even more important to get back to Meaux as quickly as we can to rouse what resistance we can in the Riding. To horse!’

  ***

  It was with heavy hearts that they left the town of Salisbury with a sense that things would never be the same, neither for themselves, nor within the realm of England, now that the rule of law had been so decisively flouted. At least the count of skulls above the town gate had not increased by these recent incidents and if Master Gervase could keep his brother-in-law under control it was likely that the law-makers in Westminster would not bother to disturb the peace and order of such a distant place.

  About the rest of the country they were not so easy in their minds. After a few hours hard riding on the route northwards they eventually slowed their horses for a short rest and to break open their saddlebags for something to eat. They were still within the domain of the New Forest and found a sheltered grove where a shallow stream puttered between the trees. While their horses drank Gregory disappeared into the bushes and Egbert unpacked the saddlebags

  ‘It’s almost too horrible to imagine the array of skulls on London Bridge,’ Hildegard admitted as soon as Egbert came to sit beside them on a grassy, daisy spangled hillock.

  ‘It’s a villainous time. Let’s hope the blood-letting is over now Gloucester has had his way.’

  Egbert agreed. ‘Barbaric events, indeed, and not ones I expected to find on returning home to England.’

  ‘Those victims of the so-called duke had all their lives before them,’ Hildegard continued. ‘I simply can’t help mourning for them. I will never forget them. They were loyal to King Richard. And for that they earned an agonising death. How could it be allowed to happen? How could the good, ordinary folk in London allow it? Those men had wives and children, and daily hopes and fears like all of us. Loyal knights dedicated to duty and honour. Loyal, despite all threatened horrors, to the king. How can such barbarity thrive in this blessed land? How?’ She glanced round the shimmering grove. ‘How beautiful it is here. We have a country full of blessings, fertile acres, enough to feed all and enrich all. But some, driven by greed and ambition, men like Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick, seem to want to despoil it merely for their own selfish ends. How sad it is. How pointless. An advantage gained at another’s expense is no advantage at all. Can they not see that the good of all is more important than the good of one?’

  Hubert nodded agreement. ‘This is the way of the world and we can only go on doing what we believe in and strive to speak truth as and when we see it. Try not to grieve too much, Hildegard.’

  Just then there was a shout from within the woods and in a great disturbance of foliage Gregory burst into view. He was beaming. ‘Come, friends, I have something to delight you!’

  Egbert grumbled but even so rose to his feet. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Come and see!’

  ‘I hope it’s worth getting up for. I’m as comfortable as a pasha lying here in the sun. Is it really worth it?’

  ‘You’ll see!’

  The two monks disappeared into the undergrowth and Hubert reached out to pull Hildegard to her feet. ‘What do you think he’s found?’

  ‘Some rare plant, maybe a beautiful vista or a perfect shade of green?’

  They followed the others into the thicket down a winding path and eventually, above the swishing of the branches as they pushed a way through they heard a roaring sound that after a moment they identified as the crashing down of tons of water onto rocks. The next moment Hubert parted the branches to reveal a brilliant slash of white, maybe twenty feet high. It was a water-fall tumbling from the top of a cliff into a natural bowl of rock where it gurgled and bubbled and was as translucent as glass, not frozen to holy stillness as in the abbey windows but in perpetual and enchanting motion.

  Gregory’s face was wet when he turned, smiling at their joy in this unexpected sight. ‘Come and drink! It’s pure and cold and better than wine.’

  Egbert was already on hands and knees scooping up the water and throwing it in great handfuls over his head, making his tonsure gleam. He took a deep drink from cupped hands. ‘He’s right, you two. Let’s fill our water bottles before we leave.’

  It was as Gregory and Egbert had said, the water crystalline, cold, wonderfully cooling after their ride in the hot sun. Hildegard took off her coif and wet her hair. The two monks dragged their abbot into the pool up to his knees and the three of them tussled like young oblates. ‘This reminds me of that place in Outremer,’ Hubert exclaimed, laughing and struggling to keep his feet. ‘Remember when we found that oasis in the middle of the desert?’

  ‘Shall never forget that,’ agreed Egbert. He went to stand underneath the waterfall and the other two joined him. Gregory threw aside his habit onto the bank and stood in his britches before begging Hildegard’s forgiveness and she called back that she did not mind and only wished she could join them.

  She remembered another time when the men had enjoyed some horse-play in the water, just as now. It had been in Avignon when she had come upon them unexpectedly in one of the small courtyards where water was piped up from underground into an ornamental pool. She had longed to join them then just as she did now. As if reading her thoughts Hubert waded back to her on her seat on a rock.

  ‘We have many miles of hard riding ahead and in this heat too. Who knows when we shall have chance to cleanse ourselves and be at ease. If you want to take advantage of the water I give permission.’ He held out a hand. ‘The lord will not resent your enjoyment of the gifts he provides. Come. Take off your habit and enjoy his beneficence.’

  With relief Hildegard rid herself of the clinging folds of her woollen habit and slipped with a cry of joy into the cold water and soon she was standing under the falls with the others. For a pleasant hour they enjoyed their play until Hubert called them together. He pulled on his white habit and slicked back his dark, damp hair before he spoke.

  ‘Before we leave this sacred pool I have something to say to you. The time has come for us to remember those persecuted men of King Richard’s court and offer prayers for their eternal souls. I hereby name them, one by one.’ And he repeated the names Favent had announced so gleefully with the addition of one more, Sir Simon Burley.


  They stood in reverential silence, bearers of compassion, their thoughts bent on the souls in their flight towards heaven and the abbot finished by praying for the bliss that would surely be theirs forever. ‘Amen,’ he concluded.

  Before they left, while the remains of their thin repast were being cleared away, Hubert stood aside for a moment with Hildegard. He could see she was still troubled and tried to find the sort of words that would comfort her.

  ‘I know you feel that we could have done something to save those victims of the Council’s malice but sometimes,’ he suggested, ‘we can only bear witness to the truth in the privacy of our own conscience. The heart,’ he added, ‘is a privy chamber - where each of us dwells in solitude. We can often do no more than remain true to our belief that goodness will eventually prevail.’

  Gregory was listening from a few paces away and now he bestowed a kind glance on Hildegard. ‘Hubert, my lord, forgive me, forgive me Hildegard, but in connection with the privacy of the heart I believe that before we travel further the domina may wish to say something to you on that score.’ He strode off to attend to some trifling detail to do with his horse’s bridle.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Hubert looked wary.

  ‘I can’t think what he means,’ Hildegard stalled. She was in a panic. It was easy to guess what Gregory meant. Although she knew he had spoken with the best of intentions she wished fervently that he had kept his thoughts to himself.

  Hubert gripped her arm. ‘What is it?’ he demanded with characteristic urgency. ‘Is it something to do with you and Brother Gregory? I know he holds you in great regard.’

  ‘Of course not. It’s nothing - ’

  ‘Or maybe,’ peering into her face and trying to read it, his voice full of guilt, ‘you have already decided to leave the Order because of me? I know I demanded a decision when we reached Meaux.’ He grasped her more firmly by the arm. ‘Is it that?’

  ‘Of course not, no. It’s simply nothing,’ she repeated. She avoided his glance.

  ‘Tell me at once, Hildegard. I insist. I’ve suspected for some time something is weighing on your mind. It’s more than the events in Westminster.’ He frowned. ‘Tell me,’ he lowered his voice, ‘am I making it impossible for you to keep your vows as you would wish? ’

  ‘Not quite, no.’ She placed one hand over his. ‘I trust you to keep your vows, my lord, as I shall endeavour to keep mine.’ Then, noticing his expression, she felt the heat of shame rise up her throat and into her face. ‘Gregory sees something like a chasm forever lying between us,’ she admitted, scarcely able to speak.

  ‘A chasm? Well, that’s true!’ he exclaimed. ‘There’s no mystery there. Our vows are a chasm. Is it that?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘So are you going to withhold the truth from me forever?’

  ‘It’s connected to the plot against the king last year. And my part in foiling it.’ On a lower note, almost mumbling, she added, ‘And therefore it is to do with - ‘ she faltered, ‘with Rivera.’

  She bent her head. His name was out between them now. It existed in all its potency and pain. She dare not raise her eyes to his. The tragic and forbidden passion that had drawn into its nets both herself and Rivera was now exposed in the very sound of his name.

  A long silence followed. Hildegard was in an agony of despair. She knew she had thrust a sliver of glass into Hubert’s heart. She lifted her glance to his and her eyes were full of something too complex and too fleeting to name.

  ‘Rivera?’ His face had a guarded look. ‘I understand.’ His voice roughened. ‘Do you think I do not?’

  ‘I pray you can understand something which remains a mystery to me, about the heart and how it works against our will and better selves.’

  In response Hubert took her by the hand and gently raised her fingers to his lips. ‘This is the chasm between us? My dearest Hildegard. I expect there are many chasms if we look for them. But we tread lightly, you and I. We always have.’ He offered the warmth of his lips to her finger-tips once more. ‘I trust we will always have the wisdom to live within the mystery of the heart and its ways.’ His eyes kindled with the love that has no need to be expressed in words. ‘May we always be together in compassion and amity, my beloved and only one.’

  He gripped her hand once more before letting it go. ‘Now, back on the long road home! We ride northwards to the Abbey of Meaux!’

  Brief Note

  I believe that a novel should stand as it is, without historical notes but, because the events of 1388 have been relegated to a rarely visited corner of history it might be worth pointing out that all the people executed or sent into exile mentioned here are on the record if you want to look for them. I have not made them up. If you go to Salisbury Cathedral you will see Medford’s tomb, fittingly elaborate for a man who became bishop. You will also see the great windlass if you climb the steeple. Gloucester’s victims, all King Richard’s close circle of political advisors as well as his personal body servants, are mentioned by Favent and the method of the duke’s purge involved the interception of private correspondence which may have a familiar ring today. There were many others who were put out of the way but they were deemed insufficiently important to be named such as the many hanged after the risings in Kent and elsewhere. Political ambition is the same in any epoch and medieval England is no exception. This is the backdrop to a fictional story but its repercussions determined the fate of a nation for at least the next three hundred years and as such should be more widely known and remembered.

  The Scandal of the Skulls/Cassandra Clark