Hangman Blind

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘I hope you’re right, Thomas. I do fear they’ll finish up with arrows in their backs and their heads brought in for bounty. But let’s go. The sooner we find a way home the better. If we’re quick we may even be back for prime.’

  As it was they had no choice in the matter of how to get back. They were forced to take the one path that linked the lock-keeper’s cottage with the outside world. In one direction it ran on towards the Humber and the port of Wyke, which the old king had renamed Kingstown, but in the other direction it led all the way back towards the road to Beverley. Thomas reminded her of the pack bridge that spanned the canal a short distance from the gatehouse at Meaux. They would be able to cross back to the other side over that.

  It was nearly two miles, walking in the ever-brightening day, until they were level with the outer defences of the abbey grounds. They had seen no sign of Escrick’s men on the way. Even his brace of hounds seemed to have run off and joined their cousins in the wilds.

  ‘Just round the next bend we should find the bridge,’ Thomas said encouragingly. Even before it came into view, however, they heard the noise of an army of men on the other bank. The clank of chain mail and the jangle of arms came closer with every step. At first alarmed, they realised that it could only be the force belonging to Lord Roger de Hutton. ‘Sibilla has not so many men at her command,’ Hildegard remarked with some relief.

  Even so they halted on the path behind some trees and waited for the men to come into view. There were maybe a dozen or so, some on foot, others on horseback, the casques of the foremost ones gleaming in the misty light as they ranged among the reeds as if searching for something. As they came nearer they saw that they were fully armed and must have come straight from their march against Sir William.

  To Hildegard’s immense relief she recognised the man at their head. It was Ulf. Lathered in mud from head to foot, his arm in a grubby sling, it could only be him with that wild, sun-bleached hair cascading from beneath his helm. They watched as he led a small posse along the narrow path to another part of the bank. Like Escrick’s men, they were beating with the flats of their swords at any tall bulrushes left standing after the flood wave had passed over, thoroughly kicking to pieces every remaining hiding place.

  Hildegard stepped from the cover of the trees and shouted across. With an exclamation of joy she saw her own hounds emerge from the trees at the sound of her voice. They pointed their muzzles towards her in silent greeting and, as if echoing her feelings, began to weave patterns of joy around the forelegs of Ulf’s steed. The steward lifted his sword as a sign to the men in the vanguard. The whole party came to a halt in a disorderly throng.

  ‘How the blazes did you get over there?’ he called. He wore a delighted grin under his mask of mud.

  ‘It’s a long story. But I see you’re safe and sound. And you have an escort.’

  ‘They came to find me,’ he said, gesturing to the hounds. ‘I guessed there was something up when they showed their faces without you in attendance. You had me worried. I thought you’d drowned in that wave that’s just swept down. Come over the bridge and we’ll catch up.’

  ‘We’ve got a lot to say to each other,’ observed Ulf when he greeted her on the bridge. He gave Thomas an assessing glance. ‘A challenging part of your novitiate, son, to accompany this particular Cistercian on her daily round?’

  Thomas laughed nervously. He seemed overwhelmed by the roughness of the riders as they milled about, battle-stained and ferocious, with their swords rattling in their scabbards. The hearty greetings they gave Hildegard obviously shocked him. Clearly he had only ever met the sort of nun who prayed and embroidered and rarely left the confines of her priory. Giving her a sidelong glance, as if to make sure she was real, he followed the group as far as the gatehouse. ‘I ought to attend to my duties, sister,’ he told her when they entered the garth. He seemed nervous about missing the daily office as well as his lessons.

  ‘I shall inform the lord abbot at once of everything that has happened and of your exemplary protection. God go with you.’

  ‘And with you, sister.’

  ‘I’ll tell him he’ll need to send men to find the bodies of the two who drowned. Lord Roger’s men will no doubt pick up the ones on horseback. And Thomas—’

  He lifted his head.

  ‘Don’t forget your duty to me as scribe. You witnessed the confession of the nursemaid. These are facts that will have to be put before the coroner.’

  Happy to have played a useful part in the affair, Thomas pulled up his hood and made his way across the great court towards the church to fulfil less physical duties.

  The abbot invited them to his chambers after mid-morning mass. Before that Ulf managed a quick word with Hildegard after she had explained what had happened on the canal.

  ‘We had a wasted journey,’ he told her. ‘God knows where Sir William got to but he wasn’t there when we finally waded through his marsh. How he can live in that swamp God only knows.’

  ‘I’m sure He does,’ replied Hildegard, smiling good-humouredly.

  ‘You know what I mean. Anyway, we got all the way to Ravenser, forsaken hole, before finding out he hadn’t even been near. Gone to Hutton, says Roger. So we came back here. We’re going to press on to Hutton at first light. You should have seen the women’s faces when Roger appeared! Philippa was in a real fury once she got over the shock. Sibilla fell into a dead faint. Afterwards she stood there, fanning herself and eventually murmured, “I don’t think I can take any more.” She went up to her chamber for a lie-down and that’s the last I’ve seen of her.’

  ‘It must have been a shock. First her so-called son and heir goes missing then her brother-in-law returns from the dead. Not to mention her right-hand man being swept away.’

  ‘That wave was felt by some eel-men as far up as Tickton,’ Ulf told her. ‘The bodies will fetch up somewhere round there, you mark my words.’

  He went off to use the fresh water in the monks’ lavatorium and find a change of clothes.

  Roger, too, had had a chance to wash, she observed when they met. His beard was neatly clipped and he wore it forked. When he saw Hildegard enter the abbot’s chamber he smiled foxily and stroked the points with both hands until they were so sharp you could have used them to write with.

  As well as Hildegard and Lord Roger the abbot expected the steward, as Roger’s main man, to attend as well. Ulf arrived a little late, self-consciously smart, a clean bandage sticking out from beneath his tunic, and his beard trimmed into a neat, straight line, although his sun-bleached hair was as long and unruly as ever.

  When they were all present Roger demanded, ‘So, what have I missed?’ He stretched out his legs towards the fire that was blazing in the abbot’s hearth.

  Hubert de Courcy spoke first. He told Roger about the murder of Brother Nevyl, the damage done to the abbey parchments, the mess that had had to be left until the coroner could get here and how the body had to be kept in the mortuary surrounded by slabs of ice. Hildegard added that it was almost certain that both murders, those of Ada and the monk, had been committed by Escrick, Sibilla’s master of the household, telling them almost word for word what May had had to say.

  ‘Escrick got hold of too much power,’ muttered Lord Roger, tasting one of the abbot’s best vintages with a grunt of approval. ‘Should have been kept in his place from day one.’ He glanced briefly at Ulf, who began to study his fingernails.

  Hubert inclined his head in acknowledgement, but gave no indication of his own views on the matter. ‘The coroner has been informed of the demise of our dear brother and is expected here to conduct his inquest as soon as he can conclude his other business in York.’

  ‘Thomas is writing up the events as recounted to us by May,’ added Hildegard. ‘We have her version regarding Escrick’s involvement and it is hard to doubt, yet I fear the coroner will need something more substantial than the word of a wet-nurse in order to justify his linking of the two crimes.’

&nbs
p; ‘There is something,’ said Hubert. He got up from his imposing abbot’s chair and went over to his writing table. Picking up a small silver box from among his books he returned and, snapping open the lid, pulled forth what looked at first sight like a fine black thread.

  ‘This is thanks to our ever-vigilant prior with his insatiable eye for detail – not to mention an unswervable ability to wield a fine tooth comb,’ he announced with a somewhat ambiguous inflection in his voice.

  ‘But that’s similar to something I found in Ada’s lacing.’ Hildegard fumbled inside the pouch on her belt and brought forth a small container. ‘I thought it worth keeping, my lord abbot, perhaps driven by the same penchant for detail as your prior.’ She gave him a smile then held something to the light. ‘It looks like a hair of some kind.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what that is!’ exclaimed Roger, leaping up out of his chair and peering at each exhibit in turn. ‘It’s hair from that damned cat! I’ll wager good money on it. How much, Ulf?’

  ‘I’ll have to have a closer look first, my lord,’ murmured Ulf cautiously. He got up and examined the two exhibits, then turned to Roger. ‘I’ll not wager against you, my lord. They’re very like cat’s hairs. And the only cat around here is Master Jacques.’

  ‘Does that confirm—’ Roger frowned. ‘If I can get my head around this – does that confirm bloody Ralph has had a hand in all this?’ His face had paled with fury.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Hildegard interrupted. ‘Escrick was in charge of the cat much of the time.’ She gave a sudden laugh. ‘And of course, that must have been where he got all those scratches on his face and neck. I’ve been thinking they must have come about in the struggle with his victims. But they were far too sharp and small. Master Jacques! Is he enough to provide the link?’

  ‘That’s for the coroner to decide,’ said Hubert. ‘Perhaps we can find the cat and match the hairs later.’

  No one made a move but they were satisfied with this evidence, slight though it was. A novice was roused to bring more wine.

  There was still one question that Hildegard was compelled to broach, despite the soporific effect of the fire and the Guienne. ‘It’s the question of Godric’s poulaines,’ she began. ‘The prints were clearly there beside Ada’s body.’

  Ulf interrupted. ‘My kitchen lads might provide the missing piece there. If you remember, we were watching them dressing the table and bringing in the salt that day at Hutton? And I said, look at them making a fuss over some salt, and you said, I wonder they don’t trip over the points of their poulaines, and I said, I’ll have to fine the devils, and you said—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I remember the gist.’ Hildegard was impatient.

  ‘Well then. I said to him later, I said, I’m going to have to fine you, jack, if you don’t do something about them—apparently he sold them to Escrick that very day!’

  ‘So Escrick was wearing them in the grain store?’

  ‘Must have been.’

  ‘And, getting blood on them, I suppose he had to dispose of them as quickly as possible, which in this case meant up the nearest chimney—’

  ‘—which happened to be in Sir Ralph’s apartment!’ Ulf looked pleased as all the loose ends were tied up.

  ‘But why was the red chaperon singed?’ Hildegard persisted. ‘It was hidden – which in itself is significant.

  Nobody had an answer.

  ‘There are many mysteries in life,’ observed the abbot.

  ‘All that way in pursuit of the midwife for nothing.’ Ulf patted Hildegard on the back of the hand. ‘Never mind.’

  She removed her hand from beneath his and adjusted her coif, aware of Hubert’s sharp glance. ‘And we still don’t know what happened to the midwife,’ she said. ‘Nor who fired the mill. And, she added, with the feeling that it should be out in the open at last,’ ‘Nor do we know who that band of riders were we met that night.’

  Ulf shook his head and said emphatically, ‘No, we don’t. They’ll be long gone by now.’ And his glance slid past hers in a way that made her file it away for later. The fields have eyes. He knew something.

  ‘We’re really knocking the skittles for six tonight,’ pronounced Roger, deeply satisfied. ‘I can’t wait to get to Hutton tomorrow to bang a few heads together.’

  Hubert observed him in silence.

  ‘Well, maybe just William’s,’ he corrected, aware of the sudden chill. ‘Ralph doesn’t need his brains rattling. He’s unhinged already if he thinks he could have got away with a ruse like that! Passing off a little maid for a page! I ask you. Can you see a maid wielding a sword?’ Then he frowned. ‘But the biggest mystery of all is: who tried to poison me? Are we any nearer solving that one? I don’t think so.’

  Later, when the bell for matins had dragged the monks from their beds, Ulf followed Hildegard to the bottom of the spiral stair to her night chamber. Roger was some way behind them, rounding off some yarn to Hubert de Courcy. Ulf put a hand on her arm. ‘Before Roger comes, listen. You know and I know that Sir William is the likely culprit in fixing Roger’s drink. Melisen must have agreed to do it. Don’t ask me how, but she was the only one with any sort of opportunity. And what I’m saying is it’s probably best if we let Roger find it out for himself when he gets to Hutton.’

  ‘If William’s there.’

  ‘And if it was William,’ he added.

  They looked at each other.

  ‘We have no proof,’ Hildegard said, driven by some perverse desire to keep to the facts.

  Ulf tugged at his beard. ‘I know that. You know that.’

  ‘Let’s call it a night,’ she said, seeing how tired he was. ‘When are you leaving tomorrow?’

  ‘Almost before my head touches the pillow,’ he said. ‘Will you come along with Philippa and Sibilla? I think everybody should be there to support Roger.’

  Immensely relieved that she could get to sleep without the threat of Escrick hanging over her, Hildegard nevertheless still worried about Roger and what he would do when he discovered that his young wife and his brother-in-law had plotted against him. She offered up a small prayer on his behalf, but was little comforted.

  Shortly after dawn, while Hildegard was making her way along the upper ward to the solar in the hope of finding Philippa, Sibilla caught up with her. ‘I do hope you’ll ride with us to Hutton,’ she said. ‘It seems Roger wants us all to meet him there.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’d be honoured to share your wagon. But what about you, how are you feeling now?’ The dressing-down Roger had given his brother and sister-in-law had been heard all over the castle.

  ‘I’m still in a daze. It was such a stupid plan and I’m so ashamed.’ She lowered her head.

  Hildegard wondered whether she would have expressed shame if the plan had worked.

  ‘It’s Ralph,’ Sibilla continued, ‘he can be so persuasive. I just let him lead me on. Not that I want to be disloyal. I’m not putting all the blame on him. But he so hates being dependent on me, having nothing of his own and his brother having so much.’

  ‘And I suppose you’d do anything to help him out of loyalty.’

  ‘He is my husband. But who would have thought that treacherous devil Escrick would go to such lengths?’

  Hildegard remembered what the maid had told her about Escrick, and his status within the household. She herself had seen him hand Sibilla down from her silvery mare on the journey through the woods to Castle Hutton on that first day. It had struck her then that there was something familiar if not intimate in the way he held her round the waist. When she slid to the ground with that teasing laugh she had lingered just that moment too long in his arms. Hildegard kept such thoughts to herself and asked, ‘Was he in your service long?’

  ‘Years. His father was a bondsman working at our fisheries near Bridlington. He bought his freedom and his son grew up ambitious instead of accepting his place. But when I inherited he was certainly someone to lean on in matters of running the estates. I don’t know what I’m goi
ng to do without him.’ She put a hand over her mouth at the enormity of such a thought. ‘What I mean is, he kept the tenants up to scratch. No one ever stepped out of line.’

  ‘Maybe now you know why.’

  Sibilla looked chastened.

  ‘I was just going in to look for Philippa,’ said the nun. ‘Is she coming back with us?’

  ‘She is. You’re both riding in the wagon with me.’ Sibilla pushed ahead of Hildegard and marched into the solar. They found Philippa standing by the casement, gazing off into the distance. ‘We’re going as soon as you’re ready, sweeting, and we’re taking Hildegard with us because she’s always calm.’

  ‘I’m always calm!’ flared Philippa, turning, with fists clenched. ‘Don’t talk to me about calm. How dare you! I am calm! I’m very calm! I can’t see you being calm if your damned father had just risen from the dead!’ She burst into a flood of tears.

  Hildegard went over and took her in her arms. She suspected Philippa’s distress was not caused by what she had gained by her father coming back to life. It was caused by what she feared she had lost by it. ‘Has he sent a messenger to let you know where he is?’ she asked gently.

  ‘He was delayed at Rievaulx,’ Philippa said, dabbing her eyes. ‘A messenger has been sent to ask if he would return to Hutton. We must set off at once.’

  She rubbed her face, making it blotchy, and Sibilla said, ‘You need some rose-water if you’re expecting to assert your allure.’ She went over to an aubry and opened it, rummaging around until she found a glass flagon. ‘Use this, silly child. I didn’t realise it was him you were weeping about. Have you solved the puzzle he set you?’

  Philippa dabbed her cheeks with rose-water from the flagon and shook her head.

  ‘Puzzle, did you say?’ Hildegard’s interest was aroused.