Ralph gaped and lowered his blade. ‘That’s Master Jacques! How the devil did he get in?’
William pointed the tip of his sword at the animal and gave Ralph a baleful glance. ‘Well? Are you going to yield and save your cat? Or do you want him dead?’
Apparently unconcerned by his imminent fate, Jacques yawned, revealing tiny predatory teeth, then he stretched his legs in a token attempt to wriggle free. William tightened his grasp.
Ralph looked on helplessly. ‘Let him go, you brute!’
‘Put up your sword, then,’ replied William. He waved the cat above his head. Master Jacques seemed quite content to make the best of things, especially when William wedged him in the crook of one arm the better to wield his sword.
‘Master Jacques…’ Ralph whispered.
At the sound of his name Jacques was transformed. In the twinkling of an eye he became a raging beast, all fangs and snarls, and, leaping upwards, he landed with four barbed paws on William’s face. William dropped his sword in astonishment. Ralph at once sprang forward and pushed the steel tip against his brother-in-law’s throat. ‘Now will you yield? Or will you die?’
With his weapon clattering under his feet as he stumbled blindly about with the cat nailed to his face, William had no choice in the matter. ‘Get this thing off me!’ he roared. Blood was beginning to course down his cheeks. ‘My eyes! Help! I’m being blinded! Get it off!’
‘Let me hear the words,’ said the implacable Ralph, slicing his sword through William’s sleeve so that it flapped as he struggled.
‘I yield, Sir Ralph.’
Ralph put up his sword. ‘Jacques! That’s enough.’
The cat tried to disentangle his claws from his prey but William’s beard, left too long, was coarse and curly.
‘Somebody’s going to have to help him,’ said Ralph, with a nonchalant shrug. He took out a cloth and ran it deftly over his blade with the air of a man who has done a good job and doesn’t mind who knows it. Ulf went over and shook him heartily by the hand.
While everyone’s attention was engaged a rabble of armed men wearing the de Hutton blazon appeared in the doorway. Sizing up the situation, they grabbed William by both arms. One of them picked up his sword and hefted it admiringly before Ulf took charge of it. Master Jacques was persuaded to disentangle his paws and was restored, at arm’s length, to his owner.
From the gallery came the sound of applause. Melisen turned to Hildegard. ‘That was excellent!’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘If only Roger were alive to see it.’
Hildegard took the girl by the hand. ‘Melisen, there is something you should know.’
Just then there was a commotion from outside. With a great shout of jubilation Roger himself came storming through the door into the hall. ‘I missed it, damn it! What a fight! The men are going wild!’ Indeed the windows on to the bailey were thick with faces.
A cry from the gallery made him lift his head. Melisen was leaning over the parapet. As her eyes met her husband’s, she gave another cry and dropped down in a dead faint at Hildegard’s feet. The nun knelt beside her. The girl’s face was as white as snow.
Chapter Twenty-one
HILDEGARD PLACED a tincture of chervil on Melisen’s forehead where there was the beginning of a bruise. Carried, unconscious, into a private chamber and laid gently on the bed by Roger himself, she was just beginning to come round. Her eyes were still shut, however. Fumbling to find the nun’s hand, she grasped it and began to speak in a wispy voice.
‘I had the most angelic vision, sister. It was like a dream of paradise. I thought I saw, entering the Great Hall, my dearly beloved lord, as hale and merry as ever.’ Melisen’s lashes fluttered like black butterflies on her rose-pale cheeks, and with an effort she opened her lustrous eyes and gave a little groan in acknowledgement of her throbbing head.
Hildegard slid out of the way as Roger pushed past the gawping onlookers and heaved to his knees beside the bed. He smothered his wife’s hands with kisses. ‘No dream, my precious martlet, for here I am, in the flesh.’
Hildegard, fingering her wooden cross, found herself drifting back against the far wall. Ulf came to stand beside her. ‘Look at them,’ he whispered. ‘They’re like two turtle doves.’
Hildegard kept her thoughts to herself, merely saying, ‘I expect they’ll want to be left alone after all that.’
While Ulf cleared everyone from the chamber, leaving Roger and Melisen to bill and coo in private, Hildegard made her way down the stairs to the Great Hall. The kitchen staff had already been released from their imprisonment in the buttery, where they had been happily playing dice all afternoon, and the rest of the servants were quickly freed from their bonds and invited into the hall for refreshment. William’s audacity in trying to take the castle with no more than a handful of men to help him was the subject of much merriment. There was some admiration too, and his showing against Ralph was praised for its optimism. Thrust by thrust the sword fight was gone over and over. First one version was given, then another, but the ultimate judgement was always the same – Sir Ralph, despite his gossamer looks, was a swordsman without equal.
Roger briefly came down from the solar to tell Ulf that he would be holding an inquest into the whole matter later that evening. Meanwhile he would be busy, he told him, obscurely, and he’d better get everybody victualled without delay.
‘How am I going to sort this lot out?’ grumbled Ulf when he rejoined Hildegard in the hall. Everybody was in holiday mood. The wine was already flowing, ale too, and the kitchen staff, though swearing and panicking as usual, were working with a will to provide enough roast ox to go round.
‘It is St Willibrod’s Day, don’t forget. They’re due for a holiday. And I must say they’ve rallied round Lord Roger with remarkable loyalty.’ She gave him a level glance.
In reply he led her to a bench on one side of the main concourse. ‘Loyalty, eh?’
She watched him as he gathered his thoughts.
‘Of course I have spies,’ he began at last. ‘We don’t want to be murdered in our beds, do we? And things have been unsettled since that trouble down in London.’
‘And?’ she prompted.
‘Remember I mentioned old Lord de Melsa out by the coast and the trouble that followed when he had nobody to succeed him? Well, Roger thought it a good opportunity to extend his own domain, as you guessed. It was purely in the interests of public order, you understand. That burning of the mill near Driffield was one of several incidents that have taken place recently. Those horsemen you met had already approached me to do a deal. They wanted Roger to lay off de Melsa’s lands and in return they’d sell their produce to him. To show they meant business they fired the mill, making sure the miller and his household got out first. Of course, I didn’t know that was their game when I let you and Egbert go out after the midwife. I’d never have put you in such danger.’
‘Yes, there was a definite chill in the air when they saw my habit.’
‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘it turned out quite well, because what you told me when you got back showed just what sort of villeins I was dealing with.’
‘White Hart villeins?’ she suggested.
‘That’s fizzled out,’ he said emphatically.
‘And now?’ she asked, quickly moving on.
‘It’s not right that folks over there should have to pay through the nose to have their own corn ground, so I’ve persuaded Roger to rebuild the mill. In return they’ll bring in their wheat and we’ll grind it at a fair price. Everybody happy. They’ll also bring in their other produce from the masterless manors so Roger can sell on the surplus to a contact in York.’
‘That all seems very fair.’ Then she widened her eyes. ‘Did you say masterless manors?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘You mean, ones with no one to run them?’
‘At the present moment, yes.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s a modest grange going, where a few women might live and work?’
Ulf gave a slow smile. ‘I do believe there could be one such. Perhaps you’ll ride out with me tomorrow and take a look?’
William was in the doghouse. This was a small prison next to the barracks. When the feasting was under way he was brought out, still manacled, and asked to account for himself. Avice, her hands also bound, stood beside him. The ring she had stolen from Philippa and filled full of what was rumoured to be pope’s poison from Avignon had been scrubbed clean and the poisoned run-off disposed of by burning. It had given off a weird purple flame that had fascinated the spit boy who was given the task of throwing it into the brazier. Phillippa replaced the ring somewhat gingerly on one of her fingers.
Now the two miscreants stood before Roger and his hastily appointed court.
‘I could have you hung by your neck, William,’ he began. ‘You as well, Avice. You’re my sister, for heaven’s sake. What do you mean by trying to poison me?’
‘That’s a lie,’ she answered with a sullen look.
‘You tried to poison Melisen. We’ve just had a look at the evidence.’
‘I admit that. But I didn’t in fact poison her and probably at the last minute I would have thought better of it.’
‘Probably!’ exclaimed Melisen with a derisory laugh. ‘Well, thank you, lady!’
Roger gave a bellow and gestured to one of his men, but Hildegard leaned forward with a hand on his sleeve. ‘What does she mean, she didn’t try to poison you?’
‘Yes, what do you mean?’ demanded Roger.
‘I mean I didn’t poison you. It wasn’t me!’
‘I can probably vouch for her and tell you who did it,’ called a voice from the back of the hall. With a lot of pushing and shoving the priest forced his way to the front.
‘You did it?’ asked Roger, furrowing his brow.
‘Not me, no, heaven forfend! But I know who did. He confessed it to me. It was an accident. He was utterly contrite. Now he’s dead the confidentiality of the confessional is null and void.’
‘Dead?’
‘William killed him.’
‘Explain,’ demanded Roger.
Everyone leaned forward.
‘What I know is poor Godric came to me asking for absolution for accidentally killing his liege lord as he believed,’ the priest began. ‘How the devil did he do it?’ Roger demanded.
‘He didn’t go into detail. It was something to do with salt and a touch of henbane. Don’t ask me. I don’t have to make sense of what they tell me, I just have to listen.’
‘I know what he means. It’s falling into place at last. The salt. Of course.’ Hildegard stepped forward.
‘Don’t talk in riddles, Hildegard!’ Roger said tetchily.
‘It’s like this. You’ve been complaining lately about an insatiable thirst. Everybody’s heard you. The cause? Not some creeping disease as I thought. No. It was simply the fact that salt was being added too liberally to your food. It makes sense.’
‘It makes no sense to us. Say more.’
‘I was puzzled by what it was you could have drunk in your wine to send you into a coma. Various herbs could have had that effect, some easily available in the meadows and ditches, others bought from an apothecary. Like the one in Beverley I went to consult,’ she added.
Melisen gave a little cough and hastily picked up her goblet and hid her face in it.
Hildegard chose her words with care. ‘He told me not only that the pope in France had a poison that could kill whomsoever touched it,’ she glanced at Avice, ‘but also that someone fitting the description of your yeoman Godric paid regular visits in order to purchase cures for a wide range of everyday ailments. Quite innocent ones,’ she added, being careful to avoid looking in Melisen’s direction. ‘He bought potions for sleep and the like. He’d also been asking questions about the dangers of lead piping and the overuse of salt, among other things, and what harm they might do to a man. And that must be what he decided to do! He was salting your food, Roger, out of his great anger with you. Not to kill you but to cause discomfort.’
‘Why should the devil be angry with me?’
‘Well, you were rather mocking of him. Making him bow and walk backwards and so forth for the amusement of your guests.’
‘It was only a little joke.’
‘He was a very proud fellow.’
‘I see.’ Roger looked abashed.
‘Anyway, it seems he wanted to cause you some physical discomfort to get his own back. At the same time he knew you might be taking other remedies—’
‘Did he?’ He glanced at his wife but she was still inspecting the contents of her goblet.
‘And that evening he must have decided to add a little extra to your wine. Just his little joke, of course. But what he didn’t know was that it turned out to be not a little but a lot when added to all the other things you were imbibing. It was his undoing. With such a melange of potions on top of the wine, you collapsed. You could have died. But luckily the electuary I had with me brought you round—’
‘And rendered me sick as a dog. Yes.’
The priest was nodding at all this. ‘It fits in exactly with what he told me,’ he said when Hildegard finished speaking. ‘He really believed he’d poisoned you, my lord. I had to talk him out of putting an end to himself.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ Roger seemed relieved. ‘But what about William? Did he discover the truth and then kill the fellow?’
At this, William perked up, as if scenting a way out.
But for truth’s sake Hildegard had to disappoint him. ‘Unfortunately, no. It wasn’t like that. William couldn’t have known any of this. He stabbed Godric in a fit of rage because he’d heard the rumour that he’d murdered Ada. Somehow it got out that the prints of Godric’s poulaines had been found beside her body.’
‘I don’t see why that should make him kill the man.’
There was a pause.
Melisen put a hand on Roger’s sleeve. ‘Think about it, my sweeting.’
Avice turned on William with blazing eyes. ‘I knew there was some stinking slut in the picture.’
Before she could start a tirade of abuse, she was dragged to a safe distance and had a gag tied over her mouth.
Roger stared anew at William. After a long moment’s consideration he said, ‘You sad devil. A serving wench? You did that for a—? Even so, you deserve to be punished.’
‘He’s going to make him abjure the realm,’ muttered Ulf.
Roger overheard him. ‘I think not, my fine steward. I have a better punishment in mind. One from which he might learn something.’ He gave his old roguish smile. ‘I’m going to send you on a very, very long pilgrimage,’ he announced to William. ‘And I’m going to send you with your wife. Both of you. Together. Go to Jerusalem!’
William looked desperate. ‘I’ll willingly go to Jerusalem. Anywhere. To the Russias. To uttermost Thule. To the land of the Saracens. But alone, walking, walking barefoot even, as befits a knight, in abject humility. But not with—’
‘Your wife?’ asked Roger ingenuously. ‘But I thought I was being lenient?’
The audience in the body of the hall began to laugh. If ever a man’s face expressed dismay it was William’s, and Avice saw it too. Thoroughly humiliated, they were both dragged out to the stables to the mocking cheers of the guests. There they were given a horse each, a pack-bag of kitchen left overs and orders to leave the domain of Roger de Hutton, high lord of the northern lands, before the hour of twelve was struck.
‘In fact,’ proclaimed Roger, ‘go now!’
To make sure they obeyed, three armed men were to escort them as far as the port of Ravenser where they would take ship for Flanders.
Everybody poured out of the gatehouse to watch them leave. Cheers followed them and the four turncoats did an impromptu jig. William had not been popular with his men.
Soon the pilgrims and their escort were small figures at the edge of the forest.
As everybody began to turn back
inside to continue the feast in honour of St Willibrod and the Triumph of Fair Play, something stopped them. Burthred, who had been standing on the fringes with Hildegard’s two hounds, had noticed something. His excited shout made everyone turn.
Spread out across the south meadow and on up the hill beyond for as far as the eye could see was a panorama of flickering lights. On closer inspection it seemed to be an encampment of some sort. And then it was seen that the lights were flares placed between an army of tents.
When everyone fell silent the sound of many horses apparently hobbled for the night could be heard out of the darkness. There was the distant rattle of mail and a barked order that could only come from the mouth of a serjeant.
Roger had reached the drawbridge but when he saw what could only be an army arranged for battle in one of his own meadows, he stared with the same astonishment as everybody else.
Chapter Twenty-two
BY NOW THE village was getting into its stride for a final night of celebration. Thick smoke from burning tar barrels drifted across the dale. It almost obliterated the south meadow and the army encamped in it and for one startling moment made it look like a scene from hell.
Roger recovered his wits before anyone else. ‘What the devil—? Who are they? Are they Scots? I didn’t know they were on the rampage again. Why the hell wasn’t I warned?’
He turned furiously on Ulf but he had already gone. They watched as he strode down the path to the nearest sentry. He said something to the man and a short discussion ensued. The sentry kept pointing with his pike to the top of the meadow, where a pavilion, larger than all the rest, was pitched. By the light from the flares they could see it was dancing with pennants. There was a flag, too, and Roger nearly exploded when somebody with keener sight than all the rest said it looked very like Roger’s own ensign flying there.
‘Don’t be a sot-wit,’ he growled.
Then Ulf came panting back. He was terse. ‘It’s Sir Edwin, your son.’
‘What? What the bloody hell’s he thinking? Attacking me! Are his brains in his arse?’
Hangman Blind Page 31
