‘Was it someone in a hurry to get on board?’
‘Everyone was in a hurry once they understood what was happening. You can’t blame anyone for being quick to get out to her.’
‘What happened to the boat this fellow was in?’
‘I don’t know.I was distracted by everything else and when I looked back he must have been already on board and the boat – I don’t think it had anyone else in it. I don’t remember.’
‘So we can’t go questioning the boatmen about it.’
‘Was it Brother Martin, do you think?’
‘Climbing an anchor chain?’
Egbert nodded. ‘He was a youngish fellow, we’re told.’
‘He was too far away to see if he wore a habit or not. It could have been Martin.’
‘If it was he’d have tucked up his habit – it would’ve looked like a lay-brother’s tunic at that distance.’
‘We’d better follow it up somehow. The first man on board? Eager to help or after something valuable in the cargo?’
‘Find out if the crew hanging over the side saw him. They might know who he was.’
‘It’s not likely unless they regularly put into the haven here and even so, they rarely come ashore.’
‘True but I’ll do it and at once, before they fulfil their master’s request and join him on the St Marie.’ Egbert hurried out.
‘We need this list of books. I’ll go and get it.Maybe there was something more valuable than anybody’s letting on? Why else would anybody be fingering through the cargo?’ Gregory got up. ‘Are you coming with us to face the abbot in his den, Hildegard?’
‘If you want me to?’
Gregory rolled his eyes in answer and he, too, left in haste.
‘And what about you?’ Hubert reached for her hand.
‘I have an idea,’ she replied. Rising, she went to the door. ‘Are they still looking after you?’
Hubert gave a wan smile full of fake self-pity. Then he blew her a kiss. ‘Don’t forget to report back.’
The workshop door stood open. When Hildegard appeared Hywel was measuring a coloured liquid into one of the retorts. He glanced up. ‘Just making some of that bone-set your abbot likes so much.’
‘I’m not sure he likes it so much as the promise of it making him better the sooner.’
Hywel, smiling, set the vessel on the work bench and pushed a stool forward. ‘And what can I do for you, domina?’
After telling him that she had a question for him, she asked him point-blank what had so worried him the previous night. ‘You were as desperate as everyone else to get out to the ship but for you I believe it was a little more than the thought of the help you could give to save the crew. Forgive me,’ she added, ‘I mean no slur on your character. Some things are valuable beyond any price, perhaps?’
He frowned and his lips tightened. ‘I am deficient in charity. I know I am. It has often been said. It is my greatest failing.’He looked pensive then caught her eye. ‘If pushed I would say I deemed the crew and the conversi well able to sort things out between themselves. They are all practical fellows.’
He got up and went over to his shelf of books. Before she could make some leading remark about their surprising number he pre-empted her. ‘The abbey is generous in its lending. Unlike many of his monks the new abbot regards my attempts to predict tides and measure the stars and motions of the planets as practical work and useful to him in his overseas trade. However, prediction based on number can sometimes merge into prophecy... ’He frowned. ‘To be honest, I was waiting for a particular volume on another subject. As I’m sure you’ve deduced from even a cursory glance at my work bench my main interest is to discover the true nature of metals.’
She waited for him to explain.
‘Since al-Razi discovered that acqua regia could dissolve gold the study of metals has gained momentum. Robert of Chester wrote the first translation from the Arabic of a book called The Composition of Alchemy and since then Adelard of Bath and many others, including Anselm and Roger Bacon, have made their contributions.’ He turned his luminous gaze on her to see if she understood. Seeing that she was interested, he continued. ’Since their day the search for the reverse process has fuelled the imagination of us all. And here,’ he handed her a small volume, ‘is the first part of a book copied from an earlier text. I was waiting for the second volume. It should have been on board the St Marie.’
‘And it wasn’t?’
He shook his head. ‘The casket it was carried in was there. I have it.’ He pointed. ‘See, this book fits in neatly.’ He showed her by dropping the book into the wooden box and taking it out again. ‘The one that should be inside, however, has been removed by someone.’
‘Who knew you were expecting it?’
‘Everyone. I make no secret of my researches. Apart from Abbot Philip they don’t take them seriously anyway.’
‘But someone must have decided to get there first.’
His face was devoid of warmth. ‘So it would seem.’
She held back from mentioning the body they had been to inspect earlier that morning. Maybe he knew. Maybe he didn’t. She shivered. He gave so little away.‘This casket – did it have a key?’
‘No doubt. Why do you ask?’
‘Who would have the key in their possession?’
‘The ship man, probably. I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it. I leave the transportation of cargo to those directly involved. I trust them to know the importance of security.’
‘So someone would have had to get hold of the key – unless it had been left in the lock?’ He made no answer. ‘And you say that the casket was already open when you found it? I assume you found it on board?’
It was a leading question but he did not fall for it. Instead he replied with an irritated shrug, ‘You saw me leave in one of the coracles, didn’t you? You know I was there.’
‘And the casket was where?’ she persisted.
‘It was thrown down on deck. Someone had decided it was worthless. But they must have known the worth of what it contained.’
‘And, recognizing the casket, you brought it with you?’ Again he didn’t answer so she held out her hand. ‘May I see?’
He handed over the casket so she could have a closer look. It was gilded but of plain workmanship of oak with beveled edges.It appeared to have been dropped in the sea and was water-stained inside and as she turned it between her hands a few drops of water dripped out. Enough, she decided, to wash away any sign of poison.
When she asked how it had come to be so wet he said, ‘It would have been the rain. If you recall it was lashing down after the ship caught fire. I simply hope the book is being kept somewhere dry at least. I worry for so precious an object. Precious to scholars, that is.’
‘Was it something any of the brothers would have wanted?’
‘I doubt it – unless they intended to destroy it as a work of the devil!’ He gave a humourless smile.
‘Is that what you fear? That someone might have thrown it overboard?’
‘It’s probably lying at the bottom of Southampton Water at this very moment.’
Handing the casket back, she glanced round. The main purpose of her visit was not with the friar. ‘No apprentice today?’
He replaced the casket on the bench. ‘He’ll be about.’
‘And Alaric?’ That was the point of her visit, but she hid her interest under an air of nonchalance.
‘I would imagine he’s attending to his chores.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Or entertaining the rest of the conversi with his juggling tricks.’
Hildegard got up to go. ‘I do hope you find the contents of the casket safe and sound.’
‘It’s devastating.’ His voice shook. ‘More than that – I’m in the middle of an experiment and cannot proceed until I have the rest of the formula from the book.’
While the men were in Chapter Hildegard looked for Alaric but finding him busy with chores in the kitchens and unlikely to
be able to talk in confidence for some time yet, she eventually sought peace inside the church.
The founders had dedicated it to the glory of St Edward the Confessor and, against Cistercian teaching, it was richly decorated, the walls painted in white and maroon geometric patterns, and the glass in the lancets vividly coloured showing familiar scenes from the Bible. Only the tiled floor reminded her of Meaux because they displayed the same patterns that came from their own workshops, with heraldic beasts, and the coats of arms of many illustrious dynasties.
A familiar feeling of transcendant joy swept over her as she sat with her back against one of the pillars in the North transept.
Hubert wanted her to give up her participation in what now formed such a deep part of her life. Perhaps lightly at first, she had taken her vows as the best route out of a difficult situation, but her faith, skeptical it was true, and constantly questioning, had deepened into something unexpected over the years. She felt more and more convinced that she should embody and cherish a sense of the ineffable mystery of life. Someone had to bear witness to it lest it be destroyed by the blood lust, ambition and brutality of the times.
So much mindless violence ran through all corners of the world. A heedless disregard for the virtues of kindness, compassion and love now contaminated every aspect of daily life. Men gloried in violence, the more brutal the more admired, and women and children were expected to acquiesce in the coarseness of ambition such men fostered. Every difference led to disagreement ending in violence and the hand of peace was disregarded. Only the brutal seemed to thrive.
Thus it ever was, she told herself. Even so, she could not turn her back on the one chance she had been given to make a change for the better. What could she do outside the Order as a mere wife? She could not even own her own property or go to law. At least, as a femme sole, she would be free to do those things on an equal footing with any free man – but that wasn’t what Hubert was asking of her.
Always the image of Hubert before her, her light, her love. She could not turn from him either. Whatever he desired, she desired too.
While she tried to form the words that would clarify her dilemma and lead more clearly to an answer, the West door opened and someone came inside. Heated whispering followed, then, as if assuming they were alone two voices became raised in argument. It was a man and a woman and the latter she recognised at once.
It was Mistress Delith. She was in a fury.‘I’m not coming back! Never! Never! So don’t waste your breath. I don’t know how you found me! How did you find me, you snake?’
‘I have my contacts, I told you.’
‘I’m not going back to all that!’
‘You’ll do as I tell you.’
‘I will not!’ There was the sound of a scuffle. Then Delith again. ‘Do they know who you are?’
‘Who?’
‘That lot in the guest house?’
‘Nah, not them. How would they?’
‘What did you tell them?’
‘My wife’s run off. I’m a merchant from Winchester way.’
‘That’s a laugh. Did they believe you?’
‘Why wouldn’t they?’
‘Then keep it like that. But keep me out of it!’
‘I won’t have to, will I? I’ve told them I’m looking for my thieving, runaway wife. And as you’re coming back with me... today...!’
‘No, I am not! Don’t you get it, you thick-wit? I’ve had it with you! You’re a complete stranger. I’ve never set eyes on you in my life. I shall deny all knowledge of you. I’ll have you done for abduction. I’m a respectable widow. My husband’s dead. I’m going on pilgrimage. You say otherwise and you’re a dead man!’
‘You? On pilgrimage! That’s a laugh! When were you planning to leave?’
‘As soon as I can, once they get hold of this buggering ship the master says he’ll lay on for us in place of the one that got burned.’
‘I’ve heard so much about last night my head’s done in. What happened?’
‘It was struck, wasn’t it?’
‘What? By a fiery thunderbolt? No wonder it was struck if you were on board!’
There was a pause. He asked, ‘You were, weren’t you?’
‘What if I was?’
‘There’s your proof! It was a sign!’
‘Aye, it was! A sign we can’t set sail when we want to!’
‘Ha! I guessed as much. So much for wanting a different life! Still turning tricks.’
‘I was not!’
‘I hope it was worth your while.’
‘Don’t you bother about me!’
‘How much did you get out of it?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with you!’
‘Oh yes, it has! As far as I’m concerned you’re still whoring for me. Why else do you think I dragged myself into this dump? You don’t get away from me that easy. What you earn is mine!’
‘Don’t you threaten me!’
There was a crack followed by a scuffle.
Hildegard got up in alarm.
The woman’s voice croaked, ‘Take your hands off me, Lionel.’
‘Fair’s fair. You’re my best little whore. I’m not letting you go so easy! How much did you make out of ‘em?’
‘I got nothing, you sot wit. I admit I went over for that, who wouldn’t? But then I had a better idea.’
Delith’s voice came from further away. ‘I’ll let you into a secret if you promise to lay off. Pretend you don’t know me for a bit. I’ve got a plan. It’ll be worth your while in the end.’
‘What secret?’
‘Something that’ll give you more than you’ve ever dreamed of... but you’ll have to trust me and do as I say.’
The man must have followed because Hildegard, already risen from her position behind the pillar, heard him say something about not wanting to be double-crossed. Then his words were cut off as the great oak doors slammed behind him.
The monks were filing out of Chapter when Hildegard crossed Cloister Garth to join Gregory and Egbert. Alaric was as elusive as before and she still hadn’t managed to have a word with him.
‘He didn’t make a murmur about the ship other than to say that our prayers – their prayers,’ Egbert corrected, as she joined them, ‘were answered and the Lord spared them with little loss of life.’
‘Who’s this? Abbot Philip?’
He nodded. ‘He said nothing about Brother Martin either. Now he wants to talk to us in private. Come on. He’s already gone over to his lodging.’
As they left the main buildings and crossed the grassy expanse to the secluded corner where the abbot’s large, stone-built house stood, Hildegard told them about the conversation she had overheard in the church. ‘I didn’t have time to let them know I was there. It was a man and a woman. They launched straight into an argument – ’
‘Who’s the swain and the damosel in this story?’ asked Egbert before she could go on. ‘I’m imagining a lovers’ tiff here.’
‘Not that at all. The swain as you call him is a fellow who arrived last night during the storm – he wears a bright yellow cotte – you can’t miss him – and he’s claiming to be a merchant from Winchester. In fact,’ she paused, ‘it seems he’s Delith’s pimp. Can you believe it?’
‘I have a strong ability to believe everything I hear,’ Egbert answered. ‘It’s easier that way. So the damosel was Mistress Delith? What were they arguing about?’
‘He wants her to return to her old life but she refuses because she has a secret that will give him more than he’s ever dreamed of, or so she says.’
‘Some scandalous fact about someone or something she’s managed to get hold of?’ hazarded Egbert.
‘This missing book of Hywel’s?’ Gregory suggested, dismissing blackmail for the moment.
‘She could sell it for a decent sum – if she could find a buyer.’ Egbert judged.
‘I’m sure her man could find a buyer even for something like that if what he says is true about his contacts
. But no,’ Hildegard shook her head. ‘I don’t see how she can have it. I saw her as soon as she got out of the boat. She was sick with terror and almost fell at my feet. I would have noticed something like a book. Those narrow sleeves she wears. Nowhere to conceal anything as bulky as a book.’
‘It must be some bit of cargo she’s stolen,’ Egbert suggested. ‘A cup, a spoon. That sort of thing would appeal to her from what little I know of her, God forgive me for such a thought.’
Gregory had been unusually silent. Now he indicated the sub-prior standing under the porch as they approached. ‘We’re expected.’
‘Over here!’ the sub-prior greeted. ‘The lord abbot is within.’
The sub-prior was a portly, busy little man, quite unlike the cold fish prior, and quickly ushered them into the abbot’s solar and asked them to wait while he announced them.
Unlike the church this was a plain enough chamber, in the Cistercian style, but one or two objects immediately caught Hildegard’s attention. A wonderful tapestry hung on one wall. It was a hunting scene and looked like the very fine work for which Normandy was well-known. The silk thread had a sheen that gave a suggestion of real life as if living creatures were hiding among the leaves with real fruit hanging from the branches. On the abbot’s lectern was a bible, reasonably enough, but from it hung a page marker in the exquisite and expensive embroidery called Opus Anglicanum.
Before she could comment, the swish of Abbot Philip’s robes announced his arrival from the adjoining chamber. He was attired with no less magnificent discretion as she had already noticed. His cope was embroidered along the hem with small figures in a narrative involving saints, lions, the sun and moon, and mermaids. Making much of this garment he went to sit in his carved wooden chair, an object no less noticeable for its handsome carvings.
Orders from Citeaux to be plain in dress and habitation could clearly be interpreted in several ways.
The group from Meaux stood as they were in their plain, white, somewhat grubby robes, unadorned, sandaled, and not invited to sit.
The Alchemist of Netley Abbey: Eighth in the Hildegard of Meaux medieval mystery series Page 15
