It was no wild animal. With a confused look on her face Delith pushed the sacking aside and rose to her feet. She stared back at her audience.
‘Am I in dear Netley Abbey already?’ she asked in a dazed and astonished voice.
She smiled prettily and stood for a moment, her black hair tumbling about her shoulders, a newish though crumpled russet gown adding to her usual allure while she ran both hands from under her bust and over her hips, ostensibly to smooth its creases but making such a practiced gesture that no-one could have been in doubt what it meant.
Master John, standing in the shadow of the cloisters, stepped forward.
‘And then,’ Hildegard explained later to Hubert, ‘she was helped down by a hundred willing hands and conveyed like a queen into the refectory where the conversi, who had been thinking ill of her and assuming she had got her just desserts, could not do enough to serve her. Likewise some of the pilgrims,’ she added.
‘So she was not murdered by her paramour after all. Good for that, but who then, is still trapped in the sluice?’
‘That we will not know until they pull out the body.’
‘They need to make a list of anyone missing. People are coming and going in such profusion at present maybe that’s too difficult, although the guest-master, if he’s up to the job, should be able to sort it out in a moment.’
‘It won’t be easy. I’ve noticed that the pilgrims are already beginning to take their things down to the shore ready to go on board the ship when it arrives.’
Just then the double-doors leading into the infirmary opened and a figure slipped inside.
It was Mistress Sweet, her fair hair loosely braided and a smile on her face that would have melted ice. ‘My lord abbot,’ she made an obeisance as she passed, ‘and my lady Hildegard, together, discussing church matters?’
She went quickly on down the hall to where Mistress Beata, sitting up in bed in the attitude of someone expecting visitors, greeted her and offered her a stool to sit on.
‘Well, my dear. And what have you to say?’
‘First, I have brought you some flowers I picked for you, mistress, and pray tell me, I beg, how are you feeling today?’
‘As well as I felt yesterday. Thank you for your concern.’ The amused edge to Beata’s words was audible to both Hubert and Hildegard. They exchanged glances.
Ceci leaned forward to say confidentially, ‘I have heard that you have a precious book for sale and as you know both I and my sister deal in precious objects.’
‘No, I did not know that, my dear. And I must correct you on one thing. I do not have in my possession anything of value, although I do know where such an object is being kept.’
‘That aside, my dear Beata, if I may call you so, I understand that the owner is willing to sell? And I am willing to make my offer.’ She pulled a little trinket from her sleeve. ‘Here is a promise of my serious wish to buy.’
Beata didn’t take the gift and Ceci placed it carefully on the bed covering. Instead Beata smiled benignly and said, ‘I note your interest, my dear. If you tell me how much you can offer will you let me convey your interest to the owner?’
Ceci leaned forward and whispered into Beata’s ear. The old lady’s expression did not alter.
‘Perhaps you will come back to me after vespers to find out whether it has been accepted?’
‘Willingly, mistress.’ Rising gracefully Mistress Sweet-as-ever bowed her head and floated back up the hall between the empty cubicles and out into the shining day.
Beata called down to Hubert. ‘Hear that, my lord abbot? I have never been so popular in my life. To think, all it takes to bring them flocking like bees round a honey pot is a promise of something that may not even exist!’
Chuckling she lay back on the pillows. Her cough, noticed Hildegard, seemed much less troublesome of late. All praise to Brother Hywel’s skill, no doubt.
To Hubert she whispered, ‘Does she have it after all?’
‘It is her game. She’s amusing herself and will draw them on like hounds after a scent.’
‘And will the quarry be caught or disappear into the forest like a chimera?’
He took her hand. ‘Patience.’
Beata had three offers for the as yet unseen book, one forced from her husband, who believed he was the rightful owner until Abbot Philip settled his account, the friar, who seemed to have given up hope of ever obtaining what he himself had encouraged the abbey to purchase, and a dealer in cheese and domestic artefacts, who liked a profit when she saw one. Before Hildegard could find out if Abbot Philip was going to join this throng his sacristan was seen going into the infirmary. When he came out again he was smiling and made straight for the abbot’s lodging.
Then the three mercenaries employed by the earl of Arundel to conduct into his treasury his imports from overseas were seen to enter the infirmary. This time they made less noise than when they had been in their night-time pursuit of Prince Owain Glyn Dwr. Affable, swordless, jockeying not to be in the lead, they headed for Mistress Beata’s cubicle. Hildegard followed them in out of no more than native curiosity.
The captain spoke for them. ‘My lord offers a sum suitable for its worth,’ he told her after mentioning the existence of a book the earl had hoped to purchase from the abbot before its unfortunate disappearance. ‘You can be sure his gratitude will be most generously expressed.’
Smiling with contentment Beata replied, ‘Tell him this is a great honour for the one who possesses the book. I will convey your message when I can. Come to me after vespers if you will.’ Still smiling, she closed her eyes.
As the men marched out again Hildegard heard one of them ask, ‘Why don’t we just ransack the place?’
‘And have the abbot on us like a ton of lead?’
‘He ain’t got room to argue – when it comes down to it he’ll have to pay his - ’ he sniggered and the other two shushed him but when they got outside, as Hildegard observed from the doorway, they were laughing and punching each other on the arms and were clearly planning something with that air of invincibility well-armed or physically strong folk sometimes have, and she turned back to Hubert to see what he made of it but his eyes were closed and he looked so peaceful that she decided to let him be.
Delith had apparently retired to her shared sleeping quarters where her bags remained. After a long walk to Hound and back to purchase various oddments for her pilgrimage, as she told it, she needed to rest. ‘It was my only chance,’ she had announced, ‘and my guardian angel came along to offer me a lift part of the way back, in the earl’s empty wagon.’
When the waggoner and his lad emerged from the refectory to drive it round to the abbot’s stores they confirmed what she said, to some extent. They had picked her up half way between Hound and Netley. She had been half-dead with fatigue and they had taken pity on her, she being so pretty and a lady in distress, as they said.
Everybody floated back towards the kitchen sluice but although the men were now standing ankle deep in water to show that something was being dislodged inside the culvert there was still no firm news about it so, as one, they began to amble outside to the place where the stream entered.
Alaric was sitting in the sun, his tunic coiled on his head to keep the sun off, while a gang of lay-brothers set about temporarily blocking off the flow of water in order to give others time to climb inside the culvert and add their strength to the rope that was knotted round the shoulders of the corpse.
‘Soon have him out now,’ somebody remarked and nobody corrected him. If it wasn’t Mistress Delith it could be anybody.
While she watched them Brother Heribert went over to Alaric. ‘You’ve done well. Mistress Beata would like your attendance now, however. I fear she is sinking fast.’
In alarm Alaric scrambled to his feet, pulling off his make-shift capuchon and slipping it on as he hurried back inside the garth in the steps of Heribert.
Hildregard went to join the pilgrims remaining in the cloister but
tiring of their company changed her mind and went over to the fountain where she scooped up some water in her cupped hands to wet her face and took a long drink of sweet well-water. The sun was beating down as furiously as ever.
Before long, as she knew he would, Alaric reappeared. He came straight across to her.
Quiet-voiced, he told her, ‘She is not sinking. She’s as well as before. But I have it. She wants me to show it to Friar Hywel then take it straight back again. I’d like someone to come with me.’
‘Shall I?’
He nodded with relief. ‘Jankin seems to have disappeared. I haven’t seen him all morning.’
‘He’ll be in the drying shed no doubt. Shall I fetch him?’
‘I’ll come too.’
Realising he felt the need for reinforcements she led the way. As quickly as they were able in the intense heat they made their way over ground that only days ago had been covered in grass but was now as hard as baked clay. They slipped through the side door into the herb garden.
The sun was nearing its zenith.
Jankin, with Lucie beside him, was sitting in the shade of the vines desultorily picking the heads off a pile of lavender stalks that lay across their laps. A heady scent filled the air.
Noticing Alaric’s expression Jankin dumped his share of lavender into Lucie’s lap and slowly rose to his feet. ‘What is it? Have you dragged her from the sluice already?’
‘She’s back, large as life. Didn’t you hear the commotion? She claims she’s been in Hound all this time, buying stuff for her journey.’
‘That’s a relief. Hear that, Lucie? She’s back and you’ve got a mistress after all.’
Lucie did not look especially pleased. ‘Is she asking for me?’
Hildegard told her she might have an hour or so before she was needed as Delith had gone to lie down. ‘It’s something else.’ She indicated Alaric and he pulled a small package part of the way from his sleeve.
‘You’ve got it? She trusts you with it?’
‘Why shouldn’t she trust me? Will you come with us? It’s best to have a couple of witnesses. I have to take it back to her when he’s had a look.’
Solemn-faced, not knowing what their reception would be, they moved off up the garden towards Hywel’s workshop with Lucie calling, ‘Wait for me!’
Chapter Thirteen
He was lying back in the wooden chair with his grey robe loosened at the neck to reveal a scruff of black chest hair. His eyes were shut. His face looked washed out, his breathing shallow, and when they entered he did not move.
An empty beaker that might once have contained his special apple elixir was lying on the floor beside him.
‘Hywel?’ Hildegard’s voice was low but it acted like a whip.
His eyes snapped open, his mouth sagged, he bent forward to get up then jerked to a stop when he saw the other three, one of them a girl he had only seen in the distance, filing into his workshop.
Noticing his embarrassment Hildegard went over. ‘I didn’t mean to alarm you. Alaric has something to show you.’
Rubbing a hand over his face Hywel tried to pull himself together. ‘Wha…?’ he slurred.
‘It’s the thing you want to buy,’ Alaric said at once. ‘I’ve been allowed to bring it to show you as a special privilege because it was thought best that you should know what you are offering all your wealth for.’
‘Best, is it?’ He knuckled both his eye sockets. ‘And you’re the go-between? I should have guessed.’ He shook his head, becoming more alert but not fully in control. ‘Best for whom? This thief, to taunt me with it?’ He darted a glance at Hildegard. ‘You said you didn’t want to be involved.’
Alaric, showing no vestige of the fear he had felt earlier towards Hywel, was strengthened by the sight of the friar in such disarray. ‘She’s not involved, magister. I happened to see her in the garth just now and asked her to accompany me – a request to which she kindly agreed.’
‘Why? Because you’re frightened of me?’
Alaric ignored that. Instead he announced, ‘I have here the book of Al-Gerber, or a copy at least. Would you care to take a look?’
As if fearing it was some kind of jest Hywel reached out for it. His hands were shaking. Reverently he held it up to the light. The glow that entered his expression beatified him. Time was distilled into that one moment. Then the glow slowly faded. He jerked a glance towards the silent group. ‘Do you have anything to tell me?’
The boys eyed each other and shook their heads. ‘What should we have to tell you, magister?’ Alaric looked puzzled. There was no doubting that his response was genuine. His fine, fair face could conceal nothing.
‘This?’ Hywel held the book up so they could all see it. He had not opened it. ‘Who has had it in their possession since you took it from the ship, Alaric?’
Alaric remained mute.
‘Is this how it was when you found it?’
‘Exactly so, magister.’
Hywel threw it down onto his work bench. ‘Let it be sold on without my meagre contribution. May the purchaser not rue the day.’
He began to laugh in a choking sort of way, half-way between a snarl and a cry, and he leaned forward with both hands over his face as if to conceal the extent of his grief. There was no other word for it. He was grief-stricken. His shoulders heaved. ‘Get out!’ he muttered, ‘Go! Get out! Leave me! And take this with you!’
When nobody took him at his word he got up, pushing the book into Alaric’s grasp, then lunged towards them all, lashing out until, not wishing to strike a master, they bent their heads under his fists and scrambled to get through the door. Lucie ran out after them shouting, ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened? I don’t understand!’
Hildegard took hold of Hywel by the arm and dragged him back. ‘Stop this! Isn’t that what you wanted? Alaric is acting in good faith. What on earth is the matter with you?’
He swung on her, ferocious, his eyes flaming, and looked as if he was about to strike her but then the strength left him. He swivelled with a strangled cry and flung himself down into the chair and put his head in his hands with his shoulders shaking. ‘It is all lost,’ he sobbed. ‘Everything. Gone. Finished. I may as well throw myself into the waters where that book should be.’
‘You seem to me,’ Hildegard began in a pacifying tone, ‘to give way to extremes of emotion sometimes, often to little purpose. Let’s look at this. Alaric brought you the book when he need not have bothered. And all you do is berate him! Whatever has disappointed you is not his fault. I would have thought you would be better than this, Hywel.’
His head jerked up as if she had slapped him. ‘Don’t you understand? It is gone!’
‘What is it?’
‘The Stone! Why else would I want the book? It was to have been the means to smuggle the Stone into the country. Right under the nose of the king’s enemies!’ He raised his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes to get a better grip on himself. ‘Why do you imagine Prince Owain was here?’
‘Tell me.’
‘He has left Arundel’s service as personal body-guard. After the last bloody parliament he could not go on! When he fought in Scotland it was as part of King Richard’s army. He had no idea that Arundel would turn against the king. When he understood his intentions he eschewed his fealty. Owain knows me of old. He knows my interests and the extent of my contacts in a certain area of hermetic study. He asked me if I could obtain the Stone he’d heard about. “Let’s get some gold into Richard’s coffers, buy him an army, and at the same time buy our own freedom from England!” That was his high purpose. It became mine too.’
‘Is that why he came here to Netley?’
‘Instead of riding straight back to Wales and safety, yes! When those militia men of Arundel’s arrived he couldn’t risk the probability that they had tracked him down with orders to assassinate him…the way Gaunt had Owain Lawgoch assassinated in France by that paid killer John Lamb. I told him I would receive the Stone when the
cargo was unloaded and send it to him at Sycharth. It was to have reached me as part of a jeweled book cover, looking like nothing but another ordinary semi-precious stone. Master John would have been paid for the safe delivery of an innocuous import. The abbot would have got his book, and his sacristan would have been happy. Prince Owain – well, now you know about him. No losers! Instead – the hand of God they’re calling it in the garth - that bolt of lightning setting fire to the ship and the monk sent by the abbot to make sure the book was saved, poisoned – and finally, the Stone, gone!’
‘Did Abbot Philip know about it?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s heresy even to think it.’
‘Who else on board might have…?’
They both looked at each other with simultaneous astonishment.
‘She…?’ His eyes narrowed.
‘How would she know what it was…?’
‘She couldn’t…A bright jewel…Some bauble to adorn her gown?’
‘Or,’ Hildegard spoke slowly, ‘if as valuable as she believed, something that might change her life forever?’
He became himself. Hildegard witnessed the change. He pulled his garments together with an apology for his appearance and began to move hurriedly about the workshop. ‘She’s here. She came back. Why would she do that if she knew what she possessed? Did she find a buyer in Hound? Quick, we must hurry. We must coax the truth from her by any means we can. Hurry, Hildegard, you’re as deeply involved in this as ever.’
As Hywel strode across the garth with Hildegard beside him the three who had been ejected from his workshop, seeing the expression on Hywel’s face and that they were now out of his line of fire, took up the rear. When they reached the womens’ guest quarters Hildegard took over.
‘Wait here!’ She raised her eyebrows at Lucie but, reluctant to face her mistress yet, she shook her head.
Decisively Hildegard ran up the stairs to the second floor and seeing the door into the dormitory half open, stepped through.
The Alchemist of Netley Abbey: Eighth in the Hildegard of Meaux medieval mystery series Page 27
