‘Well,’ murmured Hywel. He made no further comment.
Hildegard helped Hubert hobble back to his own cubicle where the two monks joined them. As he passed on his way out Hywel stopped by the bed for a moment but did no more than give a stark, black glance at Hildegard as he asked Hubert if there was anything more he could do for him.
‘You’ve got me on my feet, brother, that’s the main thing. I shall be ever in your debt.’
Hywel raised a hand in farewell.
Hubert beamed happily at his three Cistercians. ‘Have I news!’ He looked round at them, teasing them into a state of suspense until Gregory threatened to break his other leg.
‘C’mon, Hubert,’ Egbert agreed. ‘What news can you have, lying here day after day? We’re the ones out and about having adventures.’
‘Well, it’s this,’ Hubert relented. ‘I have arranged with Master John to book passage for us on a boat leaving from Lymington within the next week. It will take us all the way back to the East Riding on its usual route after delivering ale from the brewery at Meaux. What do you think? Can you tear yourselves away from here in time?’
On her way to her chamber after saying goodnight to Hubert and his monks, Hildegard, troubled by Hywel’s palpable grief, decided to call in to say goodnight.
Now she had been sitting with him a little while and although he greeted her well enough and had offered some apple elixir, his mood was dark and it stopped her from being able to put into words what she wanted to say. She found herself telling him about their departure and how it had come about.
‘You see, Hywel, the abbey at Meaux sends its ale down to its house in Lymington and they send salt to us from the pans here, along with whatever we need in imports from France and other places. One trading cog. Always busy between the two places. Beaulieu monks are often seen about the abbey at Meaux just as monks from Meaux are seen on the quayside at Lymington.’
‘I see.’ He looked thoughtful but did not put into words what was on his mind.
She got up and it prompted him to ask, ‘When do you leave?’
When she told him he replied, ‘I may not see you again, in fact, I doubt whether I’ll have time to see you go. I may have too much work to do.’ He refused to look at her but then, with a speaking flash of his eyes, he asked, ‘Would you like to take some tinctures back with you?...Come to my store. Let’s see what we can find.’
Leaving his little workshop they walked in the light cast by the moon to the drying shed. The gardens lay in peaceful silence with the scent of night-flowering herbs filling the air with sweetness.
Suddenly Hywel thrust out a hand to pull her back. ‘I don’t think we should…’
He was staring into the darkness under the vines.
When he made no move she followed his glance. In the patterned shadows cast by the moon she could just make out a shape on the ground. Jankin and Lucie were curled up together on a blanket. They were sound asleep.
‘Like two little mice in a nest,’ whispered Hywel. ‘Leave them be. I’ll get your cures in the morning before you leave.’
He took her by the hand and lifted it to point at something. The flightless blackbird was roosting above them like a guardian angel as they slept.
Before she said good night she wanted to ask what he would do next but the same stillness, a guard of some kind, fenced him in. They returned to the workshop but she stood uncertainly with her hand on the latch just inside the doorway.
The air was thick with unspoken thoughts until, eventually, he murmured, ‘I know…You don’t need to say anything.’ He reached for her hand. ‘It would never have worked.’
‘Your magnum opus or the alchemical marriage?’
‘Both. I have not reached the necessary level of perfection…but…for all the rest?...other times, other places…maybe we shall have better fortune?’
‘At Netley?’
He shook his head. ‘I came here at the behest of my prince. He would not come into England without allies of his own.’
‘You mean to say you’re one of…’
He put a finger to her lips. ‘Of course…I assumed you knew.’
So Abbot Philip had been right. There was a spy in his abbey.
‘What will you do next?’ she asked.
He gave her his sudden sweet, sad smile and his dark eyes kindled for a moment. ‘I may return to Wales if Prince Owain intends to lead us against you. He’ll need prophets and poets…and alchemists and their elixirs to repair broken limbs.’
He held out his hand. Hildegard took it and felt its pulsing warmth match her own.
When he opened the door for her, moonlight flooded over Cloister Garth. It was as bright as day but its shine had a cold light. Under its silvered veil it made everything look unreal in the chasms of night like things not to be trusted.
She set off to cross the garth. When she was half way she turned to look back. Hywel was standing in his doorway, silently watching her leave
Climbing the back stairs up to her chamber she heard quite a lot of noise in the usually hushed corridor and when she went to have a look she saw a group of lay-brothers lugging more baggage down the main stairs.
Lissa emerged from the dortoir dressed in a green pelouse for travelling in. She came straight to Hildegard, saying. ‘I’m so glad I’ve caught you. At last we’re ready to leave! You’ve no idea how much luggage we have. I hope they’ve saved room for us. I think we must be the last to go on board.’
Her abundant red hair was tightly plaited and almost entirely hidden under a snood.
‘Have a safe journey, mistress. I hope Simon finds a saint to bless him with long life and happiness.’
A man’s voice was heard below in the entrance. ‘Farewell, domina. Safe journey.’
‘There he is, my dear old owl!’ exclaimed Lissa. ‘After today’s excitement we’re really hoping for a peaceful and pleasant crossing into France.’ With a final glance round she hesitated. ‘There’s only one person I haven’t managed to see…Master John.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I’m sure he’ll forgive me for leaving without saying farewell. I hear he’s being kept busy now that his wife is rallying again.’ She turned to the stair with a little tightening of her lips. ‘Coming my sweet owl, wait for me!’
She grasped Hildegard by the hand. ‘Safe journey home to Meaux, dear Hildegard.’
Next morning when Hildegard went into Prime she stood at the back with a congregation made up almost entirely of lay-brothers. Even the two sisters had left after making an arrangement with the cellarer to buy their cheese. Mistress Sweet never did claim her shilling.
It was strange to think that the people she had come to know over the last few days had gone from her life forever. The abbey looked desolate without its guests. Friar Hywel and his apprentice were nowhere to be seen.
Afterwards she went for a walk outside the precinct. The wide waters looked strange without the ships lying at anchor. The St Marie had been taken up river and her replacement had finally sailed in the early hours before the tide changed, bound for France at last.
Finding herself standing alone above the pool Alaric had shown her and, as there was no-one around, she scrambled down and after a quick look round saw how well it was screened from the path by the bushes. Lured by the sight of the water, she quickly stripped off her outer garments and, clad in only a knee-length muslin shift, stepped into the shallows.
She gasped. It was like ice but fresh and clean and she swam about for a little while, getting used to it, until, being carried further up-stream that she wanted, she began to beat her way back.
It was then she noticed a pile of clothes crammed under the roots of a tree overlooking the water.
She swam over to take a closer look. There was no-one around and it seemed peculiar to find a set of clothes lying there. They were damp to her touch. She climbed onto the bank and had a proper look.
They were old style, woven from fustian - a knee length shirt for someone of middle height, a wool
en tunic, breeches in the same rough cloth, no boots, she noticed, and no belt.
Worried that someone had come for a swim and got into difficulties she looked about but could see no sign of anyone. Unsure what to do she decided to leave the clothes where they were hidden and mention them to someone she could trust when she returned indoors.
As it happened she found Alaric scrubbing the tiled floor of the kitchens when she poked her head in. On hands and knees he glanced up when she greeted him.
‘Alaric,’ she began, ‘This is a most strange thing.’ The kitchen was empty but even so she lowered her voice. ‘When I was at the pool you showed me, guess what, I found a pile of clothes, neatly folded but wet, as if someone had been swimming in them. I’m worried that it means someone might have –’
He scrambled to his feet in alarm. ‘You found them?’ He came to her and whispered, ‘They were supposed to be hidden.’
‘They were but - ?’
He took her to one side. ‘Listen, I can let you into the secret because I know you won’t pass it on.’ He glanced round. ‘They belong to one of the pilgrims. In fact, he is just the opposite of a pilgrim. He doesn’t believe in the saints nor in the Eucharist nor in any of that - ’
‘What? You mean he’s a - ’
‘He asked me to take a bag on board the ship for him and to make sure his name was on the list of passengers. But he did not sail.’
She lowered her voice. ‘Is this connected to that conversation we had a few days ago about Wyclif and his Lollard followers?’
Alaric nodded. ‘He had to lure everyone into thinking he has fled into exile. It’s safer for him. They’d have dragged him back and thrown him into prison if they’d found him And then he’d have been silenced forever.’
‘But what about his clothes?’
‘He swam back from the ship before she sailed. I left dry ones for him to change into. He’ll be miles away by now.’
‘Oh, Alaric! Tell me, was he that quiet fellow who was always reading?’
He nodded again. ‘A very learned and kindly man. He told me he fell foul of his bishop in open debate and was forced to flee for his life.’
‘Then it will remain our secret.’
‘I’ll go and fetch his clothes when I’ve finished here. Then, my news…!’ His eyes sparkled. ‘I have bought my place! Next week I shall be joining those novices in the cloister and shall take part in their lessons without having to skulk around behind the pillars!’
She could not restrain herself from hugging him. ‘Remember one thing, my dear Alaric, remember my warning about being too open in your speech…?’
‘I remember. But I believe I can do more from within the church than from without.’
It was quite an event when they finally came to leave two weeks later. Everyone turned out to see the Abbot of Meaux emerge from the infirmary with his leg encased in plaster. He insisted on trying to manage on his own, of course, but eventually he was coaxed into a chair already brought out by some muscular lay-brothers and they hoisted it onto their shoulders with the abbot in it to a great cheer from a crowd of well-wishers.
Headed by the Abbot of Netley himself, the procession made its way over the garth and out beneath the gatehouse. With only a short stop for Egbert to hand over a key to the porter in exchange for a couple of swords, it progressed slowly and with much acclaim down the tricky incline to the beach.
A sturdy looking boat had been commissioned from Master John to take them down as far as Calshot where they would board a trading cog bound for the north of England.
‘This time we’re for home, finally, and without hindrance!’ Hubert looked up at the walls of Netley Abbey as the boatman cast off and flung out his arms as if to embrace everyone in it. ‘Farewell, Netley!’
Egbert patted his newly retrieved sword and made himself comfortable. ‘Those French pirates had better keep their distance now? Eh, Gregory?’
‘Until we get bored,’ he suggested. ‘Then we’ll welcome a friendly encounter or two.’
‘It’s going to be a joy to be home again after seven long years.’ Egbert began to sing a sailor’s lament with an ironic intonation that gave an ambiguous twist to his words that made them all smile. Hildegard could not imagine either of the monks settling down in the peace and quiet of Meaux for long.
When she looked back the crowd of abbey people who had escorted them to the water side were still waving farewell. Abbot Philip in his gleaming robes stood out from the rest but as the distance between the boat and the shore widened it was still possible to make out the prior, the sub-prior, the sacristan, the cellarer, even Brother Heribert, as well as the rest of the lay-brothers they had come to know.
Alaric ran into the water and pretended to swim after them. Then he did a handstand and a couple of somersaults and Jankin made a passable attempt at a cartwheel while Lucie jumped up and down with excitement.
Their boat was piled with gifts. It looked as if everybody had turned out to see them off. All except one. Hildegard felt for the promised cures inside her bag.
She watched the shore recede until without warning a lone figure emerged from the trees at the top of the bank and began to walk along the path. In the grey robes of a Franciscan, it could only be one man.
Hywel.
He came to a stop, looking down-river as the sweep of the current carried the boat with increasing speed towards the sea.
Hubert, noticing him, turned to Hildegard. ‘Are you sorry to leave?’ He took her hand.
‘Somewhat…’ she replied. ‘But I’m also looking forward to going home to Meaux again.’
‘Me too.’
He glanced back towards the shore with the lone figure standing on the bank.
‘You know something, Hildegard? I think you broke his heart…’ With a cautious smile, he murmured, ‘I wonder if you’re going to break mine?’
THE END
Author’s Note
I’ve long been interested in the great Glyn Dwr and it was a stroke of serendipity to discover that he did indeed leave Arundel’s service after the Merciless Parliament to return to Wales in the summer of 1388. Nothing much is heard of him for several years – as one historian put it, ‘he retired from public life’ – until his re-emergence as the charismatic leader of the Welsh against the English usurper king, Henry IV (Bolingbroke) a decade later. It seems not beyond the bounds of possibility that he may have visited one of his allies at Netley Abbey before returning to Wales.
As for his real name, there is some dispute about this. But I’ve used the one by which he has become famous. For more on him read the wonderful R. R. Davies in his book The Revolt of Glyn Dwr.
Apart from a general interest in the astrolabe my main source was Chaucer’s Treatise which is an utterly charming as well as detailed account as he instructs ‘lyte Loyis my sone’ in its use.
You may think this indicates rather more research than was necessary for my slight tale of murder and mystery but I can tell you I had to cut most of the facts for reasons of speed. I guarantee that after reading Chaucer you’ll be able to use an astrolabe with more dexterity than Brother Gregory, no matter how little Latin you have.
I’m always happy to discuss anything to do with this period on my website: www.cassandraclark.co.uk or more briefly on Twitter @nunsleuth, where you’ll find more bits and pieces about Hildegard and the monks of Meaux.
The Alchemist of Netley Abbey: Eighth in the Hildegard of Meaux medieval mystery series Page 30
