Murder at Meaux

by Cassandra Clark

  Later she joined the spinners in the silk workshop and found some comfort in a repetitive task that demanded attention but did not tax the mind with questions.

  Before he left Gregory sent a message to say that he had done as she requested and asked Ulf about the howling of the dogs and he had replied, yes, he had heard them, and why did she want to know?

  The days unfolded but she remained confined to the house while messengers were sent out to invite witnesses to attend Chapter in the matter of Ulf of Langbar, accused of murder.

  Pierrekyn put in regular, daily appearances or, rather, he stood out of sight behind the screen erected at one end of the small chapel where the singing lessons took place, only making his presence felt by the playing of a small, portative organ and his encouraging instructions to his singers.

  ‘Now then, sisters. I want to hear every syllable of every word, so let’s begin.’

  The sisters would roll their eyes in the privacy behind the screen at one so young teaching them anything but they were attentive as soon as Pierrekyn started to play. There was no doubt he knew what he was talking about.

  An antiphon for Advent was being practised. He was a punctilious task-master and the sisters did their best to live up to his expectations.

  ‘Much improved, Emma,’ he called after they finished one morning. ‘I might ask you to sing a solo soon.’

  Hildegard was sitting by to ensure that everything continued with proper regard for the rules concerning the nuns’ contact with men. A fact she considered ironic, given her own position.

  Be that as it may, at this praise Emma looked both gratified and surprised. ‘But how do you know it is I, master Pierrekyn?’

  He stalked up to the screen and poked his head quickly round it. ‘Of course it is. Do you imagine I have ears made of cloth?’

  He went back to his position. ‘Sing it by yourself.’

  Hildegard saw her nudge Ann and whisper, ‘You sing. He’ll never know.’

  A couple of bars came trilling over the screen and Pierrekyn threw his head back with a laugh. ‘Ann? Did she put you up to it?’

  The group broke apart laughing until Pierrekyn called for order and insisted they listen to Emma in silence before he ended the lesson.

  ‘It’s not only her voice, her breathing and all the other hundreds of things a singer has to remember, but it’s also her regard for the words. Every syllable is as clear as crystal. Our dearly beloved brother Anselm used to say, “Remember! The words rule the music!” Enough now. Blessings on you all. Until tomorrow.’

  Before he left he had a few words with Hildegard.

  ‘I’m making no headway with trying to break this code. I’ve tried every combination of modes and letters and nothing makes much sense. What about you?’

  ‘Nothing, to be honest. In the penultimate mode I can make A-C-E-D.’

  ‘Aced? As in a card game?’

  ‘To signify victory?’

  ‘It’s as obscure as the word ‘dead.’

  ‘If only we knew which mode he was using.’

  ‘I don’t think that would help. Do you think we’re on the wrong track?’

  ‘Maybe he was trying to indicate initials of some sort? An abbreviation, maybe?’ The clerks used abbreviations when they were taking down speeches verbatim.

  ‘The abbot seems to have lost interest. His time’s being swallowed up by arrangements for the hearing against Ulf.’

  Hildegard shuddered. She still feared it was going to be nothing more than a show trial but the result could be something too horrible to contemplate so she kept the fear to herself.

  ‘I wish I wasn’t confined here. I would like to see Ulf to reassure him that he has allies. He must be close to despair. I’d also like to talk to the Circator who found poor Anselm,’ she added, ‘but as long as I’m instructed to be kept here I can do nothing. I suppose you haven’t heard any rumours about Hubert’s plans for me, have you?’

  Pierrekyn shook his head. ‘I’d let you know at once if I did, you can count on that.’

  ‘He seems to be carrying on as if I’ve ceased to exist.’

  Pierrekyn put out a hand. ‘You mustn’t think that. I’m sure he’s very well aware you exist.’

  Fretting and fuming at being cooped up every day, she went along to her chamber and tried to pray. All that resulted were sore knees. The more she thought about her situation the more enticing it was to contemplate leaving the Order. She could show her contempt for the abbot and his threat of anathema, or worse, by simply walking away.

  Only one thing stopped her and that was the fate of dear Ulf. She knew she could not leave him in the lurch at his time of greatest need. What she could do other than to offer comfort and support she did not know but at least he could be reassured that he had someone on his side.

  Now an image of his likely despair had entered her head the more it generated a blind urge to see him, to reassure him. A way of doing so began to form.

  When rumours of a date set a week hence for the filing of the depositions began to circulate the matter became more urgent.

  ‘Emma!’ she called. ‘Will you come to my chamber with your shears.’

  When the sister appeared looking somewhat mystified but carrying the small shears used for cutting cloth Hildegard closed the door behind her.

  ‘I would like your word that you will say nothing about what I am about to ask you.’

  ‘You have it. My lips are sealed, domina, as always.’

  ‘Good.’ Hildegard pulled off the head covering she had thrown at Hubert’s feet – restored to her by a lay-brother with the usual delivery from the abbey bakehouse – and allowed her hair to fall to her shoulders. ‘I’ve been thinking that my hair is far too long. Will you cut it for me?’

  ‘If you so wish.’ She looked confused. ‘But why the secrecy, domina?’

  ‘It is best,’ she replied. She sat on a low stool. ‘Cut it all off.’

  With initial hesitation Emma began to slice through the long, thick strands with the shears. ‘It won’t look very tidy,’ she remarked, stepping back for a moment.

  ‘I don’t care about that, just so long as it’s short.’

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ Emma went on. ‘Like gold leaf. You could get a good price for this in Beverley or York.’

  ‘Vanity,’ murmured Hildegard, remembering Hubert’s whimsical comment in the days of old that she should grow her hair long. “You have my permission,” he murmured. “I am your abbot and I command it.”

  ‘All is vanity,’ she repeated, taking Emma by surprise. So far their house had been run on generous lines, with due regard for beauty in small things. Punishment, if any, had been light. Emma eyed her superior with concern at this hint that things were about to change.

  Hildegard caught her glance and read it with a half-smile. ‘I shan’t expect you or anybody else to follow me in this. It is my own choice. Your own hair is quite safe!’

  ‘But if you find me vain, domina, I must take steps to correct myself.’

  ‘When the witnesses from York turn up you will see what true vanity is, how they impoverish themselves by their willing acceptance of the world’s acclaim, and not only by vanity but greed, sloth, double-dealing, usury, bribery, lies and hypocrisy of every hue, you’ll see it all before you marching in shameless pride across that bridge into the abbey itself.’ Surprising herself by her vehemence she added, ‘You are my good sisters. You do good work. I know you make everything better by simply being here.’

  ‘That is flattery, indeed, domina. May we always please God.’ She made one final snip. ‘And may the abbot continue to permit us to remain.’

  A mound of hair lay on the floor. Hildegard poked it with the toe of her boot. ‘Gone.’ She rubbed her head to rid it of some remaining hairs. ‘My gratitude, Emma.’

  ‘I’ll clear it away, domina.’

  After she left Hildegard ran her fingers through the stubble that remained and despite her words felt a twinge of dismay
until, briskly, she replaced her head cover.

  Word had got out, then, that the future of their small house was in jeopardy. She must take pains to reassure her nuns that it would not be so. Their existence should not depend on the whim of one man out of his humour.

  19

  Autumn mists were swirling down again. They obscured the pinnacles of Meaux as the bell called the monks to Vespers. Blessedly concealed in the vaporous clouds Hildegard let herself out through the gate onto the lane to the bridge and felt her way across to the other side.

  She might have been a monk herself with her hood up, hiding her face, hands inside her sleeves, drifting silently with bowed head towards the gatehouse, gliding wordlessly past the porter – who merely advised, ‘Best hurry, brother. They’ve already started’ – and slipping through bands of fog across the garth in the direction of the church. A conversi or two, hurrying towards their own entrance to the church, bowed their heads on seeing her, and she started up the steps to where the last of the monks were filing in.

  As soon as they were safely inside she turned and, unobserved by anyone, recrossed the garth towards the prison cell.

  Ulf, gloomily staring at his hands, glanced up. ‘Shouldn’t you be at prayers, brother? Or have you come to plague me into confessing to something I didn’t do?’

  She pushed back her hood in inch. ‘It’s me.’

  He rose to his feet. ’What the devil are you up to? I thought you were banished –’

  She pushed the hood further back. ‘Look at my hair.’

  ‘What have you done? Where’s your head-covering?’

  ‘It makes me look like one of the brothers, doesn’t it?’

  He grinned, for a moment looking like his old self. ’You had me fooled!’

  ‘I hope to fool everyone. I can’t stay in my chamber when I need to be over here.’

  ‘He’ll have you flogged if he finds out.’

  ‘I don’t care. I wanted to tell you that we’re on your side. That over-weening little Coroner will not get away with his black lies.’

  ‘How are we to stop him? He’s got the Sheriff in his pocket.’

  ‘But not Hubert. And he’s the important one at present.’

  ‘I can’t see Hubert looking on me with any justice. The sooner he can get me hanging by my neck the happier he’ll be.’ He gave her a sudden searching glance. ‘I’m sorry Hildegard. You know it’s true. He came to tell me he knew the truth now because you had told him without shame what happened and that there were penalties – I tried to tell him I’d forced you to give in to me but he gave me such a look of disbelief. He knew it was a lie. ‘No wounds?’ he remarked. I can’t imagine what you said to him about us – whatever it was it has made little difference. We’ll be made to pay.’

  ‘It will not be like that, whatever he thinks.’

  ‘What we need is someone to divert suspicion away from me – preferably the murderer himself, of course, then he can rail all he likes.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering about this lover Eunice is supposed to have had. Where was he when you arrived?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Could he have been the figure you saw outlined in the light at the window?’

  Ulf considered for a moment. ‘I thought so at the time, but now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘But couldn’t he have pushed her down the stairs in a quarrel maybe?’

  ‘I don’t know. Why would he?’

  ‘Maybe she displeased him in some way?’

  ‘I know nothing about those two except that she doted on him and he was her shadow.’

  ‘What makes you doubt that he could have done it?’

  ‘Thinking about it too much I suppose. Everything is thrown into doubt the more I think about it. Anyway, he wouldn’t have had the strength – ’

  ‘But listen,’ she urged, ‘you must show no doubts when they start to question you. The law men will jump on you and tie you in knots. They’ll make you sound as guilty as they can. You must be certain of the facts.’

  Ulf chewed his lip. ‘I’ll stop thinking about it for a while. It’s sending my thoughts flying all over the place. I’m beginning to believe I must have done it.’

  ‘If Eunice’s lover was present they’ll call him. What was his name?’

  ‘Mark.’

  ‘I’ll make sure he’s called. Whether he was present or not, he’s someone who will cast doubt on matters and should be called.’

  Ulf reached through the bars. ‘Why are you doing all this? You’re putting yourself in danger – with your status so precarious.’

  ‘You would do the same for me.’

  He gave his old roguish smile. ‘I would. Without a moment’s hesitation.’ He pressed his face against the bars. ‘A small kiss, to seal my pact?’

  His lips, in the thicket of his blond beard, were warm, the bars of his cell as cold as death.

  ’Dear Ulf, we shall prevail. Never give in,’ she whispered.

  Afraid of being caught, she left then, and hurried back across the garth. Only then did she realise she had forgotten to ask him about the dogs and whether he had heard anyone enter the yard.

  The monks could be heard chanting the liturgy, the words made indistinct by the lengthening and contraction of the notes.

  There would be no time to return to Ulf’s cell but on an impulse, when she was almost back at the gatehouse, she swung into the entrance where the steps led up to the scriptorium. There would be nothing to find, not now, not after it had been restored to order but there were too many unanswered questions to push Anselm’s death to one side as Hubert seemed to have done according to Pierrekyn, without one final effort to discover the truth.

  If Hubert was right about strangulation – despite the problem of the locked chamber – it meant a killer might still be haunting the abbey precincts.

  In a velvety blackness she felt her way up the flight of stone steps and hesitated when she reached the top. In the late afternoon with fog beginning to press against the windows and with no cressets to light the corridor all she could do was to peer further into the gloom and listen.

  Such an absolute silence prevailed she feared to make any sound at all. Even the air seemed to breath with an invisible presence, like someone standing in the shadows, watching.

  She waited, bating her breath so that even that soft sound should not disturb the silence.

  Nothing changed. The silence lengthened.

  Treading like thistle-down in her soft boots she began to glide towards the door of the scriptorium. Since she had last been here the door had been rehung. Hesitantly, head half-turned to keep watch behind her, she felt around for the keyhole. The key was still missing. Next to it she found the iron door-ring.

  Grasping the cold iron she began to turn it so slowly as to make no sound, and scarcely breathing, moving through the still air like vapour, she slid the door open and stepped through.

  Keeping her back to it so no-one could sidle up behind her, she started to breathe again in a slow slide of expelled air. Waiting. Ears straining.

  It would be now, in a nightmare, a voice would grind out its mindless hatred.

  But the chamber was empty.

  The row of desks gleamed in the last of the yellowing light at the windows.

  Perhaps because the place was imprinted with the many hours spent here in solitude by the monks it had an aura, like a living being. It was waiting for something.

  With frequent nervous glances over her shoulder she hurried between the desks to the aumbry Pierrekyn had opened for her.

  The door swung outwards at her touch with a click like a cannon going off. She hesitated but nothing else changed. Nothing moved. No hooded stranger stepped out from the shadows.

  Reaching inside she fumbled behind the paraphernalia belonging to the scribes to locate the secret partition, pressed it open, groped for the secret pages of forbidden text. Encountered the the thick vellum, gave a sigh of relief. Still there.

  With on
ly one glance behind her, she replaced everything as she had found it. Clicked the partition shut. Pushed together the jumble of objects in front of it. And finally closed the door.

  Was anyone else aware, unbeknown to Pierrekyn, that Brother Anselm was making a secret translation of the Bible in defiance of the law? Was that why someone had decided he must die?

  It made no sense. Here, at Meaux? Far from the centre of power?

  With as much trepidation as before she made her way between the desks towards the door. This would be where a figure out of nightmare would step forward and put his hands round her neck...Giving away to fear she rushed out into the corridor and once she had checked it was empty ran down the steps and flew out onto the garth in breathless safety.

  Already the final hymn was floating from the fog-bound church.

  Through trailing vapours she could see the glow from the porters’ lodge-lights, cheerful and ordinary, and she chided herself for being such a fool as to be frightened of shadows. One of the porters emerged with a watering can and, whistling cheerfully, went round the side of the gatehouse to his little garden. Taking advantage of his absence, she sped under the arch, allowing herself to vanish into the swirling fog without a sound.

  20

  ‘I am told,’ announced Agnetha as she entered Hildegard’s chamber with her usual vigour bearing a fresh concoction of oils to ease her shoulder, ‘that a message has been sent by Lord Roger de Hutton, accepting the abbot’s summons to attend his steward’s trial.’

  ‘Good. Of course it’s inconceivable that he would refuse to come. Was sanctuary mentioned?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. But there’s more. I’m also told that he is in deep rage not only about that but about the detention of one of his young stable lads as well, one who, in all innocence, became mixed up in this matter.’ Agnetha folded her arms.

  ’That must be the lad he assigned to escort me when I set off to find Ulf. So he’s still here?’

  ‘He is. The master of the conversi has set him to work at one of the granges. I thought I’d told you?’