Murder at Meaux

by Cassandra Clark

  We’re groping in the dark, she realised, not for the first time.

  The Circator’s image of Anselm’s soul flying to heaven made her weep. What innocence. It made it seem more wicked than ever that someone could have wanted to harm the poor old fellow.

  As ever it came back to one fact: the presence of a few hidden pages from a secret version of the Bible, a testimony to the existence of a network fighting the repression of the people by the Roman pope and the dukes of the English court.

  Haec Die

  One by one those summoned to bear witness either for or against Ulf of Langbar began to arrive at Meaux.

  First came Lord Roger de Hutton and Lady Melisen. Although they rode up quietly with only a handful of servants Roger was in a high rage at the treatment being meted out to the trusted steward of his household. Melisen looked subdued and about to cry.

  Hildegard watched them through the shutters at the casement window and wondered what they would say when they saw her waiting on them in the guest house. She cringed. But it was a penance she deserved. She tried to convince herself, mea culpa, she repeated, failing to do so. The one good thing about it was that she would be able to hear at first hand what was going on.

  Rather than waiting to be summoned she retied her head covering, the subterfuge of a cropped head of hair now irrelevant, and flung on her cloak. Wearing boots which she intended to discard as soon as she reached the guest house she checked that everything in her small domain was in order and set out.

  The guests were lodged some way from the church, the frater and the other buildings round cloister garth, set apart to prevent the monks from being contaminated by the godless world outside their high perimeter wall. The house itself was a large, fine, stone building, able to accommodate about twenty guests at a time. It was swarming with abbey servants when she entered. Greeted with some wariness by those who already knew what she was doing here she was relieved to see one familiar face. It was Osric, master of the kitcheners.

  ‘We’re not happy about this, domina. All you need do is to place a few platters on the trestles before anyone comes in. If you’d rather avoid the humiliation of waiting on the guests, some of whom you’ll know, we can find work for you out of sight?’ He nodded towards the kitchens.

  ‘That would defeat the purpose of my penance,’ she told him. She touched him on the sleeve. ‘My gratitude for your kindness.’

  ‘Let me know if you change your mind.’ Puzzled, he gave her a few instructions and returned to his chores.

  Melisen descended from the guest apartments and was first to enter the refectory. With trailing sleeves and velvet skirts she came straight over to Hildegard. ‘One of my ladies told me what that brute is forcing you to do. Is this all about Ulf?’

  Hildegard nodded. ‘I was wrong. The lord abbot is within his rights to exact penance. I fear there’s worse to come. He’s threatened to have me excommunicated.’

  Melisen looked shocked. ’When was this?’

  ‘As soon as I was able to get out of my sick bed. He caught me talking to Ulf.’

  ‘The monster! Couldn’t he even have the patience of a human being before showing off his authority?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that. Besides, it’s how things are.’

  Melisen embraced her. ‘Surely he’ll have thought better of his impulse by now? Even the most brutal man, given to hasty rages and unconsidered judgements, will in time think twice! Not all men – ’ she began but Hildegard broke in.

  ‘Melisen, I don’t think you should say whatever comes into your head.’ She lowered her voice. ‘There’s a spy in the abbey, acting on Hubert’s behalf. Be careful what you say and warn Roger to say as little as possible.‘

  Melisen cupped a hand across her mouth. ’A spy? Are you sure?’ She glanced round. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s to do with the poor old scribe who was murdered.’

  ‘I won’t say any more. Not here. We’ll speak later – or no doubt he’ll be harrying the Archbishop to have us both burned as they do in France with women they can’t control!’

  Roger swept in, red beard springing with life as if of its own accord, his velvet over-mantle trimmed with miniver to match his wife’s, his sleeves and cotte displaying a surfeit of expensive fabric that looked exotic in the austere confines of the abbey.

  He kissed his wife, glanced suspiciously at both women and was about to say something when Melisen pressed her fingers over his lips and whispered, ‘Later, my old bear.’

  ‘Conspiring already?’ He glanced over his shoulder but there were only a few servants hurrying about.

  When he turned to Hildegard he let her know at once that he was in a fury over Hubert’s treatment of her. ‘Shoeless too, I see?’ He leaned closer. ‘Wait until you’re out of here and I’ll make sure you have the most expensive, hand-sewn shoes that have ever made your eyes widen. And I’ll personally ensure that your lord abbot, your hopefully ex-lord abbot, will get an eyeful. See how he likes that!’

  He conducted both women to seats on either side of him at the head of the table.

  ‘I can’t do this, Roger. I can’t sit with you.’ She half rose to her feet. ‘I’ll have to go through the motions of serving you –’

  ‘Whatever you do, you will never be humiliated in front of me. Your dignity will always carry you through.’

  Hildegard felt her eyes brim. ‘I can’t bear kindness at present. There is something even more terrible going on here. Melisen, tell him what I said when you return to your chamber. Tread carefully. We have to think of Ulf now.’

  ‘We are thinking of Ulf. Bernard Vavasour will not get away with this.’

  ‘The Coroner has a rival,’ Hildegard told them. ‘A friar, the brother of Eunice’s father. He arrived here a few days ago. He was in Beverley when he heard about his niece’s murder. Apparently it was only a rumour that he wanted nothing to do with the inheritance. He’s telling everyone that if it should by God’s good grace fall to him he will obey His will and give every penny to his Order for the greater solace of the poor.’

  ‘Ha!’ was Roger’s only comment.

  ‘Now let me get something for you both.’

  Just then the friar himself came in, choosing to dine in the guest house rather than with the monks and their obligation to listen to the sermons of St Bernard while they ate. He found a place modestly on another trestle apart from Roger and Melisen and poured himself a beaker of wine from the carafe.

  Hildegard went into the kitchens to see if there was anything to do to make her look as if she was fulfilling the abbot’s orders.

  When she returned with a platter of baked fish the friar was getting to his feet and Roger was leaning towards him, saying,’And you’re most welcome to join us.’

  ‘Friar John, at your pleasure.’ He reached out to touch hands with Roger. ‘My blessings on you, my lord. There can be nothing more dreary than dining alone.’

  One of the conversi came forward to help pull out the end of the bench so the friar could slide his fat little body into a position opposite Melisen and on Roger’s left hand.

  ‘And what brings you to this part of the world?’ he began smoothly as soon as he was seated to his satisfaction.

  Roger gave him a baleful glance. ‘The abbot has my steward in custody,’ he replied shortly. ‘What about yourself?’

  Without showing any surprise – perhaps because he already knew who this wealthy looking couple were – the friar leaned forward and in confidential tones said, ‘Well, it’s like this. I was preaching at Beverley market cross but a few days since when I heard a story about a most unpleasant murder of a young bride over in York. Imagine my horror when I realised it was my very own niece they were talking about, my dear Eunice, not long married to a fellow –’ he broke off, ‘pardon me, my lord, if the story is correct, she was married to your very own steward, the poor fellow now being had up for murder. Am I right?’

  ‘That’s about the long and short of
it,’ admitted Roger with the air of a man admitting nothing.

  ‘Heaven help us. I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘Think only that my steward is innocent and you’ll be on the right lines.’

  ‘Then how did the poor girl come to have a broken neck?’

  ‘For all any of us know she fell down the stairs and broke it herself.’ Roger’s eyes were like pebbles.

  Hildegard prayed that he would not be drawn into a web of supposition. She could tell at a glance that the friar was adept at getting information out of people. It was something to do with his guileless round eyes. They invited confidences. He fixed them now on Melisen with a tentative smile.

  ‘My poor dear lady, this must be a trying time for you.’

  ‘Quite.’ Melisen was at her most clipped. Hildegard smiled to herself. She might look like a young woman who was all froth and frivolity but she had been brought up in a household where loose talk could lead to accusations of treason. Her father, the earl, had drilled her well.

  Now she adopted one of her most charming smiles. ‘And are you familiar with our part of the world, revered brother?’ she asked. ‘We’re at Castle Hutton.’

  ‘Oh dear me, no,’ smiled the friar, reflecting her smile exactly. ‘I base my preaching along the coast around Bridlington and it’s not often I come as far south as this.’

  Roger glanced quickly at his wife, seemed about to say something, thought better of it, and reached for the wine jug. ‘Share this with us. The abbot knows his wine.’

  Leaving them to talk in the belief that she would catch up with them later if anything more interesting than what she had already heard should turn up, she went back into the kitchen to help clear away.

  So he was not from near Leeds then? Roger had clearly picked up on that at once. So where had such a rumour come from? This was something to tell Gregory. If only he would return from Faxfleet in time to make a case on behalf of Ulf, but so far there was no sign of him.

  Despite the lure of the cook’s skill Roger and Melisen finished early, pleading tiredness after their day’s ride to get here. She wondered if a visit to the abbey prison was on their way to bed and hoped it was. She dare not be caught visiting Ulf again and would have to time her next visit when she was sure Hubert was engaged with church matters.

  Friar John got up almost immediately after they left and she assumed he too had gone to his chamber. As there was nothing much else to do she bid the kitcheners good night. Before she left they reminded her that the sittings would return to their usual times on the morrow when the bulk of the guests would arrive.

  Stepping into a pool of darkness outside the gatehouse and glad she would not have to walk outside the precinct at night again she felt her way across the bridge without looking back – but at the gate, about to let herself into the garden, she heard a sound like a footfall behind her.

  With one hand poised she glanced back. There was no-one to be seen.

  The canal, its water as smooth as jet, reflected only starlight and that dimly. It must have been a rat slipping into the water, she decided, but she felt uneasy. The night itself seemed to be full of eyes. A nub of disquiet followed her to the door.

  This is to do with Friar John, she decided. Why had he lied...if he had done? Had he left his friary under a cloud and decided to continue his trade at a safer distance from his mother house? Or was his connection with that side of the county merely a rumour, got up by Sir Bernard to suit his own ends?

  And one more thing. The silver brooch he wore so ostentatiously pinned to his habit? She had seen its like before, and recently. It might well be asked why a friar, vowed to poverty and chastity, should be wearing such a token.

  She went on into the house with its air of orderly domesticity and felt a feeling of relief like reaching sanctuary as she shut the door behind her.

  2

  “Over the Ottercaps Hills they come

  And down by Rodeley Crag,

  At Greenleighton they lighted down,

  Stirring many a stag...”

  So sang Pierrekyn. He was sitting in the herb garden when Hildegard came out, her arm in a sling, to pick vervain for another poultice. He broke off when he saw her.

  ‘That’s a neat little song Donal taught me,’ he explained.

  ‘I gather it’s about Earl Douglas?’

  ‘Yes, about when he was killed at Otterburn last August.’

  ‘Already a song about him? So soon?’

  ‘They won’t forget him if Donal is anyone to go by. Even Northumberland had good things to say about him, despite the fact that his commanders still have Hotspur as hostage.’

  ‘When will they ever stop their wars and live in harmony?’ she asked.

  ‘Too much blood has been shed on both sides to make them want to extend the hand of friendship. Besides, they’re making money hand over fist as long as it continues.’

  ‘So what is going to happen to that boy?’

  ‘He’s being called before Roger at this very moment,’ he told her. ‘He fears a beating.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For getting caught.’

  The leaves of vervain were wet with dew. She tore off a handful and put them into her basket. ‘It was hardly his fault.’

  ‘Let’s hope Roger sees it that way.’

  ‘Still, what does Donal himself want to do next?’

  ‘Get back to somewhere he can call home as fast as possible. He hates us if the truth be known. It’s just the way things are. His father was an angry man and paid for it with his life –’

  ‘And Donal thinks it’s a good idea to follow in his foot-steps?’ She sighed. ‘I wish he didn’t hate us. I liked him.’ She paused. ‘I wouldn’t trust him with a knife, though, and something valuable at stake.’

  ‘May I come in now to run over the music with your nuns, domina?’

  ‘You may.’

  3

  It was near the mid-day Office when the sound of horses alerted everyone to the arrival of the York Coroner, Sir Bernard Vavasour, with his entire household, as requested by the lord abbot of Meaux. To Hildegard’s dismay there was still no sign of Gregory. And now Egbert too was absent.

  Constantly aware of her penitential role she made her way back to the abbey guest house straight away. It was in chaos with servants running all over the place, countless baggages in their arms and no place to put them. Sir Bernard and Lady Avis would have taken over the whole house if Lord Roger and his wife had not taken up residence first.

  The two men eyed each other with dislike and their wives, Melisen affecting indifference, and Avis, disdain for her better, supported this prejudice with every gesture.

  Turning to the guest master Avis insisted in having her servants housed somewhere more comfortable than what was offered. ‘I cannot have my people elsewhere than where I am. How am I to give them their orders if they’re out of earshot?’

  ‘My deepest apologies, my lady, but as you see our hospitality is somewhat stretched at present. Let me find out if the lay-brothers have room to squeeze in another two or three of your servants. Their house is only across the garth and not too far distant and a servant will be able to run across with your instructions in no time. How many will we need to accommodate?’

  ‘I’ll keep my personal maid with me and the old housekeeper from my niece’s establishment. They can share my chamber. You’ll have to find space for a clerk, our horsemaster and my husband’s steward.’

  At the word steward she cast a quick glance at Melisen but she was apparently thinking of other things and did not respond. Avis turned back to the guest master with a frown. ‘My other servants will have to bed down as best they can. They will not mind. They’re used to it.’ Her frown deepened. ‘I’m surprised you have so little room to accommodate us in the manner to which we’re accustomed.’ She glanced round the guest hall. ‘Surely there are empty chambers above?’

  ‘You are not the only visitors at present,’ the guest master repl
ied in a tone showing he was long used to complaints. ‘We have others also coming from York.’

  Avis’s eyes narrowed. ‘From York? But who else is summoned apart from the Sheriff and his men?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say, my lady. The abbot has their names. I merely seek to make all comfortable.’ He bowed and withdrew.

  Well done, thought Hildegard, standing silent and barefoot beside the door into the kitchens. So far no-one had noticed her presence. It was as if she were invisible. For the first time she understood what it was to be a servant. She resolved to offer up prayers on behalf of all serving people that their burden might be lifted by kind words and acknowledgement of their humanity as soon as she had a moment to pray.

  Busy since crossing the bridge she had been ordered hither and yon in preparation for the main repast of the day. Starting after the mid-day Office it would continue until nones. So far platter after platter had been brought out, meat, as it was a meat day, fish, of course, from the abbey ponds, beans and all manner of root vegetables, and any moment now the pasties and maybe a few subtleties would be brought forth. It had been some time since she had seen such quantities of food. Friar John, she noticed, had settled himself beside Sir Bernard and was tucking in with gusto. Much wine was being quaffed as the jug was passed between them.

  Roger and Melisen, by comparison, were noticeably abstemious and, having lost their dining companion of the previous day, were talking quietly and seriously to each other. Suddenly Roger glanced up as a shadow fell across him.

  Sir Bernard had risen from his place and strutted over. Hildegard saw him bend down to mouth a few angry words into Roger’s face. The effect was instantaneous. Roger leaped to his feet, one hand already on his dagger while Melisen put out a hand to restrain him.

  Sir Bernard stepped back. His mistake was to laugh out loud, a provocation and a sign that he was too confident in the support of his servants because at that moment his clerk, a thin, pale little fellow, got up and left and his steward followed as if on suddenly important business. Avis, meanwhile, smirked.