Murder at Meaux

by Cassandra Clark

  He looked startled. ‘I hope not. They’re our official enemies, are they not?’

  ‘Much silver comes down to us from them, even so. The Scots melt down their Roman silver and sell it on in blocks to the silversmiths here.’ She paused and wondered what she could say to find out more. ‘I remember,’ she continued, ‘someone showed me once how those brooches open. They’re used to hold the likeness of a sweetheart for instance, or a hair of a lover’s head, or love messages. I believe there’s a little spring that will cause the brooch to open out like a flower –’

  ‘Quite so.’ He gave her a considering glance then moved smoothly out of reach as if in fear that she would reach out and try the spring herself. He went out through the door into the corridor and when she followed he was already half-way down the steps.

  She turned back inside and glanced round. He appeared not to have noticed that when he pushed shut the door of the aumbry it had not closed properly.

  20

  ‘So what exactly happened?’ demanded Agnetha, placing several beakers on the trestle in the nuns’ kitchen and beginning to fill them with wine and water as the rest of her sisters entered.

  ‘Wait.’ Hildegard glanced at Pierrekyn who was lolling on a bench plucking at his lute. ‘I fear we’re becoming slack in our daily life. A minstrel to teach my nuns to sing is one thing. To have him sitting at his ease in our kitchen as if in a town tavern is another.’

  Pierrekyn leaped to his feet. ‘Mea culpa, domina. I presume too much.’

  ‘It’s not against you I want to cite the rules but I would be shamed if it was discovered by all and sundry that we make so free. The reputation of my nuns would suffer. I suspect I have already caused speculation as to their piety. One sinner is often seen to tarnish the rest.’

  ‘You’ll have to sit out in the parlour, Pierrekyn, like our other visitors, somewhere we can all hear you. Here, let me refill that beaker for you.’ Agnetha offered more wine then turned to Hildegard. ‘I fear it’s my influence. While you were away we did tend to run according to our own will as no-one ever cared to bother us.’

  ‘It’s only because of me and this threat hanging over me. I don’t want you to be at blame in any way.’

  ‘We understand, domina, but let Pierreky tell us quickly what happened because we’re all bursting to know.’ Emma gave him a pleading glance and pushed him towards the door.

  Grinning, he went out into the parlour, closed the door between them and opened the panel so that they could hear him. ‘First, they wouldn’t let me go in to see Ulf but one of the novices in my choir told me in confidence that it’s a wound deep enough for the lord abbot to wish to keep Ulf in the infirmary for the time being. Don’t worry Hildegard, it may be no more than a precaution. Second, how it came about is because the apprentice –’

  ‘Is he the one called Mark?’ asked Sister Ann.

  ‘Do keep up, Ann, yes of course he is. Go on Pierrekyn,’ said Emma impatiently.

  ‘I’m told Ulf asked if he might offer up a prayer before facing his accusers,’ he continued. ‘They brought him out of his cell still in chains and were escorting him to the church when out of nowhere as it seemed Mark appeared like a whirlwind, shouting accusations at Ulf and wielding a knife. He stormed up the steps and plunged the knife into Ulf’s ribs before anybody could move and without a thought Ulf brought his manacles down on the fellow’s face, breaking, as we now know, his nose. That’s about all of it.’

  ‘What made him suddenly do a thing like that? I mean, attack Ulf. Especially when he would be facing his accusers anyway.’ Emma looked puzzled.

  ‘I expect Sir Bernard had whispered something to provoke him,’ Agnetha suggested. ‘You know how easy it is to provoke men to fight.’

  ‘How wicked,’ Ann shook her head.

  ‘Thank you, Master Pierrekyn, if that’s all we shall have our singing lesson now,’ sang Emma.

  As the nuns filed into the small chapel next door Hildegard went to the parlour. ‘Pierrekyn, what have you found out about Friar John?’

  ‘That he plays a close game.’

  ‘I came across him in the scriptorium earlier. He’d been rummaging through the aumbry where Brother Anselm kept the secret copies.’

  ‘Did he find them?’

  ‘He had nothing with him when he left. I daren’t check to see if they were still there in case he came back.’

  ‘I’ll go across after this. What do you think he was looking for?’

  ‘He must know about the copies being made.’

  ‘He’s a spy. But who sent him?’ Pierrekyn came right up to the grille that allowed them to speak to each other while maintaining an appearance of decorum. ’There’s something else. I didn’t have time to tell you what Mark was shouting before he stabbed Ulf.’

  ‘What was it?’

  His face framed in the opening was a picture of mystification. ‘He was shouting that he was the true betrothed of Eunice. That they had been hand-fast until Ulf came on the scene and her father forced her into an illegal marriage.’

  21

  There were several possible answers to Pierrekyn’s question about Friar John and what he had been looking for in the scriptorium and Hildegard did not like any of them. Most were predicated on the fact that the friar, if he was a friar, had appeared from nowhere and all anybody knew about him was what he had announced himself.

  The fact that he had ingratiated himself with Sir Bernard was itself a mystery. Why would he do that if he was in contention over an inheritance Sir Bernard wanted to secure for himself? Was it an attempted safe-guard against having his neck broken?

  But then why was he in the scriptorium, a place he had no right to be? Was it from simple curiosity? A love of books? Admiration of the illuminators’ art? Maybe he was looking for valuables? Or had he been sent to pry into the copying that went on? If so, at whose behest? Maybe he really had been looking for something to write with. A scriptorium was the place in which to do that, well enough.

  Then there was the brooch. What did it contain? He certainly had no intention of allowing her to see for herself. Was it a lock of his lover’s hair? He, a friar? Was it something more incriminating? A secret missive to be propagated among like-minded souls? And who were these souls? Friends of the king? Or enemies of the king. Maybe it had nothing to do with the unrest in the realm during these troubled times.

  Maybe he simply liked silver.

  I shall go mad with speculation, she decided. It’s all a way of stopping myself from worrying about Ulf and uncertainty over Hubert’s intentions.

  22

  ‘Any news from over the bridge?’ Agnetha bustled in later to remind Hildegard about changing her dressing.

  ‘No news so far.’

  ‘They would get word to us if he was seriously wounded. What about you?’

  ‘I’ve still got massive bruises,’ Hildegard showed her, wincing as the bandages were peeled off. ‘It’s really much less painful that it has been.’

  Agnetha still insisted on taking a closer look. ‘I’ve never seen that shade of purple before. It’s quite beautiful against the green.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re getting some pleasure from my wound,’ Hildegard smiled through gritted teeth.

  ‘One thing that makes me curious,’ admitted Agnetha, ‘is where Lord Roger and Lady Melisen were when Ulf was attacked.’

  ‘That’s another fact I know not.’ She sighed, ‘And Gregory. And Egbert. Where are they?’

  ‘I feel everything will come right when they’re all here together.’ She straightened up. ‘There, that’s more comfortable, isn’t it?’

  ‘You take care of us all so well, Agnetha. Not just us but the children learning to read. The sick. Those elderly folk who come in from the nearby vills with their aches and pains and fear of death. If you and our sisters here didn’t do it, who would? I pray Hubert understands that there is no need to close this house whatever his intentions towards me.’

  23

 
‘It’s my view,’ boomed Sir Bernard, ‘that Abbot de Courcy should have him carried out on a stretcher to face the charges against him. With that done we can haul him back to York on a litter. Then they can hang him, injured or not.’

  ‘These monastics have their ways,’ Lady Avis opined. ‘They conduct their lives at a slower rate than we do.’

  ‘Out of touch, away from the mainstream of life, I don’t know how they stand it.’ He flicked his fingers at Hildegard to indicate that another jug of the abbot’s wine would be acceptable. ‘At least he has a good cellar, my dear. We can’t fault him on that.’

  ‘They import it, husband. They get first pick.’

  ‘Something to be said then for the life monastic? Shall we finish up as a pair of elderly corrodians, do you think?’

  ‘And live separately, Bernard?’

  He rumbled with amusement. ‘I can see that part of it might not go down well, eh?’ He patted her plump shoulder.

  Hildegard replaced the wine jug and went to stand beside the door until she was summoned again.

  Roger was dining alone. Melisen, he told her, was feeling unwell and had gone to lie down. He himself had visited Ulf in the infirmary and tried to cheer him up but he would not be consoled. Contrary to what he expected Ulf was miserable because his chance to defend himself had been denied.

  ‘When is the hearing likely to resume?’ she asked.

  ‘Anybody’s guess. De Courcy’s being tight-lipped. He said something about a saint’s feast day tomorrow so it won’t be then.’

  ‘It’s cruel to keep Ulf on tenterhooks.’

  Roger gave her a swift glance. ‘Or is it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Another day’s life is another day’s life.’

  His words did not cheer her. They seemed to suggest that he was beginning to believe Ulf would not receive justice. Neither did Sir Bernard’s words cheer her, with his continual assumption that victory was already in his pocket.

  She wondered what would have happened if Ulf had died in Mark’s attack. Would he have shown the same zeal in persuading the Sheriff to take the youth into custody and hang him? If the youth’s claim that he had been hand-fast with Eunice then the answer had to be yes. The drawback was it would take years going through the courts to prove it either way.

  Osmund entered as she was about to leave. He came straight towards her. He looked flushed and spoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘Domina, can you see me outside?’

  She offered the briefest of nods and continued towards the corner where she had thrown her boots when she arrived. Pulling them on she saw Osmund stroll with excessive nonchalance outside onto the garth.

  The sun was setting in dramatic streaks of golden red. In the east one star hung in the firmament against a deep and radiant evening blue. Shadows were already gathering in the nooks and crannies of the buildings. From inside the church candles must have been lit because the colours of the glass shone in flames of blue and red and purple.

  Osmund was leaning against the wall outside in a wedge of darkness and stepped forward when she appeared. His expression was inscrutable.

  She was not in a forgiving mood and uttered a curt, ‘Yes?’

  ‘I have stolen something. I need you to see it. Where can we go where there’s light?’

  She indicated the church opposite. It was some time before the next Office. Chances were they would not be disturbed. She led the way and could hear him following a few paces behind. When at Meaux it never occurred to her to carry a knife. Now, remembering Osmund’s betrayal, she regretted the lack.

  Pushing the door she went in and a few moments later Osmund entered and followed her as she led to a stone bench built into the wall.

  ‘I admit to being a thief,’ he began. ‘I have never stolen anything before.’

  ‘Confess it and you’ll be forgiven.’

  He gazed at her without speaking. ‘You make it sound easy.’ Without saying anything more he opened one hand. There in his palm was Friar John’s silver brooch.

  ‘So?’ She waited.

  ‘Don’t you recognise the style? I make them. I know the secret.’ He pressed the hidden spring and the flower petals opened to reveal a small scroll tied with a thread of red silk. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  Wondering if it was some elaborate trap thought up by Sir Bernard and was the cause of their complicit whispering in the refectory while they were waiting for the hearing to begin, she shook her head.

  ‘It’s what they call a vaticinium.’

  She made no sign that she understood.

  ‘A vaticinium is a little poem, a satire on our rulers. It is said to be prophetic and may be so for all I know. Its purpose,’ he continued, watching her carefully, ‘is to rouse rebellion.’

  ‘Against whom?’

  ‘Ah, first you have to read it.’

  ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ve only just purloined it.’

  ‘Then maybe you should read it to see if it’s something I might be interested in?’

  He glanced up at the brass candelabra nearby. Taller than an average man it was decked with the fat beeswax candles scented with frankincense that were made in the abbey workshops. Obviously finding it enough light by which to make out the minuscule script he unrolled the scrap of vellum and began to read.

  It took but a moment and afterwards he gazed at Hildegard in astonishment. ‘Here. Recognise what it says?’

  Hildegard had a look. It was the exhortation Pierrekyn had fitted to the four notes of music scratched by Anselm on his desk. ‘Brothers and sisters, now is the time for us to rise from sleep!’ Of course, Osmund was not to know about that.

  She handed it back. ‘John Balle.’

  ‘Indeed, and now we know the essential thing to know about Friar John.’

  ‘You didn’t know what it was going to say?’

  He shook his head. ‘How could I have known? But you know what it is, don’t you? It’s his letter of authentication. If challenged he simply has to show his contact this brooch with the seditious text inside to prove which side he’s on. I’m glad it’s not a paean to Gloucester and his Council. The Friar, it seems, is one of us.’

  To Hildegard’s surprise he relaxed as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders.

  The image of him taking an offer of coins from Sir Bernard in that secret corner of the garth was at odds with the expression on his face now. She would almost say that he looked trusting. Hopeful, even.

  ‘One of us?’ she repeated, hoping not to incriminate herself until she was certain of him.

  ’Who would have expected it?’ he murmured, ‘...in this out of the way place? Still, the Cistercians are known for their involvement with matters of state. Friar John must have been making for Meaux all along.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Why, so he could pick up copies of...of other writings to pass on to sympathisers.’

  ‘Copies of these verses?’

  ‘Of course. What else?...’ He peered into her face in apparent alarm. ‘What do you think I mean?’

  Was he trying to find out if she knew about the pages Anselm had copied from Wyclif’s Bible?

  ‘I have no idea, Osmund. What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I’m going to give him his brooch back and apologise most humbly for having purloined it.’ He got up. ‘I thought you’d like to know about this one way or another. I think Lord Roger might be interested but I can’t be seen talking to him at present.’ He looked uncomfortable and before she could ask him to explain he quickly added, ‘I simply thought you’d like to know.’

  He headed for the door with an odd, angular ducking movement, half-obeisance, half-apology, and went out closing it softly behind him.

  24

  Word soon spread about Mark’s claim to be hand-fast with Eunice and he himself added fuel by an outburst of petulance later that day. Pierrekyn carried the news to the nuns.

  ‘How can
it possibly be so and why would he announce the fact now?’ asked Sister Ann in astonishment.

  ‘The answer to your second question, why now, hinges on the inheritance the silversmith left to Eunice, his only child. Now she’s dead it belongs to her husband, and after him, to her father’s brother, the friar. If he rejects it as at first he claimed he would, then it would go to her father’s only living relative, his sister –’

  ‘Lady Avis?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And Mark?’

  ‘He comes into it only if he can prove he and Eunice were hand-fast. It would invalidate her marriage to Ulf who would then be outside the list of any possible heirs.’

  ‘But why would Mark wait until now? Why didn’t he speak out while she was still alive?’

  ‘Maybe they both felt there was no need. If Eunice preferred him and they were living together whenever she was in York she would appear to have gone along with her father’s wishes and still have her own way.’ Hildegard frowned. ‘I wonder what Sir Bernard thinks to this? He’ll surely be less interested in having Ulf dragged back to York to stand trial. It’ll make no difference to his claim on the inheritance as Ulf won’t even be in the running.’

  Agnetha looked sceptical. ‘The youth’s got to prove it first. He’ll find that hard without Eunice to back him up.’

  ‘I believe he’ll only need to provide two witnesses.’ Hildegard pursed her lips. ‘I wish Gregory would return. He’ll know the detail of the law.’

  Unexpectedly Sister Emma leaned forward. ‘I can help – there was a case in York a few years ago. It became quite a scandal. I couldn’t help but follow it. This was before I took the veil,’ she explained. ‘The case has similarities to this situation. A young woman inherited great wealth from her father and married a fellow who began to treat her badly, squandering her money and selling off her land to pay his debts. Not,’ she hurriedly added, ‘that I imagine Sir Ulf was like that, but you get the picture. This young wife decided she’d had enough so she claimed that she’d made a prior promise of marriage to another young man. Of course it was contested by the so-called husband who dragged the case through all the courts, beginning with the Archbishop’s court and reaching as far as the King’s Bench down in London. As far as I remember the girl’s claim depended solely on the testimony of a couple of witnesses. They agreed they’d been standing out in the garden when the promise was made within their hearing. That was the important bit. They had to testify to the actual words used because canon law takes the spoken word as binding.’