Read A Parliament of Spies Online
Authors: Cassandra Clark
A Parliament of Spies (2 page)
Bending, she peered at the bushes growing close by. Herbs. It was a herb garden, then. They lay in undisturbed rows, the dew unshaken from the leaves.
A path led alongside the building to a wicket gate in the wall. Beyond that was a lane and the high wall of the abbey infirmary with the dark huddle of the other abbey buildings beyond that. The sky behind them was beginning to lighten.
‘Hildegard!’ It was Thomas. ‘We’re going to be left behind if we don’t leave now.’
‘I’m coming.’ She closed the door and went back inside. Light was beginning to slant in through the window slit, illuminating the clean swept tiles.
She followed him out.
The papal envoy and his tax-gatherers were dropped off a few hours later as they passed Selby Abbey and would presumably inflict the same indignities on the brothers there. By evening the convoy was approaching the river to make the Humber crossing at low tide before descending into Lincolnshire. A few trees straggled beside the road, beyond them, thick woodland. The sun had disappeared behind a wreath of evening mist.
It was then they sighted the wolf.
It was running between the trees, a silvery shape moving in the same direction as themselves. At first it was
thought to be a hind, as it was at the time of day when they came out to feed, and already one of the huntsmen was standing up in a moving cart with his bow unslung and an arrow fixed to the string.
thought to be a hind, as it was at the time of day when they came out to feed, and already one of the huntsmen was standing up in a moving cart with his bow unslung and an arrow fixed to the string.
‘There, look!’ someone shouted as the creature wove in and out of the boles of the trees. ‘I told you it was a wolf.’
It moved like quicksilver, fleet and fast. The arrow, however, was faster. They saw the animal leap in an arc as the barb hit. Then it fell and lay still.
Half a dozen men were already out of the carts and running into the woods. The man who had shot the creature drew a long hunting knife and crept up on it with warning shouts from the others not to trust it, but when he reached it the animal was dead, the arrow having pierced its skull. He hacked off the head and with the help of the kitcheners gutted the creature there and then, fed the innards to the hounds, flensed the skin as well as they could in the falling darkness, and returned to the waiting convoy. There were cheers when he stuck the wolf’s head on a pole and fixed it to his wagon. The skin was hung up to dry like a shirt.
‘Barbarians.’ Hildegard sighed. ‘It seems a shame to kill a creature of such grace and beauty when there’s no need.’
‘Dangerous, though, with winter coming on,’ Thomas replied.
Hildegard had no idea why she had been summoned out of her grange at Meaux to attend the archbishop. In August King Richard had announced his intention to summon a Parliament at Westminster. From all parts of the realm dukes and earls, barons and burgesses, and
every shire knight with a piece of land to his name were forced to set out to reach Westminster for the first day of October.
every shire knight with a piece of land to his name were forced to set out to reach Westminster for the first day of October.
The Abbot of Meaux, Hubert de Courcy, had sounded serious when he informed Hildegard of the archbishop’s decision. ‘Don’t ask me why he wants you to go. He’ll have to tell you himself. I hope you’ll take care on that long journey.’
Now, having crossed the Humber and being well on the road towards Lincoln, where they were to spend a few days with Bishop Buckingham, she was no wiser.
It was on the following morning, after the first night’s stop in a clearing by the roadside, with Thomas riding beside her picking hazelnuts as they passed, that a smartly dressed indoor servant came out from the verge as if he had been waiting for them. He drew his horse up in front of their own forcing them to a stop.
‘Domina, I beg leave to speak.’
‘Please do,’ she replied.
‘His Grace invites you to travel in his char with your priest.’ He turned to include Thomas. ‘Ride on and I’ll come with you to take your horses when you dismount.’
Thomas beamed. ‘What’s made him ask for us?’
The servant disdained the young monk’s gaucherie with a flick of his hair and murmured, ‘I’m sure His Grace will enlighten you, Brother, you may be sure of that.’
He rode alongside Hildegard for a little way, long enough to tell her he was the archbishop’s secretary, Edwin Westwode. Dressed in a dark tunic, he wore a wide belt with a leather bag hanging from it. There was
a writing box tied to the pommel of his saddle. His hair was thick and hung in the latest fashion as far as his shoulders. She noticed his habit of flicking it back every now and then in a languid and courtly manner, even when it wasn’t in his eyes. After he spoke his horse gained speed to take the lead and she and Thomas followed him to the front of the swiftly moving wagon train until they reached the four-horse char of the archbishop. A halt was called while steps were put in position to allow them to climb aboard.
a writing box tied to the pommel of his saddle. His hair was thick and hung in the latest fashion as far as his shoulders. She noticed his habit of flicking it back every now and then in a languid and courtly manner, even when it wasn’t in his eyes. After he spoke his horse gained speed to take the lead and she and Thomas followed him to the front of the swiftly moving wagon train until they reached the four-horse char of the archbishop. A halt was called while steps were put in position to allow them to climb aboard.
Inside it was as well appointed as Hildegard had expected. Metal hoops supported a leather canopy to keep out the rain, and instead of having to sit on an uncomfortable wooden bench as they bumped along as in the other wagons, there was a padded platform piled with cushions and furs.
The archbishop reclined there now with a goblet in one hand and an enamelled silver dish containing sweetmeats on his lap.
He beckoned them inside. ‘May as well travel in comfort,’ he greeted, and while they found space on the cushions he started to talk of this and that: the weather, fine enough though the wind was strengthening; the misery of the Selby monks at having to suffer the same punishment as themselves over the papal taxes; the harvest, good; wool yield up, and so forth, requiring little more than the occasional nod of agreement from them.
At one point he leant forward. ‘I am not unmindful that a member of my household has met with an accident. A Mass will be said for the fellow. His body decently
buried. His wife provided for.’
buried. His wife provided for.’
Relieved to hear it, Hildegard replied, ‘To judge by what your servants say about him, he was a devout and honest man. But how he came to be in the brewhouse is some kind of a mystery, isn’t it?’
The archbishop crossed himself. ‘I believe we can trust my men to sort it out before we return north.’
He closed his eyes. They carried on for some miles in silence. It was certainly more comfortable in the well-padded char than on horseback. The regular rhythm as it bounced along was soporific. Hildegard felt Thomas lolling more heavily beside her. Neville himself was lying back among his furs, to all appearances asleep.
He was about forty, heavy-jowled, unbearded, florid of complexion. His air of authority had his staff jumping to obey. He seemed well liked. The only doubt she had was about his allegiance. They were living in a time of faction. The Great Rebellion was scarcely five years away. Memories were not so short that people had forgotten the bloody aftermath of that event. Feelings still ran deep. The perpetrators of judicial violence continued to hold power. It was a sure thing that even now choices had to be made.
Impatient to find out why she had been prised out of her cloister and summoned to London, Hildegard leant forward to see if it would be advisable to wake him, but the rustling of her cushion must have alerted him because he opened his eyes, glanced across at Thomas, and whispered, ‘Get rid of your priest, Domina. I have something to impart which you may not bother to confess to him. I take it he is your confessor?’
‘Indeed, yes, Your Grace, and to be trusted—’
‘Not with this.’
Hildegard felt her mouth open in astonishment. ‘But Your Grace—’ she whispered to match his own discretion.
‘Do as I say.’
Hildegard gave Thomas a nudge. He woke with a start and looked round, dazed, before pulling himself together.
‘Thomas,’ she asked, ‘would you care to go along to the sumpter cart to replenish His Grace’s wine flagon?’
When they were alone the archbishop spoke in an undertone. ‘I know you trust him but he’s one of Abbot de Courcy’s men. These are dangerous times, Domina. The French monasteries are unreliable.’ He fixed her with a hard glance. ‘You understand me?’
‘I’m as aware of the French threat as everyone else.’
He nodded. ‘Your prioress at Swyne – my sister in blood – has used you in the past on secret business. Now she commends you to me.’
‘Commends?’
‘Most strongly, although not without a warning to have regard for your safety.’
‘I’m just a nun with no useful skills or connections—’
He cut her off. ‘You are loyal.’
‘Of course I am.’ She held his glance.
He regarded her steadily for a few moments while she, in her turn, tried to work out which of the many rumours circulating about him were true. His lands were surrounded by those of the Duke of Lancaster, which might mean he saw it as prudent to regard his neighbour as his ally. His own brother, in fact, was married to one of the Duke’s cousins. On the other hand the prioress was his
sister, as he had just reminded her, and she was well known for her support for the young King. The bitterness between the two sides of the royal family was well known. The Lancasters were active in drawing allegiance to themselves. They had allies in every corner of the realm, not just in the north, and they had active supporters at court.
sister, as he had just reminded her, and she was well known for her support for the young King. The bitterness between the two sides of the royal family was well known. The Lancasters were active in drawing allegiance to themselves. They had allies in every corner of the realm, not just in the north, and they had active supporters at court.
‘The kingdom is at a dangerous crossroads,’ Neville warned when he eventually spoke. ‘Apart from factional interests threatening to tear the country apart we’re in immediate danger of invasion. That young hothead, King Charles, together with the support of his French dukes, has been rearming ever since he signed the last truce. We, on the other hand, have not. We’re unarmed and vulnerable.’ He gazed angrily into his wine goblet. ‘Taxes have been squandered on inconclusive skirmishes against the Scots when they should have been directed to our southern defences. The French know this. They see us as a ripe plum, ready for plucking.’
‘And you believe they really intend to invade?’ There had been rumours all year about the build-up of French forces along the coast of Picardie but so far their ships had shown no sign of leaving port.
‘They’ve delayed throughout the summer months, that’s true, but our informers tell us it’s because their Spanish allies are still bringing their ships up the narrow seas to Sluys to join the French fleet. The Constable of France is having a ship built that’s bigger than anything ever seen before. There are other signs of their readiness. We’d be fools to ignore them.’ He frowned. ‘The question is, will Parliament grant King Richard the money to pay for our defence? The rumour is it will not. Lancaster’s son, Harry
Bolingbroke, the Earl of Derby, and his uncle the Duke of Gloucester, are refusing to grant permission to raise taxes. This is why we’re being called to Westminster. The King will have to plead with them to vote for sufficient resources to defend the realm. And you can be sure,’ he warned, ‘his enemies will pack both chambers with placemen in order to defeat him.’
Bolingbroke, the Earl of Derby, and his uncle the Duke of Gloucester, are refusing to grant permission to raise taxes. This is why we’re being called to Westminster. The King will have to plead with them to vote for sufficient resources to defend the realm. And you can be sure,’ he warned, ‘his enemies will pack both chambers with placemen in order to defeat him.’
‘You mean they’ll vote as they’re paid to vote? But if they do defeat the King and leave us undefended the French will swoop.’
‘There are rumours …’ he frowned. ‘It’s not merely a question of raising a war fund. The King has personal enemies. Members of his own family. They want nothing more than to get rid of him. The fear is this: they may use the invasion as a way of ridding themselves of him once and for all.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They will use the invasion as a pretext.’
‘A pretext … ?’
He gave her a long stare. ‘You recall what happened to King Jean of France after we captured him and put him up for ransom?’
‘Why yes, everyone knows. He was held for twenty years and died in the royal apartments in the Tower of London simply because the French dukes would not pay up.’
The archbishop was silent.
Hildegard could only stare. ‘You mean there’s a plot to exchange Richard for the price of peace? To allow the French to hold him to ransom – and never redeem him?’
Neville nodded.
‘But that would be diabolical.’
‘Indeed.’
‘First he would have to lead an army into France. And this is precisely the course of action they seem to want to block by refusing to grant him the funds …’
He gave a humourless smile. ‘There are other ways of offering a king for barter.’
Neville was staring hard at her as if trying to read her thoughts. ‘All I require of you,’ he murmured in an urgent undertone, ‘is your observing eye when we reach London. It’s a cesspit of conspiracy. Plot and counterplot prevail. If we’re to survive we need to know who our enemies are, the ones who work in darkness against the realm.’
He lowered his voice further. ‘There are names at court you will need to learn. Medford. Slake. Several others. They may mean nothing now but they’ll come to mean more over the next few weeks. They’re attached to the Signet Office. Mr Medford is King Richard’s personal secretary. He has use of his Signet, the royal seal, without which no business can be conducted. It bestows great power on him. Remember that.’
She made a mental note of both names. ‘Is their loyalty in question?’
Neville leant back. He made no answer. ‘There’s more—’ With some abruptness he changed the subject. ‘I understand you know something of herbal lore, Domina?’
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