Hangman Blind (26 page)

Well used to prowling the abbey in the dead of night, Thomas was a reassuring presence as they made their way across the garth and out on to the other side to the guest house. When they went inside servants were lying around in the corridors, hunched shapes slumbering beneath their cloaks, one or two snores rending the silence. A light burned in a sconce at the foot of the stair leading up to Sibilla’s apartment where the baby slept.

‘The little mite must be having a peaceful night,’ whispered Thomas as they made their way upwards. Treading softly, they reached an upper corridor with doors running its entire length. They looked at each other in confusion. ‘The personal servants bed down together in a chamber at the farthest end,’ said the novice. ‘Maybe in order to preserve the sanctity of their slumbers Sir Ralph and the Lady Sibilla prefer to keep the child at a similar distance?’

‘You’re probably right.’ Hildegard smiled, surprised that a young man, a celibate as he was, should be so knowing. ‘Lead on, if you will.’

He glided along the corridor until he came to a door at the farthest end next to a back stair. She guessed it led down towards the privies over the mill race, an artificial sluice constructed by the monks many generations ago. Since then the order had become renowned for the construction of sluices and drains and a canal system had been designed that had already reclaimed tracts of marshland, where they now ran sheep. She waited as Thomas pushed open the door of the servants’ chamber and looked inside. A chorus of snores greeted them.

Grasping the shoulder of the nearest man and gently shaking it, Thomas bent down to whisper, ‘Quiet now, just tell me where the baby sleeps.’

‘Pissing little brat,’ mumbled the servant, not knowing or caring who was quizzing him. ‘Been put out yonder behind that flimsy door…don’t keep the scratching of a bloody mouse at bay…me get some sleep now. Bugger off.’ Grumbling to himself, he turned over and pulled his cloak around his ears.

Thomas straightened. ‘Poor fellow. They work so hard, their sleep is precious to them.’ He indicated the next door. ‘That must be the one he means.’ With a burglar’s stealth such that Hildegard wondered about his previous career, he pressed the door ajar. Within all was silent. In fact, it was a silence so complete Hildegard felt her heart turn over with fright.

‘The light, if you please, Thomas!’

Standing behind her in the doorway he lifted the lamp so that the small chamber was illuminated in every corner. There was a heap of empty blankets on a pallet on one side and a wooden crib next to it. They hurried over. It too was empty.

‘Perhaps the nurse has taken the baby to Sibilla,’ Hildegard suggested. ‘We must risk waking her. Come.’

Sibilla’s quarters were guarded by two sleeping servants huddled on either side of the door. Stepping over them they made their way inside. The room was lit by a solitary night-candle and by its dim glow a bed could be discerned and on it a sleeping figure. Hildegard made her way over and peered down. It was Sibilla. Of the baby, and the nurse, there was no sign. Still praying for some simple explanation for the child’s whereabouts, and fearing a certain amount of anger from Sibilla when she woke her, Hildegard braced herself to touch her on the shoulder. ‘Sibilla, wake up for a moment, I need to ask you something.’

The woman stirred and at once her eyes blinked open. Thomas moved closer with the rush lamp held before him. Sibilla put one hand over her eyes. ‘What? Is that you, Ralph?’ She sat up, blinking in the light, and shook her plaits from her shoulders. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s me, Hildegard. Baby Roger isn’t in his room. Nor is his nurse. We must speak to her, Sibilla. It’s urgent.’

‘At this time of night?’

‘Where is he, Sibilla?’

‘Where is who?’

‘Your baby, little Roger.’

‘He should be sleeping. Down there—’ She pointed vaguely back towards the door.

‘The cot’s empty. Come and see for yourself.’

With surprising speed Sibilla rose from her bed and, without even putting a robe on over her nightgown, hurried, complaining loudly, down the corridor to the baby’s chamber. When she saw the empty crib she gave a loud scream that roused every servant within earshot. They came pouring into the chamber, half dazed with sleep, jostling and complaining, until with a roar one of them stepped forth and told them to hold their noise. It was a servant Hildegard recognised at once.

Shrugging on the jacket with its familiar scarlet tippets, he went over to his mistress. ‘My lady?’

Sibilla pointed to the empty cot. ‘Where’s my child?’ she demanded. ‘He’s gone!’

The black-cloaked envoy had taken ship at Damme. The port, situated at the mouth of the River Scheldt, served the city of Bruges where guilds supporting the men of Ghent and their leader Van Artvelde prepared for war. Damme was a convenient port of departure for the envoy as it happened to be the gateway into England via the North Sea and the eastern river estuaries of Thames, Humber and Tyne. The papers he offered before embarking had been accepted without question. Now, comfortably aboard the cog
Isabeau,
he was treated with exceptional deference by the captain, who had seen his papers, and with indifference by the crew, who had not. During the thirty hours of the crossing he spoke to no one and no one spoke to him.

W
HILE SIBILLA WAS
raging, her manservant stepped in to take charge. Hildegard took the opportunity to ask one of the maids his name.

‘That’s Escrick Fitzjohn,’ replied the maid. ‘He’s Sir Ralph’s right hand, though if you ask me he does more for the Lady Sibilla, if you know what I mean.’ She gave a sniff.

Hildegard was astonished. So he really was one of the inner household, someone trusted, sharing Ralph and Sibilla’s private life. She asked, ‘Has he been with the family long?’

‘Since the age of ten,’ the maid answered, ‘first as page, then retainer and now, well, as you see—’ The maid clearly had no time for Master Escrick.

Just now he was barking orders that should more correctly have been given by Sir Ralph. The knight, it seemed, was still asleep in his chamber and nobody had thought to rouse him.

Escrick Fitzjohn. The man had power beyond the usual for a master of the household and Hildegard asked herself again why he had been meeting William’s men in the undercroft.

Now he was packing the servants off to bed, and ordering a maid to attend her mistress. Meanwhile, he’d had a couple of hunting dogs brought in and pushed a kerchief belonging to the wet-nurse under their noses. The brutes whined and began to strain at their chains. With proof that the scent was strong, Master Escrick Fitzjohn announced to all and sundry that he was setting off in pursuit of the kidnapper himself.

Hildegard was struck by his manner. He seemed to take it as a personal slight that one of the servants had absconded. His manner was violent but he dissembled like a courtier whenever Sibilla glanced his way, all smiles and courtesy, but not bothering to disguise his bad temper when she wasn’t looking. Hildegard was shocked to see him lash out with his fist at a young page who was slow to jump to a command. She recoiled when he gave a slashing cut of his whip to one of the house dogs which got under his feet. When he strode from the chamber he went with a swagger, chest pushed out, evidently believing he was master of all he surveyed. The maidservant gave Hildegard a knowing glance before bustling back to bed.

Escrick set out with two armed men and the two tracking hounds. With Brother Thomas by her side, Hildegard followed him to the outer gate, even though he gave them black looks. Thomas, however, maintained a benign certainty of purpose, his clever, bony face suffused with an expression that hinted at the abbot he would become in the fullness of time, and there was nothing Escrick Fitzjohn could do against such grace but offer an insolent shoulder and ignore him.

The two henchmen had necks as thick as their jaws, their foreheads concealed under casques with steel nosepieces. They carried bows and clubs as well as short swords and Escrick himself wore a hauberk with a powerful looking broadsword stuck in his belt. Once outside the gates the hounds circled and checked until they picked up the scent again, then, with a single purpose, they set off after the maid.

Hildegard watched them leave with a worried frown. ‘Master Escrick and his men go excessively armed to bring back a poor nursemaid.’

‘I expect they fear outlaws, being unsure where the trail will lead them.’ Thomas caught her glance. ‘But perhaps we might be of assistance, sister, what do you think?’ He glanced after the men. ‘If she left on foot, as it seems from what the stabler told Master Escrick about his complement of horses, then perhaps we might take a short stroll outside the gates ourselves?’

‘I would welcome your company,’ said Hildegard, pleased to find he was quick on the uptake. ‘First let me get my lymer and my running hound.’

The nurse had last been seen after matins, when the crying of the baby resulted in her being thrown out of the servants’ hall. Apparently she had walked up and down the corridor for some time but had then taken the infant out of earshot on to the green. After that nobody knew where she went.

‘She must have been standing in the darkness of the garth when Brother Nevyl was found and the sacristan raised the alarm,’ Hildegard surmised. ‘She would hear all the coming and going and no doubt everything that was said.’

They left the abbey with the hounds and headed off down the road in the direction Escrick and his men had taken. The track led to a wharf on the new canal which ran as far as the next village, where it linked up with the river. It had been built to allow the carters to bring in goods by barge and reload them for the export of staple, corn and honey. On the wharf was a thatched barn for storage, and ahead of them they heard Escrick’s men stop for a moment to check inside it before riding on. Two of them began beating the long grass with sticks on both sides of the track as they rode along. By their casual manner it was clear they did not expect to find the runaway hiding so close to the abbey.

Hildegard and Thomas walked noiselessly with matched steps, for Thomas, at nineteen, was as tall as the nun. He possessed a calm and focused physical energy despite hours bent over parchments in the scriptorium and his gruelling year as a novitiate and in his rope-soled sandals he moved as carefully as Hildegard herself. She was glad he was with her.

As they tracked the trackers she whispered, ‘The facts of the matter are as follows: the nurse confesses something to poor Brother Nevyl, shortly afterwards he’s found dead, and then she runs away. Why?’

‘Guilt because she is somehow involved in his murder—?’ Thomas looked as doubtful as his namesake. ‘Or fear of someone perhaps?’ He raised his brows.

‘Of someone who did not want her secret to come out, even in the confessional.’

‘But what could such a secret be?’ wondered Thomas.

Hildegard held her tongue. She had ideas on that score but they seemed too far fetched to mention, even in the otherworldly nature of this night when nightmares themselves seemed to have a life of their own.

They walked on in silence. The horsemen ahead were clearly audible and, having left the abbey, were under no restraint as to their language. Snatches of oaths floated back above the rattle of arms and harness. At one point they clearly heard Escrick call, ‘Have a look and see if that bloody festering nun isn’t after us, will you?’

One of the men gave a loud guffaw. ‘You could soon sort her out, master. You and me, both.’

‘Aye, and the lad,’ said the third voice. There was raucous laughter but nobody came back to check.

Thomas and Hildegard melted into the trees that lined the towpath as the safety of the landing was left behind. The canal ran on ahead straight into open country. Beside them Hildegard’s hounds padded along like fleeting shadows. She and Thomas had thrown dark cloaks over their pale Cistercian habits and this made them almost invisible in the dark of night.

‘You must know this region well. Is there any turning off?’ whispered Hildegard after they had travelled on half a mile or so.

‘There’s a chain-ferry further up.’ It took workers to the grange on the other side of the canal. But before Thomas could say more they both stopped. Escrick’s hounds had started to whine. There was the sound of the horses and hounds milling about on the bank side.

Hildegard put a hand on Thomas’s arm. ‘There’s no sound of a woman’s voice.’

After a moment they heard the rattle of a chain.

‘They must be hauling the ferry over to their own side of the water,’ whispered Thomas. They dropped to the ground to conceal themselves in the tall husked stalks of the rushes that grew along the bank.

‘She’s makin’ for Skella!’ one of the men exclaimed. His words floated over the night air quite clearly.

‘She won’t get far lugging that brat about,’ said the other one. The hounds were whining with frustration at losing their quarry. Escrick’s voice called out. From the sound, he was still sitting astride his horse. ‘Hurry up with that raft then. Put some back into it. We’ll soon catch the bitch out in the open on the other side.’

‘We are putting our backs into it,’ replied one of the men from lower down the bank. ‘But nowt’s happening.’

‘Hey up! What’s this?’ There was a scuffling as the men seemed to scramble further down the bank. ‘God’s teeth!’ came a shout. ‘There’s nowt on t’ other end. Look here!’

‘The crafty mare!’ exclaimed the third voice. ‘She’s gone and cut the rope.’

‘She can’t have.’ They heard a thump as Escrick landed on the path and walked over to the brim of the steep-sided bank. ‘Are you sure?’ he called down.

‘Of course I’m sure. Look!’ Evidently the man held up the rope that normally tied the raft to its chain. Escrick had a flare and Thomas and Hildegard saw its sudden blaze as it was lifted up.

‘Little cow,’ the other man said. ‘She cut it. Or got the brat to gnaw through it.’

There were renewed heaves on the chain and a rattling as it was drawn up fully on to the bank. ‘Damn her to hell and back,’ Escrick said. A discussion ensued with much cursing. Then Escrick’s voice was heard again above the others. ‘The only way to get across to the other side is to swim and fetch the raft back that way.’ They heard him order one of the men into the water and the muttered oath from lower down the bank that followed. Escrick was cursing and stamping about at the top as the unfortunate volunteer stripped off his ironware. They heard him splash into the black water of the canal with another oath and set off for the other side.

‘I don’t envy him a swim on a night like this,’ whispered Thomas.

Edging cautiously through the rushes, they tried to see what progress he was making. A faint ripple reflected his presence. It was the smallest change in the deep nothingness of the canal, but they saw it reach the other side, followed by the blur of the man’s arm as he reached for the overhanging grasses in order to pull himself on to the bank. His voice came floating back to them. ‘I can’t find it!’ More splashing followed, then his voice again, aggrieved, hoarse with cold. ‘It’s not here. She must have set it adrift.’

‘She’s taken to the water, more like,’ called Escrick. ‘You,’ they heard him say to the man beside him. ‘Get along the bank. Keep an eye out. I’m riding on to the lock gates.’ Both men moved off, leaving their companion to swim back and haul himself unaided up the muddy bank on to the path. His chattering teeth were audible as he thrust himself back inside his woollen tunic and pulled on his boots. They heard him buckle on his sword and say something rough to his horse, then he was riding away to catch up with his companions.

Thomas and Hildegard got to their feet when the coast was clear.

‘We must see this through,’ murmured Thomas. ‘There’s a small boat kept moored somewhere near here. We use it for fishing.’ Briskly he led the way back a little way and then, as if by some sixth sense, plunged off into a sea of rushes. There was a splash as he stepped into shallow water covering a half-submerged wooden platform. ‘Here, sister. Follow my steps exactly.’ Doing so, Hildegard found herself ankle deep in water on a makeshift pontoon, but a hand appeared out of the darkness and with Thomas to guide her she stepped into what she now made out to be a shallow-bottomed craft of withies much like a coracle. It rocked violently until she found her balance.

‘I was brought up on the river,’ Thomas told her, keeping his voice low. ‘I’ll scull us up towards the lock. If she’s on the water we’ll find her more quickly than those louts on the towpath from the height of their horses. Thankfully there’s no moon tonight. The darkness may be her salvation.’ Indeed, low cloud shrouded the opposite bank and was beginning to swirl across the unreflecting surface of the water.

Using the paddle to push the boat through the reeds and on out of the inlet, the young novice soon had them floating down the canal. The water ran slow and deep between the high sides of the artificial banks. In only a few minutes he brought the boat level with the broken ferry chain then paddled across to the other side. Checking more thoroughly than Escrick’s man, they found no sign of any fresh prints in the frozen mud. It must be as Escrick himself had concluded: the nursemaid had kept to the water.

They moved carefully on down the canal and soon heard the sound of a horse brushing through the grasses at the top of the bank. The novice let the craft drift stealthily under the lee, then he steered them on with single deft strokes, scarcely breaking the surface until they passed unnoticed beneath the place where the horseman was still searching through the long grass.

‘Where do you imagine she’s heading?’ whispered Hildegard when they were safely out of earshot. ‘I wonder if she has kin in the locality and is making for them?’

‘I have no knowledge on that score,’ Thomas replied. ‘Would that I had.’

They soon left the horseman behind but their progress was slow. The nursemaid was likely to keep close to the bank and they were determined not to miss her. So far even the baby had not betrayed her presence. ‘Maybe she has managed to escape up the other bank after all?’ Hildegard suggested.

‘It’s too steep. I doubt she could manage it, even without the baby. If it was me,’ Thomas added, ‘I’d stay on the water as far as the lock. I’d get ashore there and seek assistance from the lock-keeper. Master Escrick’s probably reached the same conclusion.’

‘In that case let’s hope she reaches the lock before he does.’

Thomas increased his pace. The mist was beginning to lift. It revealed the ribbon of black silk over which they floated. Hildegard prayed they would find the maid before dawn broke and began to shed its merciless light over the water.

They came upon the second horseman after a short time. He was more thorough, or maybe just in a better temper, than the swimmer. He had dismounted and was laying about the rushes with his club, dredging them with great thoroughness right down to the water’s edge. Thomas held the boat under an overhang from where they could wait unseen until he moved further along.

‘He must have his sword out to make them snap like that,’ said Hildegard. ‘The reed-gatherers are going to be upset.’ Her light tone belied her fear at the picture of the nursemaid’s neck being cropped in similar fashion. There was nothing they could do just now except wait. The mist was thinning and they were able to see that there was no one hiding further along.