The Butcher of Avignon (28 page)

Feeling that she was somehow cast in a less than attractive role she replied sharply, ‘I’m not the least interested in her and her relationship with - ’

‘With me?’ he asked. ‘Of course not. Why should you be? Now, my dear white heart, what was it you wanted to ask me?’

‘Do be serious. This is important. I suppose you can vouch for the fact that Fondi and his - and Signora Carlotta - went over to Villeneuve with everyone else?’

‘Of course. I was invited to stay at his house. He’s had a rather beautiful villa built in the Italian style in splendid gardens. The perfect setting for his pearl, as he says. That’s Carlotta, of course. They are each fortunate to have found their soul mate.’

Hildegard sighed impatiently. ‘And to have no guilt about breaking vows of celibacy either. So, to continue, Hubert, can you vouch for him? He did not stop off at the chapel of St Nicolas for example?’

‘I told you before when you were cross-questioning me, we thought of it but decided to press on to our beds.’

‘Did you notice anyone not follow you over?’

‘Again, as I told you, it was a terrible night, wind, rain, and once away from the chapel light, pitch dark, with the river raging close below. At one point we thought the arches were going to give way and pitch us into the torrent.’

‘Luckily they did not,’ she replied somewhat tartly. ‘Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know.’

‘Do you consider me a reliable witness, Hildegard?’

She felt a stab of guilt. ‘In some things, Hubert.’

‘But not in others?’ He hesitated then turned with a curt ‘Vale!’ and walked off.

Why was he so infuriating? She muttered a few calming words to herself that she was glad no one could overhear and went in search of the next witness.

**

Bellefort. She had seen him around the palace. He was one of those with a following. Now when she was conducted into his opulent privy chamber in the guest wing, in a part reserved for visiting monarchs, she noticed at once the confusion of young men attending him, one peeling grapes for him from a silver dish, another to massage his feet in their silk stockings, another to sing a
ballade
in a nasal accent like a troubadour with much superfluous tossing of his hair.

‘Dear domina, welcome!’ Bellefort greeted her with a languidly raised hand from his couch of silk in an accent so affected she had difficulty in understanding him. ‘The pleasure is all mine, pray be seated.’

An acolyte rushed forward with a velvet covered stool. To her chagrin she was forced to sit at the prelate’s feet among a bevy of his followers.

‘I have an interest in the murder of the English youth found in the treasury,’ she began, straight to the point.

‘Ah, such a loss. A young singer of incomparable delight,’ he drawled. ‘Grizac must be heartbroken at his loss. And how may I help?’

‘It seems his death set in train a series of events which are too boring to relate, your eminence, but they lead onto the death of Taillefer, the esquire of the duc de Berry.’

‘Le duc, my greatest friend, a distinguished collector, a scholar, a man of taste in this barbarous wasteland. His legend will live on forever. And?’

‘Taillefer - ’

‘Is that the esquire’s name?’ He pretended to puzzle over it.

‘It is,’ Hildegard’s voice sharpened. ‘The evidence suggests that he was murdered by someone crossing the bridge that night.’

‘Some barbarous cut-throat, a man with no soul, a being willing to barter a finely worked dagger, a glory of the artisan’s skill, for mere gold, and in an inn of all places, or so I’m told.’

‘Or maybe it was someone else entirely.’

‘Really?’ He expressed a show of interest. ‘Who, pray?’

‘His identity is at present unknown but be assured, it will be revealed very soon.’

‘Oh, I
love
revelations! And this will no doubt be due to your dogged tenacity, domina?’ His insult was veiled but Hildegard would have ignored it anyway. No time for pettiness now.

‘If I may persist in my doggedness, your eminence, did you happen to pause to offer a prayer to St Nicolas on the way across the bridge?’

‘Pshaw! What do you think, boys? Would I ever stop at the river chapel? A hole for travellers, mendicants and pilgrims to sweat out their prayers?’ There was instant laughter, rather high, somewhat tinkling.

‘Domina, may I remind you that in any case it was a night of atrocious weather? Anyone but a madman would want to cross to their own property as soon as possible. I am not made for harsh conditions, my dear.’

‘That is all I wished to know, your eminence. You saw no-one.’

‘I saw no-one. What’s more my litter was nearly pitched into the river and I had to keep the blind down as the sight of nature’s violence was too distressing. Now, I beg of you, stay a moment. Let us offer you something to brighten the austerity of your days.’

**

Patronised twice over, the first, obscurely, by Hubert, and now by Bellefort, Hildegard wondered why she had pitched herself into this web.

London beckoned.

Momentous events were taking place at Westminster and she was trapped in the inconsequential affairs of a distant backwater where corruption was the norm.
Please, God and all the saints, let me go home.
No-one would thank her for her efforts. For her dogged persistence.
Go. Go back,
an inner voice urged.

**

Then something she could not have foreseen happened. As she was leaving the Tinel after breaking her fast on the next morning, after a restless night with thoughts churning fruitlessly round in her dreams, a friar detached himself from the crowd and fell into step beside her.

‘Domina, pray forgive me. I have something to say to you.’

Thinking it was connected to her inquiries she halted to hear what he had to tell her.

‘It is this. It has not escaped my notice that you are an intimate of Abbot de Courcy. I beseech you, find some way of persuading him to vacate the palace for a day or two.’

She stared at him.

‘I can see this is a shock to your understanding. Plots are afoot. He is in danger. Persuade him to leave.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Of course not. How could you. I beg you to put your trust in me. Make sure he is absent from the palace for a few days until the danger is past.’

‘But what sort of danger?’

‘Danger to his life, domina.’

With that the friar melted into the crowd. She tried to follow but he disappeared round a corner and when she managed to pick her way after him the cloister was empty.

**

‘And you expect me to take fright at this and run away?’

‘Of course not. I’m only telling you because I feel I should pass it on and let you make up your own mind. I knew you’d make light of it. But at least you’re warned.’

Hubert slipped his arm in hers. ‘I think I should take this seriously, Hildegard. Let’s go away for a few days. Just you and me. We can take the hawks and have a fine time, hunting and exploring the countryside.’

‘Hubert.’

‘Come on, it may save my life. You heard what the friar said.’

‘This is ridiculous! You’ve just said you wouldn’t run.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. You know it makes sense.’

**

No more than two hours later they were galloping on hired horses through woodland on the west side of the palace beyond the walls of Avignon. It was a fine day. Exceptionally so. The rains had stopped. The pines gave off a rich and heady scent while on the far side of the woods countless hills unfolded in shades of grey and palest green to the horizon.

Hubert had his favourite hawk with him, one he had brought from Meaux, and when they reached the top of a hill he let her loose with a loud cry of encouragement.

Hildegard watched as again and again the bird gyred into the cloudless sky, hovered at its zenith then stooped to its prey.

By late afternoon they were both breathless with the exertion of galloping their horses through the woods, with the exhilaration of the hunt, with the freedom outside the grim fortress of the pope’s palace and, it must be said, with the joy of being together.

‘We shall do as the friar suggested,’ Hubert told her. ‘We shall stay away until tomorrow. What do you say, my heart?’

Somehow Hildegard was persuaded. The friar was probably mad but she would not take any risk with Hubert’s life.

**

They found a remote hillside inn some miles from Avignon. Soon, replete with good country fare and a potent local wine the awkward moment of retiring to their sleeping quarters loomed. Before that, however, the conversation veered towards the purpose of the friar’s warning.

‘I’m glad to see you’ve taken it seriously,’ Hildegard teased.

‘I’m taking it more seriously than you realise. Someone wants me out of the way,’ Hubert frowned. ‘I can’t think why.’

‘Because of your imminent election as cardinal?’

‘You’ve heard about that.’

‘As has everyone in Avignon.’

‘It’s not as you might imagine.’

‘You have no idea what I imagine.’

They both lapsed into silence for a while until Hubert said, ‘Maybe this is a test as to my fitness for such a position?’

‘Whether you succumb to a test of your celibacy?’

‘More likely the opposite. They’ll want to know whether I really am one of them, as steeped in carnality, greed and corruption as they are. I’ve already shown I can’t be bribed. But to fail that test is not important. It can be used to work in their favour too. But this - you - is a test of the former, maybe? Am I going to stick to the precepts or bend happily to the prevailing mores?’

‘This is most flattering,’ her tone was acid. ‘What is your answer?’

‘I’ll let you guide me. What would you like it to be?’

She saw his hand move towards his sword almost before she heard the cracking of the door as it was booted in. Hubert was on his feet in an instant as two men came hurtling into the chamber. They were armed, she noted in dumbfounded amazement, short swords drawn, visors down. She remembered screaming.

Then one man was howling on the floor, blood pumping from a vein in his neck, and the other one was on his knees as his sword flew across the chamber, and Hubert’s blade was scraping his throat.

Hubert let out a snarl and pricked the point of his sword deeper, drawing blood.

‘I am a vassal of Pope Clement sent to test you, lord. Save me!’ the man stuttered.

Scowling, Hubert bent to pick up the fallen weapon, hefting it in his left hand with the point of his own sword still firm against his attacker’s throat.

‘I’ll keep this as proof.’

‘Don’t kill me. I’m only doing my duty.’

‘What the hell is Clement up to?’

‘He needs men of action, my lord. You have passed his test. If I live I’ll vouch for you.’

‘Would you have killed me?’ Hubert asked in an interested tone.

‘The plan was to disarm you and take you back to Avignon as our captive, to your humiliation and to end your aspiration to be elected cardinal.’

‘What about this miserable devil here?’ Hubert prodded a foot against the dead man.

‘It is the fortune of war, my lord.’

‘Get the hell out before I kill you in cold blood!’ snarled Hubert. ‘And take the body of your poor benighted comrade with you, save his soul. Make sure they give him a proper burial with full rites.’

**

The inn keeper entered uttering apologies. ‘I had no idea who they were,’ he excused. He ordered his servants to bank up the fire and fresh food and wine was brought.

‘We won’t stay,’ Hubert told him. ‘But my thanks for your courtesy.’ He gave the man a gold coin. ‘See that the body is conveyed to Avignon. His companion will have to set to.’

‘Very well, my lord.’ The frightened fellow, bowing and muttering apologies, backed from out of the chamber.

‘You’ll be relieved to be riding back through the night rather than fighting me off.’ Hubert’s tone was savage.

‘It wasn’t your fault. You had to defend yourself. I can’t believe they’d do such a thing. It’s monstrous. Do you have to be mixed up in all this?’

‘I’m the Abbot of Meaux,’ he replied in a derisive tone. His face was set in stone. He slumped down on a bench near the fire and stared at his hands for a long while without speaking. Eventually he raised his head. ‘Pour me some wine, white hart.’

After doing so she went to sit beside him and while he drank from his goblet he said, ‘Remember my confession to you in Beverley Minster? The time when I told you about my bloody past as a knight in the pay of the Duke of Burgundy?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re still - ’ he became uncertain. ‘You don’t think less of me? You forgive me?’

‘Forgive,’ she replied heavily. ‘I can’t do otherwise.’

‘My past follows me. Why else do you think Clement wants to recruit me? The English chapter of the Cistercians have become powerful through our trade. We’re a force to be courted by those who threaten England.’

‘I understand.’

‘I’m for peace, you know that, Hildegard, but I’m neither a fool nor a martyr.’ He paused, watching her. ‘I know you have a weakness for martyrs.’

Another pause followed, full of the questions and doubts and desires of a lover who fears and yet longs to hear about his beloved’s past.

Hildegard’s glance never left his face. ‘I suppose you’re referring to Rivera?’ The name sounded strange to her, spoken aloud after so long. She felt her lips tremble.

Hubert’s eyes were luminous in the firelight. ‘I know what happened between you and him. I’m not a fool. And I cannot pretend to live up to him. He must have been a remarkable man.’

Rivera had been a friar following the code of St Serapion, its purpose was martyrdom in the cause of justice. The basic rule was to offer oneself as hostage in cases of kidnap. Hildegard had encountered Rivera over a year ago when he was a spy for John of Gaunt. Through strange and exceptional circumstances he had become her lover and, in obedience to his Order, one violent and terrible night he had gone to his execution on Ludgate Hill at the hands of the London mob. Her grief at losing him had become more bearable in recent months but now she was compelled to put a hand to her eyes. Her voice thickened. ‘Forgive me, I can’t talk about Rivera just now.’