The Law of Angels (37 page)

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Time passed. The scene looked particularly desolate when they knew that outside the dark focus of their attention it was another hot afternoon, the meadow awash with families gathering for the festival, children still playing in the river to their heart’s content, excitement at the impending pageant palpable.

Hildegard contemplated the nature of the miller’s feelings when he lost his livelihood. The location must have added to his despair. The thickness of the trees kept out the sun. Even the hidden nature of the place, with the steep bank on the opposite side covered in rotting, moss-covered trees crumbling into the dark flow of the waters, must have been confirmation of the futility of hope.

Another bird, one Hildegard could not identify, started up a rapid warning note. It was enough to make her freeze. “I think someone’s coming,” she whispered.

The two men peered through the leaves onto the path. Sure enough, with no attempt to conceal his presence, Baldwin emerged from out of the bright greenery and came swaggering purposefully towards the mill. Danby seemed to hold his breath.

They watched in silence as he crossed the causeway. His henchman rose stiffly to his feet.

Baldwin’s voice floated loudly across the clearing. “All quiet?”

“Not a murmur.”

“Gisburne’s coming up later.” Baldwin strode over to the door, heaved up the wooden bar and went inside.

The three watchers hesitated for a moment.

Danby’s face was white. Then he muttered, “Let’s go and find out what the devil’s up to.”

He moved stealthily out of the thicket and began to make his way across the clearing. He was halfway over the causeway when the guard happened to glance up and catch sight of him. He stepped forward and drew his sword. Then, changing his mind, he turned back towards the mill.

Danby was surprisingly quick. He was across the causeway and had hurled himself onto the man’s back in a flash. He was a heavy weight and had the element of surprise. There was a brief struggle. Danby got his hand clamped over the man’s mouth to stop him shouting a warning and with his supple craftsman’s fingers managed to claw the guard’s hood over his face, half-suffocating him. Then with a boot in his back he jerked him off the causeway right into the swamp on one side. Dusting his hands he marched up to the door of the mill.

“Come on,” said Hildegard. With the hounds on a tight leash she ran with them towards the causeway. The guard was floundering about, up to his waist in sticky slime, his face covered in it, while he tried to keep his footing.

A word to Bermonda made the kennet crouch on the edge of the path with a threatening growl, teeth showing, claws stretched as a warning not to climb out.

By now Danby was inside the mill. Hildegard ran to the door. Gilbert came limping up behind her. “Are they here?” he demanded.

There was a shout from inside. Two struggling figures came rolling down a short wooden staircase and landed in a heaving mass of flying fists. First Danby was on top, banging his brother’s head against the wooden floor then Baldwin was uppermost doing likewise.

Gilbert limped forward and there was a flash of silver. Hildegard saw him wave a narrow blade near Baldwin’s face. “Tell me where they are, you bastard, or I’ll use this.”

Danby knelt over his brother, pinning him to the floor. “Is she upstairs?”

“I don’t know who you mean,” snarled Baldwin.

“Let me slit his throat if he’s not going to tell us.” Gilbert gripped Baldwin by the hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. A vein pulsed in his neck.

Danby stayed his hand. “Keep him here. I’m going up.”

Hildegard loosened Duchess’s chain. The lymer knew from long practice what to do. She loped over and opened her muzzle allowing it to close around Baldwin’s throat to keep him still.

Gilbert sat back on one heel with his lame leg twisted to one side but his stiletto still firmly grasped in one hand. He glanced up. A figure had appeared in the doorway.

“Is it to do with Dorelia?” It was the mage.

“Danby’s gone up to look for her,” Hildegard said.

The mage climbed the stairs two at a time on his long legs.

“What’s he doing here?” asked Gilbert.

“He knew Dorelia in Wakefield before she fell into Baldwin’s clutches.”

There was noise from upstairs. A whimpering sound followed. They could hear the two men softly murmuring. Then a cloud of feathers came billowing down from the floor above.

The mage emerged, covered in feathers and walking slowly backwards down the steps to guide someone descending. The hem of a sheet came into view. It was bloodstained, torn, with other stains on it. Then a bare foot appeared, feeling shakily for the treads of the stairs, one step at a time.

Eventually she stood before them. Dorelia.

Danby had followed step by step, scarcely touching her, as if she was too fragile for human contact.

She swayed on the point of collapse with the sheet held closely about her. Still beautiful, her face was paste white, her eyes dark with pain, and her hair fell in tangled tresses to her waist. She had bruises on her mouth and neck and now put out a hand as if she could not see. She took a step forward and stumbled.

The mage put an arm round her waist. “Dorelia. It’s me. John of Berwick. Your uncle’s friend.”

She put out a hand and her fingers searched for something they might recognise. “Berwick? How can it be? Is it really you?”

He took her hand and kissed the palm. “You’re safe now, precious girl. Here’s your husband. We’re all here. All friends. We’ve come to take you home.”

“I tried to run away. I went into the woods.… I got as far as the meadows and saw your little daughter, Edric, but she was frightened and daren’t help me.… Then Baldwin caught me. He … he brought me back.”

Gilbert struggled to his feet. He still held the knife. “Where’s Jankin?”

At his name Dorelia gave a cry and put her hands to her face and began to sob hysterically.

Gilbert took a painful step forward. “Ask her where he is!”

They had no need. She answered his question herself, pointing with a shaking hand towards the door.

“He’s out there!” she cried.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Supported by her husband and the mage, Dorelia took faltering steps towards the threshold. Before going into the open she hesitated. Both hands went to her eyes. “The light,” she whispered. “I can’t see! They kept me in the dark—” She began to sob.

“Where is he?” Danby asked gently. He glanced round the clearing as if looking for a mound of freshly dug earth.

“They tied him to the mill wheel.” Dorelia started to tremble. “He was still alive. They put his angel wings on him and found a way to turn the wheel. They made me watch. They tied my arms behind my back and made me watch. Oh, Edric…!”

Leaning heavily on the two men and shaking uncontrollably she allowed them to help her down onto the causeway and there came to a halt. She pointed towards the mill pond.

It was a bright green expanse covered with duckweed. It looked as solid as a clipped lawn. Gilbert got a stick from somewhere and reaching out parted the carpet of weed. They all came to the edge and looked down.

There, under the surface was an angel, feathered wings drifting in the eddies, the tendrils of bright hair furling and unfurling, skin an unearthly greenish gold stippled with shadows. His eyes were open.

The vision rose towards the light then sank again, finally disappearing from sight as the weed drifted back.

Gilbert stood up and let the stick fall from his grasp.

Nobody spoke.

Danby held Dorelia in his arms. The mage looked solemn. No one crossed themselves. In the woodland on the other side of the water, nature continued as joyful as in another country.

Hildegard went back inside the mill.

There were all kinds of broken things scattered around. Shards of pottery. A broken mill stone. Pieces of wood, their purpose long forgotten. What she was looking for was some rope and after a moment she found some. She went over to Baldwin who was lying in fear of his life under the focussed attention of the stag hound. As she was beginning to truss his arms, Gilbert came in. He bent down to help her. Neither of them exchanged a word.

Eventually when they were satisfied Baldwin could do no more harm they went outside. Danby said to them, “We’re trying to work out how to get her home. She can’t walk all that way.”

“Maybe the miller at Low Mill has a cart he can lend us?” Hildegard eyed the man trapped in the swamp. “And what about him?”

“Needs his throat cutting,” said Danby. “He knew all along what they were doing to her.”

“Leave that for the justices,” advised the mage. “You don’t want to bring more trouble on yourself. Dorelia’s going to need you.” He looked grim. “I’ll go back to the other mill and see what I can organise.” He strode off through the trees.

Hildegard and Gilbert sat down on the steps after they’d put the bar across the door just in case Baldwin found a way to untie his bonds. The other man they had trussed up in old rope and returned to the swamp.

Gilbert shook his hair out of its tie and let it fall over his face. Above them, in the oval formed by the tops of the trees, the sky was an ever deepening shade of blue. A shaft of light penetrated the clearing between the boles of two oaks. It lasted only moments and then faded. The sun was going down.

At last Gilbert said in a muffled voice, “He was a bloody useless glazier. And he couldn’t act. Four lines he had to learn and he couldn’t even get them into his thick skull.”

*   *   *

The sound of people in the woods from the direction of Low Mill alerted them. Hildegard stood up. Danby said, “At last. Now we’ll get her home where she belongs.” He stepped forward.

Several men entered the clearing. It was still light enough to see that they had no cart with them. One of them came towards the causeway. It was Gisburne.

For a moment Danby stared at him. Then without a further thought he walked across, drawing his sword, but before he could use it Gisburne’s two henchmen pounced. They grabbed Danby by both arms. His sword fell into the grass.

Gilbert made a move but Hildegard put a hand on his arm. “They’ll strike you down. We’ll think of something else.”

Gisburne was laughing quietly and began to circle Danby. He looked mystified, however, and kept glancing at the mill. From the swamp Baldwin’s man gave a shout. “Get me out of here, Gisburne. I’m drowning in this stinking mud.”

Gisburne gave him a brief glance. “Learn to swim then.” He turned back to Danby. “Come to fetch her home, have you? Where’s Baldwin?”

“You’ll pay for this a thousand times over,” gritted Danby. “Kill me. I don’t care. But let her go. And the others. Only whatever you do, you’ll rot in hell. And that’s a fact.”

“A fact is it? Well, you’ll see how much I care when I slit your throat. But mebbe we’ll have a bit of fun first, eh, lads? What do you say?”

One of his men heard it as an invitation to give Danby a punch in the ribs. Dorelia reached out as if to put a stop to it then slid slowly to the ground. Hildegard bent over her. The girl had fainted.

Gisburne took out a lethal-looking knife from his belt and waved it in front of Danby’s face. “The eyes? No, not yet. I want you to see what comes next. The ears?” He grabbed one and twisted it. “No, I don’t think so. You’ll want to hear her screams. What about this?” He held Danby by the balls and squeezed. Danby gave an involuntary gasp but refused Gisburne the gratification of hearing him howl.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” Gisburne put his face up to Danby’s. “You and that White Hart scum deserve all that’s coming to you.”

“Were you behind that ambush out at the coast?” Danby managed to gasp.

“Not I, said the fly!” Gisburne roared with laughter. “Somebody bigger than me. You sot-witted fool. Do you think you can take on a duke and all his army?”

“Gaunt?”

“You’ll all be singing another tune before long. God save the king! Which king? Not bloody Richard for sure!” He walked about brandishing his knife in front of Danby’s face. “You and de Quixlay. Mayor? Him? I wouldn’t wipe his arse! He might have got his shopkeepers and his tame guildsmen to run me out of town, but I’ll be back! You can count on it, Danby! The only thing is, you won’t be there to see it!”

“Won’t he?”

Everybody turned at an unexpected voice from the trees. Striding across the clearing, his mail-shirt glinting in the fast-fading light, was Ulf followed closely by a band of armed men. “Drop that knife, Gisburne!”

From all around the grove men appeared in the livery of Roger de Hutton. Gisburne took one look then backed off. Danby shook off the slackened grip of his captors and hurried over to Dorelia to cradle her in his arms.

Gisburne started to run but had gone no more than three paces when he was brought down in a tackle by one of the Hutton men and they landed in a noisy skirmish of metal-ware. Gisburne was held flat on his back with a knife at his own throat. It was clear the game was over.

Hildegard walked across the causeway to the other side as in a dream. “How did you manage such good timing?” she asked Ulf.

He adopted a long-suffering expression. “This morning you told me you’d come straight back and tell me what you found here. You said you would come up to tell me. When you didn’t show what was I to think? You always do what you say you’ll do.”

She put a hand to her mouth. “I completely forgot.”

He looked at her in astonishment. “You never forget anything.”

*   *   *

When Hildegard and Gilbert came back later that night after giving their deposition to the bailiff and his serjeant-at-arms, Brother Thomas was lurking at the entrance to the yard. Danby had arrived before them and gone straight into the house with Dorelia. An apothecary had been sent for. The mage, having reached the mill with a cart, later, for reasons best known to himself, disappeared as soon as the law arrived.

The serjeant-at-arms had been a different one to the one who had questioned Hildegard about the fire-bombing of the booths, but he insisted in going over all the ins and outs of the accusation several times before he was satisfied that he had an accurate account. Ulf and his men had been requested to stand guard over the prisoners and it looked as if they were going to be in for a long night. The jail was full of riff-raff drawn to the city for Corpus Christi day, said the constable in charge, and the problem was where to put the accused so they wouldn’t abscond. Hildegard and Gilbert had left when it was clear they could be of no further use.