The Red Velvet Turnshoe (27 page)
Read The Red Velvet Turnshoe Online
Authors: Cassandra Clark
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Come then, young master, there are still a few more formalities. First, you need to make confession and swear to keep the peace.’
‘Of course I do,’ said Pierrekyn. With his dark russet curls awry and his guileless green eyes, the dean had no difficulty in believing him.
‘Then you’ll have to be enregistered.’
He quickly went through the details. Hildegard paid the fee to the bailiff and Pierrekyn made the required promise to be faithful and true to the Archbishop of York and promised to carry out a few chores while he was in sanctuary.
‘In return we’ll lodge, feed and water you for forty days and forty nights. There’ll be a watch kept and we’ll send a messenger to inform the coroner of your presence as is the law.’
‘Is this the coroner from York?’ asked Hildegard.
‘It is.’ The dean threw her a subtle glance and she guessed why. She had already met up with the man on a previous occasion and was reluctant to repeat the experience.
‘He’s unlikely to show his face unless he’s told to do so by somebody higher up,’ remarked the dean. ‘Likely he’ll send that assistant of his.’
Pierrekyn began to imagine the men-at-arms forcing their way in. ‘There’s nothing to stop them. Just a handful of unarmed churchmen!’
The dean tried to calm him.
‘But look what happened at Westminster,’ he panicked. ‘Two men slain during high mass in front of the prior’s stall.’ He hung onto the sides of the frid-stool as if he would never let go and it was only when a couple of the vicars-choral came out from their chambers that he was moderately reassured.
A group of them accompanied Pierrekyn into the dean’s office to finish his enregistration and while they were doing this Hubert took Hildegard to one side.
‘Now he’s safe we can leave. Will you have the horse you borrowed reshod and come on later?’
‘I would rather not leave Pierrekyn at this point. May I have permission to stay with him?’
Without replying he went off towards the lady chapel. She watched him go inside and kneel before the altar.
Pierrekyn had already gone through the formalities and returned to his place on the frid-stool when Hubert eventually emerged.
He came over to Hildegard. ‘Stay. I’ll stay as well.’ He turned to one of the canons. ‘Can you take a message to Meaux? Tell the cellarer he’s in charge until I return.’
The canon nodded and sped off.
‘Those were not Coppinhall’s men in the market place,’ he told her, ‘although they aroused as much animosity. Are you aware of the rumour attached to him?’
‘I heard there was some story,’ she replied, careful not to mention that it was Ulf who had related it.
‘He is said to have had an opponent murdered and the body thrown into the town ditch,’ he told her. ‘When he was appealed, the appealer disappeared as well. So much for the king’s justice.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘It appears that Coppinhall exercises his own will in this place but I wonder who his allies are, who keeps him here, and how real his influence is?’
Hildegard had nothing to contribute. She had an opinion but it was nothing more. Coppinhall’s unpopularity was not only due
to the fact that he could literally get away with murder. It was his allegiance to the Duke of Lancaster that irked the populace of this Yorkshire town. Now that one of his allies, Sir Ralph Standish, was ensconced in Scarborough Castle there was bound to be friction. The role of the archbishop might be questioned also, she felt, despite her prioress’s contrary opinion.
to the fact that he could literally get away with murder. It was his allegiance to the Duke of Lancaster that irked the populace of this Yorkshire town. Now that one of his allies, Sir Ralph Standish, was ensconced in Scarborough Castle there was bound to be friction. The role of the archbishop might be questioned also, she felt, despite her prioress’s contrary opinion.
The hours passed. Outside in the minster yard the noise from the townsfolk continued although somewhat more sporadically. The hurdy-gurdy stopped and then a little later started up again. Pierrekyn had his hands over his ears to shut out the sound. His lute, which he had somehow managed to carry all this way, had been confiscated by the dean’s clerk but there were moves afoot to let him have it back.
‘It’s a most ungodly instrument,’ fretted a thin-faced priest. He looked to the dean for support but, finding none, went away with a look that would curdle milk.
Hubert paced alone down the entire length of the nave and stood at the far end underneath the south window for a considerable time as if deep in meditation. It was getting dark, candles were being lit, and by their glimmer, almost swamped in the soaring height of the building, he was a distant white blur in the shadows, standing motionless, like somebody in another, less brutish world. When he returned to join the group in the light around the altar, he said, ‘The yard sounds as if it’s still full of Pierrekyn’s guards. They seem to have decided to stay and defend their frid-man.’
‘He’ll be pleased to know that, despite their lack of musical talent.’
Hubert’s mouth briefly lifted at the corners. ‘These are the townsfolk who were bound over to keep the peace by Gaunt after their civil disorder at the time of Smithfield. I wonder whether they’ll find themselves accused of unlawful assembly in the yard.’ Despite the hint of humour in his tone his thoughts seemed elsewhere.
The vicars-choral and the one or two canons who were not absent at their other livings, together with a handful of clerks, brought food and drink for their visitors, then sat around the frid-stool trying to cheer Pierrekyn until other duties called. Hubert discussed recent events in the town with the chancellor, himself a vicar-choral but also the legal officer of the abbey and head of the grammar school.
Hildegard went to sit by herself on the steps in the choir. Her hounds had been brought safely in by means of a side door. The clerk who somewhat gingerly accompanied them told her that the man-at-arms they had felled was now in the town prison on a charge of creating an affray.
Hubert came over and she looked up with a start. ‘If you’d rather I sat somewhere else—?’ he said quickly
She shook her head. ‘No, you simply startled me.’ He sat down on the step next to her. Her pulse began to race. ‘It’s going to be a long night,’ she began, hurriedly. ‘What do you think we should do? Clearly we can’t stay here for forty days and nights.’
‘I wish to God we could.’ His tone was rough. ‘I wish it, Hildegard, with all my heart.’
She turned to him in astonishment.
He was gazing off into the nave. ‘Here in this sanctuary we’re beyond the usual constraints of duty, if only for one night.’ He bent his head close to her own. ‘I have to speak out. This once only. Then silence. You have my word.’
‘Speak out?’
‘About my penance. About what is driving me to madness.’
C
ONCEALED BY THE cloak he reached for her wrist and encircled it with his fingers. ‘I can’t eat, or think, or pray. I am destroyed.’
ONCEALED BY THE cloak he reached for her wrist and encircled it with his fingers. ‘I can’t eat, or think, or pray. I am destroyed.’
‘Hubert?’
‘When you asked to go on pilgrimage I thought I’d go mad – imagining it might be because of something you felt, which you had the courage to fight – whereas I could only pray and see your face in all my prayers when instead I should have seen the face of God.’ He paused. ‘The thought of you, on such a journey, Hildegard, with that steward of Roger’s—’
‘Ulf, you mean? But he’s like my brother. We’ve known each other all our lives—’
He gave her a haunted glance. ‘That would not stop a man loving you. It would only make his feelings stronger.’
‘Hubert, I—’
‘Even though I know you to be a woman of integrity – forgive me, Hildegard, I have to speak – I taunted myself with such—’ Again he broke off and again, as if the words were being dragged forth, forced himself to continue. ‘When I heard that a knight was to be hired to escort you—’
‘Sir Talbot? A tournament knight—’
‘But I know these knights with their code of chivalry.’ His laugh was strangled. ‘None of them is to be trusted around women. Even so, the fault lay with me. I acknowledge that. But it did not stop me torturing myself: why had I given you permission to go? I could have stopped you. I could have—’ His eyes were fixed on her lips. ‘I could have—’ His words trailed away and then, in an undertone he said, ‘Instead, all I did was send a pathetic token, secretly, at the last minute.’
‘Token?’ Hildegard asked.
‘You have it. I saw you with it at the hearing when you opened it to reveal your proof of Escrick’s guilt. ’
‘The kerchief?’
‘It belonged to my great-uncle, a knight templar, although it was little protection to him in those last violent days.’
‘I have it here. It seemed to have a meaning – the embroidered flowers – but it eluded me until—’ She faltered. Reaching for her scrip she pulled the kerchief from it. ‘I’m honoured you should have entrusted me with such a precious talisman.’ When she tried to hand it back he folded his hand over hers.
‘Keep it. Take it as a pledge of everything in my heart.’
Aware of the great arching minster about them, the air filled with incense, reminding them of the divine who saw all things, she managed to whisper, ‘We cannot admit this, Hubert.’
‘I have no choice—’
‘Think of the danger.’
‘No danger can prevent it.’
‘Have you forgotten the punishment meted out to one of your predecessors in France?’
He gave a bitter smile. ‘You mean Brother Abelard? Do you imagine I think of anything else? But there is no man like Bernard of Clairvaux to lead the armies of the night against us.’
‘Even so,’ she replied, her voice husky, ‘it would be madness—’ She broke off, bound by a sacred oath, unable to voice her desire, not in the night, not in the light of day, not ever.
‘I cannot imagine a future after this one night.’ His voice was hoarse. His grip tightened.
The thought of Hubert suffering the terrible punishment inflicted on Abelard because of his love for the nun Eloise – castration, solitary confinement, disgrace and humiliation – gave her strength to resist if only for his sake. ‘All your vows would be less than straw. Your soul would—’
‘My soul be damned, Hildegard. I am only half alive without you.’
There was no time to search for a response because the sound of distant shouting erupted from the black depths of the nave. A cry
of protest was cut off followed by the thunderous echo of approaching footsteps.
of protest was cut off followed by the thunderous echo of approaching footsteps.
‘Who comes here?’ breathed Hildegard with a tremor of fear.
Hubert rose to his feet. His fingers slipped from her wrist and he stepped forward. A crowd of clerks came tumbling dazedly from their quarters. Pierrekyn froze like a rabbit in the light of a huntsman’s flare.
A fully accoutred knight emerged from the shadows. Such light as there was flickered over the burnished armour that protected him from head to foot in steel. He wore a round helmet and, low on his hips, a studded belt with a sword swinging from it. He drew to a halt under the full glare of a score of tapers. The sour-faced clerk who had objected to Pierrekyn’s lute was hurrying at his heels, saying, ‘I could not deny him entry. Heaven forfend! A knight banneret! The very thought!’
With a premonition of what was to come, Hildegard saw that his tunic carried the emblem of the blue marsh dragon. In one corner it had an additional symbol. Horrified, she realised that Sir William himself stood before them. William, the butcher of Holderness.
He drew his sword with a rasp of steel and thundered, ‘Hand over that miscreant!’
The army of students, clerks and chantry priests, unarmed, crowded in a confused group in front of the frid-stool. When Sir William made a feint with his sword, they scattered in alarm.
By now Hubert had positioned himself in front of Pierrekyn. Hildegard moved to his side.
‘You are liable to a fine of one hundred and forty-four marks should you proceed,’ Hubert announced.
Sir William laughed without mirth and rested the point of his sword on the altar steps. ‘Cheap at the price, monk. I’d pay ten times that amount to stop this lie-monger in his tracks. Hand him over!’
When Hubert made no move, William reached into his pouch and threw down a fistful of silver pieces. ‘Get the treasurer to count it. That should pay the fine and keep you happy.’
Pierrekyn moaned as Sir William raised his sword.
‘You would also suffer the penalty of excommunication,’ added Hubert, ignoring the coins.
‘Out of my way, damn you!’
Sir William began to mount the steps, his sword pointing.
Hubert murmured, ‘Stand back, Hildegard.’
She stepped away as Sir William approached. Hubert didn’t move.
‘If I have to run you through I’ll do it without regret, monk. You can’t stop me!’ William snarled.
Hubert shook his head. He seemed paralysed.
‘I admire your nerve,’ mocked William, ‘but it won’t do any good.’ He was at the top of the steps by now. ‘For the last time—’
‘You’re wasting your breath, knight. The boy stays here.’ Hubert folded his arms.
The tip of William’s sword flashed towards Hubert’s exposed throat and just as Hildegard shouted his name, he made one small movement that brought him alongside William’s outstretched sword arm and, grasping it in both hands, he rammed it down hard over his lifted knee. It didn’t break. It was encased in steel and Hubert could do little damage with his bare hands, but the sword shuddered in William’s grasp until he managed to regain control. He raised his elbow, intending to smash it into Hubert’s face.
Again the abbot made a small turn of his body, reached up towards William’s throat and, like one who knew the failings of a suit of armour, pushed his fingers in behind the gorget and grasped his assailant round the windpipe. Coughing and struggling for breath, the knight was driven back, only to trip over Hubert’s outstretched foot. He stumbled backwards, sliding full length down the altar steps.
With a roar, he staggered to his feet but by the time he lunged at Hubert with the full force of his armed weight behind the thrust, the abbot had snatched up the mace from the altar and, wielding it like a sword, parried until he had forced William away from the frid-stool and held him hard against the railings round the shrine of St John.
The final blow knocked William’s helmet from his head. As it spun away Hubert brought the mace to within inches of his opponent’s snarling face. He could have killed him then with one hard blow but it was as if an unseen hand came down to restrain him. Jamming the mace across William’s throat instead, he said, ‘Don’t die. I’ll not be responsible for that. Just drop your sword.’
There was a pause. The note of menace in the abbot’s voice made William falter.
‘Yield,’ repeated Hubert.
William let his sword clatter to the ground. Hubert picked it up. There was a cheer from the minster men and Hildegard let out a shuddering breath. This was Hubert de Courcy, back in control.
‘The hounds,’ whispered a clerk to Hildegard.
‘Go, Duchess!’ murmured Hildegard with a dry throat.
While the lymer and the kennet pinned Sir William against the railings the minster men swarmed back, overwhelming him with sheer force of numbers.
‘Drag him into the sacristy,’ Hubert ordered, ‘and lock him in.’
They bundled him eagerly into the small, windowless chamber and returned carrying the key.
Just then there was a further clamour at the west door. A thunderous knocking could be heard.
In the lull that followed a voice outside shouted, ‘Open up, on pain of death!’
There was a pause then the voice came again. ‘I am the Archbishop of York and demand entry into my own church!’
‘Damnation!’ exclaimed one of the students under his breath. ‘It’s Neville himself. We’ll have to let him in or we’ll be hung out like crows!’
‘Open the doors,’ Hubert ordered. He glanced at Hildegard where she stood protectively in front of Pierrekyn. Still clasping William’s sword with both hands, he held it point downwards in the stance of a knight at yield. Then he carried it over to the altar where he offered it, hilt first, then placed it in front of the cross. She saw him kneel and mutter a short prayer.
When he rose to his feet he positioned himself at the top of the steps to wait for the archbishop to appear.
As the great doors were flung open a splendid retinue flooded in, armed men, squires and retainers, with in their midst, magnificently attired in a sweeping velvet riding cloak, a jewelled cross on his chest, Archbishop Alexander Neville of York.
He strode down the middle of the nave, repossessing the entire building with a royal glare, and when he reached the place where
Hubert was standing he gave the abbot a long, considering glance before growling, ‘Abbot de Courcy, I might have guessed you’d be somewhere in it. What’s going on?’
Hubert was standing he gave the abbot a long, considering glance before growling, ‘Abbot de Courcy, I might have guessed you’d be somewhere in it. What’s going on?’
‘We should speak privately, your grace.’ Hubert indicated the dean’s office and the two men went in.
The minster men, subdued by the appearance of their master, hung around the door, muttering about what new sanctions the archbishop might now seek to impose on them. Most were defiant; only one or two kept silent while the archbishop’s bodyguards observed everyone with narrowed eyes.
After a prolonged delay the two men emerged.
Hubert seemed his usual authoritative self. His glance, however, like that of the archbishop, slid past Hildegard as if she were no more than one of the statues along the wall.
Archbishop Neville was aware of the hostility of the canons, and of the support given them by the rest of the minster men, and he chose now to ignore them too, merely demanding that Sir William be brought forth. Eventually, taking William with them, the whole contingent departed as swiftly and as magnificently as they had arrived.
Pleased with themselves, the minster men returned to their beds, while Pierrekyn, assured that there would be no further attempts on the privilege of sanctuary, fell into a deep slumber on the frid-stool. Someone draped a cloak over him.
‘We’ll leave at first light,’ Hubert told Hildegard when everyone had gone. He would not meet her eyes.
‘What brought Neville here?’ she asked.
‘Apparently he was riding back from Swyne.’ He waited for her to add something but she felt no obligation to do so. ‘Whatever happened there put him in a foul mood.’
‘That’s not difficult. He’s known for his choleric nature.’ The prioress had stood against him then? Had he not obtained his cross after all?
‘It made him decide to break his return to York at Meaux. My strict regimen may not have reached his ears, either that or he expected preferential treatment at my table.’
‘Would he have got it?’
Hubert’s sombre expression briefly lightened. ‘You may see me as someone who capitulates too easily,’ his voice thickened, ‘but I can assure you, Hildegard, that’s not the case in general.’ He held her gaze. Scarcely moving his lips he said, ‘You would be damned along with me.’ He turned away.
‘What happened when Archbishop Neville arrived at Meaux?’ she asked with an effort.
‘He found Sir William fuming over his lame horse and the hue and cry still out. William told him about a minstrel arraigned for spreading seditious texts and how he’d broken out of prison and made his escape. His grace ordered one of his men to dismount from his horse so William could set off in pursuit. He must have seen me start out in this direction.’
‘The archbishop offered help to Sir William?’
‘I’ve just given him a more accurate version of events so that he can reconsider his position. He finally agreed that Pierrekyn should have an opportunity to request the king’s pardon.’ He peered into her face. ‘Does that surprise you?’
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