A cheer went up from the onlookers. Then the men inside the boat had to steady themselves as it was pulled, pitching and yawing, back towards the bank.
Another cheer went up as it reached safety and the men scrambled ashore.
The crowd began to break into groups while some ran back along the bridge to get a better view of what had been snatched from the jaws of the river.
From her vantage point on the bridge Hildegard could make out that it was someone in a blue cloak. It looked like a young woman. A tangle of wild, dark hair. White hands. A ring.
She hovered on the edge of the crowd. That movement of the hand in the water might mean there was a life to be saved. She began to make her way down the muddy slope to the water margin.
Edmund was standing with a subdued group of Fitzjohn’s household servants in the shadow underneath the bridge. He caught sight of her and came over.
With a gulp of emotion, he said, ‘Domina, we cannot find out what has happened. Can you demand an explanation?’
‘Is she alive?’
He looked blank.
‘The body. Is she dead? How long has she been in the water?’
‘Don’t you know who it is?’
‘What do you mean?’
His face was paste white. ‘We fear - our fear is,’ he gulped, ‘that it’s Taillefer.’
The memory of how he had given them such a run in the tilt yard must have been uppermost in his mind because he said, ‘Fearless in combat. He did not hesitate to draw his sword in response to Elfric’s challenge. And when he did not return last night…’ he bit his lip.
‘Peace, it may not be him.’
Hildegard looked down towards the boat that was now being manhandled half out of the water onto the bank. So many people were beginning to cluster round that it was impossible to see who or what was in it. She began to push her way through. Several onlookers moved out of the way in deference to her Cistercian robes and she gently guided others aside until she was standing on the edge of the bank, looking down into the boat.
‘A prayer, domina,’ suggested one of the men, noticing her white habit. He was still clinging onto the stern line as they tried to stop the craft from sliding back into the embrace of the waters.
‘Wait, let’s see if it’s necessary.’
‘It’s a body, domina. There’s no doubt. It was lying among the driftwood the flood fetched down for a good while before we were able to get at it.’
The bundle of what looked like old clothing lay without moving in the bottom of the boat.
‘She may be merely stunned,’ she suggested, sliding down the shelving bank side until she was ankle-deep in mud at the bottom. The river roared as through a mill race underneath the arch making it difficult to hear what anybody was saying.
‘Careful! Deep water ahead!’ a voice shouted as a hand came out to restrain her.
‘My gratitude. I don’t intend to go further. Can you drag the boat further up the bank clear of the water?’
With a few shouts to coordinate their efforts several men lent their muscle to the task and with a roar of grating wood on loose stones the boat was prised from the grip of the river and at last fetched up, leaking tears, as it seemed, onto the grass higher up.
What Hildegard had seen as the tumbled garments of a woman turned out to be the court dress of a young man. Wet lace sleeves, velvet jerkin discoloured by river water, boots with embroidered ribbons attached to their ties, mud stained, all cast in a heap.
‘God save us, I was right. It is Taillefer,’ said Edmund’s voice at her elbow. He was staring in horror at the body.
‘He must have fallen in the river and been trapped in the debris,’ someone nearby speculated.
Then one of the burly men reached down and pushed back a hank of wet hair to reveal his neck and the wound was obvious. A gasp of horror went up. Like Maurice, the boy had had his throat cut.
Hildegard put a hand over her face for a moment. So young. Such a waste. That blessed light, extinguished forever.
For a moment no-one seemed to know what to do.
‘I think someone had better return to the palace with the news of what you have found,’ she suggested in a breaking voice. ‘The duke’s steward will need to be informed.’
She turned to Edmund and noticed that the other boys, his allies, the guild of pages, had straggled down to the water’s edge to stand beside him. ‘Perhaps it’s better,’ she turned to the men who had dragged the boat from the water, ‘to leave him as he is so that someone who knows about these things may inspect the body for any clues to his…’ she could not say the word just yet. ‘For any indication of what took place.’ she finished.
‘Probably got what was coming to him,’ muttered one of the men.
Hildegard gave him a fixed stare. ‘Perhaps we might reserve our condemnation until we’ve learned the facts?’
The man scowled, muttered something about the whoring that went on under the arch by night and moved away.
Edmund heard this and Hildegard felt him reach for his knife. She put a restraining hand on his arm.
Then a voice with a note of authority spoke up. ‘Louis, go and inform the Chamberlain. Everyone else stay here and do as the English nun says. Hear me?’ There was a general murmur of agreement and some sort of hierarchy of command was established. The curious onlookers were pushed back to an acceptable distance.
It was the palace official Hildegard had noticed earlier who had spoken. He was a thin, clerical looking fellow in secular attire and came to stand beside her after making sure his instructions were being carried out.
‘Would you like to take a closer look, domina, before our own men arrive? I know you went to view your countryman who was dispatched in a similar manner. Maybe it’s coincidental or perhaps there’s a connection?’ He bowed then. ‘Forgive me, I’m William of Beauvais, a clerk to his holiness.’
While the boat was being dragged right up to the top of the bank, they waited in silence. The guild of pages were standing round. Dumb with shock.
**
Taillefer. He could not have been in the water long because he was not bloated by it. Instead his face looked bloodless, the skin white, drawn across his delicate bones as if he had been sculpted in marble.
She stepped closer, bent down, picked up a wrist. No stiffness. He must have gone into the water only recently. She could see no other sign of struggle beyond the knife wound. His knuckles bore the signs of old scabs from earlier fights, the skin flaking away where it had been loosened by immersion in the cold waters of the Rhone. Finger nails bitten short. Outer garments soaked by river water. Outwardly everything was sluiced from him taking away any clues to his attacker.
She inspected his clothes more closely. They were the usual attire of someone retained by a wealthy noble, a cloak of heavy velvet protecting the garments underneath. Which were, a fine linen shirt, lace in the French style at neck and cuffs, a protective jupon made of soft kid over some thick padding, scarcely damp. No tears or rips. To be assumed, then, not much of a struggle had taken place. Did that mean his assailant was someone known to him? Someone he trusted? Or had he been taken by surprise, walking on the river bank in the early hours?
There was a pouch concealed under his jupon. It was buckled with two thin straps to a leather belt. She turned to the clerk. ‘May I?’
‘Go ahead, domina.’
She unknotted the leather ties and opened the pouch.
**
The clerk crouched down beside her and there was a note of astonishment in his voice. ‘Is he a thief?’
‘I think not.’
‘But this, it’s a valuable article. Beautiful workmanship. How could a mere esquire get hold of such a weapon? Was it a gift?’ He fingered the blade and drew blood. ‘Decorative, very, but lethal enough.’