‘What about the others? Does your letter say anything about them?’ She meant the other advisors to King Richard.
‘We must fear for them.’
‘I can’t see Alexander Neville running away.’ She reminded Hubert of the time when she had been travelling with the Archbishop to Westminster, to the parliament King Richard had summoned to discuss the threatened French invasion.
Their char had been halted by a band of men in dense woodland outside Lincoln. The men had clearly imagined it contained only the driver, a nun and a young monk.
Then Neville, asleep in the back under cover, had risen from his couch to put in a dramatic appearance when he realised what was happening.
“I,” he had declaimed, rising up with a huge sword swinging from his belt, “am the Archbishop of York!”
The men had been knocked back from their felonious intentions by the sheer magnificence of his appearance and the obvious inference that he could use his sword to good effect.
Hubert managed to bring a faint smile to his face when she mentioned him. ‘That’s Alexander all right. Firey Neville. I agree, I can’t see him running away. But he has no army of his own. If it comes to the worst, what can he do?’
‘The bishop of Norwich will urge him to reconsider arming the Church. He’ll cite his success in putting down the Peasants’ Revolt in Norfolk by means of his own armed militia.’
He frowned. ‘Most of us joined the Order precisely because we did not want to go on killing. We put down our swords. We believe there’s a better way of solving our differences than resorting to violence. We seek peace.’
‘Is it possible to live unarmed in this world?’
He rubbed his eyes. ‘It seems not, unless we turn ourselves into martyrs. Heaven prevent Alexander from being forced to take that route!’
The other two monks arrived. Hubert had referred to them previously as his supporters. Now it was clear why he had done so. They would present him to the school of cardinals as a prospective candidate. Everything showed that he took precedence over them.
They listened in silence to what he had to tell them. Made one or two conventional exclamations of horror. And then waited to see what he would say next. The tall lanky Brother Gregory, the one she imagined as a swordsman, looked as if he would burst into tears. His companion, Egbert, clenched and unclenched his fists and bit his bottom lip.
Hildegard grew impatient. ‘We should be in London, giving a voice to all those who are repelled to see the king’s council acting outside the law.’
Hubert’s eyes gleamed then quickly clouded. ‘Would it were possible. I am tied here - for various reasons,’ he added avoiding her raised eyebrows.
Stiffly she said, ‘My gratitude for this information about current events, abbot.’ She bowed her head and was about to move away when he got up from his seat and stepped towards her.
‘Wait!’ He put out a hand but let it fall. Turning to the monks he growled, ‘I shall see you at compline, brothers. We’ll discuss this matter further.’
When they left he said hurriedly, ‘Can you go back?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you have instructions to remain here?’
She knew what he meant. He was trying to find out whether she was in Avignon at the prioress’s behest and if so what was her business.
With his allegiance to Clement and not to the rightful Pope Urban, she merely shrugged. ‘There’s the mystery of the murder of two retainers to keep me here at present and - ’ she hesitated.
‘And?’ he prompted.
‘Hubert,’ she spoke slowly, ‘were you ever over at Villeneuve?’
His smile was suddenly knowing. ‘I see. There was a whisper you were asking questions. You must have already heard I went over there this morning after lauds.’
‘I heard something to that effect.’
‘And you want to know what I know?’
‘That would be a tall order.’
‘If you want to know whether I saw somebody murder the esquire of the duc de Berry the answer, to my sorrow, is no. I crossed over with Cardinal Fondi, his concubine and child after attending lauds here in la Grande Chapelle. Many people saw me. When we crossed it was terrible weather, wild, windy and with a pelting rain quite as bad as anything we suffer in Yorkshire. We saw the light in the St Nicolas chapel half way along the bridge and considered taking shelter there but the thought of a warm bed persuaded us to continue. Apart from the weather there was nothing else of note.’
‘Who else was there?’
‘I told you, I went across in the company of Fondi. I believe other cardinals who had been attending night office at the palace were also crossing but, truly, it was difficult to see who they were as everyone had their hoods up and one or two were even carried back by litter.’
‘Thank you.’
His voice was steady and, it seemed, full of concern. ‘It was a terrible thing to happen. And to know we were so close we might have prevented it.’
‘Taillefer was such a bright, handsome boy, full of promise for the future.’
‘I understand.’
‘Do you?’
‘You need to find his murderer. But I wonder if you suspect something more behind it? A link to the other boy, the English one?’
‘You always read me,’ she gave a half smile. Not always, heaven forfend.
His eyes were dark with compassion. ‘Have you considered the possibility that there is no mystery, that it’s nothing more than coincidence? It’s very rough down there under the bridge at night. Maybe the French boy was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘And Maurice?’
His eyes held that smoky look that made her weaken for him and now, despite everything, she felt some of his immense compassion directed towards herself struggling to survive among the countless cruelties of the world. It succeeded in weakening her further. Then common sense told her that he might have a reason of his own to suggest she return to England.
Before she could speak he leaned closer. ‘You think there’s more to it.’
‘Isn’t there always more under the surface than we see at first glance?’
His smile sparkled for a moment. ‘That can be so indeed.’ He took her arm. Changed the subject. ‘Where were you going when we met just now?’
‘To the inn near the bridge.’ She could have bitten her tongue off at the indiscretion.
‘There?’
She saw his glance sharpen.
‘You intend to question someone? Who?’
‘I just thought I’d ask if anybody had heard anything. You know what those places are like for getting hold of information.’
‘I do indeed. And I’m coming with you. It’s not safe for you to go alone.’
‘I must go alone. They’ll not speak openly if two monastics turn up to badger them.’
**
Le Coq d’or was a typical quayside inn, keeping its licence to open by staying just inside the law. Hildegard had seen enough in York to know what they were like, what types were attracted to them and the sort of fare on offer.
It was already dark and still raining hard when she hurried from the shelter of the gatehouse and crossed over to it. With hood pulled well up and white habit tucked out of sight, she entered with as little fuss as possible. No-one took any notice of her.
She found space at the end of the long communal trestle and when the grizzled landlord came round she asked for a stoup of ale and a portion of bread and cheese. He soon slapped them down in front of her and she put a few coins on the table in exchange.
Sitting next to her was a man and what might or might not have been his wife and they soon got into conversation. Hildegard allowed it to be thought, when they asked, that she was on pilgrimage from a little town near Paris. A conversation of sorts followed. It wasn’t long before the murder was mentioned and soon they attracted a few comments from others who thought they were in the know.