‘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.’
He enfolded her in his arms, sword, blood, death around them. ‘I understand, dear heart. Some other time.’
Against his shoulder she muttered, ‘The truth is, Hubert, I’d rather have you alive than dead.’
**
They left the inn that night, riding through the darkness of the countryside to reach Avignon as dawn was turning the sky to pearl.
They discovered the palace in a state of uproar when they arrived.
Another murder.
It was close enough to Hildegard to make her feel dizzy with fear.
The nun who shared her cell had been found with her throat cut. A servant had discovered the body lying in a pool of gore on a bed in the cell she shared with Hildegard.
The rumour that met them was that it was Hildegard who was dead, the interrogating nun from England, a spy probably, deserved all she got. That was how it was told by one of the stablers soon after they rode into the yard.
Then Hildegard was recognised and the rumour was revised. The nun was a concubine of one of the cardinals and a love rival had done away with her. Or she was with child and the father, a prelate, refused to accept it and thought it expedient to get rid of her and the child both. And on, with ever more lurid accounts, until Hildegard wanted to escape into a place of peace and security where common sense prevailed. But there was nowhere like that in the whole of Avignon. And she had to brazen it out and pray, with one eye over her shoulder, that the murderer would not strike again.
One thing was obvious. If it was a case of mistaken identity as it seemed, it must mean someone was frightened. And that could only mean one thing, she was getting closer to the truth.
**
Cardinal Fondi was a handsome man in his thirties, not, Hildegard judged, as handsome as Hubert his contemporary, but good enough to attract women and make his choice. And it was certainly a fact that his choice was an admired beauty, easy to see as an ideal image of the madonna with a serene, oval face, long dark hair parted in the middle, eyes so unnaturally large and dark that Hildegard suspected she used Belladonna, and her child pretty too, all three drawing admiring glances whenever they appeared in public.
For the most part Carlotta and the child stayed over in Villeneuve at their spectacular villa and lived the life of any other noble family. The only difference was that their allegiance went to the head of the Catholic Church in France and not to a secular monarch, chosen by birth or fortune. The pope himself of course owed allegiance to no earthly lord but saw every monarch in Europe as his personal vassal.
Carlotta played the grand hostess to the hilt. Hildegard could not fault her grace and charm. Even so, when she found those darkly foreign eyes that seemed to have no depth to them fixed unmovingly on her face she felt a shiver of uneasiness.
‘You look pale, domina. Drink this.’ Carlotta plucked a goblet from a silver tray held by a brocade-clad page.
Hildegard took it but eyed the contents with misgivings.
‘I assure you, there is no poison in it,’ Carlotta gave a throaty laugh and touched Hubert on the arm in a gesture that did nothing to allay Hildegard’s qualms. The love rival rumour about the murdered nun flew into her mind before she realised how absurd it was. She was not Hubert’s lover and there was no rivalry to speak of. This woman could do whatever she pleased as long as she could square it with her protector. Hubert and Fondi drawing swords made her smile.
Carlotta turned to Hubert. ‘Her face has the look of an avenging angel, carissimo. So pure, so untouchable. You will never defeat her. I believe you’ve met your match at last. Perhaps I shall mix her a love potion? Would you like that?’
‘You talk nonsense, cara.’ Hubert, however, looked strangely pleased.
When they had a moment alone Hildegard hissed at him. ‘How could you arrange for me to stay here without consulting me first? I can’t do it.’
‘I’m your abbot. You’ll do as I think best. You’ll be safe here. That madman who killed your cell mate in her bed obviously mistook her for you. He’s not going to give up.’
‘We don’t know I was his intended victim.’