The Law of Angels (6 page)

Chapter Five

The common was on a flood plain where the grass was still long despite the drought. Buttercups and cowslips grew in profusion. Weeping willows sprouted along the riverside. Clustered right up against the city walls were the countless small encampments set up by the travellers arriving from different parts of the country to celebrate the Feast of Corpus Christi and watch the mystery plays that would take place at the same time.

The group from Deepdale followed a well-worn track across this stretch of common land towards the town gate, but they were no more than halfway across when they noticed a small procession heading towards them. Every now and then the heads of the participants were visible between the reeds.

It was a band of children. They were singing a strange dirge in some made-up language and wore odd, flowing garments, bright patches of colour against the green of grass and tree. A boy of eleven or so led the way. Drawing closer they could see that his headgear was a makeshift crown of leaves and he carried a crook or sceptre of hazel tied with blue ribbons. One hand was held out before him displaying a dock leaf like a salver with something resting on it.

The children following were giving all their attention to this strange ceremony and they were almost level before they noticed Hildegard and the rest of them on the same path. The boy stopped and signalled to his followers to halt. The dirge dwindled into silence.

In an artificially deep voice the boy declaimed, “Sisters, I am your lord archbishop. Bow down before the Host. In my hand I bear the body of Christ and this holy servant”—he poked the child behind him with his crook—“bears a monstrance containing a drop of the blood of our dear Lord Jesus.”

With a solemn expression the second child held up a beaker full of a brackish liquid.

“I suppose you’re asking for alms?” asked Petronilla.

He shook his head. “Only bow down.”

Hildegard bit her lip. Either she should chide the boy for sacrilege or she should play the role allotted. She couldn’t bring herself to criticise such innocent piety. Nor could she bow before a leaf with what looked like a crust from yesterday’s supper on it.

The dilemma was resolved when the boy-bishop bestowed a stately blessing on them all then processed off followed by his little retinue. The children resumed their singing and disappeared into the long grass, the stalks closing behind them, leaving only a darkening to show where they had trodden them down.

Hildegard gazed after them. No doubts for them about the possibility of the magical transformation of bread into flesh or pond water into the blood of Christ. The faith of little children was itself magical.

*   *   *

There was a trailing queue of people trying to get through Bootham Bar when they arrived at the north entrance in the city walls. Three or four severed heads stuck on pikes above the barbican gazed into the hidden depths of Galtres Forest.

Guards stood inside the barbican searching everybody for weapons. They were making a slow and thorough job of it. Men had their tunics stripped off and women were asked to lift their kirtles. When their turn came Hildegard gave the man a steely glance. “Do I look as if I’m armed?” she asked. “And what about these children and the lay sister, are they armed, do you imagine?”

“I’m only doing my job,” the guard grumbled, eyeing the eating knife Hildegard openly displayed in a sheath on her belt. With a sidelong glance at his companions he hurriedly waved them through.

“I’ll go and see if I can stay at my cousins’ over near Walmgate,” Agnetha announced once they were inside the town. “Let me know when you’re settled in and if you want me to do anything to help. Where do you intend to stay?”

“We’ll try St. Clement’s. The nuns there are always friendly to travellers from Swyne.”

They parted to go their separate ways.

Hildegard was surprised at the hordes of people pouring in for the festival. She hadn’t expected to find the town so busy. Judging by their accents they came from all parts of the county and beyond. It was a far cry from Deepdale.

Here the streets were filled with peddlers and entertainers. Musicians played on every corner, some good, some painful to the ear, and working in among them were jugglers and magicians, fortune-tellers and pardoners, pilgrims visiting St. William’s shrine in the minster, itinerant healers and quacks, craft masters and apprentice boys in the distinctive colours of their guilds, as well as labourers out of bond, carriers, messengers, mendicant friars, servants and merchants with their retinues. The town was bursting at the seams.

She bought the girls some hot pasties from a booth and then they made their way through the cacophony of sound to the nunnery on the other side of the river.

*   *   *

The Benedictine nun who watched the door was apologetic. “I’m sorry, sister. We haven’t an inch of spare room. People started turning up in droves in the middle of last week. We’re going to be full until the celebrations are over.” She gave a glance at the two girls standing on either side of Hildegard. “All I can suggest is that you try the Sisters of the Holy Wounds. They rarely open their doors to anyone, but I believe even they have decided to allow outsiders in for the duration of the feast.”

She explained how they could find their convent and before Hildegard turned to go she called after her. “I’m not recommending them, you understand? But it’s the only place where you’re likely to find room to rest your heads just now.”

With thanks Hildegard led the way back down to the bank of the river. Following the nun’s instructions they stayed on the same side and walked on for a good distance while remaining within the walls. Apparently the convent was near the staithe where the barges discharged their cargo before returning to the Humber ports they serviced.

Before they reached the warehouses lining the quay, however, they came to a tall, windowless building with a large wooden crucified Christ dripping red paint set above a porch. There was a grille next to it. When Hildegard tapped on it a nun peered suspiciously through the bars.

“Greetings, sister. We’re travellers looking for accommodation—” Hildegard began.

Cold eyes sized her up, took in the two girls then glared at the hounds. “No animals.” The door on the other side of the grille snapped shut. Before they could turn away they heard bolts being worked loose and the big double doors ground open.

A crabbed nun appeared from the lodge, ringing a hand bell. At its summons a shaven-headed man appeared from an inner recess. He wore the cheap woollen tunic of a convent servant. Hildegard was astonished to find a man within the precincts and wondered if he was a eunuch.

The nun indicated that the hounds should be left in the lodge and then she snapped, “Follow Matthias. He’ll show you to your accommodation.” She retreated to her lodge.

Without a word he led them up a narrow staircase into a stone corridor at the back of the building. Some way along he thrust open a door into a grim-looking dormitory crowded with chattering black-robed nuns. They fell silent when the strangers entered and as one turned their backs. As soon as Hildegard and the girls reached the end of the chamber a susurration of whispers started up behind them.

Matthias lifted a wooden beam from its socket and pushed open a farther door. A small, square, stone chamber met their gaze. He stepped aside so they could enter.

Piled in a corner on the bare boards was a heap of straw-filled sacks. One small window high up near the rafters let in a trickle of light.

“Is this it?” Petronilla asked in astonishment. She remained in the doorway.

Matthias gave her a dark look and went out.

“I thought he was going to lock us in.” She giggled, coming into the middle of the cell to stand beside Hildegard. Maud stayed where she was.

“We’ll make the best of it,” Hildegard told her in a firm voice. “As soon as we’ve laid matters before the serjeant-at-law and heard from the prioress we’ll be away from here. It shouldn’t be more than a couple of nights at most. We can surely survive that!”

“I hope the prioress won’t consider sending me back to my guardian.”

“She’ll no doubt try to arrange a meeting for you both, but she won’t force you to leave the priory unless you choose to go. She’ll have to wait for a reply from him, of course. Let’s hope the courier finds him at home.”

Petronilla looked thoughtful.

*   *   *

After finding their way down to an equally forbidding refectory where they were grudgingly offered thin gruel slopped into wooden bowls, Hildegard settled the girls back in their quarters. Both of them seemed exhausted after their night’s walk. They dragged the straw pallets out and at once curled up ready to catch up on the sleep they had missed. Hildegard told them she was going into the town to find quarters for her hounds and to send a courier to Castle Hutton informing Lord Roger de Hutton of the destruction of his property. They were asleep almost before she finished speaking.

The first two errands were soon done. Her hounds looked mournful at being left behind in the town kennels but she was forced to harden her heart. Then a courier was dispatched to Castle Hutton. Next she made her way to the office of a serjeant-at-law known to the nuns of Swyne over many years of litigation. He worked from a warren of chambers off Petergate attended by a couple of clerks. They were scratching away at a pile of documents as she was ushered in. There was a strong smell of sealing wax.

The serjeant listened without comment until she finished speaking. His frown had deepened when she told him about the attack on Deepdale, and his brow furrowed even more when she told him about Maud and her terrible experience at the hands of the same marauding men-at-arms.

“I have to tell you straight off there’s little chance of bringing the malefactors to book if they’re from outside our jurisdiction. It’s beyond my remit.” He avoided her glance.

She understood at once. What he meant was that the men were probably maintained by Gaunt or some other wealthy magnate and it wouldn’t be worth trying to get redress if that were the case.

He went on. “It’s best if you leave matters to the lord of the manor the little serf belongs to. It’s not our concern what goes on there. He might not want to take the risk of making a complaint, of course.” Maud had either not known or would not tell the name of the landlord, merely saying that he rarely visited the place, leaving everything in the hands of his steward and a reeve, the latter being one of the murdered men.

When Hildegard made it known how unsatisfactory she found this response he agreed. “The best I can do is send a man to make enquiries. But you can understand the difficulty, sister. If these devils are maintained by somebody with power in Westminster, or even by one of his followers, it won’t be worth your neck to try to get them to court. What was the name of the manor again?”

“Pentleby.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Nor me. It’s said to be near Doncaster.”

The man folded his hands on top of his desk. “The owner of your grange at Deepdale might think the same way about pursuing these fellows, regarding it as the safer option to let sleeping dogs lie, as it were. For all we know the attack might have been the result of a long-running dispute between local families, spilling over into our territory by ill luck.” He paused and frowned. “You’re sure it was the same bunch of malcontents who destroyed your grange?”

“They must be, they said they were looking for Maud.”

“So why on earth should they pursue a bonded maid unless she was one of their own?”

“Exactly my own question.”

“And what reason does the maid herself give?”

“She’s still in a state of shock. She merely shakes her head.”

“Manor lords go to extremes when a bonded servant absconds. It’s a loss of property. But we need names.” After a pause, he said, “Whatever the reason for their actions it’ll be down to Lord Roger de Hutton to deal with the havoc they’ve caused at Deepdale. It’s his property.”

“I’ve already sent a messenger to Castle Hutton,” she told him. “I just wondered if you’d heard anything that could identify them.”

He sighed. “Too many fellas are being forced to live rough in the wildwood these days. They might be rebels. They might be anybody.” If he had heard rumours of a band on the prowl he was not admitting it.

“And about the runaway ward, Petronilla?” she asked

“I’ll send one of my men to make enquiries about this guardian she mentions, then we can look into her rights. I can’t think straight off where it might be she claims to come from. Beyond Galtres, you say? I’ve not heard tell of any recent deaths out that way, not ones that would lead to a dispute about inheritance, any road. But don’t worry. We’ll get on to it. How old is she?”

“She claims to be seventeen.”

“Claims?” He raised his eyebrows. “If she’s not of age she’ll remain the property of her guardian and he can do with her what he wills.”

“Even marry her against her inclinations.” Hildegard pursed her lips.

The serjeant nodded. “We can understand, sister, why these girls become runaways. Their wilfulness isn’t always to blame.” He gave a sympathetic smile. “I have a daughter of my own so I can understand it from both sides. She would certainly object if I was fool enough to insist she marry some old fella twice her age. We’ll tread carefully and see how the land lies before we go barging in with both feet.”

Thanking him for this cold comfort, Hildegard took her leave.

She emerged onto the main thoroughfare deep in thought.

With nothing to do now but wait for events to fall into place—the prioress would surely send instructions as soon as Marianne and Cecilia told her what had occurred—she decided it was time to pay a visit to the chandler who had received delivery of their beeswax the previous week.

People filled the streets as busily as ever, but winding her way through the lanes she eventually found herself outside Master Stapylton’s chandlery. It lay in one of the many craftsmen’s yards off Petergate. She rapped on the door for admittance.

Chapter Six