The Dragon of Handale (9 page)

Matt gestured towards Carola. “She’ll stay to guard the castle. I’ll come because I’ll recognise the tree my wood should have come from where they found him. Will can stay to guard Carola. And Hamo’s staying to guard Will.”

“What, from me?” Carola gave a faint smile.

“You’re wrong on one count, young lad,” said Hamo. “I’m going with you. I don’t want to miss anything. And I have something you might need.” He produced a short broadsword from under his cloak. Hildegard had already noticed that everyone, even Carola, carried a dagger in their belts.

So it was that Hildegard and her three escorts set out just as the sun was starting to trickle between the trees to the east. The going was soft after the rain. Dakin went ahead on a path that was no more than a shadow in the undergrowth.

Hildegard asked, “Are we going to lose ourselves?”

But Dakin shook his head. He was breaking off the stems of branches as they pushed their way through. “We know the general direction. If you listen, you can hear the beck over to our right. There’s also a faint trail where folk have walked already.”

Far away, from the direction of the ravine, came the distant roar of water being forced through the cleft in the rocks.

“That’s Kilton Beck,” Dakin told her.

“I could hear it clearly when I slept at the castle. It was way down at the bottom of an ironstone cliff. It runs quite fast and powerful, by the sound of it.”

“It narrows when it leaves here, then widens out again at an old Norse settlement called Killing Grove on the coast. There was a pitched battle there, hundreds of years ago, when the Norsemen landed and met with more resistance than they reckoned on.”

They walked in a sober silence, as if the ghosts of the dead invaders still haunted the woods.

“This is the place.” Matt, pushing his way ahead, came to a stop under a large old beech. It had wide-spreading branches, making a sort of clearing round itself.

“Look at it! Isn’t it a fine old fellow?” He ran his hands over the smooth grey trunk. A low branch stretched above his head and he put up his hand to pat it. “I can see this turning itself into something useful as I look.” He turned to the others. “Poor old fellow.” This time, it was clear he did not mean the tree.

Hildegard paced the open space under the branches. The ground was ankle-deep with last autumn’s fall of leaves. There was a jumbled heap of them, scuffed and turned, so that the darker leaves that had lain all autumn underneath were now on top.

“Yes, this is the place where he had his struggle.” Dakin stood beside her, eyes cast down.

Hildegard bent to peer more closely at something. She touched a leaf with the tip of one finger.

Dakin knelt beside her. “What is it?”

“Nothing much.” She straightened. “A spot of blood?” The rains had washed the rest away. “It’s sheltered here. Despite the rain, things can lie hidden for some time under the leaves.”

Not quite sure what they were looking for, the rest of them began to tramp about.

“Maybe better not to do that.” Hildegard, alone, began to trawl back and forth, being careful where she put her feet. After a while, she bent down again and lifted something from the mulch of leaves. She held it up. “Recognise it?”

“I do,” said Matt, coming forward and taking it from her. It was a pewter badge. “He wore it on a lace round his neck.” He held it in the palm of his hand. His lips twisted. For a moment, he was unable to speak. Then he gave Hildegard a sideways look. “To protect him from danger.”

“It tells us nothing that we didn’t already know,” Dakin briskly pointed out, taking the badge and pushing it deep into his pouch.

Hildegard turned away. To give them time to recover themselves, she moved off to gaze down the slope towards the sound of the beck.

Here, as elsewhere in the wood, the trees pressed in close together, staves of ash and willow making a barrier as thick as any wicket fence. Now and then, there appeared small openings where animals had pushed through to force a path for themselves. The small ones had been made by rabbits, but the larger gaps would have been made by deer. Or men. Somewhere beyond the slope of woodland was the waterway that crossed the coast road that led north and south to the outside world.

She well knew what the pewter badge belonging to Giles represented.

When she rejoined them, she asked, “What lies upstream?”

“The water mill. A miller grinds wheat for the priory.”

“Is he violent?”

Dakin half-smiled. “Not that we know. I don’t think any of us has ever clapped eyes on him.”

They were itching to get back to work by now. The sun was already above the horizon, gleaming silkily through a haze of moisture between the boles of the trees..

“We’ll cop it if master arrives and we’re none of us at our benches,” said Hamo, guiltily starting back. The rest of them trickled after him.

On the way, guided by his markers, Dakin asked, “Has that taken us any further, mistress?”

“I don’t know yet. We need more time. We have to ask ourselves a few questions, don’t we? Was it really a wild animal that attacked him? Or was it a man? If the latter, are we saying his murderer came from somewhere in the woods? Or did he come from the direction of the priory?” To herself, she added, Or from your own lodge?

When she arrived back inside the enclosure, she went straight up to the scriptorium. There must be a way of getting a message out, she thought.

She began to unfold the writing table where she had left it propped against the wall. As she pulled it open, a piece of vellum fell to the floor. Surprised to think she had left something in her desk when she had finished copying the previous day, she picked it up. In an unfamiliar hand was a line of writing.

“There is more to this than you know. Watch your step.”

It was unsigned.

Whoever had written it had carefully wiped the quill and stoppered the ink horn before putting them away.

The refectory. Rain was falling again. Whenever anyone opened the door, water could be heard sluicing through the stone gutters. The sun of early morning had failed to live up to its promise. The nuns shook their cloaks, scattering water everywhere before taking their seats at the long table. The nun with the swollen eye, Mariana, took her place farther along the bench. She did not look in Hildegard’s direction.

A benediction was said. The reading began. Salt passed from hand to hand. Bread came round, offered by the same novice as before—Alys. She glanced once at Hildegard and her eyelids fluttered, but she quickly continued down the line.

Sister Mariana broke off a piece of bread, murmured thanks, and scooped up gruel with a small bone spoon. She finished quickly, wiped the spoon, and hooked it back onto her belt. She sat for a moment or two with her hands loosely clasped, as if offering up a prayer. Hildegard finished her own gruel and waited.

Alys returned with wine. She refilled Hildegard’s beaker, then asked if she would like to refill the flask on her belt. Hildegard unstoppered it and a steady stream of wine was poured in, and then she heard the whisper: “They are taking me away tomorrow, when Master Fulke returns.”

Hildegard exchanged a glance and mouthed, “Trust me.”

A prayer of thanks was offered up. The prioress rose to her feet and processed out. Sister Mariana got up next and passed close by the end of the table, where Hildegard was sitting. She herself rose. She followed the nun outside.

In the cloister, Sister Mariana was dallying with her cape and hood before plunging out into the rain.

“Going to the scriptorium?” Hildegard murmured before setting off across the garth towards the building opposite. Without looking back, she heard the nun follow her.

When they reached the door that opened into the shared entrance with Basilda’s parlour, Hildegard gave it a quick survey to make sure the coast was clear, then nodded to the nun to follow. They climbed the stairs and reached the top not a moment too soon. The door below creaked open and Prioress Basilda stood there, looking up.

“Mistress York? Is that you?”

The nun found herself pushed into the scriptorium and Hildegard went back to look down the stairs. “Who else would it be, my lady? Am I to have help?”

“No, no, not at all. Not that. I can’t have people up and down these stairs all day. The sooner I have my own private quarters, the better.” She went irritably back into her chamber.

Too fat to climb the stairs, thought Hildegard with relief.

When she went into the scriptorium, the nun was standing on the far side, a frightened look on her face. “Is she coming up?”

“Not a chance.” She threw her cloak on its hook. “You left a note, I believe?”

“I had to. I’m at my wit’s end.” She paced backwards and forwards across the small room. Thought Hildegard, I’ve heard this already. The nun swivelled suddenly and stared into Hildegard’s face, a nerve jumping at the corner of her mouth. “Something horrible is going on here, mistress. I don’t know which way to turn. I have to talk to someone. That’s why I came to your chamber yesterday, but when you crept in like that, I mistook you for someone else and panicked.”

“I’m at fault, then. But please go on, tell me what you mean. What do you think is going on?”

“You must have noticed the harsh penance meted out to the sinners brought here? Some of the girls stay for no more than a week or so; then they disappear. We’re told the novices are making up their minds whether to join the Order, but I fear something worse happens to them.”

“What do you fear?”

“That they’re abducted and kept prisoner until their family pays a ransom. If they’re orphans, they can be sold in marriage. Their husbands make a profit from their inheritance.”

“What makes you think this?”

“That man Fulke. I don’t trust him. Why is he always here when someone goes missing?”

“Is he?”

She nodded.

“Could it be coincidence?”

The nun shook her head. Her raw knuckles ground into her eye sockets, making her eyes reddee than ever. When she blinked back her tears, she said, “They treat them brutally enough while they are here, but no doubt far worse when Fulke gets his hands on them.”

“He’s supposed to be a benefactor of the priory. Just because he’s often here doesn’t mean he’s involved in criminal activities.”

“But the girls, so many of them. Why here? If they’re interested in becoming nuns, they can go to any house near a town where they have family. These girls come from far afield. I fear for them.”

A sound from outside prompted Hildegard to go to the door and fling it open. The prioress was halfway up the stairs.

“I want to bring you this,” she puffed. In the hand that wasn’t hanging on to the rail was a sheaf of vellum.

Hildegard said loudly, so that Sister Mariana would have time to conceal herself, “That is most kind, my lady. I see I’m to be kept busy during my sojourn here. Praise be to God. Let me take it from you.”

She descended in such a way that the prioress could not have got past even if her great bulk would have allowed it. They stood facing each other, Hildegard looking down and the prioress, wedged, looking up.

Conceding the fact that she would not be able to reach the top with Hildegard in the way, she forced a smile. “Most kind, mistress. You’ve saved me from this terrible climb.” She backed down heavily, step by step, breathing audibly. Hildegard watched until the prioress she entered her chamber and closed the door.

When she turned back into the scriptorium, the nun was nowhere to be seen. Going over to the large store cupboard, she pulled open the door. Mariana came tumbling out.

“What did she want?” she gasped. She was trembling with fear. “She must know I”m here! Oh, God, save me!”

She was cowering against the wall, scarcely able to catch her breath.

“Don’t be alarmed. She’s gone back down to her chamber.” Hildegard peered closely at the nun. Despite Sister Mariana’s apparent strength when she had attacked Hildegarde in her chamber the previous day, she was wasted to skin and bone, frail wrists poking out of threadbare sleeves, thumbprints of fatigue beneath her eyes. She could be no more than twenty-four. She looked truly terrified.

“What would she do if she found you?” Hildegard asked, unable to hide her concern..

“Flagellation. It takes place in front of everybody in the chapter house. Other unspeakable cruelties. Nothing to eat or drink but bread and water. Eating meals from the floor. Isolation for weeks on end. They did this.” She lifted a finger to show where the nail had been ripped out. The wound had healed, but it was red and swollen. “This is the priory where we’re sent to be punished according to the Rule. Nobody dare talk about it. I can’t tell you how terrible it is. We live in daily fear.” She crumpled to her knees and began to sob.

“And what brought you here?” Hildegard asked as gently as she could after a few moments.

“My own folly.” The nun’s lips tightened. When Hildegard said nothing, she got up and tried to pull herself together. She paced the chamber once or twice, then blurted, “I was a nun at Rosedale. Sent against my will when I was no more than a child. I sinned.” She faltered, then said in a rush, “I was sent here and imprisoned for two years in a cell. Beaten. Scourged. Other cruelties. They know how to cause pain, these nuns. Then the old prioress left and I thought it might be different. But it’s not. It’s just as bad.”

“Why do you stay?”

“How can I escape? I did try running away but I got lost in the woods. I spent a night in utter terror, fearing they would track me down. The lay brothers found me next day and dragged me back—” Her words were cut off by another sob. She went to Hildegard and gripped her by both hands in desperation. “Mistress, you must understand, most of us have no kin. Whom can we turn to for help? Elsewhere, it might be to our prioress. Here, there is no one to turn to and nowhere to run.”

It seemed she could not stop shaking.

“Have other nuns gone through all this? Is that why they’re here?”