Day of Wrath (37 page)

‘I share your concern, but unless he can give us some satisfactory answers to our questions, he still remains our prime suspect.'

‘But he's not got the qualities to be the “master” whom the lay brother referred to. There's not a jot of ruthlessness in him. He's a gentle, kind old man, who wants to do what he's always done, look after the Priory's treasures. No, I'm sure, Nicholas, that Ultor's still at large. And until we're satisfied that we've really caught him, I'll not let Agnes go home.'

‘And keep on talking to her, won't you? And meanwhile I hope you'll practise some songs with Brother Benedict – in a safe place, like the Prior's solarium.'

‘Don't worry. We'll do our best to keep the King entertained. Provided that is, that nothing happens to the King before supper time!'

*   *   *

On Wednesday morning, Nicholas woke to find his house transformed: clean rushes and straw on the floors; tapes-tries, revealing intricacies of designs hidden for years under layers of dirt, hung on the walls, and everywhere was the heavy scent of herbs, culled from the garden and strewn on the straw. Huge garlands of roses and wild flowers hung from the rafters. The stables were cleaned, the horses groomed to sleek perfection. Messengers continually rushed backwards and forwards between the Priory and his house; and Monsieur Pierre was everywhere, from the kitchen, where he tasted soups and stews, to the great hall, where he sniffed the air appreciatively, to the bedchambers, where he checked the sheets and pillows.

Then, in the late afternoon, there was the sound of hunting horns, and the clatter of hooves, and the vanguard had arrived. Nicholas had just managed to put on a clean shirt and fasten the laces on his doublet, when he heard the commotion. He dashed down into the courtyard and came face to face with King Henry, sitting on a great chestnut horse, covered in sweat. The King sprang lightly down from his mount and grinned at Nicholas.

‘Well, here we are, Peverell. On time, you see. The Queen's following in her coach, but I thought I'd surprise you. Now what's that steward of mine cooked up for us? We're all famished.'

Monsieur Pierre, bowing deferentially at every step, advanced towards the King. Geoffrey, who'd lost at least five pounds off his stocky frame through all the worry of the last few days, hung back, until Nicholas dragged him forward and introduced him.

From that moment on, Nicholas was no longer master of his own house. Monsieur Pierre took it upon himself to be Master of Ceremonies, Geoffrey was butler, and Mary queened it in the kitchen. Dinner was served early, as the Queen, in the last stages of pregnancy, was tired and wanted to retire early. The King insisted that the first meal should be a modest one: eels stewed in ale, a roast bullock, a quantity of delicious fowl, and a splendid dessert, provided by the Prior, and made with cake, almonds and raisins, custard and fresh cream.

The Bishop had sent four musicians to play during the meal, and it was after the dessert had been cleared away and bowls of nuts and dried fruit were placed on the table that the King turned to Nicholas.

‘Well, Peverell. A fine meal. A fine house; everything for our comfort. But haven't you forgotten one thing?'

Nicholas groaned. What had gone wrong?

‘My coat,' the King roared, clapping Nicholas on the back. ‘Don't you remember, you cut a great hole in my coat when you came to Court, and you promised me a replacement. And you've forgotten, haven't you?'

‘Sire,' said a voice behind them, ‘Lord Nicholas wishes you to accept this coat, with his compliments.'

It was Monsieur Pierre, carrying the great doublet on a silver salver. The King stared at it in astonishment, then exclaimed with pleasure as he stroked the beautiful cloth and ran his fingers over the intricate embroidery.

‘This is wonderful, Peverell. You've excelled yourself. We shall wear it tomorrow at the great feast.'

There was no dancing that night due to the Queen's fatigue, and after the meal was over, the King asked Nicholas to take a stroll with him in the gardens. The moon hung like a lantern overhead, lighting the way, and the warm air was heavy with the scent of flowers. Henry was in fine humour.

‘You look worried, Peverell. It doesn't suit you. Now what's up? Don't you want me here?'

‘Your Grace, I'm honoured to have you here. I'm delighted that you find everything to your satisfaction, but the fact remains that you are in grave danger. You know we're not sure we've caught this traitor who calls himself Ultor.'

‘Rubbish. I thought you'd caught the man. A monk, I hear. Bears a grudge against me – I can't think why!'

‘We've arrested someone but I'm not one hundred per cent sure he's the man we're looking for.'

‘Well, we'll soon find out, won't we? And if it's a monk out to get me, then I'm not in the least bit worried.'

‘Shouldn't your Grace seriously consider cancelling your visit to Portsmouth tomorrow?'

‘Cancel my visit to Portsmouth? What nonsense is this? I'm not a bit worried by a demented monk. I intend to rise early, leave the Queen here – Monsieur Pierre will look after her – and you and I, Peverell, will ride together to Portsmouth. I want to build a castle there, you know – a good strong one to replace that feeble tower at Southsea. Porchester's too far away. Got to defend the realm – we need more defences along the south coast. Damned French are stirring up trouble again. So I must see Southampton, and set a few things in motion. Besides, think of the scene, Peverell, my ships sailing past me, dipping their flags in salute. Will it not be a brave sight?'

‘It will indeed. But there's just one problem…'

‘Which is?'

‘Look around you, sir. Is it not a beautiful night?'

‘Wonderful. If the Queen were feeling better, I'd have her out here dancing on this velvety grass.'

‘But what's missing?'

‘Nothing's missing, you great worrier, Peverell. This is just what I wanted, simple, rustic pleasures.'

‘There's no wind, your Grace. Not a breath of it. No wind expected tomorrow. So how is the fleet to sail past?'

‘Oh, don't be such an old woman! Those fellows can row their damn ships past me. Or I can be rowed out to them, like we do on the Thames at Hampton Court. I'll get Southampton to rustle up a barge or two. Just get this into that thick head of yours, Peverell, nothing's going to deter me from visiting my fleet. Especially not an absence of wind.'

*   *   *

Jane woke early on Thursday morning. She hadn't slept well. The King was here, she'd seen the commotion, heard the hunting horns. She knew Nicholas shared the same doubts as she did, and she knew that if Ultor was going to strike, today was the day. The Day of Wrath he'd called it. Dies Irae. She had to have another talk with Agnes. She knew she'd be awake early as she liked to listen to the monks chanting Prime.

She crept out into the garden where the birds were singing their dawn chorus as the sun appeared over the horizon. She walked down to the Priory and went round to the little room at the back. All was quiet. She knocked gently and unlocked the door. She went in and put down the jug of milk she'd brought for Agnes's breakfast on the table. Agnes was just waking up. She sat up and smiled at Jane.

‘Have you come to listen to Prime, Jane? How strange, the monks haven't come down yet. They always do at sunrise, you know. Let me take a look.'

She climbed up on the bed and looked through the tiny window. Then she turned and looked at Jane. ‘No sign of them. Well, well, not like them to be late.'

She drank the beaker of milk Jane handed her and sat on the edge of the bed.

‘Agnes, tell me once again the names of those people who came to see you just before the fire. Try to remember. It's very important. Can you remember the fire? Is it coming back to you? We also want to find out who killed Ambrose. You see, he's not with us any more. Someone murdered him. Someone strung him up on a tree. Try to remember, Agnes. We are relying on you.'

Suddenly Agnes bowed her head and began to cry bitterly with great sobs that racked her frail body. ‘Oh yes, my darling Ambrose,' she sobbed. ‘He's gone, hasn't he? And that little girl, too. Brother Benedict told me what had happened. All that noise and shouting, it was quite horrible. I felt sure that any moment the mob would break down that door.'

‘Lord Nicholas wouldn't let that happen. Now try to think, Agnes. Who came to see you recently, just before the fire? Please, please, try to remember.'

Suddenly, Agnes stopped crying. She lifted her head and looked intently at Jane. There was something different about her; a new strength which showed itself in the keenness of her gaze.

‘Well, I've told you about Father Hubert – poor man, do you really think he could have killed my Ambrose? Then there was Brother Martin who worked in the Infirmary with Brother Michael. Now he used to come often.'

‘What did he want, Agnes?'

‘Oh, he always wanted my opiates. I kept them in the shed, in a special place. Brother Michael sometimes came, and used to help himself. He bought up a lot of my stock just before dear Ambrose died.'

Brother Michael, thought Jane with growing excitement; the tall, intense Infirmarer, with his ugly face and bald head. Yes, it was just possible.

Telling Agnes to rest quietly, Jane went out, locking the cell door. She ran over to the gatehouse. The door was locked. There was no sign of the gatehouse keeper. The sun had now risen and still there was no sound from the monks' choir. Something was wrong.

She ran round to the parish church and hammered on the Vicar's door. Hobbes was an early riser and opened the door immediately. He gazed in astonishment when he recognised Jane.

‘Why, Mistress Warrener, what's happened?'

‘There's something wrong in the Priory. The monks haven't come down for Prime, and there's no one in the gatehouse.'

‘Not yet sung Prime? Good heavens, they must've over-slept. Come into the church and wait here. I'll see what's up.'

He opened one of the connecting doors and disappeared. Minutes later he came running back. ‘Quick, quick, fetch the Prior. They're all there, asleep in their beds. I can't wake them up.'

‘They're not…?'

‘Oh no, they're breathing all right. Some of them snoring.'

They went across to the Prior's house, where he was up and grumbling at the disturbance of having an extra twenty people to feed at breakfast. He stared in astonishment when he saw Jane and the Vicar.

‘Not up for Prime?' he said when he'd listened to them. ‘Things always go wrong when I'm especially busy. I gave instructions to Brother Michael to fill in whilst Father Hubert's away. Well, you'd better take me to them, Vicar, and I'll wake them up all right.'

Together they went back to the Priory church. The Prior dashed up the night stairs into the dormitory and came down looking very angry. ‘They're all asleep, and I can't wake them up. Someone's given them something lethal to drink last night. And the devil of it is, Brother Michael's not with them. His bed's empty.'

Then Jane knew that she had to warn Nicholas. She ran home to fetch Melissa, and rode up the street, past Edgar Pierrepoint's house. He was standing at his front door, scratching his head and filling his lungs with fresh, morning air. He waved when he saw her.

‘What's the hurry, Mistress Warrener? You're the second person I've seen up at the crack of dawn today.'

She reined in Melissa. ‘Who else have you seen?'

‘Why, the ugly old devil, that Infirmarer. I had to get up early this morning, for natural reasons, you know – I'm not as young as I used to be – and I heard the sound of horses' hooves and ran to the window to take a look. And there he was, riding one of the Prior's horses as if the devil himself were after him.'

‘How long ago was this?'

‘Well before first light. Two hours ago, I suppose. He took the Portsmouth road.'

Worse and worse. Jane galloped up to the manor. The courtyard was seething with horses and dogs, and in the middle of it all, sat King Henry on Nicholas's horse, Harry. Nicholas, looking furious, was mounted on a bay stallion, the prime mount from the Prior's stable.

She pulled Melissa to a halt. Nicholas came over.

‘Jane, what is it? What's happened?'

She told him the news. ‘Brother Michael's had a head start. He's well mounted and he took the Portsmouth road. Tell the King he mustn't go to Portsmouth.'

‘And who's this wench that says King Harry mustn't go to Portsmouth?' said the King, who'd ridden over to join them.

‘Mistress Jane Warrener, your Grace. You'll hear her sing tonight. But she brings bad news. You can't go to Portsmouth, Sire.'

‘Can't go? You tell your King that he can't review his fleet? Just because a disgruntled monk's after him? It's too late, Peverell. This is a fine horse you've lent me. Come, I intend to race you to Portsmouth. We'll get fresh horses from Southampton to bring us back. Mistress Jane, my compliments, I look forward to making your acquaintance tonight.'

He blew her a kiss, Harry pawed the ground restlessly, and without waiting for Nicholas, the King set off down the road towards the village and the main coast road. Nicholas, with a despairing look at Jane, followed. He had no choice.

*   *   *

They reached Portsmouth at midday. Both horses were exhausted, but not King Henry. He rode up to the gatehouse of Domus Dei, the hospital, founded three hundred years previously for the relief of pilgrims going to Canterbury, Winchester and Chichester, now run by twelve brethren under the control of a warden. Since its foundation it had accumulated wealth with which the brethren had built extra buildings – a brewery, a forge, a smithy, a captain's chamber and a great chamber, a pigeon house, and a house for visiting dignitaries. This complex stood near the Hard, where, out across the blue waters of Portsmouth Harbour, tucked away in the lee of the western shore, King Henry's warships placidly sat on the still water, with not a drop of wind to fill their sails. Southampton had ordered out the towing boats to drag the vessels nearer the shore, but the great wooden tubs hardly moved despite the frantic efforts of the crews.