The Law of Angels (22 page)

“And which direction did it come from in your opinion, the explosion?” His eyes were sharp as he looked into her face.

“From that little puppet tent next door. It was on the end of the row of booths next to the mercer’s booth.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, but that’s what it looked like in the confusion of the moment.”

“You know they went over the place with a fine-tooth comb and found something odd?”

She shook her head. “What was it?”

“A metal dish. When they asked the puppet man what it was he said he’d never seen it before in his life.” The man stopped at the gates of St. Leonard’s. “I’ve changed my mind about coming in. Sorry if I’ve dragged you away from your business.”

With nothing more than a raised hand in farewell he slipped away along the river bank towards the town.

*   *   *

Hildegard enquired at the lodge after the man who had been brought in from the fire. The porter looked sorrowful. “He’s hanging on to life by a thread, that’s the best we can say. The poor fellow’s delirious.”

“I know your brothers are doing everything possible. Does he know his wife has died?”

The porter nodded. “He’s been sent quite mad with grief over her death, screaming imprecations against a crocodile, can you believe. He was conscious through the night and was begging to see her. We had to tell him the truth.”

*   *   *

There was an argument going on in the yard when she returned to her lodgings. It was fairly one-sided. Baldwin and his wife, Julitta, were haranguing Edric who was looking at them in a bewildered fashion as if he didn’t know them. Jankin was hanging out of the window and Gilbert stood in the doorway to the workshop with his hands by his sides.

Danby rubbed a hand over his bald head. He had taken off the turban and was holding it in both hands, clearly undecided about something, his glance now and then returning to his brother.

They all fell silent when Hildegard entered the yard. With a brief greeting she went over to the door of the widow’s house and let herself in. Widow Roberts was standing in the kitchen. It was obvious she had been listening to the argument in the yard and what she heard had distressed her.

“It’s that Julitta, she causes dissension everywhere she goes.” She gave Hildegard a worried glance. “Baldwin is all for having them run out of town and she’s urging him on.”

“Who’s that?”

“Anybody who sympathises with the rebels.” Widow Roberts went to the window and looked out. “He’s claiming the rebels are setting the fires to scare people away from celebrating Corpus Christi. Edric’s resisting. He knows they wouldn’t do any such thing.” She gave Hildegard a swift glance. “I don’t mind who knows I’m saying this.”

“It’s all right with me. But what can Master Danby do about it?”

“He’s on good terms with the mayor. Baldwin imagines a word from Edric and the whole gang of apprentices will be swept out of town. And then what? To live as outlaws for the rest of their days?” She glanced out of the window again. “They’re still arguing with him, poor fellow. Edric is such a peace-loving man. He doesn’t deserve those two.” She turned. “Baldwin was that jealous when they elected his brother guildmaster. Mistress Julitta’s just as bad. They make a good pair. She can never resist a dig at poor Edric, and Dorelia’s no use to him, she’s just a child. All she knows about is playing and buying new ribbons. I don’t know where it’s going to end.”

“Have the brothers always been like this?” she asked

The widow nodded. “Everybody’s always liked Edric. He was a good boy and now he’s a good man. Baldwin’s been jealous since he was knee-high. It’s not Edric’s fault if folk take to him. If Baldwin would put himself out to be pleasant they’d like him as well. He just doesn’t see it. He’d have to admit he was in the wrong. And that wouldn’t do. That wife eggs him on in his folly. I think she gets her pleasure from watching them at each other’s throats. Anyway, sister, you don’t want to involve yourself in all this. I’m a neighbour and I can’t help hearing them row. Can I get you anything?”

“Do you have a supply of water here?”

“I do.” She went to a wooden container on the side, lifting the lid and dipping a metal cup inside. “There now. Fresh spring water. We’re lucky we have the well.” She sat down and watched Hildegard drink. “I trust your business with the constables was no cause for alarm?”

“They just wanted to know what I’d seen yesterday.”

The widow nodded. “I heard you were one of the first on the scene. Who’d have thought the puppet would go up. He’s going round trying to convince everybody it wasn’t his fault. Not that anybody’s blaming him, but I suppose he feels bad, knowing it started there. It was empty, he says. He never leaves the puppets in there when he’s not using it in case of theft. They’re precious, those dolls of his.”

Hildegard stretched out her legs. The ties of her boots, she noticed now, were crisscrossed unevenly; she had donned them in such haste when the constables arrived. She bent to retie them.

News travelled fast in this town but the widow didn’t seem to know yet about the copper dish found in the puppet booth. Time would no doubt rectify matters. In the meantime it made no sense.

Chapter Seventeen

Hildegard offered to do a few chores although, in truth, there was little that needed to be done in the widow’s small, spotless home. She lived, neat and tidy, in the tranquillity of her widowhood and barely left a trace of herself.

After sweeping an already clean chamber, and with the problem of the missing cross nagging at her without respite, Hildegard told Widow Roberts she was going round the corner to St. Helen’s church to sit in quiet contemplation for a while.

In a few minutes she had found a place against the back wall just inside the doorway.

Grey pillars down the short nave. Yellow sunlight. Incense. A glint of gold on the altar. Light in many colours spattering the tiled floor.

She closed her eyes. It was as cool as spring water in here. The day was the hottest yet. It multiplied the flies attracted to the street by the food stalls. They flew in through the open door before being attracted back to the heat and the smell of sizzling meats outside. Gradually the silence took over.

She sat for some time. When she eventually opened her eyes there were as many unanswered questions as when she had closed them.

The place had been filling up. She gave the newcomers a cursory glance. Some rich apparel was on show.

A couple standing off to one side of the altar at the front were particularly well turned out. They did not greet anyone but stood as strangers, the woman stern-faced, wearing a white wimple, a large silver brooch pinning it tightly under her chin. Her escort was soberly dressed but the quality of his garments could not be disguised. Grey silk of the best. An under-tunic of deep purple, its sleeves slashed to reveal a crimson lining. The woman was also dressed in grey with an embroidered over-mantle in a pale, light weave suitable for hot weather.

The rest of the congregation looked plain beside them, although, if they were members of the Glaziers’ Guild, they would be comfortably off these days. The man gave the woman beside him a quick glance, then, noticing that her eyes were closed, turned and cast a look over the people standing in the nave. Then he turned and gave his full attention to the priest.

Hildegard shifted her attention to the stained glass in the east window glowing with blue, gold and scarlet. The priest stepped into the flood of coloured light and began to intone the liturgy in rapid Latin. An altar boy swung a heavy censer whose fumes had the unfortunate effect of reminding Hildegard of the smoke billowing from the remains of the booth yesterday afternoon. She forced herself to think of life as something eternal and to consider what the priest intended with his large claims about the truth.

There was no one from Master Danby’s workshop present.

Unable to give the ritual proper attention she got up and slipped outside, leaving the drone of Latin and the scent of incense with a feeling of relief.

Brother Thomas was at that moment walking along the street. “I was coming to find you. Widow Roberts said you’d gone to St. Helen’s.” His sharp eyes examined her expression. “Are you all right?”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t sit there, knowing that that poor man is probably dying in St. Leonard’s. That Maud is still suffering. Those armed men are still at large. And that the cross is missing and we’re nowhere near finding who stole it.” She gave him a close look. “How’s your head? I forgot to ask in all the turmoil yesterday.”

“It’s not so bad. Your bruise seems to have gone down.”

“Arnica. I needed it after hitting that Sister Michael in the face.”

They walked across the road to the place where the booths were once again doing brisk business as if nothing had happened. They were without awnings now and the stock was somewhat charred but there were plenty of buyers jostling to make their purchases at a discount. The place where the fire had broken out had been cleared and now a woman stood there, offering fortunes for a groat.

“She’s got her predictions wrong. She should have been here yesterday morning,” Thomas said with a grimace. Just then a scuffle broke out. The first they knew about it was when there were angry shouts and a few encouraging cheers from a group of men standing nearby.

The crowd scattered to make room then quickly re-formed around two apprentices. Thomas went over and Hildegard followed. When they reached the group they saw two lads squaring up to each other. It was no brief skirmish but was turning into a vicious bare-knuckle fight. Both had bloody noses already and the crowd began to cheer every time one of them landed a punch.

Thomas shouldered his way through the onlookers and dragged both boys apart by the scruff of their necks. “Pack it in. Admit your differences and shake hands on it like gentlemen.”

He was tall, strong and spoke with an urgent authority that made both boys fall silent in surprise. “Come on, now.” He shook them both. “I haven’t all day.”

One of the boys broke free. With blood streaming down his face he gave the monk a glare. “I will never, ever shake that traitor by the hand!” With that he pushed his way through the crowd and ran off.

Thwarted of entertainment, the onlookers began to disperse.

“You don’t need to ask what that was about,” one of the idlers said to Thomas. “Drunken brawling. That’s what. It’s them apprentices. They can’t take their drink these days.”

“To be fair,” said Thomas, “they seemed sober enough. Just drunk on a difference of opinion.”

The boy who remained snuffled through his bloody nose and slunk away without looking back. The crowd had melted away as quickly as it had formed. Thomas rubbed his hands on his sleeves. “What were we saying?”

Hildegard gave him a soft smile. Hubert would have done exactly the same as that. She touched his arm. “We weren’t saying anything. Come and have a beaker of wine at Widow Roberts’s. That is if you youngsters can hold your drink.”

*   *   *

“It’s like this,” she began in an undertone when they were sitting in the shade of the eaves outside the house with a beaker each of Rhenish, “whoever stole the cross may not understand its true significance. They may be willing to settle for a ransom.”

Thomas looked unconvinced.

“First we need to find out if it really is something to do with the Company of the White Hart, although what their purpose could be I have no idea.”

“And if, on the other hand, the thief is Bolingbroke?”

“We’re done for.” She gave a wry laugh. “Let’s try one avenue at a time. We need to talk to the rebels.”

Thomas gasped. “What, talk to them here in the town?”

She shook her head. “No. To the ones living outside.”

“Outside the law, you mean?” He looked astonished.

“There must be someone who can put us in touch with them.”

She could see Gilbert in the workshop across the yard. He had finished whitewashing the surface of the large trestle and now appeared to be marking a drawing out on it. He was absorbed in his work.

Thomas idly followed her glance then his jaw dropped. “You mean the journeyman? Are you serious? Do you think he’s a sympathiser?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

*   *   *

Thomas had asked what she would say to Gilbert and she had told him that she would think of something. She had to do it when she was sure he was going to be alone. Danby, as a guildmaster, couldn’t be expected to condone anything illegal, but Gilbert would consort with other journeymen and apprentices and must be aware of the avenues by which they could be contacted.

Danby went indoors just before Thomas left for nones and had been inside ever since. She could see him talking to Gilbert, their heads close together as they discussed something.

Before he left Thomas had said, “These friars are rare boys. You wouldn’t believe some of the tricks they get up to. Pity they don’t know anything useful.” Then he said, “Do you want me to come back later?”

She told him she would come out to meet him at the friary after she had spoken to Gilbert. She didn’t know how long it would take to find an opportunity.

Now it was evening. Widow Roberts had cooked a tasty pie and with one eye on the workshop, Hildegard had eaten it quickly and later rinsed their bowls out then offered to fill the water bucket at the well.

While she was outside she saw Danby and Dorelia come out and sit on the bench against their wall to catch the last rays of the sun. It was pleasant now the heat had gone out of it.

After a casual exchange or two, Hildegard went back into the house. To add to her impatience they went on sitting outside until it was twilight. Gilbert could be seen in the workshop by the light of a tallow and continued to work until Danby went in and ticked him off. The candle went out.

Danby came outside with a cresset, which he placed in a bracket on the wall. He put his arms round Dorelia’s waist. She leaned back against him but her eyes were wide open. They eventually went indoors. After a moment a candle illuminated an upper chamber with a diffuse golden glow.