The Lord Bishop's Clerk (4 page)

It was then that Eudo the Clerk appeared, without advertising his approach, from the direction of the gatehouse. It was amazing how he could flit like a silent, black moth. He acknowledged the master mason with an irritatingly gracious nod, but turned his attention to Brother Remigius. Master Elias was about to excuse himself, when realisation dawned as to who this was. He had an excellent visual memory and had seen that unctuous, self-satisfied face before. Where? Ely, Abingdon, Oxford? That was it … in Oxford. He tried to recall the name. Eustace, was it? No. Well, he was certainly the lord Bishop of Winchester’s man, and in Oxford rumour had been rife that he was always to be found where discord and deceit were hottest, and that he had an unfailing ability both to increase the temperature and to make sure that his master was on the side of the successful faction. Despite Henri de Blois, Bishop of Winchester, being the king’s brother, he had been quite prepared promote the empress’s claim while King Stephen had rotted in a Bristow dungeon, and then equally swift to return to his brother’s side when the tables had been turned and Stephen was once more in command. Master Elias did not think much of such inconstancy.

He himself believed that the Empress Maud had full right to be Lady of the English, given that was her father’s wish. He had thought well, in a distant and respectful way, of the late King Henry. He had even seen him once, while still a journeyman, when the king had viewed the building upon which he was working. It had been but a stolen glance before his superior clouted him about the ear for lack of attention, but it had left an impression. Pity it was that a king with such fruitful loins had sired but two legitimate offspring, and that the Prince William should have met an early death at sea. But the king had named his daughter, the widowed empress of the Holy Roman Empire, as his heir, and the baronage had sworn fealty. They had no cause, in Master Elias’s opinion, to break that oath and accept King Henry’s nephew as king. Some had come to regret their choice and raised an army for the empress. Elias was no warrior, nor of elevated class, but he had found that his work took him further afield than most in the realm, and that a man of quick eye and attentive ear could learn much. Master Elias was certainly not, in his own view, a spy. He did not plot or listen at windows; did not bribe or threaten to reveal his knowledge. He simply made note of interesting things and passed such information to men he knew to be both discreet and firmly on the side of the Empress Maud.

He was not paying attention to the cowled pair while he thought. Ecclesiastical business was usually far too parochial and small-minded to be of interest, but something in Brother Remigius’s tone jarred. Having just been speaking with him, Master Elias could easily detect the new chill and dislike in his voice, and, surprisingly, a heavy overtone of fear. He stared at the sub-prior, frowning, and then suddenly realised that the lord bishop’s clerk was watching him. He coloured, and, for an instant, the ghost of a smile flickered over the clerk’s face. Brother Remigius looked distinctly uncomfortable. Master Elias was about to withdraw when the clerk addressed him.

‘You have travelled a way west from your usual haunts, Master Mason. I last recall you in Oxford, at St Frideswide’s.’

Eudo the Clerk had as good a memory for faces and voices as the master mason’s, if not better. It had taken barely a moment to drag his image from the filing system of memory, and as he spoke, Eudo was contemplating what use could be made of the man. He recalled the master mason as a Maudist, but quietly so, and Eudo wondered if he had come into Worcestershire with the aim of discovering information in an area where the supporters of king and empress overlapped. It would be prudent to discover if the big man was as sharp as a chisel or as dull as a mallet.

Master Elias was wary. ‘I came where the work was, Brother, and it is not so far from Oxford. As well work here as further north.’

Eudo inclined his head, with a suggestion of graciousness. ‘Indeed, the north can be as … difficult … in terms of strife between the king and the countess.’

Master Elias blinked in surprise. The Empress Maud, now married to Geoffrey Plantagenet, Count of Anjou, still used her more exalted title and was not known as ‘countess’. The only people who gave her the title were a few of those covertly seeking her elevation to the throne of England as ‘Lady of the English’. He had heard it used as a signal among her supporters, but the lord Bishop of Winchester supported the king again, so what was his clerk up to?

‘I would be interested to see the work you have undertaken here,’ continued the clerk. ‘Perhaps I might visit your workshop at some convenient time. We must arrange it.’ He nodded a dismissal, and Master Elias, who would normally have bristled at such treatment, meekly withdrew, his mind whirling. Brother Eudo turned to the sub-prior. ‘Now, Brother Remigius, we have, I think, much to discuss. Perhaps the cool of the cloister would be more pleasant.’

The sub-prior gave him a look that implied he would find standing in a snake pit infinitely more ‘pleasant’ than further conversation with Eudo the Clerk, but went with him nonetheless.

In the cool of the abbot’s parlour, Abbot William of Pershore was conducting negotiations with two women, although one seemed merely there as silent support.

‘It was not thought too great a thing to ask, Father Abbot, that a small relic of the blessèd saint should return to the sorority in which her own sister lived.’

The speaker was a Benedictine nun, reverent in word, but with her own obvious authority. Her voice was low and controlled, as controlled as every other aspect of her, from her immaculate tidiness to her straight back as she sat, and the precise folding of her hands beneath her scapular.

Abbot William considered carefully. The Benedictine nuns of Romsey were offering both coin and a fine manuscript, copied and embellished by one of the finest illustrators of the Winchester school, in exchange for the bone of a finger of St Eadburga, who lay within the gilded reliquary in her chapel in the abbey church. That they were prepared to offer much for so little was proof of their eagerness to claim a part of the saint.

‘I am perplexed, Sister, as to why Romsey makes this request when the blessèd Eadburga has lain here so long. And why not approach the Nunnaminster, St Mary’s, her own house in Winchester. Would not your Sisters in Christ part with a small bone? They retain several and must be glad of funds after the Great Burning.’ He sounded cautious. ‘Besides, Romsey has two saints of its own.’

‘Indeed yes, Father Abbot. St Merewenna, and her successor as our Mother Superior, St Aelfleda, lie secure and venerated within our walls. We have been blessed by having two saints to exemplify the life we should lead, but only now has a benefactor enabled us to consider bringing a small part of the sainted Eadburga to our community, and Abbess Matilda has sent us to make the request.’ The nun’s voice showed no trace that she feared being rebuffed, nor yet arrogance.

Abbot William wavered. ‘You claim earlier poverty, but yours is a house where royalty have sent daughters in the past, and surely not without bringing wealth with them?’

Sister Edeva permitted herself the smallest of wry smiles. ‘Kings are wont to think the honour of housing their womenfolk generous in itself, and what has come to Romsey has been put to practical use upon the fabric of the abbey and in help for those about us.’

The Abbot of Pershore leaned forward at his table, letting his chin rest against his steepled fingers. He was silent for a some time. The younger nun’s eyes darted between her sister and Abbot William nervously, but Sister Edeva kept her gaze fixed at a point somewhere on the wall behind the abbot’s head. Eventually he spoke.

‘I am minded to accede to the request of Abbess Matilda, but this matter must go before our chapter, as it concerns all in this house.’ He was also mindful of the amount it was costing to repair the north transept. ‘I will bring it to the attention of the brothers at Chapter tomorrow morning, and will give you a final answer thereafter. In the meantime I would welcome your presence at my table tonight. I appear to have many important guests and am set,’ he sighed as if it was a burden, ‘to entertain.’

He rose, and smiled his dismissal. The sisters made obeisance and retired, well content that their mission was proceeding well. They trod with becoming lack of haste and eyes slightly lowered, but both wore the hint of a smile. Their undertaking was important to their community, and though failure would have been accepted with outward calm, success would be greeted with delight. Sister Ursula had scarcely taken final vows and was too junior a member of the sorority to gain advancement from that success. She was content to have enjoyed a foray into the daunting but exciting secular world she had left but a few years before. Sister Edeva had withdrawn from the world over twenty years previously, and had rarely left the abbey enclave, certainly not for as long as this. She held the responsible position of sacrist, in charge of the abbey church fabric and the items within it. Her securing of a relic of St Eadburga would be remembered in years to come, when the sisters had need to select a new mother superior, and Sister Edeva knew she would be able to fulfil that role, if called upon.

She had not been concerned about leaving the confines of the abbey at Romsey, but she had not been prepared for how strange she would find the world without. The first day’s journey had left her ears ringing and her head aching from the volume of activity about her, and the succeeding days had not proved any easier. For all the poverty and dirt that did not exist within the enclave of Romsey, there was a colourful vibrancy to the outside world that she had forgotten. Children laughed and played in the dusty streets and roadways; even the sound of argument in the marketplaces breathed life. When people, even lay people, entered the confines of the conventual world, their tones and actions were muted and respectful. Had she entombed herself all those years ago, not just to show the strength of her love for one lost to her, but to avoid the need to continue real life? Had she been afraid, deep down, that the day would come when she would look upon another man as she had looked upon him? Were such questions themselves proof of her faithlessness? For her peace of mind it would be good to go home as soon as possible.

As they crossed from the abbot’s lodging to the guest hall, a brother passed by, and would have been ignored had he not spoken. Sister Ursula frowned, disconcerted by his action, for the brethren did not engage in unnecessary speech with women, even with pious women who had withdrawn from the world as they had. Sister Edeva slowly raised her eyes from contemplation of his sandals, and the smile was wiped from her face in an instant. The younger sister heard her draw in her breath with a distinct hiss.

‘I give you good day, Sisters.’ He smiled broadly. ‘I hope your long journey has been crowned with success.’ No reply was forthcoming, so he continued. ‘It is strange that we, who hale from Hampshire, should find ourselves, at the same time, in this distant House of God.’ He paused and shook his head. His tone was one of surprised delight. ‘Who should have thought it, indeed.’

Sister Ursula had the peculiar feeling that the remark was addressed solely to Sister Edeva, but the older nun remained stony-faced and silent, and walked on as though nothing had been said. The brother turned away, and Sister Ursula was sure that she heard him laugh.

A birdlike lady, clearly aristocratic, who had halted to exchange a word with the almoner, half-turned at the laugh, revulsion and horror vying on her pale face. Her thin hands, which had been clasped modestly, were wrung in anguish, the knuckles showing white.

Mistress Weaver was returning from making purchases in the town, and was walking towards the guest hall. She had studiously ignored the habited figure with as much froideur as the sacrist of Romsey, but she took heed of the pale lady’s distress, and hurried to her. The almoner stood by, somewhat at a loss, and beyond him a large, grizzled individual with the expression of a leashed mastiff, stiffened in readiness to lunge forward should his lady falter.

‘You know him, my lady?’ Mistress Weaver had little doubt, and it was more an assertion than a question. Her own eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips.

Lady Courtney nodded dumbly, and made no demur when the Winchester widow took her by the arm, and guided her towards the guest hall. The ‘mastiff’, watchful, followed at a respectful distance.

‘I have my own knowledge of that snake, the lord Bishop of Winchester’s clerk, and none of it is good,’ Margery Weaver whispered, but with anger ripe in the tone.

Lady Courtney, who was regaining her calm, would have normally dissociated herself from such as Mistress Weaver, but this gave her pause. ‘He is evil.’ She too whispered, as if he could hear her words from the distance of the cloister.

The two women had reached the doorway of the guest hall, and would have entered but for Miles FitzHugh barring their path. He stood aside politely, though it was clear that he deferred only to the lady Courtney, but both women ignored him as they passed by, and he frowned.