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.Full of misgivings, she went to rouse the porter from his lodge.He came out, smiling as usual, when he saw who it was.‘You’re out late, sister.’ He jangled his keys as he locked the door of his room behind him before escorting her across the great court to the south wing.‘No news of Lord Roger?’ she asked.He shook his head.The entire abbey lay under a shroud of silence, with the monks asleep in the dorter until the next office at midnight.The only other person out and about was the circulator, gliding noiselessly round the cloisters in fur-lined night shoes.They could see his flickering candle as he passed between the slender columns of the arcade and ascended by the outer stairs.The frail light appeared and disappeared as he went in and out of the cells where the senior monks slept.It blazed briefly as he passed each narrow window in the scriptorium before gliding on like a will o’ the wisp to the frater as he made sure all was safe.Guided by the porter’s rush lamp Hildegard was led up a winding stair to a room next to the one Roger had been using in the abbot’s lodging.There the porter fixed the light in a wall bracket and asked her whether there was anything further he could do for her.She glanced round the sparsely furnished chamber, little more than a stone cubicle, with a pallet against the wall, shook her head, thanked him and bade him goodnight.The sobriety and careful ordering of events according to the custom of the abbey were reassuring after the alarms and confusions of the last few days and she heaved a sigh of relief as she shook out her cloak and hung it on a peg to dry.For a long time she sat on the edge of the pallet, her thoughts too busy for sleep.Roger and his men would be lying in some hellish ditch at this very moment, she thought.They could be planning their attack on William’s stronghold, or, it was to be hoped, they were recovering from the battle already, with William taken prisoner and Melisen safe under Roger’s protection once more.Hildegard wondered what their reunion would be like.Melisen would be astonished, to say the least, at seeing her lord, back from the dead.Aware that there might be more to her kidnap than met the eye, Hildegard considered the possibility that Melisen had ordered the yeoman to drug Roger to give her time to make her escape with William.Maybe something had gone wrong.If so, it might explain William’s attack on Godric: it was to get rid of the only witness to their plot.Yet there had been no obvious sign that William and Melisen were attracted to each other.Indeed, they had ignored each other as far as Hildegard could remember.During the feast on the eve of St Martin William had eyes only for Ada.Everyone had murmured at that.But what if Melisen and William had merely feigned indifference? Could they have used others to cloak their desire for each other, the squire a mask for Melisen, Ada for William? If they really were conspirators they would have had to take steps to remain unnoticed.She recalled the way Melisen had flirted with Roger throughout the entire celebrations.It might have been to tease William, to make him jealous.A game of fine amour would appeal to her.William and Melisen.Melisen and William.She couldn’t rule them out.They might be the key to everything.And yet it still didn’t make sense.If William believed Roger dead he would not need to kidnap Melisen.He could wait awhile and then approach her openly.He would have to cast off his wife first.No doubt Avice could be bought off.Despite her constant praying it was open to question how devout she really was.But what if the price she demanded was too high?For William, the rich lands that Melisen as heiress and widow could bring to him would be an irresistible lure.With Roger apparently dead, only one person stood in his way.Hildegard got up and paced about the room.She must be wrong.Outside in the corridor she could hear the shuffle of the circulator’s night-shoes as he went by.The light of his candle flamed and vanished beneath the door.Wondering whether Avice had left for Watton or whether the heavy rain had delayed her, Hildegard continued to pace.At the back of her mind was the separate mystery of the so-called corrodians, as irritating as a stone in the shoe.She lay down on her pallet, her thoughts and fears running on as sleep claimed her.Soon they began to merge with a dream in which everyone was playing a game of Hangman in the garth.It was night, the figures were cloaked, their faces in shadow but, while she was pursued by the hangman, she found herself trapped in a small windowless cell.She saw, with great clarity, a glittering ruby ring on the finger of the hand that reached out for her.Another shape, in the mask of a cat, with fluttering tippets down one sleeve, lifted a great cloak over her head.A noose slipped round her neck and as it tightened she began to fight for breath.She woke up with a small cry, fright jerking her bolt upright.Her ears pricked.A sound, no more than a breath, could be heard outside the door.The rush light had been doused but by the moonlight that filtered in through the narrow slit of the window she could make out the dark shape of the door against the whitewashed wall opposite.As she peered into the darkness, she saw the door-ring begin to turn.Her breath stopped.The memory of a rough beard and small, malevolent eyes looking coldly into her own flooded over her.She raised a hand to her throat.It must have started as a gentle knocking but then a voice, one she recognised, whispered words that mingled incongruously with the remnants of her nightmare.Shaking, she peered across the chamber at a hooded figure standing there.It was her dream again.But she knew this was real.Lantern light illuminated his features.They were clean shaven.It was the sacristan.His distressed expression sent thoughts of herself flying.‘Quickly, sister, a most terrible calamity has occurred!’ As soon as he saw her pull her cloak from its hook he turned and, raising the lantern to light the way, hurried off down the corridor.Her immediate thought was that something had happened to Avice.Chapter SeventeenAWARE OF THE dagger in her belt, Hildegard followed the sacristan down the spiral stairs and out into the garth.On the other side lay the frater, its shape hardly discernible against the black sky, only a splinter of light visible from one of the rooms above indicating its position.Even so the light was too frail to penetrate the gulf of darkness that lay in front of them and they stepped forward like people plunging into a well.To her surprise he did not lead her towards the guest house beyond the court but across towards the building on the other side.The moon must be behind a bank of cloud, she was thinking as she followed closely on his heels.When she caught up with him, she asked, ‘Has Lady Avice set out for Watton yet?’ As one of Hubert’s obedientiaries he would be fully aware of abbey business.He shook his head.‘The weather kept her here at Meaux.But, sister,’ he lowered his voice in awe, ‘this is something unconnected to the Hutton household.I beg you to prepare yourself.’Without further explanation he led her into the pitch dark, only his flickering lantern, now blown by the wind and shielded by the edge of his sleeve, to serve as guide.He went unerringly to the door of the frater.When he pushed it open they were met by two monks, novices by the look of them.Faces as white as their habits, they gestured for her to follow them to the next floor.She had never been in this part of the abbey before and knew the chamber at the top to be the muniments room where all the abbey charters were kept under lock and seal [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]