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Authors: Cassandra Clark

BOOK: A Parliament of Spies
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‘So who can he rely on?’ asked one of the bishops in a helpless tone.
‘Me,’ said Neville at once.
‘And me,’ Burley spoke up.
‘Me too,’ said de la Pole.
‘Certainly me,’ agreed Brembre stoutly.
‘And us,’ cut in Dean Slake, indicating the rest of the Signet clerks.
Medford said laconically, ‘We are all King’s men. Trust on it.’
Neville turned to the chancellor and cocked an eyebrow. ‘What are you asking for this time, Michael?’
He gave a rueful smile. ‘Four-tenths and three,’ he announced.
There was a stunned silence.
‘You’ll never get as much as that.’
‘I’m aware of that, Alexander, but it’s what we need if
we’re going to put up a defence against the French.’
‘Let’s hope the Commons see it that way.’
‘You regard them as important?’
‘With Woodstock and his faction against us, they could be crucial. Nicholas will have to keep the city on our side.’
The chancellor looked thoughtful. ‘They can’t get rid of us all. Should they desire a scapegoat on the first of October,’ he glanced round, ‘let it be me. If I’m going to ask for a massive tax and they squeal like stuck pigs, and we can’t get the numbers on our side and they vote me out …’ He paused. ‘ … I can always go back to Hull.’
‘You’d be best putting some gold into a secret place under the rule of Emperor Wenceslas against the day of defeat,’ growled Burley. ‘I know I am.’
Despite the gravity of his advice, both men smiled. ‘I liked Prague,’ admitted de la Pole. ‘The Bohemians gave us a good time when we went to fetch the Queen to England. I hope to go there again some day. Preferably when they put the emperor’s crown on Richard’s head.’
Neville looked surprised. ‘You think he’d want it?’
‘He has as much right as anyone if Wenceslas has no issue. They offered it to his grandfather but the old fool declined.’
‘If you think it likely, then I’ll get my masons to set it in stone in York Minster so nobody will ever forget. A handsome stone head wearing the triple crown.’ Neville raised his goblet in a toast. ‘Richard! Bless him. King and Emperor.’
 
As Hildegard was leaving, de la Pole got up as well and came out into the corridor after her. ‘Domina,’ he called,
‘I gather we’re both from the same region of Yorkshire?’
‘I believe so.’ She stopped and turned with a smile. ‘I’m attached to the abbey at Meaux.’
‘So you answer to Hubert de Courcy, do you?’ He laughed pleasantly. ‘He’s a rigorous and unforgiving fellow. He gives my clerks hell!’
‘Why so?’
‘He runs some of his flocks on my land. Never seems to be out of court over some dispute or other!’ He moved closer and after a quick glance round spoke in an undertone. ‘Alexander has told me why he brought you down here with him but I also understand you know something of herbal matters?’
‘Not much. Only everyday cures. Why, is there—?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. It’s the Queen. You need to know that the rumours are true. She did indeed have a miscarriage. It was a few days ago. I was at Eltham Palace when it happened. As you can imagine it was a terrible shock. She was in the bathhouse when the King found her. I think he believed she had been murdered when he dragged her from the water. By the time we arrived it was a pool of blood. He had wrapped her in a cloak and was holding her in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘Find out who did this,’ he kept saying. We called that Bohemian leechwoman and she reassured us that the Queen would survive but that the baby was lost. Richard was mad with grief and vowed he would never touch Anne again in case his brute lust should kill her.’
‘I’m so sorry. Miscarriages are common. No one really knows why they happen. Thanks be that the Queen
survived, although I know how important it is for the King to have an heir.’
De la Pole looked thoughtful. ‘It would suit his enemies if he failed.’
 
There were sore heads, stone or not, next morning but Hildegard took the opportunity while the kitchens were quiet and Master Fulford was sitting in his private office to take along the cutting of the fern-like plant she had found at Lincoln.
He took it with a puzzled frown and after a pause shook his head. ‘It reminds me of something but I can’t place it. We don’t use it in my kitchens. That’s all I can tell you. Ask that Dominican out at Stepney, Magister Daniels. He’s the acknowledged expert. He runs the largest herb gardens in the land. They say he imports magical plants from Outremer. Sells ’em for profit to all the necromancers. If he doesn’t know what it is, nobody will.’
‘Someone does know it,’ she told him and she mentioned how she had seen someone picking the leaves in the Bishop’s gardens at Lincoln. Later she had discovered from one of the Lincoln servants that the woman was Lady Swynford, who was renting a house within the bishop’s enclave. She told him how she had seen her pull up enough leaves to fill two leather bags, which she had then handed to her escort – a youth who, it turned out, was the much-loved Thomas Swynford.
‘It’s probably an aphrodisiac for his lord then,’ sniffed the cook. ‘Every time Bolingbroke visits his wife in Monmouth Castle, she conceives.’
 
 
There was no news that morning from St Mary Graces. Hildegard had half hoped that Thomas would appear with news that the Chapter had come to a decision about her status. But it was not so.
I’ll be far down on the agenda, she decided. The Chapter has enough to discuss at present. They’ll be more concerned about the King’s demands when he opens Parliament, and how the vote will go, than me and my predicament. On top of that there’s the invasion threat. The unfortunate circumstances of one insignificant nun are nothing compared to all that.
 
A servant came to find her later that morning when she was leaving the chapel after Lady Mass.
‘Someone waiting at the lodge, Domina. He has a message which he will impart to no one else.’
She hurried after him thinking it might be news from Ulf. But when she went into the lodge a page was standing there smartly attired in the old-remembered livery of the Ravenscars’ ivory and green. He had no need to tell her who had sent him. A man stepped forward from out of the shadows and made a sweeping bow. ‘My Lady of Ravenscar?’
‘No longer.’ She lifted her head in astonishment.
It was Guy. He had changed. It was called ‘growing up’, she realised as he began to speak. No longer a boy, it was not just the carefully groomed beard, he was a knight with the
gravitas
befitting such a position. He had taken a pace forward as if about to clasp her in his arms then drew back. ‘It’s good to see you again, Hildegard. Apart from your attire you haven’t changed.’ He studied her closely.
‘Not a line on your face. And as fair as ever. Is your hair still long, or do they make you cut it?’
‘Guy, we need to talk in private.’ She led the way outside into the courtyard where they would not be overheard.
The porter followed, keeping an eye on this armed stranger who had entered the Abbot of Westminster’s domain on an assumption of permission. He called out and with a sigh Guy unbuckled his sword belt and handed it over.
When he returned to her he asked, ‘What’s all this about?’
‘How much do you know?’
He looked confused. ‘How much is there? I tracked you down as soon as I got this.’ He held out a piece of vellum.
She read it quickly:
Your sister-in-law is a Cistercian staying at the Abbey of Westminster. Consult her on a matter of grave importance to yourself.
It was signed simply ‘H’.
‘How like him. There’s your clue. “H” for Hugh.’ She hesitated, unsure how to break the news to his brother.
But Guy muttered, ‘He’s not dead, is he?’
‘No. And he’s here in London.’ She told him quickly everything Hugh had said, including his vow to get his lands back.
Guy was different to his brother in one respect. He kept a tight rein on his temper. Less vitriolic. More thoughtful.
After a long silence his eyes narrowed. ‘I always suspected the scoundrel of taking the easy way out. He never had the guts for a fair fight. Do you remember how he used to cheat me at everything? Chess, dice, fighting,
swordplay. Even skittles. He cheated at every damned thing. Anything to win. Fair means or foul. Usually foul. And,’ he concluded heavily, ‘now he’s here.’ His hand strayed to the place where his sword belt usually hung. But he gave her a sudden sharp glance. ‘It is true, isn’t it?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Does he want to meet me face-to-face?’
‘I think so.’
Guy clicked his teeth. ‘They say the past always comes round again. Things won’t go his way this time. Be assured of that, my dear Hildegard.’ His lips curved. ‘I certainly remember your fights.’
‘You do?’
‘He did his best to break your spirit. Many a time I felt like stepping in to sort him out.’ His hand moved again to where his sword belt would have been.
She had not got Guy’s measure, she realised. He was the same in some respects but in others a complete stranger. Underneath the urbane exterior there was something dangerous and unpredictable.
Now he gave her a disarming smile, flirtatious, pulling at the thin line of fair hair at the corner of his mouth. ‘You must have known how I felt in those days?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Think! I was a lusty lad of fourteen. What do you imagine? You were a prize and my bloody brother had won you. It wasn’t fair.’
Now she remembered how surly he had been, forever moody and uncooperative, but Hugh had been a malicious tease, always trying to make the boy look like a fool in front of her.
The smile he gave her now had charm in it and lowering his voice he murmured, ‘I remember you at the May Day celebrations. You must remember that? You wore a blue gown, your hair was the colour of silver birch flowing loose to your waist. You wore a crown of may. That scent still reminds me of you. Our women at home are all short and black-haired, Welsh, a little witchy, you can’t tell one from the other except for their silver and gold. But you! You were so northern and wild. A fish out of water like me. We two, I thought, we two. Isolated in that big draughty old castle. It was like fate.’
‘Guy, you were a boy.’
‘I’m still that boy in many ways, Hildegard.’ His voice had dropped to a level of intimacy she did not expect.
‘My circumstances are changed now,’ she told him.
‘And so are mine. I’m called to Westminster to represent my shire in affairs of state.’
‘He’s desperate to regain his lands, you know. He’s also after my dowry and the children’s inheritance.’
Guy smiled faintly and smoothed the line of hair on his upper lip again. ‘Then you’ll want him alive as much as I do.’
 
After he left, Hildegard paced the yard deep in thought. He was a strange ally. Despite his apparent fond remembrance of her, she could only recall his constant quarrelling with Hugh and her need to mediate between them. Hugh had been cunning towards him, offering rewards for small favours and then withdrawing them when he got what he wanted. He accused the boy of pursuing her and had raged spectacularly night after night, accusing her of
sporting with him in a licentious manner, which always drew a stormy denial until she eventually saw that he was testing her. He was like a cat with a mouse. Taunting both of them out of blind malice.
But now Guy was no longer a half-grown boy. Before he left he had reached for her right hand and made a promise. ‘You can count on me. This is one I’m going to win.’ When he had turned to go his face had split into a snarl. ‘He wants to steal my lands? Over my dead body.’
 
The prisoner was sitting in front of a fire with his head in his hands and looked up with a hopeless expression to see who had been ushered inside, but when he saw Hildegard and her two companions he rose to his feet at once and came to greet them with genuine warmth. He poured them all beakers of wine and invited them to sit.
‘I’ve nothing much to report. They still come every day, round about the same time.’
‘Always the same men?’
He nodded. ‘The only good news is that spy of Bolingbroke’s seems no wiser than us. He’s still hanging round – in between visits to other, less fortunate prisoners.’
‘Has he been to question you again?’
‘No, Domina. We can only praise St Benet for small mercies.’
‘Brace up,’ said Edwin, bringing out a cooked pheasant from the bag over his shoulder. ‘His Grace is well pleased with you and sends this. As soon as Parliament opens he’ll have you out of here and back home with your wife and children.’
‘I’m supposed to be speaking for my shire. His Grace the Earl of Derby won’t sign my release so long as there’s a vote to be counted.’

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