Red Rose, White Rose (28 page)

Approaching the Merchant’s Hall, I collared a passing urchin to guard my horse while pondering which entrance to use. People going in and out of the door on the ground floor were poor and shabby with the humble look of alms-seekers, whereas those climbing the outer stair had the sleek, prosperous appearance of wealthy merchants. Choosing to follow the latter, I found myself in an enormous high-beamed hall where twenty or thirty men were gathered in small groups, involved in earnest conversations. I paused, unwilling to interrupt, but my need was urgent and so I approached two middle-aged men in long gowns who stood near the entrance.

‘God give you good day, good sirs. Pray forgive the interruption but perhaps you can help me. I am seeking the house of Master Simon Exeley. I believe he was a member of your honourable guild.’

They may have been on the verge of sealing a deal, for the younger man frowned and tapped his foot but the older of the two crossed himself and addressed me solemnly. ‘He was our Grand Master, sir, and a man of great worth. But since you speak of him in the past tense you are obviously aware that he died some months ago. His son of the same name is now running his business.’

‘I have come from the south and am not familiar with your city. Could you kindly direct me to the Exeley house?’

‘It is in Merchantgate, down by the Fosse Bridge but there is no need to go there. Master Simon Exeley the younger is here in the hall. May I introduce you to him?’

This offer put me in a quandary. I really had no wish to confront young Master Exeley in public, owing to the impression Hilda had given me of his inexcusable obduracy over her dower and yet I was tempted to take the opportunity to give him a piece of my mind. But I also wanted to find Hilda as quickly as possible and so I backed off.

‘That is kind of you, sir, but my business is private. I will wait at his house.’

It was not difficult to find. Quite the largest and most imposing house on a street full of merchant houses, it commanded a bend in the River Fosse where it flowed into its confluence with the Ouse and a view over nearby rooftops of the great round keep of York Castle on its steep motte. At its rear was a dock where the contents of a barge were being unloaded. Porters and stevedores laboured in the late afternoon light, manoeuvering barrels and crates from barge to warehouse with the help of cranes and cradles. It was a scene which suggested that the Exley business was one of the richest and busiest merchant-traders in York. I decided to stable my horse at a nearby inn and, slinging my saddle-bags over my shoulder, returned to the house on foot. To my intense delight, Hilda answered my knock in person.

She was wearing a shapeless black gown and within the frame of her widow’s wimple her once fetchingly-plump face had become thin and hollow-cheeked but the expression on it told me all I needed to know about her feelings on seeing me. ‘By all God’s Holy Angels – Cuddy! I thought you were not coming.’

There were tears of relief in her eyes but I did not want her to succumb to them in full view of the street and made what I hoped was an amusingly exaggerated bow. ‘How relieved I am that you recognized me, Mistress! Will you allow an old friend to enter?’

At least she had not lost any of her spirit for she summoned a wicked little smile and cast a swift glance up and down the street. ‘And set the neighbours gossiping even more than they already do? Certainly not.’

Then, in direct opposition to her words, she threw the door open and stepped back into the shadows beyond. In two strides I was inside and she was in my arms. As her lips met mine, I heard the door thud into its frame. I could have wished for much more but she gave me only the chaste kiss of friend greeting friend.

She stepped back decorously and, with a sigh, the spirited Hilda vanished before my eyes. Her haunted look returned. ‘You are so well come, Cuthbert. You cannot know how much.’

I dropped my saddlebags and looked around the conspicuously grand hall, noting its dark polished wooden tables and benches, carved stone chimneypiece and single spectacular tapestry hung behind the dais which ran along one wall, depicting a battle at sea between pirate galleys and big-bellied merchant ships. Predictably, and against all likelihood, the latter seemed to be winning. Gently I took Hilda’s hands, feeling the roughened skin and ragged nails of hard physical work even through the tips of my own combat-scarred fingers.

‘I have come to take you back to Cicely,’ I said. ‘She cannot wait to have your company again.’

The tears which had been brimming before now flowed freely and she snatched her hands back to reach into the sleeve of her unbecoming black gown for a kerchief. Through its snowy folds came murmured words of relief and gratitude. ‘Oh Saint Hilda be praised – and Saint Jude too! I have prayed for months to hear those words.’

‘You are prepared to leave with me then?’ I asked.

As I posed the question we heard the sound of shouts from the open inner door which apparently led to the domestic quarters. The flow of tears dried and Hilda suddenly became all businesslike and practical. ‘I would like to leave right here and now but it is growing late; Simon will be back soon and we would never get far enough away in daylight to be safe from pursuit. It will have to be tomorrow.’

‘Safe from pursuit?’ I echoed. ‘I thought your stepson could not wait to be rid of you, minus your dower of course.’

Hilda darted to where my saddle bags lay and picked them up. ‘Come with me, Cuthbert. Things have changed since I wrote that letter. You must leave in case Simon comes home and finds you here. I will take you out the back way.’

She scurried down a dim corridor and ducked out of a door which led onto an outside passage and I followed in her wake, listening to her gabbled explanation as we went. ‘My canny husband had left a copy of his will with his lawyer and so young Simon was not able to deny me my widow’s dower after all. However, he decided instead to make an arrangement with my unprincipled brother whereby I worked as his unpaid housekeeper, while the money he might have paid someone to do that job was set against the unimaginable sum of money Gerald owes to the Exley business. That way Simon could keep all the coin in his coffers.’

She stopped for a moment in the passage and I gently took the saddlebags from her. ‘But you did not have to agree to that, surely?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘With the lawyer involved, you could have taken Simon to court.’

Deep creases appeared between her brows and she shook her head. ‘Court cases take years, Cuddy! Meanwhile I would have nowhere to live and nothing to live on. Simon said the only way he would release the dower money was to a convent, if I would take the veil, but that is the last place I want to go. He fears I will remarry and take my dower and the secrets of the business to a rival merchant. But I am not cut out to be a nun, as you know.’

I smiled at that. ‘No – much too shrewd! You would never obey all those rules.’

‘So I will come with you and forget the whole nightmare. But it will not be easy. Simon likes to control people. He controls my brother financially and he is determined to control me. Besides, he will not be happy to lose his unpaid housekeeper. We have to be careful, Cuddy. He is a violent man.’

I felt sure there was more to these remarks that she was revealing and the final one caused the hair to rise on the back of my neck. I made a snap decision. ‘In that case you must not remain here one more night. We will go now. Anything you need we can buy. My horse is at the inn around the corner, we can leave town before curfew and the road is dry. You can sample the freedom of life on the road with your own knight-champion to protect you. What do you say?’

It was a test of how desperate she felt her plight to be and I soon had the answer. For a few seconds she regarded me like a bright-eyed blackbird, head on one side; then she nodded briefly. ‘So be it. Let us go now.’

Suiting the action to the word she marched to the end of the passage which led into the warehouse yard. It was crammed with carts and bustling with sweating men struggling to load them with goods to be dispatched the following day. The Exleys obviously drove their workers hard for it was already the hour leading up to Vespers, when shops were putting up their shutters and most other working folk were wending their way home to a hot meal. We slipped between the carts, receiving curious glances on the way and finally escaped the noisy confusion through the wide open doors of the warehouse, dodging two porters staggering out under seemingly impossible burdens. Inside, as our eyes adjusted to the dim light Hilda suddenly froze and muttered one word under her breath.

‘Beelzebub!’

I followed the direction of her gaze to where a stocky man in a short, fur-trimmed robe and a dark draped hat stood with his back to us, talking to a tally-man in a loose tunic and coif, with a writing table slung from his neck. Hilda pushed me unceremoniously behind a pile of canvas-wrapped bales, mouthing the word ‘Simon’ as she did so.

Automatically my hand went to my sword hilt; then I thought better of it and quietly slid my dagger from its leather sheath instead. The two men were talking together but were far enough away to be inaudible to us. From what I had seen it was obvious that Simon was checking progress with the warehouse foreman and, with any luck, when he had satisfied himself of that he would make his way to the main house. If we managed to remain hidden, we could slip out of the door at the far end as planned. I placed my hand gently on Hilda’s shoulder and beckoned her further round the pile of bales so that we were out of sight both of the two men inside the warehouse and those working in the yard outside.

‘Will the other door be unlocked?’ I breathed the question at the place on her wimple where her ear would be, fleetingly relishing the faint scent of lavender from the linen cloth.

Hilda lifted her shoulders, opened her eyes wide and raised both her hands, indicating that she did not know. We would have to wait and hope. Simon wore pattens to keep the bottom of his robe free of street detritus and the sound of his iron-shod footsteps on the wooden floor prompted us to slip further round the bales as he walked past and out into the yard. To my relief the foreman was at his heels. Neither of them saw us but we caught a snatch of their conversation as they passed.

‘Shut the yard gates now, Seth. The men can leave by the warehouse door when they have finished loading – and not before. Make sure you secure it well after them and you can leave through the house.’ I had not yet seen the man’s face but Simon’s voice had a whiplash tone which I instinctively did not like and the cringing note in his foreman’s whine told me all I needed to know about the young merchant’s relationship with his men.

‘I will do as you say, Master. Yes indeed. Exactly as you say. You can rely on me.’

My fingers itched on the handle of my dagger. I hated to think how a man who caused his workers to grovel in such a way had treated Hilda in her subordinate position as housekeeper. There was one thing I knew for certain; she would never have grovelled.

I re-sheathed my dagger and took her hand. Together we moved up the aisle between the piles of stores, creeping slowly so that my spurs should not clink. Knights do not dress to slink in alleyways but to stride or ride purposefully forward in confrontation. The door was fitted with brackets to take a heavy securing bar but I muttered an oath when I saw that it also had two heavy iron bolts which were both rammed home. As I reached for the top one I hoped it had been oiled and would not squeak. The first one slid back easily.

‘I will do the bottom one,’ Hilda suggested. ‘You move one of those crates up here if you can and we’ll push it through and leave it against the door in case they follow us.’

The crate was heavy and as I manhandled it I had to admit that it would seriously delay any attempt at a hasty exit if it was rammed against the outside of the door. It confirmed what I already knew, that as a travelling companion Hilda would be a help, rather than a hindrance.

At the inn I managed to arrange the hire of another horse, albeit a somewhat flea-bitten mare with a cast in her left eye. I told the innkeeper that I would leave the nag at the inn in Tadcaster, the next posting town on our route south. We decided it was too risky to leave the city by the Walmgate and headed instead across town in the direction of the Micklegate Bar but as we passed the top of the Fossgate I heard Hilda exclaim in alarm.

‘Oh no! Simon is coming at the run. He was shouting at another man so I do not think he saw us but he is not far behind.’

With difficulty I controlled an oath. Inevitably one of the porters had told him about the stranger who had entered the warehouse with Hilda. Now it was clear that he had questioned the innkeeper who had hired us the mare and learned that we were swapping horses at Tadcaster. Even if Simon did not manage to stop us at Micklegate, he would have plenty of time to assemble a search party. Sandal Magna was a long, hard day’s ride away and I realized that if I wanted to protect Hilda from Simon Exley I would have to get her to a closer place of safety, and quickly. It was only ten miles to the Earl of Salisbury’s castle of Sheriff Hutton. It would mean riding through the dusk over wild moorland, running the risk of footpads, but we would not have Simon Exley on our heels because we would be heading in the opposite direction to the one he would believe we had taken.

I turned my horse about. ‘Change of plan; we must go east,’ I said to a surprised Hilda. ‘We can cut through the Shambles. Simon will not set foot there, even in pattens!’

She did not argue. Explanations could come later. I made Hilda go first, keeping close on her horse’s heels in case of trouble and we plunged into the dark, stinking lanes of the Shambles where butchers gutted carcasses in the street, leaving entrails clogging the gutters and bloody hides hanging out for collection by the tanners. The stench and the flies were appalling and I almost wished I had a veil I could pull over my nose like Hilda did but I shut my mind to them and concentrated on finding the right alley that would lead us to the eastern side of the city. As we left the Shambles behind, we passed close to the magnificent twin towers of St Peter’s Cathedral and the bells began to ring for Vespers, indicating that the sun had set. There was only an hour or so of gathering twilight by which to find our way.