The Dragon of Handale (12 page)

“Of course,” agreed Fulke with a scowl. To his men, he said, “Hear that? You know who’ll be settling the final bill.”

The men nodded, sheepish, now thwarted in what they might have regarded as a bit of fun, turning over somebody else’s possessions and trampling them a bit.

Hildegard, heart in mouth, watched the three of them enter the lodge.

At once, a female voice was heard from within. It was raised in protest, and the three men slunk back out again.

Dakin bowed in what could only have been humility at his mistake. “I beg forgiveness, master. The daughter of the master mason of Durham Cathedral is within.”

Carola appeared. She put on a fair performance of outraged dignity. “This intrusion shall be reported to my father, Mason Schockwynde. He will demand recompense for such gross impertinence. My lady”—she looked across to the prioress as if just having noticed her—“I beg you, be my witness. These men must be called off. My father will not countenance such trespass. These are the guild’s private quarters.”

Before the prioress could think of a reply, Dakin laid a restraining hand on Carola’s arm. “Mistress, I fear it is I to blame for the intrusion. It is I who gave these visitors permission to inspect our lodge. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

She brushed him aside. “It is against all the rules of our guild,” she replied shortly. “Only those admitted to our mystery are allowed to set foot in the precinct.”

Dakin became a supplicant. “That may be so and I know it right well, but as you have the power to interpret the rules in the absence of our master, I pray you oblige the benefactor of Handale Priory in his request. A novice has gone missing and he fears for her safety.” He paused. “She may have been abducted. Such heinous crimes are not without precedent in these dark days.”

Carola turned to Fulke with all the authority of her position. “Then pray enter, master.” She glanced at the two henchmen with drawn swords. “However, our guild is not a military one. The two men-at-arms must remain outside.”

Fulke by now was storming with impatience. Without a word, he ducked under the eaves and strode into the lodge. For a few minutes, he could be heard banging about inside.

The group in the grove, kitcheners and the like and the frightened nuns staring out through the open door in the enclosure wall, waited to see what he would find. The prioress, already convinced that the girl could not be here and must have escaped into the woods, gestured to Fulke’s men to hoist up her chair again.

Before they could do so, Fulke emerged, scowling. “Let’s get off after her.” He nodded towards the trees.

His men began to follow but the prioress shrieked after them, “Who’s to carry me back, you dolts! Don’t leave me here!”

Fulke frowned. “Convey her to her chamber and be quick about it.”

The two hoisted the chair and, staggering, carved a path through the onlookers. When they reached the door in the wall, there was a delay because somehow, this time, the chair would not fit, and the prioress was almost pitched out as they tried to manhandle it through the gap. Nuns scattered on the other side, and the kitcheners, disconsolate because no capture had been made, followed as soon as the gap was unplugged.

Fulke fumed in the interim.

Hildegard went up to him, the better to distract him from further thoughts about the novice’s hiding place. A glance at the path into the woods showed no sign of its having recently been walked. “Master Fulke,” she began, “dare you risk entering the wild wood with the fire-breathing dragon at large?”

“Who said it was a dragon?”

“So I’ve heard. Am I misinformed?”

“It may be a dragon, mistress. It may be a fire-breathing stallion, a story
I’ve
heard,” he countered, “but, yes, I dare risk entering the wood. My duty obliges me.” He was about to turn back to the lodge.

“But master,”—she put a hand on his arm—“how will you defend yourself against such a great danger? Look what it did to the poor apprentice.”

“My safety is my concern, mistress, not yours.” He was evidently not completely satisfied with his search inside the lodge and was still staring towards it, but then another thought struck him, or maybe it was something about Hildegard herself, a comely townswoman, softly spoken, her hand on his arm, because he turned back with a sort of smile on his face. “So, what brings you to Handale, mistress?”

“I am a widow, master. I am in mourning.” The latter was true. She felt she would never be out of mourning for Rivera.

“I see.” He cleared his throat.

“I am here to consider where and how I might best bestow my fortune.”

Fulke looked thoughtful. He bowed. “I trust you will feel free to avail yourself of my experience in such matters, widow.”

“I am most grateful for your kindness, master. It is a welcome offer in a time of much confusion. Will you stay long here?”

“I have business elsewhere after this little matter is sorted out, but I shall return within the next day or two and trust that we may converse more deeply on your dilemma?”

“I shall deem it an honour and indeed I look forward with great eagerness to your return. It’s quite a marvel to me that you should be able to give so freely of your time to this little community and to we helpless women. The prioress must ever be in your debt out of gratitude and obligation.”

“More like I myself am in debt to the prioress and her nuns for their piety, widow. God be praised for their devout ministrations on my behalf in easing my way to heaven.”

Hildegard inclined her head and slowly withdrew a string of beads from the embroidered bag on her belt. She saw Fulke glance at them, assess the worth of coral, amber, and French ivory.

He gave a complacent smile.

“I shall return, widow.”

By now, the two-men-at-arms were marching across the grass towards them. Fulke, still smiling, threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure they were following, then began to shove his way through the trees.

Dakin had been intent on chipping at the stone block through all this. Will was still sitting on top of the wall, where he must have had a good view of things on both sides of the enclosure wall, and Hamo was attaching the bucket of mortar onto a pulley with half an eye on what was going on behind him. Carola and Matt had gone back inside the lodge.

Hildegard saw Fulke and his men disappear from sight before turning to Dakin and pointing into the woods to indicate that she would follow them. Dakin put down the chisel for a second and clenched his fist in a salute. Hildegard set off quietly in the steps of the three bloodhounds in their futile chase.

That gesture of Dakin’s interested her. It was made without forethought and was the usual sign of comradeship between the White Hart rebels. The pewter badge lost by Giles when he had been attacked was also a sign of allegiance. It was an enchained hart, seated, the emblem of King Richard.

Hildegard made sure she kept out of sight, allowing Fulke and his men to get far enough ahead so that if they turned, they would not see her. It was easy to follow them by sound alone. They made no attempt at stealth, confident that the difficulty of forcing a path through the thicket would prevent the runaway from finding an alternative route and making good her escape. Indeed, it would have been difficult for anyone to force a way through, let alone a barefoot girl, because there was no break in the barrier of uncoppiced saplings.

Mounds of brambles, fruit withered on the spiky stems, formed an additional barrier. Ivy trailed haphazardly on all sides. Fallen trees sometimes barred the way. The path, recently trodden by Dakin and his fellows, and Giles before that, and at least one other, showed up clearly.

The sound of the beck, in spate after the rains, was loud from below the hill.

The men were slashing at the undergrowth with their swords and, unbeknownst to them, making Hildegard’s path easier than before. Even so, she was careful not to gain on them.

She reached the glade where the body of Giles had been found. The men, walking ahead, did not pause, however, but continued, to all intents as if they knew where they were going. Now and then, she heard Fulke’s voice, giving instructions, the grunt of a response, then again the slash of their swords. Suddenly, the sound stopped. Hildegard crept forward.

They had come to a halt in a open stretch where deer had nibbled the undergrowth and clipped the grass short. In the middle stood a stone tower. It was too large to be a dove/cote.

Fulke looked at it for some time. There was a chain across the door. No windows.

He began to fumble in the leather pouch on his belt. He drew forth a jangling bunch of keys. “I’m going in. Just to be sure. You two stay out here and keep a look out for that little bitch.”

The men stood with their hands on their hips, staring in opposite directions into the woods.

As soon as Fulke had opened the lock and pushed on into the tower, they relaxed, sitting on the ground, one of them unstopping the costrel on his belt and tipping ale down his throat. He handed the flask to his companion, who shook his head and reached for his own. “Will he be long?”

“What do you reckon?” Both men laughed nastily.

Hildegard was afraid that when Fulke emerged, the three of them would start down the path and she would be discovered, but it was difficult to know how to force a way through the undergrowth without making a noise.

A cloud came over while they were waiting for Fulke to do what he had come for, and soon rain began to patter through the branches. Hoping the noise would disguise her attempts to get off the path, Hildegard began to part the saplings so she could squeeze through. As suddenly as it started, the rain stopped. In the sudden hush, she heard the branches behind her snap noisily together.

A voice floated from the glade. Silence followed. When she turned to look back, she could see the dark shape of a man standing motionless in among the trees, ears cocked for the next giveaway sound. She froze as she watched the shape began to move stealthily down the avenue she had made. He was trailing her with the silence of a stag/hound.

She could not wait until he caught sight of her. He would move faster than she could, wielding his sword to carve a path to where she was hiding. She could only push a way through the undergrowth in the hope that he would not realise it was anything more than a deer.

But he kept coming on.

In her favour was the astonishing fact that he had not seen her. Soon, though, she was scratched and bleeding. The undergrowth was thicker than ever. Brambles tore her clothes. Her feet slipped over roots and into puddles. Her head scarf was torn off and she had to turn back to retrieve it.

With a sudden shout, the man caught sight of her. She glimpsed him through the branches, sword raised to slash at the barrier that lay between them.

Then, with no warning, her feet disappeared from under her and she was falling, plunging down in a confusion of earth and stones, uprooted plants, and saplings flying down the side of the cliff. She reached out wildly for anything to hold on to, clutched at air, was hit on the head by a stone, then felt something under her fingertips, grabbed onto it, felt it slip, hung on tighter, and found herself lying breathless on a ledge of crumbling chalk with the rest of the woodland cascading past her ears.

The pause before the debris hit the ground seemed to continue for some time. She imagined the broken bones should the ledge give way.

A shout came from above her head. The second man-at-arms must have followed the first, because she heard two voices, snatches of conversation discussing the rockfall.

“I tell you I did! It was just there, right in front of me.”

“It must have been a deer. Nobody daresn’t come out here. Shit-scared they are now, with the dragon story an’ that.”

“Do you think it was?”

“Was what?”

“You know.”

“Sot wit.”

There was a pause, then the first voice again.

“Shall we tell him?”

“You can. I’m telling him nowt.”

“Bloody hell. It gave me a right turn. What do you think it was?”

“I’ve told you.”

“It looked like a woman.”

“Women on the brain, you.”

“It might have been that blood-sucking nun they keep talking about.”

“Come on, you dolt. It was a deer. Let’s go back before he comes looking. Whatever it was, it’ll have broken its bloody neck in a fall like that.”

“It was a deer, then. That’s what we’ll say.”

The sound of trampling feet. Silence. The peace of the woodland returned.

A single stone fell past the ledge into a vast silence. Grains of red earth trickled between Hildegard’s fingers and vanished from sight over the edge.

C
HAPTER
12

She did not dare breath too deeply. The slightest movement would dislodge her and send her toppling down into Kilton Beck.

Her heart stopped its hammering after a while. For the moment, she was secure enough. When she took stock, she had to assume the ledge whereon she sat was solid enough. A matted growth of roots and ivy stems sprouted from the cliff face. Saplings grew in the crevices. A previous rockfall had left a red scar in the ironstone about ten yards away, leaving a scree-covered slope from the top of the bank to the bottom.

None of these—roots, saplings, rockfall—were close enough to reach. Directly below the ledge that had stopped her fall, the beck roared and thundered on its course.

Time passed. The sun began to tilt through the boles of the trees, striping the cliff with bands of light and shade.

Hildegard lifted one hand to test the strength of the roots above her head. A tug brought more loose stone scattering down. Gingerly, she shifted her position so she could see over the edge. Vines snaked to a few feet above a rubble of boulders heaped on the bank above the rushing water.

There was no sound from above now that Fulke’s men had gone. An occasional glitter of melody from a blackbird broke the silence now and then. She felt defeated.

Reassessing the possibility of climbing upwards, she wriggled onto her knees and put out a tentative hand to grasp the nearest root. She tested it, prayed that it was strong enough to take her weight, then began to pull herself up inch by inch until she was standing.