‘Return here before nones, domina, if you wish to be entertained.’
When she left the smoke filled cell - Athanasius was burning some foul-smelling resin to improve his health - she shook out her cloak. She felt something putrid clinging to the fabric.
**
Grizac wasn’t the only one to be drawn back to the palace. Fondi and his retinue also appeared. Carlotta was in a mood of loud rage against the weather, against Avignon, against Fondi himself. Her child, quietly cuddling her squirrel, stood forlornly out of the rain under the shelter of the stone archway leading into the inner courtyard.
Hildegard went up to her and asked if she might greet the squirrel. ‘Does he have a pet name?’
‘Bel Pierre,’ the child replied, pushing back a lace coverlet so that Hildegard could stroke the squirrel’s bronze head. He seemed lack lustre. Yearning to hibernate, Hildegard suggested, when Fondi commented. He himself looked somewhat haggard. Too much fever from Carlotta seemed to be drawing the family’s strength.
When Carlotta got what she wanted from the steward Hildegard watched them all trail after her up the steps towards the guest quarters. Their accommodation had been changed to something more in keeping with Fondi’s status.
Hildegard speculated about his presence here. The Schism had attracted the Italian cardinals to Pope Urban while the French had in the main come over to Clement. Yet here was Fondi, a cardinal from Urbino, supporting the enemy. If he was one of Urban’s agents he was a conspicuous one.
She went into one of the lesser chapels and sat down in a corner at the back to think about the virtues of being first to obtain something and how much it enraged Fitzjohn to be bested.
The important question was whether the apothecary worked regular hours and where he kept his keys.
**
The theft of the poison, if she managed to lay her hands on it, might not go undetected for long. There would be no possibility of copying the label, if it had one, and it would be too dangerous to put the poison, whether liquid, powder or resin, into something else while she filled the pot with a more harmless substance.
She would have to hope that the pot she was going to substitute could be planted in among the others long enough for the barter with Fitzjohn to go ahead. She couldn’t imagine what he was going to offer the pope as a substitute for the miners.
The problem she faced right now was the apothecary’s cursed sense of order. He would notice at once if anything had been rearranged.
His store of ready-made cures were kept on several rows of shelves. All the pots faced outwards in serried ranks alphabetically arranged and subdivided into groups for specific symptoms. They were identical except for the lettering on their labels.
She considered making the switch then creating a disturbance of some kind. With everything in disarray maybe no-one would notice something had been tampered with. It was a poor plan but she could come up with nothing better.
**
Grizac was standing in a shaft of sunlight that slanted in through the window slit. He had something cupped between his palms. Athanasius was urging him to do away with it.
After greeting them both Hildegard went over to have a look. ‘What is it, your eminence?’
Cautiously he opened his cupped palms a crack and held them towards her. She saw something fluttering inside. ‘A butterfly,’ he murmured as if a loud voice would disturb it. ‘Caught out in the wrong season. I fear the poor creature will perish.’
‘A butterfly is often compared to the soul.’ She echoed his quiet tone.
He gave her a grateful glance.
Athanasius broke in. ‘If it will die then it might as well die sooner rather than later.’
‘You might say the same for us all,’ Grizac riposted.
‘I do. Frequently,’ snapped Athanasius. He seemed irritated by Grizac’s concern. ‘Put it out of its misery, do. It’ll be better off dead.’
Sadly Grizac went to the window slit. Slowly opening his hands he encouraged the creature to fly out. It fluttered for a moment or two, beating its wings against the stone embrasure until it found a direction. In a trice, it disappeared. ‘At least it has a chance now,’ he murmured. He turned back into the chamber. ‘We are all equal, magister, down to the very least of God’s creatures.’
‘Tell that to the head of any monastery or, indeed, to his Holiness himself, and do you imagine the crowned kings of Europe regard themselves as equal to their peasants?’
‘How they regard themselves has little to do with how they are seen in His eyes,’ murmured Grizac, sticking to his point.
‘Come now, I told the domina you had returned to entertain us. This is doleful stuff. What can you tell us that we don’t already know?’
‘Fire and water do not mix.’
‘An allusion to our guest Fitzjohn and his activities down by the ferry?’
Grizac nodded his head. ‘It was an act of malice. It could achieve nothing. I’m told his birds had already flown.’
‘Non malicia sed militia,’ quoted Athanasius sagaciously.
Hildegard picked up on the allusion. ‘Our founder would agree. Bernard of Clairvaux was not averse to military action. In the cause -’ she added hurriedly, ‘of furthering the interests of our Order - and the will of God.’
‘Quite right, domina. Without malice or the military hope is all we’d have.’ Athanasius had only smiles for her as earlier that day.
Despite that she felt something dangerous in the air and wondered if she was about to blunder into a trap. Do not trust him. She glanced from Grizac to Athanasius and back.
‘Hope is truly all we have,’ Grizac replied before she could speak. ‘My hope is that one day the man who murdered my dear Maurice will pay the full penalty.’
‘Are the pope’s men no nearer solving the mystery?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘He was only an acolyte. No-one of importance to them. That he was stopped in his robbery is their only concern.’
Athanasius, sharp as a whiplash, asked, ‘You knew him better than anybody, why did he do it?’
Now she saw what sort of entertainment Athanasius had in mind. Grizac went white. Fear seemed to dry the words in his throat.
‘Come,’ Athanasius persisted, ‘you must have had some inkling that he was making plans?’
‘No, I swear I did not.’ Grizac, first white, was now red. ‘How could I be expected to read his mind?’
‘You must have kept him short of the rewards that make a servant loyal,’ Athanasius stated. ‘He therefore decided to help himself.’
Grizac allowed himself to be bullied into staging a defence. ‘He was as honest as the day. I would trust him under every circumstance.’
‘Then you’re a gullible fool.’ Athanasius curled his lip at how easily he had lured Grizac into his trap. ‘But we know, don’t we, that you’re no fool, Grizac.’
‘I knew nothing, I tell you! I thought he was happy. I swear I knew nothing until I saw him lying there in the treasury with his - with his -’ he cleared his throat.
‘A word?’ Athanasius persisted. ‘You must have uttered a word that he could construe as an invitation to ransack the pope’s treasury for you?’
‘Not a word. I swear. What use have I for gold and rubies?’
‘But there was more than that at stake, surely?’ The monk’s voice was dangerously insinuating.
‘Believe me, I know nothing about it. Nothing! How could I?’ He spread his arms, struggling to regain his confidence.
Hildegard suddenly wished Edmund would come in. His perception of what a man looks like when he’s lying would have been useful. Grizac sounded honest and yet his response was flustered. His change of colour suggested some deep emotional conflict. What’s more, he knew Athanasius knew more than he was telling. He was being played with, cat with mouse.