‘It’s time for Vespers, boy. Get a move on. We don’t have time to stand and chat with everyone who wants our company!’
Baldwin felt his jaw tighten. ‘That is fine. I have travelled ten leagues to be here at the request of your Dean to help the Cathedral before the Coroner returns because of the shame and embarrassment the dead man’s body will bring to you all. I have already been forced to wait the afternoon, so I suppose you do not wish me to learn what has happened. I shall take my leave, Master.’
‘Where are you going?’ the canon asked suspiciously.
‘To apologise to your Dean. And to write to your Bishop. I haven’t seen Bishop Walter for some weeks, but we are well-acquainted, and I should be sorry to leave here without putting in a commendation for your deeply religious approach in this matter. Clearly Vespers is very important, Master, and it is your duty to see that all the services are correctly attended. God forbid that one should miss a service, when the only alternative would be that a man’s murderer, who shamed the whole Chapter, might be discovered.’
‘Wait! Oh, very well, Sir Knight, but hurry with your questions, and don’t forget, God watches over us, and if you prevent this lad from performing his duty, God will punish you for your temerity! Paul, go. But hurry to the service when this … person has finished with you.’
Baldwin watched the canon hurrying off self-importantly, his black gown and tunic flapping, his familia — novices, choristers and servants — streaming behind him in a haphazard line. Farther up the Close, more canons were emerging from their houses, each again trailing streamers of hangers-on, while the bells tolled for the service.
‘Is he always such a fool?’ Baldwin asked.
‘He is deeply spiritual,’ Paul said in a slightly pained tone.
‘Perhaps he would be more spiritual if he was more sympathetic,’ Baldwin observed.
‘You cannot understand.’ The Annuellar gave a deprecating smile. ‘It’s the nature of our service.’
Smug little arse! Baldwin had lived under the threefold vows for fifteen years before this little puppy was born! But he swallowed his own pride. The lad meant nothing by it, and since Baldwin had no intention of confessing to his past as a Knight Templar, there was little point in beginning that discussion.
‘I understand you found the body of the dead man in the Charnel Chapel?’ he asked instead.
Paul hopped from one leg to another. ‘Yes. I saw that the door to my chapel was ajar, and so I pushed it open. There was just enough light to see the body there.’
Baldwin eyed him. ‘Are you all right?’
‘It’s just the cold,’ Paul admitted.
‘Let’s find somewhere a little less chill, shall we?’ Baldwin suggested. ‘It is certainly too windy and cold here for thought.’
The Annuellar, nodded hastily as a gust of cold air blew around from the east. As Baldwin turned towards the welcoming door of the calefactory, he caught sight of the Charnel Chapel again, and his expression hardened.
Even to him, a warrior of some thirty-six years’ experience the chapel exuded an unwholesome atmosphere of its own.
If he were not so ill-disposed to superstition, he might have called it evil.
Udo was home again by twilight, and he was thrilled and not a little surprised by this sudden change in his circumstances.
He had walked into the hall and stood near the fire in his finery, picking his spot with care, knowing that the flames would sparkle and gleam on his new cote-hardie and the buttons of his gipon. Behind him, the boy with the basket was apparently overwhelmed by the appearance of the hall, and indeed it must have been an awesome sight to a poor, half-destitute youngster like him. The ceiling was high overhead, and the timbers were a pleasing light brown colour, since the building here wasn’t so old as the exterior might have hinted. The roof was thatched, and the lowest, original layer was open to view; the lighter colour made the hall feel more cosy than its size should have permitted. Whoever built this hall knew what they were doing: the dais at the far end was not so high as to intimidate any guests, but was sufficiently higher than the floor to allow the master to keep all in his view when he sat at table. The fire was not quite central in the floor, but instead was a little closer to the dais, where it might warm the family; the window was less massive than some Udo had known, but that only meant that although there was less light to brighten the room, there was also fewer draughts, which was a cause of great relief on this chilly day.
Yes. Although Udo saw the shabbiness of the decorations, the scruffiness of old wood, the faded and chipped paint, he could still understand the poor lad’s astonishment. It represented more wealth than a fellow like him could ever dream of. On entering, he saw the gracious figure of Mabilla rising from a seat near the window. She had been sitting there with some needlework, and now she hastily put her little workbox to one side, as though embarrassed to be found mending old clothing.
Udo smiled inwardly. If the poor lady must make do with old shirts and hosen, clearly she was in enough of a financial mess to be grateful for any man’s rescue. ‘My dear Mistress Mabilla,’ he breathed in his suavest tones. ‘Please allow me to offer my condolences. I have gifts brought — sweet cakes, ja?’
‘Oh, that is kind of you, Master Udo,’ Mabilla gushed. ‘And my daughter loves dowsettes so much. That is really very good of you.’
‘It is my pleasure.’ Udo tapped his staff with an impatient forefinger. Where was Julia? He wanted to talk to her.
‘My daughter,’ Mabilla offered hurriedly, reading his mind, ‘will be here in a moment. I know it is she whom you wish to see. A poor old widow is scarcely the same as a fresh young woman like her.’
Udo studied her closely. ‘My lady, you are most sad, and this is not an appropriate time, perhaps.’
‘Sir?’
‘When you are in mourning, I should not come and intrude.’
‘I was hoping that your visit would be no intrusion, but a welcome distraction, sir. My poor daughter would doubtless be happy to be diverted from her present misery. It is a terrible thing to lose a father … just as it is to lose a darling and devoted husband.’
She had some courage, this woman. Although her eyes gleamed with unshed tears, she wouldn’t bend or bow to her grief, but sat bravely holding his gaze like a queen, and Udo was as impressed as she had intended.
‘I know, my dear Mistress Mabilla, that before his death my relationship with your poor husband was not of the most cordial …’
‘Yes. And you may yet sue us for the damage,’ she said, and this time there was a faint break in her voice.
‘My dearest Mistress Saddler, I should not wish to have to do so, but a man must shift for himself, you know. What would other men say of me, were I to allow this sum to be lost? I could have been killed, and then there is the matter of the expense to which I was forced to go. Because I was in bed, I lost a great deal of money.’
‘And my husband would have wanted to make good your losses,’ Mabilla sniffed, and put a hand to her brow. ‘I shall see to it that we repay you, no matter what it costs us. But we should be glad of a little time, in order to overcome our sadness first.’
‘Surely this is not the time to talk of such matters,’ he said with his best attempt at kindness. ‘Mistress, I should be attempting to amuse you and help you to forget for a little while the dreadful circumstances in which you find yourself, and here we are discussing a debt which … well, it is a lot of money, of course.’
‘I know this. And we cannot afford to lose even a single ha’penny.’
‘You will forgive my saying this while you are in mourning, but you will need a protector. A man who can keep you both. Your husband — again, please forgive my bluntness — did he not provide for you after his death?’