The Dragon of Handale A Mystery Read online

  Knaresborough, Scarborough, Malton, Ripon. And, keeping an eye on the archbishop himself, St. Mary’s in York. In fact most, if not all, the minor castles and Benedictine houses were scattered like chess pieces across the north.

  I’ll have to make a liturgical error of some kind, like the ordinary townswoman I’m supposed to be if this is the view they hold of me. She smiled to herself. Anything to put them off the scent. No point in arousing suspicion now she was convinced there was something afoot.

  The day could not move swiftly enough, but eventually the final repast of the day was taken, compline prayer was said, and the priory fell into the black silence that would last until the midnight office dragged everyone out again. It was in this space of time that Hildegard had to take her chance.

  Still aching in every muscle after her climb up the cliff, she let herself out of her chamber as soon as the cloister garth fell silent and stood for a moment with her back against the door of the guest house.

  On the opposite side of the square formed by the main buildings, the shadows yawned, black and silent. She could imagine a hundred eyes peering out of the darkness. Not until she was sure there was no movement did she begin to feel her way along the wall as far as the corner. Now out of sight of anyone watching, she hastened across the grass towards the humped shape of the mortuary.

  The moon was faintly visible behind a gauze of cloud.

  It made the slate roof little more than a shadow against a star-filled sky. The tops of the trees on the other side of the enclosure wall were stiff, skeletal-like fingers groping blackly upwards.

  Tonight there was a light frost. Hildegard’s footsteps showed up as dark prints in the grass. All she could hope was that if anyone saw them, that person would imagine they were left by a nun intent on offering night prayers for the dead youths.

  Moving swiftly to the door in the wall, she let herself out into the deeper night of the woods.

  A velvet blackness enveloped her. Imagination might suggest a nightmare of trees inching closer to the priory walls, pressing in against them, swarming in the pitch-black depths of the night to overrun the habitation of the nuns. A lone bird screeched as it flew overhead, followed by a clatter of wings as it broke into the undergrowth.

  A light shone round the edges of the masons’ door. Hildegard edged past the stack of felled trees, round the half-finished stone building, across the yawning void of the interior, and, with a strange breathlessness, gained the safety of the lodge.

  A figure loomed from the darkness, but before she could retreat, a man’s voice whispered, “She’s ready, mistress. Here.”

  A small hand was pressed into her own. It was Alys’s.

  “She has some boots, a cloak lent by Carola, and small parcel of bread and cheese. Is that all you possess, Alys?”

  Hildegard felt the girl nod, then a tug on her arm. “I’m frightened, mistress.”

  “Trust me.”

  She thanked Dakin for his help.

  He had a question for her, one he had already asked: “And where are you heading once you reach the coast road?”

  “Across the moors to York,” she replied firmly.

  “Very well. God be with you.”

  He melted back inside the lodge.

  Intensely aware of their surroundings and of who might have been awake under the eaves to watch them leave, Hildegard led Alys swiftly outside.

  “I know the path through the woods by now. There’s a way down to the beck not far from here. We’ll tread carefully.”

  She led the way along the path tramped several times now and then found the way down towards the sound of running water. Dakin had already mentioned the corn mill farther up stream, the one owned by the priory. It was what was called an overshot, because the water ran over the top of the wheel to turn it. He had also mentioned a landing stage where goods and supplies were brought in.

  They had to turn right some way before reaching the mill, he had told her. If they found the mill, they had gone too far. Once she found the path that led down to the beck, the going would be easy. One section would be difficult, he’d warned, and they would have to scramble over rocks along the bank to reach the main road.

  “We’ll find a way along the bottom of the ravine, unbelow the castle,” she began to explain, but Alys suddenly froze in alarm.

  “There’s something ahead, mistress!” She clung hard to Hildegard’s arm.

  “It’s nothing but the shadow of a tree,” Hildegard murmured after she had had a good look at where Alys directed her gaze. “Come on, don’t be fainthearted. We’ll soon be away from here.”

  Alys began to cry. “I can’t! I daren’t! What about the dragon?”

  “Come now. We have no choice.”

  “I daren’t go any farther,” whimpered the girl, gazing into the thicket with dread.

  “Would you rather return to the priory?” Hildegard asked sharply.

  “No! Not that! Please don’t make me go back!” She clung to Hildegard like a limpet and made it difficult to go on.

  “Shush, Alys, you’ll have the prioress out here in her chair and two of those nuns will have to carry her all this way. They’ll be sweating and cursing and the prioress will be tangled in the thicket and waving her stick and bringing down the wrath of God on their heads, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  At the thought of the prioress in her chair caught in the thicket, Alys began to giggle nervously.

  “That’s better.” Hildegard tugged at her arm. Reluctantly, stifling sobs and giggles by turn, the girl allowed herself to be hurried along.

  Branches scratched their faces and tugged at their hoods. Alys squealed and said she thought they were fingers, but Hildegard did not allow her to slacken her pace. They were soon at the rockfall and began to pick their way down over the scree of ironstone.

  They were about halfway down when suddenly from somewhere behind them came an unearthly sound between a shriek and a howl. They stopped in their tracks, transfixed.

  “Save us, oh merciful Lord!” whimpered Alys.

  The sound came again, just as bloodcurdling—and somehow nearer.

  Alys dropped to her knees and began to pray.

  “Get up! Get up at once, you silly child!” whispered Hildegard impatiently. “It’s only a fox or a stag.”

  “I’m frightened!”

  “It has as much right to be here as we do.” Hildegard pulled her to her feet.

  Before they took two steps, the sound came again. It was like nothing she had ever heard before, but she had to get Alys on the move as fast as possible.

  Then it came again. From the very top of the cliff.

  CHAPTER 13

  Alys was subdued by the fact that she been so childishly frightened by one of the many commonplace sounds of nature. “Are you sure it was a stag, mistress?”

  “Yes,” replied Hildegard shortly.

  By now, they had reached the road after a precarious scramble over the boulders that littered the edge of the beck. At one point, they had been forced to enter the water under the cliff below Kilton Castle, where the current flowed violently through a narrow neck of rock. They held each other by the hand so that if one slipped, the other would save her—though how Alys could have saved Hildegard was unclear—and then they made their way up to the road that wound through the pass.

  It lay empty and mysterious under the stars, but at last they were free from the purlieu of Handale and were out on the open road at last.

  A period of hard walking up a steep hill followed, with Hildegard determinedly leading the way, and when they came to a small vill, they managed to skirt it without waking any dogs and walked on until they came to a road leading off across the top of the moor. Hildegard ignored it and kept on walking.

  After a while, Alys, looking back, said, “You told Dakin we were going to York.”

  “I know I did.”

  “We’ve passed the road end. I know because that’s the way I was brought to Handal
e.”

  “Yes, but I know a place nearer than that where the lord will give you all the help you need.”

  They were climbing up to the high cliffs overlooking the sea by now. It could be heard, though not seen, beyond the brow of the hill. Behind them, where the road came snaking up from Kilton Beck, they could look down on the track across the moors.

  Hildegard allowed them to stop for a moment while she looked back. Her eyes were adjusted to the varied shades of darkness, the black clumps of a group of trees, the lighter shade of the open hillside, the shade, lighter still, of the road.

  Far below them, in a black smudge of shadow that must have been a copse, a little way along the road to York, she thought she saw a moving shape. She put a hand on Alys’s shoulder. “Listen.”

  In the still night air came the unmistakable metallic sound of horsemen, the clink of a bridle, the slither of steel, a brief murmur of men’s voices.

  It might mean nothing, she told herself. The garrison from Kilton going about their duties. A merchant and his entourage travelling late. Or it might mean Dakin cannot be trusted.

  “Let’s not talk for a while,” she suggested in a whisper. “Sound carries clearly on a night as still as this.” She gripped the girl’s hand more tightly in her own.

  Once over the brow of the hill, Alys risked a question. “Who is this lord you say will help me?”

  “It’s the lord of Langbrough.”

  “Langbrough?” repeated Alys. “Where on earth’s that?”

  “It’s farther down the coast. He’s a vassal of Earl Roger de Hutton and a man I would trust with my life.”

  After a pause, Alys asked, “Does that mean you wouldn’t trust Master Dakin?”

  “I suppose it might.”

  “I see.” After another pause while she took this in, Alys remarked, “You may be right. He was worried about something and that’s why he came out to search for you. Hamo was keeping a lookout.”

  “They were making sure no one came back from the priory to search the lodge again, I expect.”

  “No, I heard Dakin say, ‘I’ll find her. Can’t be too careful.’”

  “Did he say this to all of them?”

  “No, just secretly to Hamo. They thought I was asleep behind the screen.”

  “What do you think it was about?”

  As expected, Alys did not know. They were out of earshot of the horsemen by now and Hildegard allowed her to chatter on. “They’re worried about their master and the way he suddenly appears when they least expect it,” Alys told her. “Checking up on them. Dakin thinks he tries to catch them out. He makes a joke of it in front of Carola, but I think it really bothers him.”

  “Maybe he believes his master thinks he’s not working hard enough.”

  “Maybe that’s it. And he fears to get a shouting if the master finds him wasting time. Or worse. He could get a fine from his guild master. He’s funny, Dakin, but I like him,” she continued without a break. “Do you know what I think? I think he’s secretly enamoured of Carola. He’s always wary around her, as if he’s afraid of saying something to upset her. He acts all strange in front of her. Do you think he wants to marry her, mistress?”

  Hildegard frowned. “He won’t find it easy. He’s only a journeyman. When work at the priory is finished, he’ll have to seek employment elsewhere, and his master may not decide to keep him on. Carola is the master’s stepdaughter, I understand. She’ll be looking to have a husband who’s a master mason himself.”

  “Poor Dakin.”

  “He may find the resources to become a master eventually.”

  “But by then Carola may have met someone else.”

  “That sometimes happens,” said Hildegard. “But it won’t matter if he’s not her beloved, will it?”

  It was as she had hoped. The sun was not quite up by the time they came within sight of the moated manor house that was their destination, and it was just beginning to stir into life.

  It looked serene in the winter light. A thatched house, low-lying within a curve of the hills, with a moat as protection from attack. They could see through the gates into a yard where geese and hens were roaming, and from a milking shed came the lowing of cows. They crossed a wooden drawbridge and entered through the open gates. A horse or two were tossing their heads in their stalls and the whole place looked prosperous and inviting. When a cockerel roused the alarm, a stable hand appeared at a side door.

  “Is your lord at home?” called Hildegard.

  The servant came out into the yard. “Aye, he is. I’ll fetch him.”

  Before he reached the house, the main doors opened and a figure familiar to Hildegard, though a year older than when she had last seen him, came out onto the step. His face was a picture when he caught sight of Hildegard accompanied by a ragged girl.

  “Hildegard! Do my eyes deceive me? I thought you were in Compostela.”

  “See? I have returned.” She spread out her arms as if to demonstrate her reappearance.

  “Praise Saint Benet and all the angels!” By now he was across the yard and had taken in the fact that she still wore her towns woman’s garments. He swept her into his arms and hugged her warmly, and she felt an unexpected sense of homecoming. Tears prickled behind her lids.

  “It’s been so long. So much has happened,” Hildegard said. The same long, untidy sun-bleached hair pressed against her cheek. The same sea blue eyes looked into her own. “You haven’t changed, Ulf!”

  “Older and wiser.” He sounded grim. His eyes briefly clouded. “Did you fill the cathedral with candles for Rivera as you vowed?”

  “Let’s go in.”

  “And where’s your nun’s habit? Discarded forever, I hope?”

  Hildegard noticed Alys give her a swift, startled glance. “Let’s talk properly later, my dearest. We’ve been walking most of the night. I have here a young woman rescued from abductors, to our great joy and relief. Alys, this is Sir Ulf, the lord of Langbrough.”

  Ulf bowed as if to a great lady. “My entire domain is open to you, young mistress. First, I think, the kitchens for a bowl of warm milk and oats. Agreed?”

  All at once, the fear seemed to lift from Alys and she smiled trustingly up at Ulf and followed him like a lamb into the house.

  Ulf, with his new wife, whom Hildegard had yet to meet, was flourishing, she observed. Her heart was filled with gladness. Everywhere she looked, she noticed signs of industry and wealth.

  Under the low beams of the kitchen, a comfortable-looking cook was singing as she stirred something in a large pot over the fire. She glanced up when Ulf conducted the new/comers inside and then began to bustle about. Soon they were eating hot porridge and warming their toes on the hearth. Ulf pushed the flagon containing small beer close to Alys and poured Hildegard a beaker of wine. Then, while the cook fussed over the girl after they finished eating, he indicated that Hildegard should follow him.

  “So what’s all this?” he asked when they were seated in a small chamber crammed with rolls relating to the running of the estate, where they could talk in private.

  Quickly, Hildegard told him what had happened since she had arrived at Swyne, how the prioress had suggested Handale so she could find peace and solitude to make up her mind about reaffirming her vows—or turning her back on the Order for once and all.

  Ulf raised his eyebrows at this, murmuring, “With no other motive for her suggestion?”

  Hildegard acknowledged this with a knowing grimace but continued with the rest of it.

  Ulf was grim-faced by the time she finished. “So it looks as if they’re using the place as a way point on the journey of those girls into either marriage, if they’re heiresses, or the stews if they’re poor and landless?” He frowned. “And the story Alys tells seems to prove it. Well, we can check that. I’ll contact my good friend the sheriff at Durham. He’ll be able to tell us more about Alys’s brother and Sir Thomas Umfraville. Then we’ll find out what the law says about her father’s will.” He paused
for a moment’s reflection. “This tower you mention? What do you imagine the Handale benefactor stores in there?”

  “Stolen goods of some sort Arms, perhaps? Or smuggled items, maybe. Imports from overseas?”

  He nodded. “That would be likely, a local merchant, one throwing his money about. And you say he’s called Fulke? It’s a name I’ve heard before.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, making it even more untidy. Hildegard smiled. It was such a dear and familiar gesture.

  “What are you grinning for?” His blue eyes pierced.

  “Just you. I think I’ve missed you.”

  “Only think so? You’re not sure?”

  She nodded. “I am sure. Very sure. It’s about all I am sure of at this moment.” She drew back from dangerous ground. “But about Fulke. What have you heard?”

  “He’s alleged to be a pillar of piety. Has a tannery at a place called Ruswarp. Other interests—importing furs from the Baltic through Whitby. Sells them on in York and Durham. Made quite a packet for himself.” He looked thoughtful.

  “That’s not all, Ulf. Our old friend Master Sueno de Schockwynde—you remember he was the mason employed a few years ago by Roger de Hutton when you were steward at Castle Hutton?”

  “Ha! Indeed I do remember him! What’s old Sueno been up to?”

  “He’s the mason in charge of the building work at Handale.”

  “No? I’d heard he was at Durham on some prestigious long-term work for the bishop?”

  “So he is. But this must have been a commission he could not refuse. It’s small compared to the cathedral, but its patron, Fulke, seems to have deep pockets. Schockwynde, apparently, has a stepdaughter—”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard. A talented imaginator, by all accounts. She’s in charge of Sueno’s drawings for the decorations at Durham. Very much sought after, I’ve heard.”

  Hildegard noticed his expression change. She leaned forward. “And what else?”

  “Nothing really. She’s a bit of a mystery, that’s all. Nobody seems to know where she sprang from. How does Sueno come to have a stepdaughter? Did he marry? I never heard of it. And knowing him, it would all be done in magnificent style. He’d want a great show of it. And it wouldn’t be to any mason’s widow, either. Sueno’s wife would have to be a lady at least.”