Warned off for the moment she could only say lamely, ‘I feel sorry for them. Let’s hope he makes his decision soon.’

‘What do you think to the manner in which our Holy Father is conducting inquiries into the attack on his treasury, my friend?’ He turned to the cardinal.

‘It behoves us to give him every assistance. Pool our thoughts on the matter.’

‘He is ever discrete,’ Athanasius observed. ‘I wonder if he has had a proper look at the unfortunate young fellow?’

‘I would expect it.’

‘So would I.’

A look was exchanged.

‘The matter is still being gossiped about as attempted theft.’

‘Yet nothing was taken.’

‘No sack for the pickings,’ agreed the cardinal.

‘Nothing with him but a little jewelled dagger such as you or I might possess.’ Athanasius gave Grizac a piercing glance which the cardinal acknowledged with a shrug.

‘I’m told the dagger still lies with the body in the mortuary.’ The cardinal raised his head to gaze mournfully at the magister. ‘I would like to have it. A memento, shall we say?’

‘Have you had chance to explore the palace yet?’ Athanasius turned to Hildegard. ‘You’ll find our chapel next to the mortuary a place of wondrous beauty and most skilful craftsmanship. Your admiration for such craft skill will be amply rewarded should you care to visit St Martial’s chapel. The frescoes are very fine.’

‘I’ll make time to see them, magister, when duties permit.’

‘Your first duty might be this. See if the cardinal’s dagger is still there and bring it back for him? The second duty is that I would like you to go down to the apothecary and fetch me some elecampane. Will you do that kindness for me, domina?’

‘Certainly, magister.’

‘I would consider it a boon. You may have to find the master apothecary to advise you. There’s a tall fellow in there, often to be discovered mixing his mysterious potions. He’s the one you should speak to. He’ll give you what you need. I find he has some most efficacious cures. Elecampane, I think, in this instance, with a few leaves of horehound, the white variety, if you will, then I’ll be back on my feet in no time. But first, St Martial’s chapel, I suggest.’

‘My pleasure, magister.’ She got up to go. ‘Excuse me, your eminence.’ With an inclination of the head to the cardinal heaped on the end of the monks’ bed she went to the door. ‘Our Bohemian friends are many leagues distant,’ the cardinal murmured before she opened the door, ‘but no doubt we shall hear from them soon enough. They wish to free themselves from the Cistercian monopoly on their silver. It happens to be their greatest natural resource. They seek allies. Such conflict, everywhere we look.’

**

‘Extraordinary,’ she murmured to herself as she set off on her errand. So the cardinal did know something. It made Fitzjohn’s abduction of the miners even more suspect. Grizac even knew about the Cistercian control of silver at the mines of Kutna Hora.

As she was nearer to the kitchen quarters than the chapel she decided to make her first errand elecampane and horehound - and then a little jewelled dagger.

She headed towards the apothecary’s across the yard adjoining the kitchen wing. Plenty of people were scurrying about at their many different tasks and she attracted little notice. She found the apothecary but even without being told she would have found it by the scent of dried lavender and the mingled aromas of other herbs and plants that swirled through the open door.

Another nun was in there already, discussing cures with a man standing at a chopping board as he laid out several herbs for her inspection.

‘Try this,’ Hildegard heard him suggest. ‘Steeped in a little wine and honey, it should clear the matter up to your lady’s satisfaction.’

When the nun left Hildegard approached but she was unsure how to proceed. Was this the apothecary the magister had recommended? She decided to mention Athanasius straightaway. The man glanced covertly round the chamber at the name then beckoned her to follow him, leading the way behind a curtain of drying herbs suspended over a doorway that gave onto a smaller, windowless storeroom beyond. Peering at her, he asked, ‘The magister is still unwell?’

Hildegard nodded.

He reached for a bundle of dried leaves. ‘Elecampane. And white horehound.’ He smiled faintly. ‘I have both.’ He thrust a few long stalks into her hands. ‘He knows how to prepare it. Anything else?’

She shook her head.

‘Then give him this.’ He went to a table chest set against the wall, took a small key from inside his shirt, unlocked the box and removed something before quickly relocking it. He placed the object in the palm of her hand and closed her fingers round it. ‘Something I obtained with him in mind. A charm against the ague. Keep it safe. He may return it as he wishes.’ With that he gave her a meaningful look and returned to his next customer waiting in the main chamber.

When she got outside into the passage she peered at the object cupped in her hand. A figurine was revealed. It was shaped like a female saint with a staff and something like a sack or loaf of bread in one hand. It was the colour of lead. She rubbed it on her sleeve until it gleamed with a subdued lustre. Silver.

**

Next, to the chapel of St Martial. Adjoining it, the mortuary.

A choir was singing in the chancel when she entered. Sweet trebles spiralled ethereal melodies into the bright vault of the roof. It was not yet nones. The office of the ninth hour would not begin until later.

The chapel was on the highest level of the tower, the windows unimpeded by any other buildings. Light swam in through panes of green glass, sufficient to illuminate the frescoes Athanasius had mentioned, the excuse for her presence here, if an excuse were needed. An air of sanctity prevailed.

None of the officials paid any heed. One or two figures knelt in front of the gilded altar, lost in their meditations, a sacristan attended to the candles, intently scraping bees-wax from their ornate gold supports. Hildegard paced along the side wall with her attention on the frescoes depicting the miracles Martial was supposed to have wrought - here was the saint taking ship for the east, here he was with an anchor rope round his neck, and here he was under the sea with the white marble halls of a palace rising around him. When she came to the door into the mortuary she slipped inside.

On each side of the body two black robed nuns were mumbling prayers for the soul of the dead youth and did not raise their heads.

He was as she had last seen him. Now lying on a byre but still clothed. His fingers gripped the hilt of the dagger she had noticed earlier. Impossible to believe that less than twenty four hours ago he must have been as blithe as any living being.

She trod softly over the tiles. Neither nun paid any attention. Coming to a halt within the circle of candlelight she gazed down at the corpse for a few moments until she felt they were used to her presence, or, indeed, as it seemed, oblivious to it then, gathering her courage, she reached forward. Something made her take her eyes off the dagger for a moment and a glance across the body into the gloom on the other side showed two beady eyes watching intently from the confines of a cruelly tight wimple. It distorted the nun’s features so much she looked like a weasel. Even her nose twitched when she spoke.

‘A waste of time, domina. You will not take anything from him yet. The rigor of death still holds him tight. Soon you’ll be able to retrieve what is of value to you.’

Hildegard straightened a crease in one of his cuffs. ‘It is not for myself. It is my errand to retrieve the dagger for its owner.’

The woman gave her a derisory smile. ‘If you say so, sister.’

She lowered her head in a gesture that told Hildegard she was an interloper.