‘I’ve changed my mind. You know it makes sense.’

**

No more than two hours later they were galloping on hired horses through woodland on the west side of the palace beyond the walls of Avignon. It was a fine day. Exceptionally so. The rains had stopped. The pines gave off a rich and heady scent while on the far side of the woods countless hills unfolded in shades of grey and palest green to the horizon.

Hubert had his favourite hawk with him, one he had brought from Meaux, and when they reached the top of a hill he let her loose with a loud cry of encouragement.

Hildegard watched as again and again the bird gyred into the cloudless sky, hovered at its zenith then stooped to its prey.

By late afternoon they were both breathless with the exertion of galloping their horses through the woods, with the exhilaration of the hunt, with the freedom outside the grim fortress of the pope’s palace and, it must be said, with the joy of being together.

‘We shall do as the friar suggested,’ Hubert told her. ‘We shall stay away until tomorrow. What do you say, my heart?’

Somehow Hildegard was persuaded. The friar was probably mad but she would not take any risk with Hubert’s life.

**

They found a remote hillside inn some miles from Avignon. Soon, replete with good country fare and a potent local wine the awkward moment of retiring to their sleeping quarters loomed. Before that, however, the conversation veered towards the purpose of the friar’s warning.

‘I’m glad to see you’ve taken it seriously,’ Hildegard teased.

‘I’m taking it more seriously than you realise. Someone wants me out of the way,’ Hubert frowned. ‘I can’t think why.’

‘Because of your imminent election as cardinal?’

‘You’ve heard about that.’

‘As has everyone in Avignon.’

‘It’s not as you might imagine.’

‘You have no idea what I imagine.’

They both lapsed into silence for a while until Hubert said, ‘Maybe this is a test as to my fitness for such a position?’

‘Whether you succumb to a test of your celibacy?’

‘More likely the opposite. They’ll want to know whether I really am one of them, as steeped in carnality, greed and corruption as they are. I’ve already shown I can’t be bribed. But to fail that test is not important. It can be used to work in their favour too. But this - you - is a test of the former, maybe? Am I going to stick to the precepts or bend happily to the prevailing mores?’

‘This is most flattering,’ her tone was acid. ‘What is your answer?’

‘I’ll let you guide me. What would you like it to be?’

She saw his hand move towards his sword almost before she heard the cracking of the door as it was booted in. Hubert was on his feet in an instant as two men came hurtling into the chamber. They were armed, she noted in dumbfounded amazement, short swords drawn, visors down. She remembered screaming.

Then one man was howling on the floor, blood pumping from a vein in his neck, and the other one was on his knees as his sword flew across the chamber, and Hubert’s blade was scraping his throat.

Hubert let out a snarl and pricked the point of his sword deeper, drawing blood.

‘I am a vassal of Pope Clement sent to test you, lord. Save me!’ the man stuttered.

Scowling, Hubert bent to pick up the fallen weapon, hefting it in his left hand with the point of his own sword still firm against his attacker’s throat.

‘I’ll keep this as proof.’

‘Don’t kill me. I’m only doing my duty.’

‘What the hell is Clement up to?’

‘He needs men of action, my lord. You have passed his test. If I live I’ll vouch for you.’

‘Would you have killed me?’ Hubert asked in an interested tone.

‘The plan was to disarm you and take you back to Avignon as our captive, to your humiliation and to end your aspiration to be elected cardinal.’

‘What about this miserable devil here?’ Hubert prodded a foot against the dead man.

‘It is the fortune of war, my lord.’

‘Get the hell out before I kill you in cold blood!’ snarled Hubert. ‘And take the body of your poor benighted comrade with you, save his soul. Make sure they give him a proper burial with full rites.’

**

The inn keeper entered uttering apologies. ‘I had no idea who they were,’ he excused. He ordered his servants to bank up the fire and fresh food and wine was brought.

‘We won’t stay,’ Hubert told him. ‘But my thanks for your courtesy.’ He gave the man a gold coin. ‘See that the body is conveyed to Avignon. His companion will have to set to.’

‘Very well, my lord.’ The frightened fellow, bowing and muttering apologies, backed from out of the chamber.

‘You’ll be relieved to be riding back through the night rather than fighting me off.’ Hubert’s tone was savage.

‘It wasn’t your fault. You had to defend yourself. I can’t believe they’d do such a thing. It’s monstrous. Do you have to be mixed up in all this?’

‘I’m the Abbot of Meaux,’ he replied in a derisive tone. His face was set in stone. He slumped down on a bench near the fire and stared at his hands for a long while without speaking. Eventually he raised his head. ‘Pour me some wine, white hart.’

After doing so she went to sit beside him and while he drank from his goblet he said, ‘Remember my confession to you in Beverley Minster? The time when I told you about my bloody past as a knight in the pay of the Duke of Burgundy?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’re still - ’ he became uncertain. ‘You don’t think less of me? You forgive me?’

‘Forgive,’ she replied heavily. ‘I can’t do otherwise.’

‘My past follows me. Why else do you think Clement wants to recruit me? The English chapter of the Cistercians have become powerful through our trade. We’re a force to be courted by those who threaten England.’

‘I understand.’

‘I’m for peace, you know that, Hildegard, but I’m neither a fool nor a martyr.’ He paused, watching her. ‘I know you have a weakness for martyrs.’

Another pause followed, full of the questions and doubts and desires of a lover who fears and yet longs to hear about his beloved’s past.

Hildegard’s glance never left his face. ‘I suppose you’re referring to Rivera?’ The name sounded strange to her, spoken aloud after so long. She felt her lips tremble.

Hubert’s eyes were luminous in the firelight. ‘I know what happened between you and him. I’m not a fool. And I cannot pretend to live up to him. He must have been a remarkable man.’

Rivera had been a friar following the code of St Serapion, its purpose was martyrdom in the cause of justice. The basic rule was to offer oneself as hostage in cases of kidnap. Hildegard had encountered Rivera over a year ago when he was a spy for John of Gaunt. Through strange and exceptional circumstances he had become her lover and, in obedience to his Order, one violent and terrible night he had gone to his execution on Ludgate Hill at the hands of the London mob. Her grief at losing him had become more bearable in recent months but now she was compelled to put a hand to her eyes. Her voice thickened. ‘Forgive me, I can’t talk about Rivera just now.’

He enfolded her in his arms, sword, blood, death around them. ‘I understand, dear heart. Some other time.’

Against his shoulder she muttered, ‘The truth is, Hubert, I’d rather have you alive than dead.’

**

They left the inn that night, riding through the darkness of the countryside to reach Avignon as dawn was turning the sky to pearl.

They discovered the palace in a state of uproar when they arrived.

Another murder.

It was close enough to Hildegard to make her feel dizzy with fear.

The nun who shared her cell had been found with her throat cut. A servant had discovered the body lying in a pool of gore on a bed in the cell she shared with Hildegard.