‘What is?’

‘I never thought to wonder how he got out till now.’

Hildegard thanked him and walked away before he could have any more inconvenient wonderings.

A door that could be left unlocked to allow people who were in to get out. And a door that could also be left unlocked to allow those out to get in? It meant that anyone from outside who knew about this arrangement would have no difficulty in getting inside the palace whenever they chose.

**

That mysterious time in the early hours between matins and lauds when most people were asleep. A night of rain. A raging wind. The river in flood. And two figures running under the bridge. Was that the key?

**

And now the squirrel. Red and sleek as a chestnut. Small paws like human hands. Observant eyes that seemed to hold an answer as the child whispered her stories to him.

‘Flora, your squirrel is so sweet,’ said Hildegard, ‘but he’s a creature used to living in the wilds. Does he make an awful mess everywhere?’

The child pointed to a broom and a small pail in a corner of the chamber

‘Do get someone to remove it all, cara.’ Carlotta frowned and brushed her skirt as if the squirrel had suddenly spoiled it.

**

Hildegard was unable to prevent an icey shiver running up her spine as her suspicions were confirmed. She watched the little girl carefully sweep up after the squirrel and brush the droppings into the pail.

Someone carrying the squirrel had entered the nun’s death chamber.

Surely it can’t be Fondi, she admonished herself. He’s a friend of Hubert.

And Hubert was a Clementist.

She tried to remember if Fondi had been told that she and Hubert were not returning to Avignon that night when they went out hawking for the day.

She went to find Hubert in the small ante chamber Fondi used as a scriptorium where he appeared to be writing a letter. And without mentioning squirrels she asked him when he had told Fondi they were going to be away for the night.

‘I didn’t tell him. How could I? He was here in his villa and anyway, until we were actually riding our horses out onto the palace foregate it would have been premature. I wasn’t sure you’d come with me, let alone stay overnight.’

‘He thought I’d return to the palace that night then?’

‘I’ve no idea. He probably didn’t even know we’d left.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Nothing.’

**

At last the couriers’ clerk had received a message for her. It was not from England, however, but from Aquitaine. As English as makes no difference she could hear the miners claim.

It was couched in ambiguous terms in order not to incriminate her or her accomplices when it was read by the censor. It began, ‘Dearest sister mine’ and continued as if written by a merchant accompanied by his wife, referring to ‘the companion of my heart’ and their trade which was going well, the gist being that they had found a spice merchant travelling in a hurry and had gone with him through France until they reached English territory. They had even gone on to Bordeaux with him and were now waiting for passage in a wine ship but, it continued, her brother was strongly tempted to stay with the English army and make his fortune by using his special skills to improve the appearance of a few Burgundian castles.

She smiled at this.

The message itself was written in a flowing hand that they must have paid a scrivener to produce. It ended with flowery wishes for her safe return home ‘after her long pilgrimage’ and promised to attend her to pay their undying respects. It was signed ‘your ever loving brother in this world and the next’ with a name that might have been deliberately blotted.

When she found the guild of pages in their secret lair she told them that the miners were safe.

‘At least that matter has ended well. But it’s still a mystery to me how they managed to get themselves kidnapped in the first place,’ remarked Bertram, furrowing his brow much as his own father probably did.

Hildegard told him how it had come about. ‘They assumed they were targets because their skill was something Fitzjohn’s lord could use as barter.’

‘So what did he want in exchange?’

Hildegard gave a sudden start.

Apart from the money to raise an army what else was useful to Woodstock?

Poison.

The acknowledged poison-masters were Lombards. They were skilled and knew of concoctions that could kill at the slightest touch of a doctored garment, or cause death by a single sniff from a perfume bottle, or by kissing a poisoned ring, or by all the old methods of adding some lethal ingredient to food or drink. Some poisons worked slowly, others in an instant. Some copied known symptoms and were never detected. Some were so sudden and violent they were blamed on the Plague. The Lombards were masters of them all.

Both popes, to their shame, were reputed to have access to the latest potions of the poison-makers and employed their adepts, secretly, in their palaces. As she had seen, Clement took the greatest care over his food and drink as, to be honest, most monarchs did these days.

The poison from Clement’s treasury must have been precious and rare to be hidden in the hilt of the dagger. What if it had been a poison so refined that it could never be detected?

Woodstock, through his vassal Sir John Fitzjohn, would want above all else to obtain such a weapon against his enemies.

A poison that would be undetectable. And the victim? The answer made Hildegard dizzy.

Woodstock desired one thing above all else. To be King of England.

And one man stood in his way.

Richard.

Unaware of the direction of her thoughts, Bertram was asking in a tone of bafflement. ‘Why would the pope want to get hold of a couple of miners, no matter how good they think they are?’

Hildegard focussed her thoughts to answer the question. ‘It’s to do with the English alliance with the Holy Roman Emperor, Clement’s great enemy.’

The boys stared.

‘When King Richard was married to the Emperor’s sister, Anne, at the age most of you are now, she came with no dowry. Ordinary people were up in arms and thought it was a bad bargain and she was unpopular at first until everyone saw what she was like.’

‘They call her Good Queen Anne wherever you go.’

‘Now, yes. But at first they thought it a bad bargain because they didn’t know the truth, that it was a secret arrangement between the Emperor and Chancellor de la Pole.’

‘God save de la Pole,’ murmured Bertram. ‘My father says he’s the only one of the lot to talk sense.’

‘Well, de la Pole has been anxiously aware of the shortage of silver to make coin and keep trade flowing for some time. He knows the country needs a new source. Bohemia is famous for its silver mines as you know. Anne’s dowry came down to this - it was to give King Richard a share in the silver ore extracted at Kutna Hora.’

‘So that’s it!’ Bertram nodded with satisfaction. ‘I knew it would have to be something to do with the revenue. If he can get his hands on a source of silver King Richard will at last have the means to raise an army.’

‘To protect us against invasion?’ Elfric surmised.

‘And against his enemies the barons. His uncle Thomas Woodstock has his own army. The king has nothing to use against him.’

‘Remember the massive fleet the French assembled last year,’ reminded Edmund, ‘everybody thought London was going to be under siege. Everybody expected to be slaughtered in their beds. We had nothing to defend ourselves with except for a few warning beacons on the south coast and some ditches round the walls dug by Londoners themselves. And why were we in such parlous fear?’

‘Because the King’s Council would not allow Richard the money to raise an army and equip a fleet,’ Bertram cut in.